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YEHEEEY~!!!
Next entry is for kikiam. XD Oh, at wag mo ako patayin chescake117~!!!!! *luffs you all*

The Bestfriend (Filler chapter)
Seme and Uke's Best friend's POV
Rating: PG-13 for language (Ba't ba ako may ganito eh bawal din sakin ang R rating? *lol*)
Summary: The bestfriend could do nothing but watch as their relationship unfolds.
Notes: Here's the complete list.



I needed a friend. I needed someone to back me up, to agree with what I say, and give me a good image.

Friends are important. Not only are they there to give you advice on girl problems, they can also help you with your schoolwork. You can play pranks on other people and have fun behind their backs; even if you get caught, at least you and your friends are to blame. Misery and happiness are fun when you have someone to pass it on. Get the logic? ‘Course.

The wimp was the first one who caught my eye once I entered the classroom. T’was the first day, first year…and I was more than ready to show the school my brazen appeal (forgot where I got that). He wore a fisherman’s cap that covered his shoddy red hair, his uniform was crumpled, and there was a smudge of earth on his cheek. A punk, I suppose…the guy brought an orange shoulder bag and a skateboard. The new guy was also ridiculously skinny and scarred, like a bunch of wrestlers tried to grapple him just moments ago.

Maybe they did.

The wimp sat alone at the far corner of the room and scribbled something on his notebook while the whole class talked about him without bothering to keep their voices low. He looked and thought that he was fucking cool, and some of the girls apparently thought so too; they were giving him syrupy glances. I never knew girls liked grubby types. (Remember: scars ARE cool. Orange is yucky.)

Naturally, he was friend material. I was good-looking myself; so we made an awesome pair. I approached him and started a conversation. At first he seemed as if he wanted to run away—being the wimp that he is—but then I made comments on his skateboard and he looked really excited after that. The wimp told me how he got the damn thing—who cares, anyway—and I asked if he could teach me some tricks. He looked really happy and agreed in an instant. There was a shy pause between us; I was thinking of something cool to say and he just sat there with his head resting on his palm. I glanced at his notebook and grinned. Poetry, huh? Riiight.

The wimp was an extreme sports exhibitionist, a poet, a musician, and an artist. And that was good news. Another important aspect that should be found in every potential friend is versatility. He has to know a lot of stuff; I mean, how can he teach you new things or help you with other problems? Not to mention that girls like dynamic types who are just bursting with knowledge. That's how badly I needed him...and if I had to bore myself to death listening to his Old English rhymes, then so be it.

We spent every day together for several months. The wimp wasn’t so bad; in fact, he was pretty cool and useful, too. He would always go to my house and we would start strumming our guitars and screaming our lungs out. Fuck the neighbors; we didn’t give a damn about them. We had our own world, we were hot, and girls loved us. No matter how taxingly depressing the wimp would sometimes be—he would always start talking about how he hated his parents’ constant fights when it was obvious that I wasn’t interested—we still had lots of amusing experiences. He was a cool guy.

But at the twelfth day of December, come winter break, I decided that I was sick of being with him. He was too…clingy. Wait, he didn’t literally cling on to me like some helpless loser—I wouldn’t have hung out with him if he was—but he would always consider me his best friend as if it was an official statement from the government or something. And it made me uncomfortable. Being called a best friend by the one you merely waste your time with is not a good thing. Best friends are for girls, so it reflects badly on my character. What about the ladies? Oh yeah, he didn’t give a fuck about them. All this time I swallowed all his skateboard tricks so that girls would come after us like dogs—er, bitches—and he would brush them aside like they were junk. The wimp never allowed anyone beyond his door; must be some shit about his family background.

“You’re the only one I can talk to.” He said. “You’re my best friend.” Wait, was he crying? Were those tears?!

Fuck it, he was! He cried so hard that night so I made a nifty excuse and ran off.

I didn’t even like the privilege of being the only one in his world. In fact, I hated it.

***

I decided that it was high time for me to grab another partner-in-crime. Since the wimp told off some of our admirers they lessened and lessened gradually, and I wasn’t going to stand anymore damage. Enter Mr. Rich Boy. He was new in class that year. He introduced himself properly and with a formal air about him, and judging from the glazed look the hot chick seated to me at the left was giving him, he was a likely prospect indeed. He took a seat at my right, and I flashed the same grin I gave the wimp a year before. He smirked back at me. It portrayed acknowledgement. He was witty. That was a good thing.

He had sleek black hair that girls usually fall for, was very tall and lean, and wore his clothes neat. You know; shirt tucked, necktie apt, and shoes polished. Come recess time I asked him about the basics—-information about him—-and he answered breezily. He came from a very rich family, enjoyed croquet (now what the hell was that, I had to repeat it several times just to get it right) and tennis, and liked taking pictures. I asked more about his father and their business, but he ignored my question as if it were a matter that angered him greatly. I switched topic for my own safety, and soon enough we were cracking jokes and laughing our asses off. I introduced him to our classmates (and made a lot of side comments that sent us gibbering), the girls crowded ‘round us (now THAT was memorable) and finally, to the wimp.

It was obvious from the start that the wimp was seething. His eyebrows met and his eyes were flaring red. The rich boy simply gave his lopsided, mocking grin and offered his hand, but the other just had to be an asshole and took his hand rather sternly. They shook hands, tension imminent between them. It was a hilarious sight.

“I hate him. He’s too cocky.” The wimp muttered darkly, shooting daggers at the hallway where rich boy was currently entertaining a few people with his flowery words. “He thinks that he’s so great, being wealthy and all. Wealthy people are all like that. Just like the man that took mom—“

“Oh please, shut the fuck up.” I waved my hand carelessly. “Stop droning on and on about your mother. It’s damn tiring already.”

He looked kinda pained when I left him inside the room to catch up with the rich kid. Honestly, I hate it when he tells me stuff about his family. I already had a hellish weekend because my girl friend dumped me; I didn’t need more disturbing news about his life.

***

The three of us started hanging out together. If the wimp and I were the dream pair, now we were the hottest trio in the planet. Okay, maybe not the planet, but girls were EVERYWHERE. There was the wimp, who attracted girls who liked tough guy types, there was the rich boy for every aspiring rags-to-riches girl, and me, of course...the leader of the group.

I hung out with the rich kid because he was more like me in a way; he dated a few girls and was more comfortable ‘round them unlike the wimp, but his relationships never lasted. I tried asking him why, and was extremely peeved with his reply:

“…I don’t like girls.” He mumbled. “Some are cool, yeah, but I just…don’t…like them.” While he was muttering he ran a hand through his hair. The girl beside him swooned. The wimp rolled his eyes. “Friends, maybe. They’re fun. But…as a couple, I don’t know.” The rich boy glanced at the redhead, but he stalked off someplace.

That was the most abnormal thing I have ever heard.

I flashed the swooning girl a dazzling smile after the rich kid chased after the wimp. He went back a few minutes later, sporting a nice lump on his head, but it was a good sign because the wimp accompanied him on the way home.

***

The rich kid and the wimpy brat often fought and wrestled for the stupidest of reasons; I think the former was a challenge for the latter because their personalities just clashed. They punched and jeered and made faces and did all sorts of things a cat and mouse would do when in combat, which was pretty stupid if you ask me. One time I saw them rolling down the hills, clutching each other's cuffs and screaming insults like mad. I shivered.

We were usually found hanging out in the abandoned lot near the school, looking really cool and checking out the ladies (Okay, so maybe I was the one who was checking them out while they were too busy punching each other’s fucking balls out). As the months passed by I slowly became quite annoyed at the taller kid; he was too droll sometimes that you’d like to kill him permanently. He did nothing but tease and tease and tease, I mean, GODDAMN, teasing is just plain irritating. He let the wimp actually beat him up, which made him even more abnormal than usual. Not to mention that he never really splurged much.

One day the rich boy arrived at our regular spot looking all heated up and enraged. I didn’t bother to ask him his problem because my latest girl friend just dumped me and I wasn’t really in the mood to listen to another plight. He started ranting about how harsh his father was, how his mother treated him like shit. Shit, man, why were they confessing all their horrible experiences to me? Do I look like their guidance counselor or something? Can’t they sort out their boring lives by themselves?

I told him to buzz off because I had a headache, and that he could talk to the wimp if he wanted to rant about his personal life. He said that he wanted to talk to me because I was his best friend, and I was the only one he could trust. Great, so now I have two delusional pricks by my side?

But he obeyed me. They both followed whatever I said, anyway. Off the rich boy went, looking for the wimp; and when I passed by the park after class I spotted them talking on the bench, looking really serious. That was when it struck me. They weren’t fit to be my friends. Yeah, they were cool and all that—very handy tools—but they disliked girls, or anyone else for that matter. They were both clingy, they punched each other and jeered at each other’s faces, and damn their families and their idiotic dilemmas. I was sick of everything. I was sick of being their 'friend'.

I dropped the act the next day. There was this new guy in school and he was older and much cooler. He already had a driver’s license, and we all know that cars drive the girls crazy. I made a hint that I wasn’t interested in the both of them anymore; I never returned to our regular spot again.

I wasn’t even able to check out their reactions. The wimp would be sad of course; might even stop going to school for a few days. The rich guy would probably shrug it off but secretly feel infuriated. IN YOUR FACE was all I could say to those two losers. That’s what you get for being so depressing. Did they honestly think that I was serious about the friends forever shit? Like I told them, a friend is a necessity. And when you don’t need something anymore, you get rid of them quick, so that they won’t be coming back. Boys shouldn’t be stuck together for a long period; we should all go out and have some fun.

***

She. Dumped. Me.

The woman I was madly in love with.

I was serious. For the first time in my entire fucking existence, I was serious about a woman. I already had countless relationships—life was too short, so it’s always time to party, I believed—-but I had this goddess as a coworker in this bakery. She was sweet, she was charming, she was everything I wasn’t, and I was so fucking in love with her...I thought of her every night and damn, I couldn’t sleep at all. It was never like this with other girls; I could forget them after a few days, it was that easy. But when she said that I wasn’t her type I was literally crushed. I cursed the whole world that day. Was this karma? (Dang it, I don’t even believe in those bullshit.)

Maybe if the wimp was still my friend, he could’ve taught me those amazing stunts of his. I could've wooed her with poetry and the wimp could help me with that; they say that it works most of the time. If I were still friends with the rich kid, he could’ve loaned me some money so that I would have invited her to a recital and stuff...those were the things she liked. The rich kid could have given me some one-liners so I would have a sense of humor...and a sense of judgement.

If we were still the hottest trio, the inseparable bunch, then both of them would’ve told me that I was an asshole before it was too late. I needed to talk to someone about her, but nobody wanted to listen. No one wanted to hear about my troubles or my personal life.

I needed a guidance counselor. They don’t have those for free though. Friends, on the other hand...they’re for free, they're always available and they won't even ask for something in return. What kind of idiot refuses something that's free? You should accept something once it’s given to you, because it only comes once. I learned it the hard way, and it was no use because she was gone for good.

***

I had a severe headache that Thursday so I decided to call it a day. I was about to slump onto the comfort of my bed when my girlfriend at that time barged in rather annoyingly and insisted that we go out for some fresh air so that I would feel better. She dragged me to the park and told me to sit on a bench while she bought some snacks for us.

I was rubbing my aching forehead with all the strength I could muster when I spotted a familiar sight emerging from the left side of the pathway. I tried to adjust my eye sight to the glare of the sun and bit back a gasp of surprise.

It was the rich kid and the wimp, although older...and definitely more mature. The rich kid was still tall and lean, his hair was as sleek as ever, and he had more build. He looked like this famous model or something, only there was a professional camera hanging round his neck. The rich kid was grinning towards the shorter boy beside him; there was substance in his grin that I couldn’t understand.

I glanced at the shorter boy; yep, it was definitely the wimp that used to cry like a baby when we were still in highschool. Although he wasn’t quite wimpy now; he still wore his typical cap backwards, had that grungy sense of style, and was holding another one of those thick books he enjoyed a lot. He looked like he was reading (he was capable of reading while walking at all occasions) and glaring at the rich boy at the same time. They were fighting again. I laughed inwardly. War freak gits.

And then I fucking saw it.

They were holding hands. It wasn’t just a friendly hand-holding agreement; their fingers were intertwined. I finally understood the rich kid’s grin; it was a mocking grin yet there was, I dunno…something weird going on in his eyes…it grew softer, if that was possible. And I’ll be damned, their arms were even swaying. The not-so-wimp shot him a death glare and proceeded to walk further ahead, their hands still clasped—-maybe to catch up on whatever he was reading—-and with a snicker, the taller one pulled him back.

And he stole a kiss. A kiss, goddamnit!

Fuckbullshitfuckshitfuckdamnfuck.

I sat up hastily, without even minding that my jaw dropped ‘till its limitation. They withdrew, the wimp frowning; I thought he was going to wallop the rich kid just like he usually did whenever the he did something nasty. However, he just shook his head and pretended to be irritated when it was seen clearly that his face was flushed with embarrassment and hidden pleasure. They continued to walk side by side and passed by without even noticing me; I caught bits of their conversation, something about going to the amusement park to ride the latest rollercoaster.

“Let’s try the roller coaster with eighteen loops.” The rich boy suggested excitedly.

“I don't want to. Besides, we just ate.”

“Admit it, you just want to ride the love boat with me.”

A glare. “Fuck you.”

“There? You want to DO IT in the LOVE BOAT?! Man, I never knew…I mean, I understood your kitchen counter fetish, but a WOBBLY BOAT? You're just being creative, aren’t you?”

The wimp socked him playfully and laughed. Wait a sec. He was supposed to pound him and erase his existence. This wasn't right. What happened to the impact? The brawls? The never-ending shouts of hatred? My mind was in a state of shock and frenzy, and it was still so goddamn early.

Damn it.

My two best friends...past friends...the ones I left to sod off and choke on their angst in isolation...they were together. My two best friends kissed each other, were kissing each other, and who knows what else they’ve been doing when I was gone, when they’re supposed to be mortal enemies! The wimp even hated the rich kid because he was taking me away from him; at least he believed it to be so. And now I see them like this, walking hand in hand and looking like fucking lovebirds on a morning stroll or something?!

Those words kept on ringing on my head like an annoying radio station. They stuck together all this time. After all these years. But they looked happy—not the happy you see in movies or silly soap operas—genuine happy, maybe even bliss. They were the ones I left behind but they were enjoying every bit of their lives, and even if their deeds were the worst kind of taboo they didn’t have a care in the world. While I, on the other hand, was stuck with a nosy woman whom I wouldn’t give a cent for, suffering from friggin’ headaches and a lost chance in love.

Fuck it, I wasn’t their best friend...I was their ultimate matchmaker.

My girlfriend skipped back, holding two ice cream cones. The supposed chocolate ice cream was turning into disgusting poop. “Oh gee, I’m so sorry darling, you see the line was really super, duper long and AAAHHHHH my blouse is ruined!!! Anyway, I found one of my old girl friends and we haven’t seen each other in years and we have a lot of news to share and…hon? What’s the matter?”

I glanced at my friends’ retreating backs. The rich kid had his arm slung around the other’s shoulder, and they were both in high spirits. I glanced back at my girlfriend; she wore a sickening pink dress and fake eyelashes, nothing like the girl I really loved; then I finally glanced at myself by a puddle on the floor, looking worn-out, drained, and utterly fuming with jealousy. I felt a migraine coming.

“I…I think I’m going to be sick.” I managed to mumble before completely throwing up on her blouse.

The two shirt-lifters didn’t even look back when she screamed.

***



Yes, there is an eighteen-looped rollercoaster, and I've seen it. It's the VIPER, a ride in Universal Studios, Los Angeles. XD