11:45 P.M.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN

Knock, knock, knock. . .

"Who's there?"

"Ahhh, it's me.  Ringo Langly."

The door opens, and there he is.  The man of my dreams.  In the flesh.  Well, mostly flesh.  Shirtless, just a pair of black 
Dockers. . .no shoes.  God, he has nice feet.  Nice chest.  Nice lips, and neck, and. . . . 

"Langly?  What can I do for you this time of night?"

Now that I'm finally here, my nerve has left me completely.  The few shots of liquid courage I slammed at the corner bar were quickly wearing off.  What the hell had I been thinking, coming here like this?  I'm gonna kill Frohike one of these days. 

"Langly?"  He's talking to me again.  I could listen to his voice 
all day--it made my knees weak. 

He's waiting for an answer.  I have to give him one, not just 
stand in his hallway, looking like a fool. "Ahhh, I. . .ahhh. . .
I just stopped by because. . .."

"Because. . .what?" he asks, somewhat impatiently. 

"Because. . .I had something to tell you."

"Well, come on in."  He steps back to allow me to enter, and my hand brushes his bare stomach as I walk past.  I swear to myself I'll NEVER wash that hand again. 

"So. . .this must be pretty important for you to come here so 
late."

"Ahh, yeah. . .it IS pretty important," I stammer.

"Have you been drinking, Langly?" he questions, more curious than concerned.  He probably knows I'm not a big drinker, well, not anymore. 

"Um, yeah. . .just a couple.  I. . .wasn't quite sure how to tell 
you this."

"Well, what is it?"  He's all but tapping his foot in annoyance 
by now.

What is it?  That I love you?  That I worship you?  That you're the only man I fantasize about when I'm jerking off?  That I want to make mad monkey love with you until the end of time?  Dammit, my brain's so foggy. . .shouldn't have had that last shot of JACK.  "I. . .ahhh. . .I. . . ."

With words failing me, with the prospect of looking like a total
asshole in front of the man I lust after, I do the only thing I 
can think of. . .I kiss him.  Full.  On the lips.  The way I have 
imagined doing for years.  Just him and me.

I press myself against that solid, naked chest, wrapping my arms around that trim, fit waist.  I'm breathing in his pungent 
masculine scent.  I'm. . .oh, God. . .I'm drowning in my senses
as his lips, soft and strong, are crushed to mine.  This is all 
I've ever wanted.  All I've ever dreamed of.  I feel myself 
getting hard.  Oh my God!  This is it. . . .

"LANGLY!"  His sharp voice yanks me out of my reveries as he tears himself away from me.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

I'm startled by the abrupt absence of lips, but I recover 
quickly.  "I. . .I love you," I spit out.  There.  I've said it. 
And the world didn't stop spinning.  The universe didn't come to an end.  I stand there, smiling, proud of myself.  After all this time, I've finally told him how I felt.

"Oh, God, Langly," he sighs, running his hand across his face, and I feel my own face fall to the floor.  Uh-oh. . .I don't like the sound of that sigh.  I watch as his eyes go from shocked fury to--what? Compassion?  Sympathy? 

Fuck.  It's pity.  Oh, FUCK!  What did I do?  Only now do I 
realize I had been the only one enjoying that kiss--he had stood immobile the whole time, like a statue, no reaction at all. 
Fuck!  I have to get out of here.  NOW!  "I. . .I gotta go."  I 
spin on my heel and am all set to run out of there when I feel a
hand on my arm. 

"Wait.  You have to know something."  No.  That's where he's wrong.  I don't HAVE to know anything.  I don't WANT to know anything.  He hates me.  He's repulsed by me.  Oh, Jesus. . .why doesn't the earth just open up and swallow me whole? 

"It's not you, Langly."   Of COURSE it's me!!  Look at me!  I'm total geek-boy.  Ugly, nasty, disgusting geek-boy.  Always have been, always will be.  What the hell was I doing trying for a stud like him?  I am such an IDIOT!

"I'm flattered that you feel that way towards me."  Great. 
Wonderful.  I come all this way in the middle of the night just 
to stroke his ego.  Well, I guess if I have no chance at stroking
his dick, it's the next best thing, right? 

"But I'm already. . .involved. . .with someone else."  Code word: SUCKER!  If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn. 

"I hope this doesn't affect our friendship."  And the hackneyed
ending. . .let's be friends.  I just confessed my innermost 
feelings to him, gave his tonsils a sponge bath with my tongue, 
and he 'want to be friends'.  I hope that fucking bar is still 
open!

"Langly?"

He's looking at me again with those deep beautiful eyes of his. 
It just isn't fair!  I don't ask for much in life.  I try to be a 
good man.  All I want is one night in his arms.  One night of 
happiness is all I need.

His hand is still on my arm, burning its brand onto my skin. 
"You gonna be okay, guy?"

I nod, afraid of my voice.  If I break down in front of him. . . .

"I'm really sorry Ringo," he says quietly as he leads me to the 
door.  "Another time, another place. . . ."

Another guy, another face, my mind fills in.  ANYONE but Langly the loser.  In the doorway, I turn to look at him one last time. There'd be no more dreams of him.  I'd never get over the pain. 

"I'm sorry too, Walter.  I. . .I won't bother you anymore." 

I hear Skinner calling my name as I run down the hallway, but I don't look back.

2:00 A.M.
BACK AT LGM HQ
FROHIKE: 

Where the hell ARE you, Langly?  Why did I let him go like that? Why didn't I tell him how I felt?  There I was, talking a good game, telling him to run off to his mystery man, and me, I was a fucking coward, like I always have been.  How much longer could I keep on fooling myself, torturing myself?  It was just four little words.  "I love you, Ringo."  What was so hard about that? 

I'm just reaching for Jimmy's car keys to go hunt down our 
missing partner, when the front door flies open and Langly 
charges in like hell on wheels.  Thank God, he's finally home!

"Langly, where have you been!?"

He turns and glares at me with a look that could freeze deepest Hades.  "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Frohike, but mind your own fucking business!"  And with that, he runs off to his bedroom, slamming the door forcefully behind him.  I think about it for half a second before I rush off after him.

Standing outside his room, I reach up my hand to knock when I hear sobs and a chanting litany of "Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!" from behind the closed door.  Trying the knob, I find it's locked.  No problem.  I simply pull out my trusty lock-picker--a couple of flicks of the wrist later and I walk right in.

He's sitting on his bed, water-works going overtime.  Looking up and seeing me standing in the doorway, he stops sobbing for a moment to grouse, "I've GOT to get a better lock one of these days."

I ignore his grumbling and ask, concerned, "Are you okay, 
Langly?"

Staring at me with tears sliding down his cheeks, he deadpans,
"No, I'm not.  Thanks for asking.  Goodnight now."  He jumps off the bed and advances towards me like he's going to push me out of his room.  But I'm too quick for him and slide-step to one side, closing the bedroom door with my left hand.

I hold his gaze, and inquire, gently, "Kid, what's wrong?"

This time he stares at me accusingly, and a feel a chill down my spine at the betrayal I see there.  "I took your advice, that's 
what's wrong."  Taking a second to rub the back of his hand 
angrily against his nose, he sniffles and adds, "I told him."

"I take it that didn't go too well, huh?"

He takes off his glasses and wipes them across his tee shirt. 
"You could say that.  Told me thanks but no thanks.  Said he was already 'involved'."

"Damn it, I'm gonna kill Mulder the next time I see him," I mutter under my breath.

"What the hell does Mulder have to do with anything?" he demands.

That stops me cold.  "You mean. . .Mulder's not your mystery
guy?" I question, somewhat confused.

He rolls his eyes so far he can see the wall behind him.  "Oh, 
CHRIST, Frohike!" he exclaims.  "Give me some credit here. 
Mulder?  You know, the whole universe doesn't revolve around Fox Mulder!"

"I'm sure he'd beg to differ with you on that."  I take a seat on 
his bed and watch as he leans against the wall, drying his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt.  "Okay, so if it wasn't Fox, who was it so I know whose ass to kick?

That little witticism earns me a smart-alecky smirk.  He heaves a deep sigh, and announces, "Walter."

"SKINNER?!" I can't help but blurt out.  "You have the screaming thigh sweats for Walter Skinner?!"

"So, Mel. . .are you STILL willing to kick his ass?" he asks, 
sarcastically, which explains the smirk that still graces his 
face.

Right.  5'4'', 147 pound, me up against a friggin' mountain. 
"Sorry, kid--I ain't suicidal."  I sit there just shaking my head.  "Man, you and Skinner. . .."

"What's wrong with Skinner?" he wants to know.  "I think he's
really hot in that hard-assed, authoritative, by-the-book way of his."

"Nothing's wrong with him," I explain, "but he IS a bit old for 
you, isn't he?"

He puts his glasses back on and shrugs.  "Old guys are cool," he replies.  He takes a step forward and flicks at my sheepskin vest with a finger, adding contemptuously, "Of course, there ARE exceptions to that rule."

Well, he was back to insulting my wardrobe.  Things couldn't be TOO bad.  I grab at his hand before he can pull it back.  "I'm sorry, Ringo," I tell him, solemnly.  "I really am.  I never 
wanted you to get hurt." 

Gently withdrawing from my grasp, he smiles a sad smile, before he turns away from me.  With his back to the bed, his head hanging low, I can barely hear him mumble, "It was so stupid...what the hell would Skinner want with a loser like me anyway?"

I stand to join him, placing a friendly hand between his shoulder blades and tell him, softly, "Langly, stop it.  You're not a loser.  If anything, SKINNER is the loser for turning you down."

He sniffles again, and refuses to look my way.  "Yeah, right. 
Thanks, Frohike, but you don't have to say that to be nice.  I 
mean, who would find a geek like me attractive?"

Sliding my arm around his slim shoulders, I hug him close and 
confess, "I would."

I feel his body stiffen slightly, and the sniffles are momentarily stunned into submission.  "Huh?" he asks, as if he hasn't heard right.

Moving until I'm standing in front of him, I repeat, "I said. . .
I find you quite attractive, Ringo."

A look of skepticism crosses his oddly handsome face. "Great. Thanks, Mel.  Just what I need--sarcasm."

"Dammit, Langly--I hate when you get like this.  You know, 
contrary to popular belief, I think you're a pretty special guy."

He looks at me for a moment, to see if  I'm lying to him. Reading only the truth there, his lower lip quivers slightly, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.  "Really?"

I brush it away with my thumb.  "Yeah, really."  With that, he 
bows his head, turning his gaze from me once more.  But he can't get rid of me that easily.  I place my index finger under his chin and lift gently until he is again looking me in the eye. 
"VERY special," I reiterate, emphatically. 

And I kiss him.