David's the guy who you think doesn't care because you're doing all the work. You're always starting the kisses and dragging you both from first base to second, from second to third. You're the one who picks up his hand, you're the one who touches his face. You're the one that pushes it from 'friend' to something else. You've dated hardcore Catholic girls who showed more enthusiasm than David. Hell, you've dated girls who decided they were lesbians who showed more enthusiasm than David. He's about as demonstrative as a rock.

He's cold - crazy cold, in that way that reminds you of Senna. Then you have to push twice as hard, to remind yourself he isn't. He couldn't be. He isn't anything like her.

But you get the same feeling sometimes.

It scares you. But mostly it hurts. You don't want to think that of David. Okay, yeah, you can accept that he's cold all too easy. Too fucking broken to ever really need or want. But manipulative, never. Not David.

So you kiss him, like that will fill up all the empty spaces and things you could never say. You kiss him because you don't think there's anything else you could do. You kiss him because going back to the Real World isn't as easy as you thought it would be and you need something to hold onto, so why the hell shouldn't it be David? April's half-convinced she dreamed the whole thing up. Jalil too busy studying alternate universe and time travel theory to do much else with the rest of his life. You've got no one but David. And okay, maybe it didn't have to be like this, boyfriends, or whatever, but you take passivity as consent, at least from someone like David. He could probably kill you with his pinkie finger, right? You can't be doing anything he doesn't want.

You'll kiss him. You want him, maybe more than you want to admit. And maybe that's what you're afraid of. The status quo. You want him more than he wants you. You need more. You're more vulnerable. It seems like he can walk away from this without a scratch while you'd fall to pieces all over again.

But its progress, you know? Instead of getting drunk and falling asleep on someone's floor, you get drunk and make out with David in some dark corner. Generally, then he drives you home and you make out some more because your wannabe-gangsta brother is God-knows-where and your parents have had God-knows-how-much to drink. He's a constant, David. He kisses you the same lying on your bed as he would in the hallway at school. You could push him as far. It's always up to you to push.

It seems almost like he doesn't care, not really, but it's really only sometimes. Only until he pulls you in for that extra kiss right before you stop or pushes your baseball cap off when you're kissing or when you look up in the middle of class and he was staring at you first, and he smiles. Yeah. It's hard to think he doesn't care.

You try to remember that, always.