Current mood:	bored
Current music:	Naruto soundtrack

Yowza~!
Please read the previous entry where I explained a few things. XD If you don't want to, it's fine.

The Second Arc: EVERYDAY

DUSK, part one
Author: Mushroom
Seme's POV
Rating: It just keeps on getting worse, children.
Summary: Guilt and memories.
Notes: This was quite hard to write because it was very emotional. I tried putting myself in the seme's shoes and wrote what I would feel given that situation. (My beta Mama G believes that the seme is actually my alter-ego, hweheheh. Run along, you ukes.)



He was just too beautiful.

I never told anyone that fact, that carefully hidden secret…I only whisper breathless words of admiration for his beauty to myself—I told him my discovery one time and he responded with a quick “Screw you.” or the infamous, “You’re an idiot.”

And I knew I was an idiot. But I was the luckiest, happiest idiot in the world. No idiot had a pleasant bookworm living in his own quarters, willing to laugh at your jokes and nag about your daily expenses. And damn, no idiot had a beautiful being sleeping quietly on his bed, eyes closed while revealing wet eyelashes and crimson hair spread out on the cushion like a sea my hands and fingers were willing to sink in. He would persistently rant about my raven hair and olive eyes like they were the best things in the entire universe; but he never noticed how much I loved his grey eyes and hair the color of blood, how exquisite he looked and how dismal I fared in those terms.

Now the idiot was staring down at the said boy, holding a camera with keen hands, watching intently as his bare chest heaved up and down, rhythmically; and I listened to the soft breathing that brought shivers on unrespectable places. His vulnerability overwhelmed my wits and before long I found myself chuckling nastily.

CLICK!

His eyes fluttered open, tearful and drowsy at first. When he finally realized I was standing by his bedside, holding a camera with a suggestive grin, and that he was covered by entirely nothing—if nothing could be whole or whatever—his eyes gave out an expression that resembled utter rage. It was a wonder he had the time to quickly wrap himself with the bedspread.

“YOU—How DARE you—you sneaked a picture~!!!” He yelled, looking flustered. I grinned at his reddening cheeks and took a step backward.

“Couldn’t help it, love.” I tapped my camera, creating the most irritating noise in the process. “Looking so brilliant in the nude should be illegal if it turns a man crazy.”

“Don’tyoudaredevelopthatphoto.” He said in one breath. “You nasty little—“

“Too late. Polaroid.” The camera made a clicking noise, and soon enough the photo slid out smoothly. I held it with two fingers and made a closer inspection. “Hmmm...great perspective. Fine lighting. Nice ass. Everything’s all right, then—“

“YOU STUPID DAMN BASTARD STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!”

He lunged at me and we both fell on the floor, his fingers tight around my neck. After several minutes of scuffling, wrestling, and constant screams of indignation on his part, he finally dropped on top of me, exhausted. I wrapped my arms around him as he rested his chin on my shoulder. His breathing was low and gentle; signaling that the fury was over. The photograph was stuck between our chests.

“Why?” He whispered.

“Why what?”

“Why…do you…do what you do…?”

“Why not?” I planted a wet kiss at his neck, marveling at the sound it made.

He leaned his head back and gazed deeply in my eyes. “Why...do you make me feel like this…? I mean, you’re just an ordinary—no wait, out-of-the-ordinary retarded guy with a penchant for making fun of people whether it’s insulting or not. You’re not really that important or anything, just annoying. But even if you’re like that, you still make me feel stupid and special at the same time…it’s—“

I nudged my nose on his cheek. “—I don’t make you feel stupid. You ARE stupid…why the hell do you have to ask such weird questions anyway? As if I could answer that; how the hell should I know the reason why you feel all blotchy? And I don’t make you feel special either. It’s…you are, already. With me or no.”

He took a deep breath, making a few strands of his hair fall towards his face. Irresistible.

“Eherm,” I grinned widely. “You are aware that you’re still naked, are you?”

Eyes widened as he struggled to get free. “Oh shit—“

“Say cheese!” I peered through my camera, saw a disbelieving face, and clicked.

***

If it was possible to curl up and die, I would have done it a long time ago. If it was possible to scrape my own skin, to ignore the pain and watch the blood spill with all the courage I have, I would have gladly done it. Anything was better than this—this—gut-wrenching feeling I have inside; the feeling of falling continuously only to land on another empty hole. I was a complete shithead, the BIGGEST shithead there ever was in the entire universe, and I deserved nothing, NOTHING at all, but SHIT.

I wanted to throw up the hate I was supposed to preserve for myself and my father, but now the effects replayed in my head like a video never ceasing to eject itself. They never stopped; images of his sobbing face, the screams that died on his throat as nails dug on the floor that never gave way, his body writhing by itself…and fresh blood on his hair and eyes. He pleaded. He begged for me to stop. Yet I refused to listen; I only yielded to the shameless feeling bursting below my stomach, the damn thoughts of conquering lands and gods and death and love.

The death of that asshole, my depression—they were stupid excuses for the fucked-up actions I made. He did not deserve this. Who cared about my own damn self-pity when these were the consequences? The guy had no relation to what I felt, and I just had to be a complete asshole and ignore everything else other than my own messed-up thoughts.

Regret is the worst feeling. Hatred can be cooled down, sadness can be banned with a smile, but regret and guilt can eat at your flesh, organs and soul so that you find it even hard to breathe without being conscious that this isn’t important, no not at all, this breathing thing.

***

When he limped his way outside the bathroom, only then did I feel the ache throbbing from the cheek he punched. Only then did I realize that I became lower than the vilest, foulest creature in the planet. Only then did I return.

But there was no one to return to.

***

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

It was the first time he spoke, and I desired his voice and hoped that I could hear it for weeks. I never expected anything more than that simple statement; but it was enough to make me blissful and content. It took me several seconds to take in the weight of his words.

“No.” I said, a little too loudly. “I’M sleeping on the couch.”

“This is your apartment.” He said flatly.

Not anymore. Nothing is mine anymore. Everything is gone and is of no substance, now that you’re not talking to me. Please, let’s just keep talking. Just let me hear your voice. I want you to scream at me, to tell me that I’m the worst idiot in the whole world. I want you to hit me and beat me up just like you used to. We can talk afterwards. As in really, really, talk. We can talk about anything you like; do you want to talk about your cat? I took him to the vet a while ago, he seems fine. Or maybe you want to talk about my room, I cleaned it yesterday, it’s dust-free now. Please, let’s just talk. You don’t know how hard my heart would pound whenever I hear you grunt or whisper and then I realize you’re not even there anymore, just my fertile imagination. We’ll talk, and I’ll be okay. My words won’t come out right, they never will; but your words will be everything to me, and because of that suddenly everything I once loved will be mine again.

I couldn’t say anything but—“You can’t do this.”

“Yes I can.” His voice was shaking. “I’m sleeping outside the room from now on.”

“Our room?”

He looked at me gravely.

I marched inside OUR room—and I will keep insisting that we both shared the same quarters even if it meant the death of me—and grabbed all the comforters and pillows. I went back outside and dumped it on the couch.

“…Stop this.” Sadness was evident in his subdued tone.

“I don’t need them.” I replied, trying to stop myself from grabbing him.

“What do you need, then?” A serious inquiry. A few moments later he made a strangled noise; I figured he wanted to take back his question.

I shrugged; it cost me a lot just to do that. “Nothing.”

He was nothing to me when we were young. It’s funny how years pass by and all of a sudden you find out nothing was better than anything else.

***

Other people often tell me that I’m so cool. Cool, to the point that I could remain calm and composed while shooting funny remarks amidst chaos and confusion. That’s how I was. Things could be handled through quiet means, I usually said, and they would nod in agreement and praise me for it. Nobody knew that at night, when thoughts and memories hurt me, the world was unruly. There was endless noise everywhere. I could hear nothing but punches, shouts and warnings. The noise would whisper loudly in my ears, waking me from sleep. They were wrong. It was never quiet.

It was silent around him, though. Lovely silent.

“Can’t sleep?” He murmured, caressing my neck. “Damn, if you’re feeling bothered then just tell me. Stop fussing about because you’re also keeping me awake.”

“Sorry.” I rolled over to face him and groaned. “Couldn’t sleep. Isn't it quite loud outside?”

“There’s no one outside, you fool. The neighbors are on vacation, and our street is always quiet except for the occasional cat duels.”

“Are you sure? I could still hear them.” I knew that he would laugh and call me crazy, and yeah maybe I was. But those voices were familiar because I’ve heard them all before, and I never made them up. He knew it.

I felt his hands glide on my back, urging me to sit up. I obeyed gladly; soon enough he was massaging my back adeptly with the soft and warm hands I was fond of. Every strain in my muscles was smoothed out thoroughly, every ache dispersed; soon I found myself humming in pleasure as his hands pressed against my spine, sliding gently towards the corners of my waist.

He laughed. “Am I making you happy?”

I nodded. “It’s because you’re so good.”

“I’m used to this. I know your body very well…” his voice trailed off when he spotted the grin that was forming on my lips. “…Never mind.”

“No, please go on.” I whirled around and grabbed him by the elbows, chuckling quietly. His eyes blinked repeatedly and joined in the laughter. “…There, my mom’s 'you idiotic asshole's' are gone now.” I thought aloud as he drew imaginary figures near my shoulder. “It was replaced by your voice telling me to wake up early.”

“That’s because you’re such a lazy butt.” The figures turned into swirls, then vertical and horizontal lines, giving me unimaginable enjoyment.

“I don’t get to sleep most of the time…better grasp the chance when you…have it…”I felt drowsy. He continued to trace unintelligible letters and words on my back until I fell asleep on his lap.

I couldn’t sleep that night, even if it the world outside was silent and hushed. My pillows were currently in the living room so I used a musty backpack, and found a towel to cover myself. It was still cold even if I closed the windows, so I rubbed my arms roughly and curled up in a fetus-like position.

“Noooo!!! Please, don’t!!! Ugh--! S-Stop…!”

My eyes burst open, now stinging with tears. I wiped it furiously and closed them again.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?!” A cry of pain.

“Y…You..nooo—p-please…!“

I did not even recognize my own voice that time.

Damn it.

I waited for the alarm clock to ring, took a shower, got dressed for work and walked out of my room only to find him sitting by the dining table, very much wide awake.

“Noisy neighbors.” He whispered, as if to answer.

***

I picked him up from work. Once I caught a glimpse of his grief-stricken eyes when he sat down on the passenger seat and closed the door, I knew he wouldn’t be talking much during the ride home. I drove on, checking his expression at the rear view mirror now and then; there was still that vast, empty void apparent in his eyes. I gulped and clutched hard on the steering wheel and felt my fingernails dig deep.

My mind set, I took another lane instead of the one heading straight to our apartment. He did not seem to argue, although he did give me a questioning look. The road leads to this abandoned park which was now full of tall grass, weeds and vines along the high fences. I parked near one of the broken birdbaths and told him to sit on the backseat.

You’d know he’s depressed if he became too obedient. Willingly and quickly he got out of his seat and sat at the back of the van while I followed suit. We both sat side by side, uttering voiceless words in hope of reaching the other. I peeked at him and saw fear in his eyes. He was afraid to betray himself.

His face made my heart jerk. “Cry.” I ordered.

He looked up without moving his head. “…What?”

“Cry.” I repeated, more aggressive this time. “You look upset. Let it go. Cry.”

And so he did. He collapsed at my chest, sobbing uncontrollably; he ranted about his mother and her problems with her new family, his shit of a father who was in jail, his countless half-brothers and sisters whom he did not know and yet wanted to know and be accepted. He felt so alone, he felt like he was losing his job because he wasn’t performing properly, he had no inspiration to draw and create new ideas, the stupid stalker was aggravating him again, and he felt that I was bothering him and told me it was okay if we just went home and forgot about what he said.

I cupped his cheeks and urged him to face me. “It’s not that easy to forget.” I leaned forward towards the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror so that our reflections were seen before it. “Here. Look at yourself.”

We both stared at the crying boy in the mirror. His face was mottled, red and upset, his eyes were swollen and soiled tears streamed down his face. Wrinkles could be seen everywhere and his red hair was messed up. He became a scared, scrawny child once more; the one with the skateboard and the so-called fashionable scars on his arms. An idea.

“SEE?! Look at what I’ve been telling you. You look like stinkin’ crap when you cry. Tsk, and I thought you were the grown-up in our alliance. If somebody tells me that you’re the more mature thinker between us I’ll laugh like a madman. Are you sure all your woes are worth it if you come out looking like this…this SWAMP CREATURE?!” I made a face.

Blinking eyes stared back at me, indicating a loss for words. “ I…”

“They’re not worth it, for a face like that.” I said slowly. “They’re not worth your tears.”

He nodded, then tried to laugh softly but it came out as a gurgle.

I grabbed his waist and embraced him tightly. “Whoever gave you that UGLY, ugly face that would make anyone’s stomach churn…they’re going to pay. I’m going to make them suffer.” I was resolute. I felt him gasp quietly between my arms. “I’m going to stuff their mouth full of seaweed and septic tank contents, chop off their arms and tongues to be fed to a harem of maggots—that is, if they could take them, but hell you could do it yourself, you pack a mean punch, a punch so mean I always end up beaten up but then it just feels so good and I beg for it oh-so-badly—“

A successful laugh erupted between us. I gazed at his smiling face and my heart burst open like a swinging door. I lied, of course. He did not look horrible—okay, so maybe he looked mopped, but there was something interesting in him when you stare at him intently for a long time. When he sheds tears his nose would be bright red and runny, but his eyelashes would be wet and long and wonderful. He'd look like a damn brat who had a serious case of the flu, but his cheeks would inflame and his lips would purse and open, full and complete. I wanted to taste his tears but that meant taking advantage of his misery; so I decided to take him in instead, pack the memories of relatives away, and breathe him in.

“You…look like…a snot-faced little boy…” even my tone was losing its confidence now. “…A pitiful crybaby with—oh fuck it.” I leaned in closer, brushing off my sarcasm for future events.

His mouth parted slightly, revealing moistened lips with a tinge of salty tears. I told my mind to shut down and stop the flow of bloody hormones but my body was making advances—my hands felt familiar territory as it grazed the soaked skin underneath his clothes. I kissed his throat and his jaw, feeling needier and needier by the second. He was shocked, but continued to moaned breathlessly. Damn, I loved it when he looked so hot and bothered and vulnerable…my sadistic streak was climbing in again as the corners of my mouth widened. He sniffed like mad and every part of me did not mind the upsetting difference at all.

“W-What are you doing…?” He asked, but it wasn’t anger that was prominent in his voice. He leaned nearer and gripped my sweater as I slowly lowered him on the seat.

“Taking advantage of you.” I answered honestly, sucking on that sweet-tasting flesh just at the side of his neck. He arched slightly and those lips parted again as I plunged into them, admiring every bend, every flavor. As soon as I regained my sanity back before it slipped away completely, I unbuckled my belt and fumbled with both our trousers until they dropped carelessly on the floor. We kissed fervently and hungrily while I lifted his shirt, probing his torso and his backbone with my deft fingers, and he responded with every contact like a magnet at the peak of its attraction.

“Yes, you know my body well.” I murmured, leaning my whole midsection towards him—I heard him moan deafeningly. “Let’s see if you can surpass my knowledge of yours.”

He stifled a cry and shut his eyes tightly as I gazed at his nudity in satisfaction. I moved his legs open and was about to come between him when—

“OUCH!” My foot stubbed the sliding door. He opened his eyes in surprise.

“You’re too tall.” He covered his mouth with a free hand to stop himself from laughing.

“I’ve noticed,” I folded my knees. “Damn, it’s quite difficult in here, isn’t it?”

“You’re the one who suggested it.” He said amusedly. “I’m supposed to be crying, letting go of all the pain I feel deep inside, remember? While you point at me with amused lips and laugh.”

“Okay, so I had to change course of action,” I leaned my back and pulled him towards me. He laughed gently, permitted himself to be drawn, and dropped on top of me, arms around my neck and breath wet and warm on my cheek. My feet continued kicking the floor, my ankles twisted and mg legs turned but the pain on my toes was nothing. His fingers dug deep and he was gasping very loudly but pain was nowhere to be found…it disappeared too quickly.

Since we were being far too intimate in an awkward place, I wanted to do something bold to blend with the situation.

Kink. I needed kink. What was our subject earlier? Right…

“Look into the mirror…” I urged in his ear.

The redhead gaped at me. “Yeah, alright, I already know that I look swampy and all—“

I shook my head impatiently. “That’s not it, you kill joy. I want you to look at yourself while I…while I discover you…make you realize your worth…and don’t you ever close your eyes, not even when you come, not even when you feel me inside you. Yeah, I know it’d hurt like hell, and your eyes would feel heavy and droopy and all…but trust me, even opening your eyes for just a few seconds…the sight is unbelievable. Just observe yourself, and look at what I’m about to do to you, look at how I DO you…”

He did. He watched himself as I entered him, thrusting up and down in non-patterned movements; he watched the moans escape his own lips, the lips that caught itself in mine; he watched as my tongue tasted his whole being, and I observed him as he watched himself, an image that drove me deeper into desire and craving for his body. He cried for more and I responded with faster strokes, pushing me to the edge of euphoria. Faster, faster, so that he’ll only remember this feeling and not the bullshit they did to him…so fast, so hard, so loud.

When all was over I told him a job well done, willed my heart into beating slowly this time, and admitted that I was only lying about his supposed crappy appearance. He smiled warmly.

The tears were still there, and they will always be; but his smile was the one I would commit to memory. I drove us both back home, in desperate need of a bed.

I woke up and stared at the sticky towel on my stomach. Apparently, even nights of stroking myself wasn’t enough to make me tired until I fell asleep. It was a pathetic sight; hardness by reminiscing and gasping on my own. It was my fucking sexual dominion that wreaked him in the first place. We both thought that sex was the answer to our troubles, and it was…but this time nobody was satisfied.

***

“You fought, didn’t you?!” Our stalker demanded.

I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re at your nosiest this morning.”

She blushed, and then frowned afterwards. Sometimes I thought that she owned two souls. “He’s upset! He’s not himself today! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TO EACH OTHER?! Even YOU are acting like BULLSHIT! Did you fight him?! Did you HURT him?! I’m going to KILL you if you did! Or maybe…did he hurt you?! I’m going to KILL him if HE did! Fuck it, why don’t you both just DIE! You’re both so annoying and so frustrating and so handsome and so…” She clasped her arms and gazed at the sky with her lips puckered.

I sighed and relieved my eyes by staring anywhere but her direction. It was a habit of mine nowadays; to stare at nothing in particular and get lost in the fucking life of oblivion, wanting to be distracted by a familiar yank of the string. I was hoping I could at least get a glimpse of him that day, but I stopped whatever plans I had because I felt like a guilty pervert. Yeah, I saw him everyday in our apartment, but we only shared casual—too casual that it hurt—conversations, stuff like “Eat.” or “Hmph.” The guy never lingered long enough for me to reach him, hence the decision to hide behind objects in order to watch him from afar with much longing and sadness.

“You’re pathetic.” She told me, and she was right once again.

I nodded, swallowing sadly.

“…why don’t you just say you’re sorry, whatever it is you did anyway, you sick ass.”

“…It’s not that simple.” Why the hell am I even talking to HER?

She snorted and stamped her foot. “I just can’t FUCKING stand it when you’re together, and now I’m even more damn annoyed now that you’re stalking him like a sick bullshit. It’s not like you and hell—how the fuck are you supposed to stay behind bushes with your damn height sticking out like that?! I spotted you quick because I was also following him—you have not been careful at all, you know. He’s been acting like a baby these days, mourning like he lost everything and crying in his cubicle like a drowned rat, and I figured you fucked up things again, because it’s always about YOU, isn’t it? His whole life revolves around you now that everybody’s been acting like shit, everything he does is for you, and yet you make him cry like some sick bully.”

My heart hammered on my chest and I felt my breathing grow heavier. Wanting release from the pain, I punched the nearest wall and heard my knuckles crack along with it. The annoying woman looked on intently, snorted yet again, and left, her point cutting through and through.

It’s ironic that I reduced myself to stalking when it was the hobby I loathed from those girls who liked me in the first place. I thought them silly and immature when they would follow me around like a pack of fools, and now I was doing the same thing. Ironic indeed, but I was willing to make a fool out of myself if it meant seeing him again.

I caught sight of him entering the grocery store and waited outside so I could…I don’t know, take him home or something. Judging from the sinking feeling in my stomach though, I knew I wouldn’t have the bravery to do so. I chose to watch him through the transparent glass wall instead; I could see him load a lot of stuff in his basket. When he reached the counter and checked his wallet, he made a devastated expression. The poor guy unloaded most of the food on his basket until only a carton of milk and a few instant noodles were left.

We were broke. He was miserable. And it was all because of me. I wanted to do something; I wanted to come in and pay for everything, to carry all the grocery bags and place them inside my van, hug him and just maybe…just maybe. Finally, he turned up at the exit, holding a small brown bag and looking like he suffered the burdens of the world.

I just watched. That was all I could do. Stand there and stare at him, stare at the beauty that was him, and do nothing to bring him back.