Current mood:	lethargic
Current music:	Woooh

Heh.
Here's the first installation of my yaoi arc. Thanks to chastity_rowan for the smex influence and saihara for reading it beforehand.

They are a set of stories with diff. perspectives, mainly by this certain UKE and SEME. If you don't know what they mean then check Wikipedia or something.

WATER
Author: Mushroom
Uke's POV
Rating: Uh...PG? R? It gets worse at later chapters.
Note: I MADE THIS UP. Any similarities are coincidental. I don't have money.




He was the friend of the person who claimed to be my best friend. In fact, my best friend also considered everyone else his best of friends; and so he decided that it would be best to introduce his other pal to me. A few weeks later we were forgotten; our “best friend” found another kindred spirit that meshed well with his temper.

Confusing, isn't it?

And so we stayed together, side by side, since we were treated like leftovers. People of our sort need to stick together, we believed. He said something about a mutual relationship bringing forth equal benefits for the both of us and some shit about dependent animals, but I figured it was just another excuse. We had no choice but to hang out with each other all the time, to copy each other’s homework and spend our week’s allowance on video games. A friend is a necessity, after all.

***

He was a smart man. We often played chess and he would always beat me. Sometimes I thought that he was just fooling around; he would prolong our game and eat the rest of my poor pieces even if we both knew that I was a definite loser. I hated him for that, for being too generous in a mocking sort of way. I despised the feeling of being underestimated and regarded as an idiot. After our chess matches I would fling the chess pieces on the floor and he always responded by punching me. After a grueling battle he emerged with the victory dance at all occasions.

Day by day I loathed him all the more. The freak always called late at night to annoy me with something, like school projects and assignments. He would thank me with a high-pitched voice, and I could practically hear the evil grin he wore.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” he would sneer.

A yawn escaped my lips. “Thank god it’s a Friday, you sadistic freak.”

“Heh, I could imagine you right now…looking frustrated, exhausted, and murderous. ‘Tis a wonderful sight.” A sarcastic sigh. “I feel so blessed knowing that I’m forty minutes away from your house.”

“And five seconds to impending death.” I retorted. “Since you’re so delusional then it would be easy for you to imagine me slitting your throat, then. One…two…three…”

I guess our bond extended even through electrical wires and dial tones. I could envision his facial expression and he could do the same with mine. We continued bickering until my alarm clock rang like mad. My knife did not reach his neck. And even after the hundredth ring, it never did.

Pissing me off was his self-proclaimed hobby. Getting mad at him was the result of said hobby. We always made up in the end anyway. There never was “I’m sorry” or a dramatic act of forgiveness. In the aftermath we would always hang out in his bedroom, leafing through Pc game magazines and listening to music that sounded like drunken electric guitars.

That was our special way of saying, “Yes, I acted like shit. Can I stay?”

***

When I found out that my parents divorced I felt so wretched. I beat him up soundly after he called me a crybaby. I kicked and kicked and screamed and shouted and wanted him to bleed, to plead, to wail deafeningly...I wanted his sobs to cover up mine.

Once I noticed that he didn’t even shed a tear, I felt my blood race through my veins. His placidness, his nonchalant expressions…they all wounded me. I paused and stood still, silent tears falling. He got up by holding a table for support. Then he stared at me. Hard. Those eyes were the most brilliant orbs I had ever seen. Feeling irritated, I closed my eyes to avoid the uncomfortable gaze he gave me.

He tapped my shoulder, ordering me to open them. I obeyed him hesitantly.

“I’m going to hurt you so bad next time as revenge for what you've done to me. Ow, damnit,” He rubbed his swollen leg. “I won’t be your punching bag forever. Remember that…silly kid. ” A smile. “You hit well for a sissy, but your cries are like a girl’s.”

Memories of the usual me rushed inside my mind like a flood.

“I can hit well and accurate several times. “ I said threateningly, helping him towards the bathroom to wash his bleeding face.


***

People thought that the monotony of our lives was hard to live by. It was quite…comforting for me, though. Fighting, making up, and skipping class…it happened everyday of our lives and yet I never wanted it to stop. There were times when I considered breaking our friendship, but I could not do it somehow. I always ended up standing by the door of his room, holding up a new CD that I thought he would like. Our relationship was like jumping on shark-infested waters; taking the risk of not surviving produced excellent results. The water was just the right temperature, and it was as clear as glass.

Years had passed; I had grown my hair long enough to be tied into a ponytail and he sported a few hairs on his chin, but we were basically still the same. I suggested walking to the park to have some fresh air, and he suggested that I needed rest for I was slowly turning into an old man. I suggested that he should shut up. For once, he complied.

While we were walking, he told me about his dreams. After college he wanted to be a photographer. His parents disliked his choice of career and wanted him to take a law degree, but he was dead set on taking pictures of places and people. “It’s just rewarding, isn’t it?” He said excitedly. “I mean, looking at photos. Taking them. There are a lot of hidden meanings found in photographs.”

“Sure, sure." I agreed amusedly.

He looked at me for a split-second, then faced the other side of the garden. “I’m serious,” he said gravely. “Honestly, I sense that nobody takes me seriously anymore. People think that I’m just this immature prat.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m quite tired of hearing that.”

I stopped on my tracks and looked at him. We were rejected but we stuck together. We fought like animals, but we always made up a few moments later. We quarreled, gave bruises and headaches, and grew up hurling insulting words at each other. Nevertheless, we always ended up together. While engaging in physical and verbal warfare, we also helped bear the other’s heavy burdens. That’s how we handled things, and we handled them perfectly.

It was the perfect time.

“I love you, you know.” I blurted out. They were wrong; it is never hard to tell your feelings. What’s hard is what comes next.

He looked back and smirked. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Then he waved his hand and walked back to his apartment.

I’m going to hurt you so bad next time as revenge for what you did to me.

I tasted blood.

“…Bastard.”

***

I woke up to the familiar sound of windows being smashed; the tune that usually came from the stereo. I pushed his leaning head away; the dork was snoring like mad. I looked around to see the curtains closed, the bathroom door open, and the roar of the music was deafening but my ears refused to be bothered because of what I was seeing; my pair of shoes by the wall, my clothes strewn carelessly on the ground separated from the purpose of masking its owner, and the scattered pile of ‘guilt’ CDs. I felt shame, warmth, tension, fulfillment and happiness all at the same time, because yesterday was just another fight; I cradled his head with my hand; his breath was so soft and soothing, his touch electric, his skin damp, and at the top of it all I could not believe that I would end up forgiving him again.