Note: u.m. L.yk.e pizz. m.e. of. Kthx.

Konstantine Balfour was insane.

Or so she thought.

It had to be true, though. Why else would she be lying on her bed, ignoring her homework and her candy and listening to Rilo Kiley? (She fondly called it her crazy music. She wasn't sure why.) The faint scent of the ocean drifted in her open third story bedroom window. If she shifted slightly, she was sure that she could see small fragments of the ocean over the housetops. If she closed her eyes she was sure that she could feel the sand between her toes, her hair damp and scented with salt and suntan lotion.

Or maybe, if she opened her eyes she would notice that she wasn't imagining any of that. The remnants of her post-work excursion (Her dad had enlisted her help at the store during the second half of the day when she had no class.) in which she had walked the block or so to the beach for a quick swim (She never went anywhere without a bathing suit. She wore it at all times under every outfit she owned. She never knew when the opportunity would arise that she could go to beach. ) were creating a lovely illusion.

Her hair curled slightly from the salt and the dampness. She wiggled her still sandy toes. She hadn't bothered to put her shirt back on after her swim and she had nothing on besides a bikini top and shorts. She had what she could call a mini beach memory in her room.

Konstantine lived and breathed the Pacific Ocean.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

The polyphonic ring (Fur Elise) of her phone filled the room.

(Way too ruin her mini beach memory.)

She reached over and flipped it open. She waited for the person on the other end of the line to

speak. She was almost one hundred percent sure that he was unworthy of her greeting, anyway.

"Konstantine Balfour, look out your window."

Well, she had been right about the person being undeserving of her greeting (and a bunch of other stuff).

She stood up and walked to the window. Standing three stories below, looking up at her was her best friend (that hadn't called her in a week and had been avoiding her at school for just as long). He was wearing the homemade t-shirt she had made for him that past Christmas. (It said 'Stan is my idol'. Well, it was the truth.) (Either way, it was a sad attempt at getting back on her good side.)

She leaned on the windowsill and feigned surprise. "Oh My God. If it isn't Andrew Hamilton, the asshole formerly known as my best friend."

He took that as an invitation to come upstairs and a moment later, he disappeared into the building. She was tempted to hang up on him, but she knew that it wouldn't faze him, so she stayed on the line. "How are you gorgeous?"

He was infuriating sometimes. "Well besides being admittedly pissed off at you, I'm absolutely, devastatingly, insane." Nothing like an honest confession. "Well, and bored."

He chuckled and she heard the front door open and close. (She should have locked it when she got home.) He appeared in her door way (looking absolutely, devastatingly rumpled and all kinds of cute. God, she really was insane.). "I can fix the boredom part," He smirked,

"But may I recommend a therapist for the insane part?"

They both hung up their phones.

"Fuck you." He was way too confident sometimes. "You don't provide enough

entertainment for me."

He pulled a package of pixi stix out of the back pocket of his jeans and offered them to her. "Pixi stix?"

Stan shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "I've sworn off candy."

He stepped closer to her, and she took a step back, ultimately falling into a sitting position on her bed. "I doubt that."

Well, yeah. For good reason, since she was lying and all.

"Give me them." He handed her them and she pulled out a red one. He walked towards her stereo. "And don't you dare touch my music."

Andrew shrugged, taking a CD off the stack that lay next to the player. (Like she used CD cases.) And replaced the Rilo Kiley one that had been playing with the new CD. Suddenly, the synthesized sound of Motion City Soundtrack filled her small room. He turned slightly and smiled at her. "This is better."

Stan frowned and dumped half the contents of the tube of candy in her mouth. "I hate you."

Andrew pulled Stan off her bed by her hands until she was standing directly in front of him. He was smirking again. He seemed to be always smirking like he had some secret agenda; like he knew he was about to get away with something. "Oh, you don't hate me that much." Then he leaned forwards, so their lips barely brushed. "God, I've fucking missed you."

And then he kissed her. (Because lately, they didn't have a functional friendship and kissing and sex took up most of the time that used to be left for music and talking. It was becoming unhealthy really, considering Andrew had a girlfriend and Stan didn't really want to be the "other girl" or more commonly and appropriately "the whore that stole insert name here's boyfriend". Plus, they were supposed to be friends, and only friends.)

He pulled away a moment later and smiled. (God damn him.)

She felt drugged. (Lord.) "I thought we were going to stop that."

"I don't think I can." And he kissed her again. (He was bad for her mental health.) "You taste like cherries." Then he laughed, because it was Andrew and he found humor in stupid things like that. Stan held up her half-empty candy and finished it off. "Pixi stix."

He walked them (Expertly. This had happened many times.) towards the bed. He kissed her quick. "Best gift ever." Time seemed to speed up quickly, because only a second later they were lying down, and his hips were grinding into hers, and their lips were mingling and exploring and it was all so delicious and fun. Until, the sudden ringing began. It was Andrew's phone.

Their lips broke contact and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Andrew glanced at the caller ID, then groaned and buried his face in Stan's neck. He mumbled what he said next. "Fuck, its Michelle."

His girlfriend. (Stan thought that maybe she should feel bad for the poor girl. Maybe she would if she hadn't caught her and one of the idiotic football captains dry humping in the girl's bathroom during third period.)

She sighed. "You should answer it. She is your girlfriend after all."

There wasn't any contempt in what she was saying. She knew how things were between her and Andrew. She was his (best friend) fuck buddy; nothing more, nothing less.

He raised his head to look at Stan. She brushed his hair off his forehead. "I'm bored of her. I like you a lot better."

"No, you don't." She sat up. She always tried to hold in the jealousy; sometimes she failed. "If you did, you wouldn't even be with her."

Andrew smirked. (God, she could kill him.) "I'm not with her right now. I'm with you."

Yeah, physically, but really his mind was always some place else. (So was hers.)

She shook her head. "Don't you find it remotely wrong that you fuck me," And yes, most of the time it was just a good fuck. "And then a few hours later you're fucking her?"

He shrugged and took one of her pixi stix. "Do you want me to break up with her?"

He downed the entire tube at once.

She lay back down and he rested his head on her stomach, so that their bodies formed a makeshift "T". "I don't make your decisions for you."

He laughed and rolled over, so his chin was resting just above her belly button. "Oh, yes you do."

Only sometimes.

He was just completely inept at making any type of decision for himself. "Fuck you."

In one fluid motion, Andrew was laying above her again. (God, she fucking hated how smooth he was.) "Stan, I love you. You're my best friend." Pause. "And you're amazing in bed."

She laughed against her better judgment. "Fuck you."

He kissed her neck, but stopped only to look up and say, "Okay. I'm good with that."

She frowned and pushed him away. (Yeah, right.) "I'm definitely not having sex with you today."

He looked sad. Yeah, well he was seventeen and he had just been told he wasn't going to get laid. But, then again, he could always go to Michelle. (That made Stan really sick. She tried not to think about it.)

"Why not?"

"Because the entire time I'd be thinking about you and Michelle and that's definitely not a turn on."

Andrew smirked. "I could help you forget."

"No, going down on me is not going to make me forget."

He laughed and then attempted, "It might," Andrew pulled at one of the strings that held Stan's bikini top in place, but she slapped his hand away.

"You're a little too sure of your skills."

He laughed. "Fuck you. You love it." Then he pressed his hips against hers. (And lord. Lord. The room was spinning.) "By the way, I broke up with Michelle before I came over here."

He kissed the side of her face as she countered with, "You did not."

"Oh, but I did." And then he kissed her mouth. "I'm a one woman kind of man now."

It would never last. There had been girls before Michelle and there would be (tons) of girls after her.

And this thing, whatever was, between them seemed to be the only constant.

"You're full of shit."

He shook his head. (And stopped the kissing. Stan would be lying if she didn't say she was disappointed.) "I'm appalled that you don't believe me."

"In a week, you'll be bored of me because you're a jerk like that." (She only half believed it.)

"I resent that. I do not get bored that quickly." He ran a hand through her messy hair. "I'm not bored of you, yet, am I? And it's been years."

Yeah, but he wasn't dating her; just fucking her.

It was completely different.

She shook her head. "You bore me to death."

A lock of hair fell in his eye as he laughed. (God, he was adorable.) "You're way too good

for me."

Well, obviously.

"I know."

This time she let him take off her top.