He's laying in your bed. Not doing anything but laying in your bed, and writing. Waiting for you to come home. On Livejournal. Writing.

"i stay quiet. i don't poke the bear too much outside of my media sensations. im a secret of a man. and im your worst fucking mistake."

"all i want to be is at your stairs late at night to kiss you on the mouth and keep all those secrets from coming out. the secrets of who i really am, the secrets of what goes on in this bed. these walls. these whispers."

"all I can hope that when it's finally said and done it means as much to you as it does to me. because this means so much to me. and it's all i think about. you're working your day job at a supermarket and all i can think of is you, because im addicted to the way i feel when i think of you."

he lays there, writing and writing, before he saves, closes the laptop, and stuffs his head into your pillow, smelling your shampoo and the scent of sweat from hot nights in your not air-conditioned apartment.

He just wanted to lay in your bed all day.