Current mood:	nervous
Current music:	Seishun Kyousokyoku - Sambomaster

FIRE
Author: Mushroom
Uke's POV
Rating: Not for the weak of heart
Note: Aha~! This is the first time an "outer force" shows up, so it spices things a bit...



It was the first time I felt like punching someone other than HIM. I wanted to choke her, crush her bones, and watch her guts spill out all over the floor with equally disgusting satisfaction.

“You just like him because he’s the only one who could put up with your childish attitude,” she snapped. “You’re only using him, and he’s only using you. Do you honestly believe that you have genuine feelings for each other when you hardly even interact with anybody else?!”

I wanted the ground to swallow her whole and spit her out because of her revolting tang. My hands were shaking like mad. I yearned for nothing else except the sight of her decapitated figure. “Shut up.” I snarled. “We’re not like that...like YOU!”

“You keep him because you can’t have anyone else. Because he’s the only one left!”

I suddenly remembered what he told me. We were both studying for our college entrance exams when he finally thought of a simple and easy way to manage my temper (I figured he was too lazy to continue reviewing, anyway). There were certain steps to follow in order to calm myself down; whenever I felt like blowing up the planet into itty-bitty pieces of terrestrial crap, a mirror was the best solution...or so he claimed. He grabbed a compact mirror and shoved it at my nose that time.

“You’ll surely calm down when you look here...maybe even laugh your ass off once you see how stupid you look when you’re angry.” He snorted and chuckled at the same time while continuously whacking the mirror on the desk. He thought it extremely funny. Hmmm, that was probably the time I resolutely ordered him to leave his own room and locked him out for several hours.

I bit my lips nervously and stared at the mirror behind her. I looked tousled and drained. My eyes were deep-set and lifeless and my clothes looked like it took them weeks to put on. He was correct as always. I looked like shit swimming in water. Livid shit.

I exhaled deeply and rubbed my temples. “I don’t want to talk about him. If you’re that angry then there’s nothing I can do. I’ll just go…and…and…”

“Fuck him, I suppose?!”

I looked at her cadaverously as if she was a poor, neglected child with no manners. She recoiled and backed against the wall, her eyes smarting. I gave her one last ferocious look and walked outside the room, shielded my eyes from the unholy, prickling rays of the sun, and told myself repeatedly that it was the explanation behind my throbbing eyes.

***

Following our walk in the park, my return to his world (or rather, room) and the glorious set of new opportunities that greeted me the morning after, I thought everything would be fine. Sure, it was probably a nasty shock for our acquaintances when they saw our hands clasped together when we were both shopping for groceries. I was not even sure how it happened; for some reason my hands seemed to fit his perfectly. He would reach out his arm and wrap his fingers around mine; and they were perfect for each other, like a shoe just the right size. It got some getting used to though. It was hard to replace the usual punch on the face into a slight caress; I even blush sometimes when I remembered our first try to act sweet to each other for a change—-I suppressed the urge to barf on the sidewalk right then and there—-but hand-holding was different case. His hands required nothing, were never irritable, and never asked for more. But they needed mine, and my hands were more than glad to keep them warm.

People stared, of course. It was inevitable. Yes, some did more than just stare. They gaped, whispered, and spread the news to practically anyone who would listen, which meant the whole neighborhood. They were shocked to learn that the once “best friends” who usually pounded each other senseless were already marching down the dust road with their fingers engaging into something more than just physical contact. We laughed about that matter more than once.

This woman acted differently though. She was nosy and always spoke in this high-pitched shriek that would make you want to strangle her. You won’t strangle her after deliberate thinking, however; you would be afraid that she would start shrieking even louder, which was much worse. That woman told me that she loved me a year ago. A few months later she confessed her love for my boyf—(damnation, I still can’t say it)…well, for him. Until now we both don’t know whom she really loves, but she would always wear this pain-stricken, depraved look whenever we were under her careful scrutiny. I guess that meant we were both her eye candies.

That woman was a good observer. She was smart. What she said was probably right.

I hesitated for the first time.

***

I don't really know why I love him, and after our screaming session I still could not figure out why. Doubt and uncertainty crossed my mind when I remembered her words; thus, I could not bring myself to look at my lover for many days. She was right, I thought to myself. I only loved him because he was the only one who wanted to be with me. I only used him as a punching bag, an outlet for my odium towards my damn parents and the world in general. That wasn't love, not at all. You don't beat up someone you love. Nobody hurts their loved ones.

Everyone and everything was gone...my parents, my best friend, my normal life; yet he gave up everything to stay behind. Knowing he would always be there when I needed him, 'I' used his kindness as an opportunity. 'I' merely wanted to hold on to something to assure myself that my life had worth. 'I' hated losing things again so I grabbed hold of him, imprisoned him, and suffocated him just to satisfy my own wanting. Everything was about I, me, myself...the temperamental guy with a meager foundation.

Painful tears rolled down my cheeks. I was selfish. After all these years I vented out my frustrations towards him and he infuriatingly pretended that everything was okay. My ignorant self remained blind; I always thought that he would always be there to brush off my anxieties aside. I depended on him too much, so as a result that line of thinking made me weak and helpless as a person. Oh, it was terribly ironic...to think that all these realizations rushed in my mind just because I decided to have a shouting match with our stalker.

He gave me derision disguised as sharp knives while my fists did the talking. In the end, he was actually helping me all along. He wanted me to learn how to fight back in order for me to grow…I had to learn things the hard way. My fists gave nothing in return, only swollen cheeks and dark bruises. But what hurt me the most was the fact that he still continued holding the hand that did nothing but strike him on the face.

***

“Hey you. Loser. Why are you crying?” It was not a question. It was more of a cross between an impatient grunt and a blunt statement.

I wiped my tears and pulled the hood of my jacket closer to my face. “Go away.”

“Stop crying, you dolt. You look funny. Like shit—“

“Swimming in water. I know.” I finished for him.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Livid shit.”

I took a moment to dwell in the irony of his words then returned to my trance.

He sat down beside me, turned on the radio, and started changing the stations until it reached one that usually played the blues. It seemed as if he was mocking me, but then I glanced slowly at his direction and saw him wearing a pensive expression.

He probably knew about the conversation between us. He probably sensed something wrong after school, thought about a bit, and rushed to her place to give her a good shouting (he always thought before acting). There was nothing to worry about though; she was used to being scolded by him. Besides, that was what she loved the most...at least they get to talk. I felt a sudden pang of jealously. I wanted him to shout at me, not at some psychotic excuse of the female species.

Wait, what the hell was happening to me? I encircled my arms around my legs and bowed my head. Even my thoughts were becoming incoherent and...and scary.

He put an arm around my shoulder. "...Don’t mind her. Maybe she's just at the peak of her monthly cycle. I heard they could be vicious during those times.”

Typical of him to make events seem like they were funny.

I gulped, and did the best I could to gaze back at his eyes. “I—I think she’s right. I’m not even sure of my feelings. Heck, I’m not even sure of myself. We shouldn’t stick together just because we have no other alternative, or because we have nothing else to do. I think we should...we should…I mean…we shouldn’t use each other.”

He looked at me squarely. “What kind of bullshit did she tell you this time?”

“I’m keeping you because there’s no one else,” I shouted hoarsely. “Because you’re the only one that’s left!” I looked down. “…And I think it’s true. I'm sorry.”

It was the first time I said 'sorry' and I hated the way the word rolled off my tongue like a juvenile ten-year-old. I quickly closed my eyes, expecting him to hit me and drag me to my coffin for eternal damnation. A long silence rifted between us. When I couldn’t take the pressure anymore, I opened my eyes gradually…only to see him grinning at me.

“I’m glad you noticed that I *am* the only one left. Wow, she’s right for a change.” He gave off a laugh. “Those are also my reasons. I’m staying with you because there’s no one left. Not because I don’t have a fucking choice or I plan to waste my time. They all left, you’re still here…naturally I would prefer being with you than with those who don’t give a damn, right? I want you all for myself...selfish, yes...but that's the way it is. Even if I do annoy you a lot. Do you really think I piss you off just because I have nothing better to do?” I glared at him, and he responded with his infamous smirk. “Pissing you off is very gratifying. I get to see your splendid reaction. You should look at yourself sometimes. You look—-“

“I already did,” I said sourly. “Fine, fine, you win. I look like crap when I’m mad. Thanks for reminding me of my miserable countenance. I even marked it on the calendar for you, with red circles and smudges and--”

“--No. Actually…you look…nice. More than nice.” He said thoughtfully.

I jerked from my position, my mind racing.

“You should look in the mirror and see yourself for a change. You never do. Try looking at your reflection. Maybe you’ll get to see what I have been seeing in you all along.” A laugh. “Although I’d rather not let you notice it…it’s a secret I’d like to keep for myself, only for myself, do you get what I mean? It makes it more special.” His laughter turned into a snicker. “You might not find it though, since your brain is too miniscule to comprehend things that are out of your league and—“

That was enough. I placed my hand at the back of his neck and kissed him.

Our lips pressed against each other gently, slowly, mindful of the taste of waffles that we both had for breakfast a while ago. He cupped my cheeks with his warm hands as I broke the kiss softly. We both listened to the other’s subtle breathing for a few moments, registering the madness we both had done, but marveling at the feeling that remained between it. The disc jockey on the radio was announcing stormy weather, but I hardly cared when he was this close.

“That was even nicer. What was that for?”

“Just checking if I’ve forgotten how you tasted like.” I muttered, and regretted my slip-up in an instant.

“Tasted good, didn’t it?” He grinned teasingly. “Better than everything you’ve ever tasted.” He leaned towards me, indicating a second round of feverish kisses. Feeling slightly embarrassed, I grabbed a mirror and shoved it at his face.

“You should look at yourself and see how stupid you look right now.”

A frail attempt.

“My, my…” He took the mirror and tossed it aside. “…It looks like your face is on fire.”

Burning, more like.


Oh, and PLEASE read the previous post before this one. PLEASE.