This is a letter the reader is writing to Brenton. The parts in italics are the letter. The parts in regular text are set off by squiggles (or whatever you want to call them) and they narrate a situation in which the reader is in that deals with the trait they are describing. They are NOT part of the letter, only merely flashbacks of sorts. Because who wants to read a one-shot that's just a letter? Hope you enjoy! There might be a part 2, where Brenton writes a letter back to the reader.

Female reader.

~~~

Dear Brenton,

You infuriate me. You anger me. You make me feel so many emotions that I can't even begin to describe with words. And you know what? I hate it. I hate it so much. I hate you so much. Thanks for the unnecessary feelings.

I've talked to my friend about it, and she suggested I write a list of reasons why I hate you. I forget why, but it seemed important at the time, and I have some time to write, so why not.

So here's 5 reasons why I hate you.

1) I hate your smirks and smiles you always wear.

It always drives me crazy whenever you smile or smirk, whether it was directed at me or not. It's unsettling, to say the least. I hate how they make me go all jello in the knees. I hate how they give me butterflies in my stomach. I hate how every time you smirk, you always seem to know what I'm thinking, always seem to know how I feel, always seem to be able to look through to my soul and to my deepest, darkest secrets.

~~~

I looked up from my writing, seeing everyone around me in the courtyard. Lunch time was always a time I had time to myself to think. I could always relax under the big tree in the courtyard, observing people and things while I sat with my thoughts and some paper and a writing utensil.

This time, my friend group--which included Brenton--decided to accompany me to the tree. So there we all sat, in the shade of the tree, laughing and having a good time. As I was looking around, Brenton caught my eye and smirked. The smirk. The one that can make anyone swoon.

I felt my face heat up. "What?"

"Nothin'. You look really deep in thought." he replied, playing with the grass. "Kinda cute." he adds as an afterthought.

"Gee, thanks." I mutter, turning back to my writing to hide my growing blush and missing the sad smile he shot in my direction.

~~~

2) I hate your hair.

I hate how your hair always looks so soft and fluffy, no matter how much gel or product you put in it. It makes me so mad that you can get your hair to cooperate with you every day, and how you always make it look good. Whereas with me, when it does decide to cooperate with me, I always somehow make it look worse than when I woke up with it. It's annoyingly beautiful, your hair. 

~~~

My head rests on my arms in the most boring class of existence. My attention can't help but wander as the teacher drones on and on, my ears tuning out their voice and turning it into white noise.

My eyes go everywhere around the room, but they always seem to find their way to the back of the head of the boy sitting in front of me: Brenton Thwaites.

He's recently dyed his hair platinum blond, with the undertones of his hair still his natural brown. But that's not why I keep staring at it. His hair always seems to be in some nice up-do, never having a day where it isn't cooperative. It looks pretty soft, too.

Brenton begins to turn around and I snap my eyes back to the whiteboard in a split second. He pauses a moment before asking, "Were you staring at me?" with a knowing smirk.

Yes.

"No. Why would I stare at you?"

He shrugs, chuckling and running his hand through his hair. "I dunno. Maybe I'm amazingly handsome?"

"Ha! In your dreams." I scoff, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

~~~

3) I hate your habit of "flirting" with me.

Maybe it's just naive me, but I don't know if it's just something so small that I'm amplifying it a thousand times into something it's not, or if it's genuinely real. You flirting with me just gives me mixed signals. Like, one day you're flirting, and we're all cool and stuff, but the next, you're back to hanging out with the girls that always cling to you, or the popular kids and act like you have no idea who I am. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. I'm just confused, ya know? A high schooler's life is already confusing as it is, you don't have to make it worse. If you're trying to tell me something, I'm only getting mixed signals here.

~~~

I really didn't have the energy to do much today, so here I was, rolling up to school in my PJ's. Can you really blame me though, it's a Monday and I'm half dead and very much sleep-deprived.

I'm at my desk in first period, trying to fall back asleep when someone pokes me and I frown, turning my head the other direction. The person pokes me again, and I sigh, grabbing their hand as fast as I can and gripping it tightly.

"Brenton, I swear to God, if you do not stop poking me right now, I'm going to make sure you even regret doing it in the first place." I threaten, half awake yet still very much alert. "One does not simply wake me up without facing my wrath."

Brenton laughs and pries his hand out of my grasp and sits down in the desk next to mine. "Duly noted. But come on, my best friend looks beautifully amazing but isn't awake to hear me compliment her!"

"Well, you can tell her later when she decides to wake up." I mutter to him, but he doesn't reply. I open my eyes a little and he's already turned to a group of girls who were chattering to him about Friday's party at Nick's house.

I sigh and close my eyes, actually managing to fall asleep again before the bell rings and class starts. I don't have the energy to wake up and pay attention. I'll just get the notes off of someone later.

The gaggle of girls shuffles away and I hear Brenton turn around in his seat.

"You really are beautifully amazing though, (Y/N)." he murmurs so that I have to strain to hear what he said.

Does he mean it, though? I wonder as I feel my face get warmer.

~~~

4) I hate the way your laugh sounds. Or just your laugh in general.

I don't care if I made you laugh, or if your laugh makes me laugh, just please shut up. Your laugh may sound angelic to other people, but it's just a nightmare for me. It makes me blush and get butterflies in my stomach. It's so annoying how beautiful your laugh sounds, and how much I want to make you the happiest person in the world. It drives me up the wall that I'm so easily entranced by your laugh or your smile.

~~~

"What are the strongest days of the week?" one of my friends asks, stuffing some fries in their mouth. I can't tell if it's an actual contemplative question or just a question aimed to start an actual conversation. Or if they were telling a joke, even.

"Saturday and Sunday," I reply without looking up from my book and hesitating. "Because the rest are weekdays."

A silence passes between everyone before everyone bursts out laughing at how dumb the joke is. In the corner of my eye, I notice Brenton watching me with a smile on his face, still laughing at my reply.

"Oh, that was brilliant, (Y/N)." he compliments.

I smile gratefully at him, then turn back to my book, hiding the blush that was growing on my face.

~~~

5) I hate how you always know what I'm thinking, as if you're reading my mind.

Seriously, it's creepy. Sometimes, I swear you're secretly a mind reader or something. It is not humanly possible for someone to be that psychic. Besides the fact that we've been best friends for a while now, how do you know me so well? Next thing you know, I'm gonna have a secret bunker built under my house full of books, courtesy of said best friend from when he read my mind. A smirk always occurs when you ask me about things, and like I said before, it's always like you're looking into my soul and you know.

~~~

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Brenton's voice rings out as I'm sitting by our friend group's tree. He seats himself next to me, looking at me with a playful smile on his face. I hate how I've chosen to lie down under the tree, giving me a perfect view of his perfect grin.

"Eh, nothing much." I reply. Yeah, nothing but how single I'm gonna be for a while.

"'Nothing much' like...."

"Just...random daydreams. Little scenes for writing ideas here and there. Stupid songs that I can't remember the names of. You know. The works." I shrug, closing my eyes so I don't melt from Brenton's gaze.

"Hmmm, stuff like, how everyone in the friend group has a significant other?"

I laugh. "I shall neither confirm nor deny anything." HOW THE HELL DID HE KNOW?!

I feel Brenton's arm by my hand, forcing myself not to flinch away. I sense him ease himself down next to me, his head by mine. I let out a quiet exhale in a feeble attempt to calm my nerves and still my pounding heart, but to no avail.

His hand is RIGHT. THERE. Just hold it! Hold his hand! (Y/N), you idiot, what are you waiting for? The apocalypse? Grab his hand!

But I don't grab his hand. His hand is just right there. I could just hold it. My nerves are as shaky as ever, my heartbeat beating faster and faster.

Brenton suddenly holds my hand and my nerves start to calm down, and my heart rate starts to lower. The smallest of smiles appears on my face, and I can feel myself still shake from how he suddenly just grabs my hand and just holds it. He makes no move to pull his hand away, and neither do I.

I don't want this moment to end.

~~~

And you know what, Brenton? You know what I've realized while I was writing this and reflecting on how our relationship has changed over the years?

I've realized that I don't hate you as much as I thought. I realized that I liked you. I realized that I still like you. Not love; we don't know love yet. But I like you, that's what I know. I realized that my best friend of many years, through all the little things he's done, has made me a happier person. He's given me something to look forward to, another bland day made fun.

I realized that you are the reason why I smile every day. And for that, I thank you with all my heart.

With love,
(Y/N)

Should there be a part 2?