They're going over Pushkin's Я вас любил (I Loved You), one of Cyrus's favorite poems, surrounded by greasy napkins and McNuggets, when he says it. A thought he barely paid mind to, it tumbles out of his lips, sneaking past any and all of his filters.
"You deserve better than her,"
Christian's head pops up from behind his half-eaten Big Mac and English to Russian Dictionary.
"What do you mean?" He asks, head titled to one side and words somewhat muffled by burger.
Cyrus's eyes widen -- fuck, shit, he definitely did not mean to say that out loud -- as he gulps down some sweet tea, stalling while he thinks of his answer. He's not one for simple, so he responds, "I just think you could do a lot better. I mean, Roxy doesn't appreciate you, like at all. She just likes what I tell you to say to her because it makes you sound smart. It's sorta mean. She doesn't care what kind of person you are as long as your IQ is at least as high as hers. Don't get me wrong, she's a decent friend -- doesn't care about reputation or looks or anything -- but I doubt she'd make a good romantic partner,"
Chris's hair falls over his left eye as he smiles. It's soft, just like his hugs. Cyrus faintly wonders if his hair feels as silky as it looks, drenched in the afternoon sun.
"Cyrus," he mumbles, "Do you really mean that? You don't just have a crush on Roxy or anything?" Luckily Cyrus was not sipping his tea at that moment, otherwise he most certainly would've done a spit take.
"What?" He shouts, overdramatic as ever, "I don't like Roxy, dude, we're just friends!" Christian quirks an eyebrow in response. Cute bastard. "Seriously," Cyrus continues defensively, "I don't even like girls like that!" Oh shit. He stammers for a way to cover up his confession, but Christian just blinks and at him.
And then he grins.
"It's totally chill, Cyrus. I like dudes, too. Well, dudes and chicks," Cyrus only gapes in response.
Christian then, with an excessive amount of sincerity, places his half-finished Big Mac on the table and says, "But, to be honest, Cyrus, I mostly just like you," He's barely registered the words, and yet Cyrus practically jumps across the crowded desk, grabbing Chris's hair and planting a chaste kiss on his lips.
Immediately, Christian reciprocates, licking Cyrus's bottom lip and pressing impossibly closer. The shorter boy feels arms wrap around his waist, one snaking up under his shirt. Chris slowly pulls away and remarks, "Best fucking study session ever,"