#yeah. in conclusion. even if a qpr is just another name for a friendship there is a REASON they want to use that term for it and its not

[catboyfurina]

One of the really irritating things about that 'oh QPR is just friendship, clearly you've never had friends, lmao loser' discourse is that (and there are many irritating things this is just one of them) even in QPRs that ARE just friendships with a new fancy label.... like...? There are many kinds of friendship that people just have because it's easier than not. And there are friendships that you think are going to be incredibly lasting, but then they date someone new and suddenly you're no longer a priority. The QPR label lets people attach an intentionality and priority to their friendship that really is not guaranteed..... like also not every QPR is this way etc etc but even when it is Just Friendship T M its still like entirely reasonable to want to use that label to signify that it isn't casual

[zhydoesart]

the only reward for love (JeffMads)

ships: QPR JeffMads

warnings: brief mentions of abuse, bullying, internalized a(ro)phobia, mild burn

word count: 3.5k words

AO3 Summary: "The only reward for love is the experience of loving." - John LeCarre. | Thomas is in love with his best friend James, who doesn't, CAN'T, want him back. And yet, James still feels a prickle of jealousy whenever Thomas flirts with someone else in front of him. 

Whenever James sees Thomas flirting with other people, he grits his teeth and keeps himself from saying anything. After all, it’s not like they’re dating.

It’s not like James is even in love with him.

Still, he can’t stop the jealousy from clouding his head whenever he sees couples engaging in PDA. He wants that, he really does, but as hard as he tries, he can’t make himself feel the right way.

But if James is incapable of love, what is it exactly that he feels toward Thomas?

He’s wondered that before. Often, actually, if he’s being honest. For whatever reason, no matter how hard he tries, it just can’t be that simple for him.

James thought he was normal until third grade. Sometimes, in kindergarten, kids would have “romances” on the playground where they’d kiss each other’s cheek and hold hands while they played, and he’d thought nothing of it. In third grade, a friend had started pestering him, asking him who he liked. They’d gone around the group, asking everyone else, and everyone else had an answer ready to go.

And James had realized—he’d never felt like that.

What does it mean? To “like” someone? To “love”? He’s asked himself those questions many times, but he never has an answer. He doesn’t know.

James is in high school now. Shouldn’t he have experienced a crush by now? Would he even know it if he did?

He sees his friends grow up around him, mature, even start to fall in love. They start prioritizing their relationships over their friendships, and he becomes an afterthought, a name tacked on at the end of a statement when they look over and realize they’d left him out.

The only friend he’s spoken to in years is Thomas.

Thomas. It’s a name not unlike a happy sigh, it rolls off the tongue with ease.

James met Thomas in seventh grade.

He’d always been sickly, especially as a child, and sometimes other kids bullied him because he wasn’t strong enough to fight back.

He remembered the day they met. Another boy had pinned James against the wall and was threatening to hit him if James didn’t hand over his lunch money.

James looked around desperately for one of the lunch ladies or a teacher, but there weren’t any adults nearby. He had sighed, internally preparing to go another long afternoon without food.

It had been at that very moment that someone had stepped in.

“Leave him alone,” purred a voice. It hadn’t been loud or demanding, but still, it made the bully stop and look.

James squinted at his savior. The other boy was backlit by the sun, and all James could make out was the fluffy mass of curls on his head and his posture, confident with his hands on his hips.

“Why should I?” sneered the bully.

The boy who’d come to rescue James took a few steps forward into the shade, and then James could see his face.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make your life a living hell.” James didn’t know how anyone could say something like that so sweetly, but the bully’s face whitened.

“Okay, jeez, man, I’ll leave him alone.” The bully backed away slowly, looking slightly nervous. Both James and his rescuer watched him go.

“You okay?” James registered the boy’s voice, closer to him than before, and he looked up to see the boy right in front of him. His voice was soft, and it instantly put James at ease.

James dusted off his knees—a habit, something he always did once the bully left, whether or not he’d been knocked to the ground. “Yeah.” He was somewhat subdued, and he stared at the ground.

“You sure?” The boy sounded genuinely concerned for James. That’s never happened before. No one asked if James was alright, not when he got his lunch money stolen and was threatened with violence. Not when his dad started yelling and his mom protected him. Not when his dad yelled behind closed doors, and his mom left the room with bruises on her face and a sad smile on her lips.

James thought about the question. “I don’t know.”

The boy paused. “Can I touch you?” James liked the boy’s jacket. It wasn’t something that he himself would wear—too brightly colored for him—but it looked nice on the boy. He nodded.

The boy put an arm around James’ shoulders. “Hm. I’m Thomas. You look lonely. Wanna be friends?”

James smiled. “Yes.”

“Hey, cutie, you did well in Debate yesterday. Keep it up, and you’re gonna go places.” Thomas winks, and the girl—he thinks her name is Katherine—blushes.

“Thanks,” she mutters, staring at her hands, and runs off to gossip with her group of female friends, all of which were huddled around their lunch table watching the exchange. He watches as she starts excitedly talking, and he shakes his head.

Thomas strides back to his table on his long legs, settling down on the bench across from his friend. His spoon is still sitting on his napkin where he’d left it earlier, and he picks it up, glancing at James.

James… looks almost sad. In fact, if Thomas didn’t know better, he’d think James was jealous.

As it is, he does know better. He’s not sure James has ever liked anyone, let alone him. Unless he’d just been very good at hiding it. And while James is generally a quiet person, there’s an exception when he’s with Thomas. James tells Thomas everything, and vice versa. Well, he can’t tell James about this. So… not everything, he supposes. Not anymore.

The reason why he flirts with other people isn’t because he isn’t interested. In fact, it’s the opposite. He flirts with other people as a distraction. A distraction from the fact that the person he really wants to flirt with is right there, a literal arm’s length away, and he can’t.

(Thomas isn’t actually interested in girls, so perhaps it isn’t right for him to get their hopes up—although it is common knowledge that he’s gay, and the girls still giggle and blush when he flirts, so it isn’t entirely on him.)

James has this wistful look on his face, and he’s gazing at Thomas. When Thomas makes eye contact, he blushes and looks away.

Thomas is too trapped in his head these days to know what to make of it. Maybe it’s finally time for him to talk to someone else.

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Angelica stares at Thomas in a way that makes him slightly uncomfortable, like she’s trying to read his thoughts.

He clears his throat. “I came here to talk, remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Thomas, I remember.” Angelica shifts in her chair, uncrossing her legs. “So what’s the problem?” she whispers, grinning.

Thomas is starting to regret this decision already.

Then again, who else would he talk to? Burr? Hamilton? Despite how popular he is, he doesn’t have many people he can confide in. Other than Angelica and James, there isn’t anyone else he’s on good terms with and talks to often.

“Okay,” he begins, stopping to gather his thoughts. Thomas is an eloquent person, and English is his first language, but whenever it comes to feelings, or James, he forgets how to speak. “Okay. It’s entirely possible I may have developed. Feelings. For someone.”

Angelica’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward. “You? Feelings? I thought you didn’t have those.”

“Hah.” Thomas rolls his eyes. “Very funny. May I continue?”

“Yes, you may.”

He glares at her, but there isn’t any malice. “As I was saying. I may have feelings. For.” He swallows. “James.”

Angelica’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Suddenly she seems awkward and possibly even guilty for teasing him. She lowers her voice. “Really?”

Thomas looks down, playing with his hands in his lap. “Yeah.”

Neither of them speak for a minute or two.

“Wait, why is this a problem again?” Angelica finally asks. “Isn’t he your best friend?”

“Yes, that’s part of the reason why it’s a problem.”

“Part?”

“I don’t think he’s ever liked anyone,” Thomas confesses. “I’ve known James for four years. He’s never once mentioned a crush.”

“Maybe he just didn’t tell you?” suggests Angelica.

“No, we tell each other everything. And I mean everything,” Thomas almost leaps to his feet, but instead takes a deep breath and remains in his chair. “He would have told me.”

Angelica shrugs. “Well, then, you might be right.” She pauses, examining Thomas’ body language. “What kind of response do you want from me?”

“I’m… not sure.”

Angelica straightens up. “You know that I know a lot about the queer community and its various labels.”

“Yes?” Where is this going?

“From what little I know about your, uh, ‘situation,’ I think James might be aromantic.”

“What’s that?” He thinks he knows, but he wants to hear it from the mouth of the expert.

“Aromantic means you don’t fall in love. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t feel any kind of love, however; platonic love is still very much there.” Angelica is watching him carefully—gauging his reaction?

“I see.” Does James know he’s aromantic? Is James aromantic? Is Thomas just jumping to conclusions? When he gets home, he should do some research. Knowing more never does any harm, unlike not knowing enough.

“Does that help?” Angelica asks.

“I think so.” Thomas pushes his chair back, getting to his feet. “Thank you.”

The whole walk home, Thomas is lost in thought. He’d honestly be doing research on his phone if there wasn’t a serious danger of walking into things and people—he’d learned his lesson in the past.

The minute he gets up to his room, he drops his backpack on the floor, leaps into his spinny chair, and uses the momentum to roll up to his desk.

Thomas does a few Google searches for aromantic, then a few more for aroace. He’s reading an article on aromantic-related vocabulary when he comes across the word queerplatonic.

What it says is “queerplatonic: a form of love that isn’t inherently romantic or platonic. It’s different for each person who experiences it.” And a little farther down the page: “QPR: a queerplatonic relationship.”

Could…

Is that something he could have with James?

He reads a few more articles, then a few more, and a few more, until it’s dark outside. He retires to bed, but he doesn’t fall asleep for half an hour. He lies in the dark, thinking.

Unfortunately, Thomas and James don’t share any classes this year. Junior year means they have to start thinking about college, and thinking about college means having to take different classes depending on what you intend to major in. James isn’t going to major in the same thing as Thomas, so they’re taking different classes, which means the first and only time they can see each other during the school day is during lunch.

“Hey,” Thomas says as James sits down. James doesn’t give a verbal response, merely nods. “I said hello.”

“Hello?” James says uncertainly, and Thomas chuckles.

“Hello!”

“Hello.”

“Hello—”

“Okay, that’s enough, we’re not doing this again!” exclaims James, and Thomas cackles. “Are you done?” Thomas shakes his head.

“I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, slapping the table, and James catches his water bottle as it falls. Thomas gasps for breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Okay. So how was your day?” he asks, trying to recover.

“I will never understand you,” James deadpans. “My day was fine. Uneventful. How was your day?”

“Boooring.” Thomas unscrews the lid on his thermos, and James eyes it suspiciously. Thomas has had his fair share of spills, and it’s never a good thing when he brings in soup. “Oh, relax.” Thomas covers one of James’ hands with his own, and James attempts to regulate his breathing, since it had suddenly become more difficult. “Look, I  haven’t spilled anything in two weeks!” Right as he says this, he nudges his thermos with his elbow. “Oh, shit—”

James lunges for the thermos. He catches it before it tips over completely, but can’t stop the soup from splashing onto his hand. He sets down the thermos and stares at his hand. It takes a moment for the liquid to start hurting.

“Jesus Christ.” Thomas grabs James by the wrist, using the napkin from his lunchbox to dry James’ hand. “We should get some cold water on that, I’m so sorry—”

That’s another thing. Thomas rarely apologizes, even when he goes too far during Debate club. (James is always there to watch, but never participate.) And yet, he doesn’t even think twice when he apologizes to James.

“Come on.” Thomas pulls James along behind him.

The bathrooms in their school are generally awful, both in hygiene and in upkeep, but the ones by the cafeteria are the cleanest due to food-related health regulations. That being said, the moment Thomas and James walk into the bathroom, one of the three lights blows.

Thomas mutters a curse, and James jumps. “Damn janitors. Maybe they should be paid more, maybe then they’d do their jobs.” He pulls James the over to the sink, holding James’ arm under the water. “Sorry again,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay.”

“No, maybe you have a point. I never spill at home, but maybe I get too excited when I’m talking to you.” Ha. Is this another instance of Thomas’ infamous flirting? James is just his friend, after all.

“You should come over today.” Thomas isn’t looking at James, instead paying attention to the water and the slightly irritated patch of skin on his arm.

“I have homework today,” James says noncommittally.

“Come over! Do it at my place.” Oh no. He’s about to bring out his pout. “Please?” James can’t say no to him, especially not when he pouts.

“Okay, I suppose I can. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to hang out, though. I have an essay to write.”

“That’s fine.” Thomas beams at him.

“My arm is very wet,” James says, and Thomas startles.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He turns off the water, moving to grab a wad of paper towels. James never liked the cheap brown paper towels they have in schools. They’re scratchy and poor quality. He lets Thomas pat his arm dry, vaguely registering how odd it is that his friend is proceeding to do all of this for him and yet ignoring the fact that it’s at all out of the ordinary.

The rest of lunch happens uneventfully. James listens to Thomas rant about Hamilton (like he does every day), picking at his salad. Thomas almost knocks over his thermos again, nearly giving James a heart attack, but at the last second Thomas realizes what he’s about to do and carefully moves his thermos far enough away that it isn’t a threat anymore.

Thomas is waiting for James outside his classroom after the last period of the day. Thomas doesn’t have a sixth period, and James idly wonders if he’s been standing there all period.

“Hey,” Thomas greets him.

“Hello.” James can’t help but smile.

“Ready to go?” Thomas asks, and James nods.

They walk home together, for the most part in silence. Occasionally, something will occur to Thomas, and he’ll chatter on for a minute or two, but then James won’t be able to think of anything to contribute, and the conversation fizzles out again.

“Look out!” Thomas says suddenly, pulling James in close to him, and James flinches as someone on a bike nearly clips him. “Watch out, dumbass!” Thomas yells after the biker. “Are you okay?” His voice softens as he speaks to James.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” James says, keenly aware of how close he is to Thomas.

“That’s good,” says Thomas.

James pulls back a bit, and they continue walking. But Thomas, who’d grabbed his hand to pull him out of harm’s way, doesn’t let go, and James looks away to hide his smile.

Thomas pulls his hand away once they get to his house, and they both proceed to act like nothing happened, but James is secretly pleased, and he’s positive he sees Thomas hide a smile behind his hand.

Thomas settles on his desk chair, and James takes a seat on the bed, pulling out paper and a pencil. He begins to draft his essay, but in his peripheral, he can tell Thomas is watching him.

“Did you need something?” he says finally, head snapping up to look at Thomas.

“I have to tell you something,” Thomas says.

“Okay?”

“I… I love you.”

James’ blood runs cold.

“I don’t feel the same way.” There’s a lump in his throat.

“I know.” He doesn’t understand the way Thomas is gazing at him.

“You… know?”

“I talked to Angelica. I’m not just assuming that you haven’t been in love before, right?”

“No, you’re correct,” James says cautiously, furrowing his brows. Does Thomas know something he doesn't?

"Like I said, I talked to Angelica. She thinks you could be aromantic," Thomas says carefully.

"There's a name for it?" James asks, aware both his voice and body are shaking but unable to do anything about it. "I'm not… broken?"

Thomas' arms wrap around him, and he takes the opportunity to take a few deep, shuddering breaths. "No, you're not broken." He can hear the sad smile in Thomas' voice.

"If I'm aromantic…" The word sits just right on his tongue in a way nothing else has. "Then what do I feel for you? If it isn't romantic?"

Thomas pulls back, taking James' hand in both of his own. "I did research, you know. Something I came across was the term 'queerplatonic.' Do you know what it means?" James shakes his head. "It's a kind of love that isn't platonic or romantic. That's the best definition anyone could give me, apparently it's quite subjective."

James sniffles. "Oh."

Thomas smiles again, a little sadly. "There's something else, too. There's a thing called a QPR, which stands for queerplatonic relationship." James is suddenly very much interested in what Thomas is saying. "That's also subjective, and what you do in a QPR varies from couple to couple. It's all down to boundaries."

James laughs, a little breathy and a little disbelieving. "Really? Do you… do you think we could have that?"

"Actually, that's what I was hoping for when I asked you to come over today." Thomas looks down at his hands.

"You wanted to ask me to be your partner?"

Thomas instantly turns red. "Yes, well, um, maybe even boyfriend, if you'll have me?"

James nods fervently. This is happening, somehow. This is real. Thomas wants to be with him, even though James isn't in love with him. There's a way for them to be together. "What kinds of things do, uh… queerplatonic?" Is that right? Thomas nods.  "Queerplatonic partners do together?"

"Oh, literally anything a couple could do." Thomas starts listing activities and quickly runs out of fingers. "Some go on dates. Some hold hands. Some kiss or cuddle. Some have sex." He sees the look on James' face and laughs. "Ok, so a no to that, you might be asexual then too. Some get married and even have kids together. Some are exclusive, and sometimes one or both partners date other people. It'd be entirely up to us."

"Well, then… could I kiss you?"

Thomas notices how close James is to his own face and turns red. "Um. Yes," he gulps.

And they kiss, and it's everything they both hoped it would be. It's James' first kiss, and even unrealistic expectations from the media don't set him up for disappointment because Thomas is wonderful (and also apparently really great at kissing).

"So are you my boyfriend now?" James teases, and to his credit, Thomas manages to keep a straight face.

"I suppose so," he answers, equally as smoothly.

Something clicks in James’ brain. "Wait, if you love me, then why did you flirt with all those other people?"

Thomas grimaces. "It was a distraction. I knew you didn't like me back."

"Oh." To think he was so jealous for so long, and now he gets to have Thomas all to himself. "I think I want this to be exclusive, if that's alright."

"That's perfectly fine." Thomas brings one of James’ hands up to his mouth and gently presses his lips against the skin. “I love you, after all.”

James pulls himself into Thomas' lap, and the taller man has the audacity to look surprised as James presses their lips together, winding his fingers in Thomas' curly hair. "You're mine now," James murmurs, and a thrill runs through him as he realizes it's true.

Tomorrow, they'd discuss the idea of announcing their relationship, and their boundaries, and what they'd even call it. Tomorrow, they'd tell Angelica, who'd ruffle their hair with a laugh, even though Thomas is taller than her, and he’d pretend to be annoyed. Tomorrow, Hamilton would bitch about the fact that Jefferson got a partner before he did, and Laurens, beside him, would look away.

But for now, they're free to do whatever they want, and right now, that's kissing.

Well… tomorrow, James has an essay due, and the usually quiet boy swears atypically as he remembers.

But they'll still have tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and every day going forward. It doesn't look like they'll break up any time in the near or far future, and who knows, maybe they'll stay together forever. Get that dog Thomas always wanted. Move in together. Wake up next to each other every morning.

But for now, James has an essay to write, and Thomas has a beautiful boyfriend to stare at/encourage/tease.