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NOTES: Canon romance between side characters. (I'm really on a role with this whole canon thing, huh?) Based on both the book and movie, but mostly the movie. Takes place after the end (or at least, between the actual end and the little epilogue-thingy, although it could be after that as well).

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I keep waiting for him to wake up one morning and realize that he doesn’t need a perverted old man like me. I keep waiting for him to remember that he’s a young man, with the waters of his sexuality more or less untried. Some day he’s bound to remember this. Some day he’ll realize that he doesn’t have to sleep with me just because I’m his editor. Some day he’ll realize that there’s more out there for him, something better than me.

The thought of that day terrifies me.

Because, strange as it may sound, I think I’m in love. Never in my long, sorry, drug-addled life have I ever felt this way about anyone. He’s just a boy, just a college kid (well, college age; technically he’s not in college anymore), and I’m practically middle-aged. I keep thinking that I must be so bad for him. But I can’t give him up. Not for anything.

I keep thinking back to how we met. I could tell that he was scared and intrigued at the same time. There was an instant spark between us, one of those fatal magnetisms that seem so natural at the time, but are really so very rare.

At first, I’ll admit, I was just playing. The spark was so intense, I was determined to have this boy in my bed. By the time I actually got him there, however, everything had changed. And by the morning after, I knew that for once this was not going to be a one-night stand. I needed him. I needed him like I’ve never needed anything.

I didn’t publish his book because I wanted to keep him. I published his book because it’s an amazing addition to the world of literature. That’s one of the things I love about him; the artistry and skill that tortures him and won’t let him sleep. I would never have considered his book if it didn’t have merit.

But I’m so glad it did.

He’s lying next to me now. It’s early in the morning, and he’s still asleep. It’s rare to catch him like this; he doesn’t sleep very much. I rarely get this chance, to just lie next to him and watch him breathe.

I always looked on love with scorn. I always thought it was beneath me, something that couldn’t touch me. I was too tough, too cynical, too weary and world-wise for love.

Which is probably why it hit me upside the head like a ton of bricks.

Looking at him now, hair all mussed and sleep-spiked, mouth slightly open, hand grasping the blanket like he’s going to tear a chunk out of it, I think my heart might explode from the intensity of this feeling. I love him more than anything in the world. And I can only pray that the day will never come when that stops being enough for him.