Querido
Querido diario,
Sé que es muy femenino para escribir en un diario, pero necesito que se derrame algo. Hace poco me pongo a pensar a menudo sobre Ian. Él está siempre en mis pensamientos. Creo que lo amo. Lo que no es el amor? Sus ojos azules brillan cuando se piensa en una nueva idea para Smosh, lo emocionado que se pone. Tenía el pelo cuando se despierta, de pie en el borde, loco y caliente. Su risa, su excelente sentido del humor. Los años de amistad que Ian me ha dado. Yo disfruto cada minuto.
Te amo, Ian.
A muted thud, of a strange black book hitting the carpeted floor. The pages ruffle, displaying pages of looped scrawl. I pick it up, wondering what it was. On the slick black cover, it says Death Note. It was the prop book from ‘Real Death Note’. After the dozen or so pages of the names I wrote for the video, there are entries, not in my precise writing. In Anthony’s angular letters, accented Spanish letters loop from the page.
Turning the onyx book over and over in my hands, cover gleams mysteriously.
Open it? Anthony is here, he could catch me.
But he might not.
But he could.
I should close it. Never give a second thought. It’s Anthony’s diary. There might be private things.
But we’re best friends. We know everything about each other. He knows all of my secrets. But do I know all of his? But, seriously, what would he have to hide that is so important he encrypted it?
I take the book and my laptop to my room. Anthony is in the living room, and when I walk by the opening, he peers around the corner.
“Hey, Ian… what’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing… I’m just gonna go… In my room.
“With your laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Mhm. Have fun.” He chuckles warmly.
I close the door, tossing the concealed book and laptop on my bed.
I open it to the most recent entry, running my fingers over the marks.
I’m gonna find out whatever it is you’re hiding from me, Padilla.
Word by word, his hidden message appears.
I know it's very feminine to write in a journal, but I need to spill something. Recently I find myself thinking often about Ian. He is always in my thoughts. I think I love him. What's not to love? His blue eyes sparkle when thinking up a new idea for Smosh, how excited he gets. His hair when he wakes up, standing on the edge, crazy and hot. His laughter, his excellent sense of humor. The years of friendship that Ian has given me. I enjoy every minute.
I love you, Ian.Oh my god. He didn’t want me to know this. He was ashamed. He went to huge lengths to hide himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know he has it. He’s hiding it. I can’t find my death-note anywhere. It’s not in the file cabinet I leave it in; it’s not in my room or in anywhere.
Ian has it. He has his laptop in his room. Equipped with Google Translate.
Fuck. I know I’m overreacting just a little.
But I know I should be scared. I hear Ian come out of his room, and I keep an ear out.
He doesn’t go into the comp room. He comes to the living room.
“So, Anthony, anything you want to talk about?” He baits.
“Nu-huh.” I focus on the TV, playing Desperate Housewives of Somewhere Nobody Gives a Shit About.
(A/N: This is what I call Desperate Housewives of Anywhere.)
He takes the Death Note out of his pocket, waving it in front of my face.
“Ah… the only thing I remember in that book was Hansel Thepedo.”
“Whatever you say, Anthony. Keep telling yourself that. By the way, get a better hiding spot for your diary than a cabinet that both of us share, in a room full of computers.”
He moves to get up. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out, grabbing his arm.
He settles back down onto the couch, facing me with a look of smug satisfaction.
“Do you remember more than Hansel Thepedo, now?”
“Yes. I remember something I put under a lingual lock and key for a reason.”
“Care to elaborate?” He murmurs.
“Not particularly.” I lean back on the couch.
“Come on, Anthony… I already know what it says. Just say it for yourself instead of hiding behind a pen and a language incomprehensible to me.”
“You… you aren’t mad? Or upset?”
“Quite the opposite. Now just say it and we can get on to more exciting matters.”
“Mm, mi querido. Maybe I’ll keep you waiting…”
I shift my position, sliding my knee between his legs.
“If you’re gonna tease me, I’m in the prime position to kick you in the balls.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me…” I whisper, breathing in his ear.
“W-watch me.” He stutters.
“I’d rather kiss you, querido.”
I don’t give him a chance to reply, before I lunge forward on my hands, meeting his lips, soft and sweet. A thousand times better than my fantasies.
His fingers tangle in my hair, deepening the kiss.
For an eternity, we stay like that. Lips moving in a hectic rhythm, tongues tangling together in lustful harmony.
When we break off, Ian whispers throatily,
“You still didn’t say it.”
When I open my mouth to say something, he puts a finger there.
“No, no. In Spanish.” I sigh, licking my swollen lips as I think of what to say.
“Te amo, mi querido. Una y mil veces, Te amo.”
He smiles, a ferocious blush spreading across his cheeks. He pulls my face down, and our lips meet once more.
Te amo, mi querido…
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