Current mood:	exhausted
Current music:	We are~! One Piece opening

...and because I finally received feedback~
AIR
Author: Mushroom
Seme's POV
Rating: PG for swearing
Note: Continuation to Water



I knew that he loved me.

I did not know it all along. One fateful day I decided to lounge around in the room we both shared and I thought of him (I was actually plotting another evil prank to pull) when it just hit me. I told myself that I was probably imagining things, maybe he was right, I really was delusional. We had another row a few hours back—-something about his book report being reduced to a crumpled piece of trash and I being the fool who used it as a potential spitball—-so I was determined to annoy the hell out of him because of the aforementioned row. I knew that we would be on speaking terms the next day; it was always like that. Our fights were already a daily habit…sometimes I even wonder if we could both exist without ever raising our voices at each other. Fighting was our energy supply, our food source. It takes a pretty hellish time to digest, but it was our means of survival in the endless mass of emptiness that we were living in.

And so I thought of him…and I just knew. Realized. It was a direct hit on the face and it hurt like hell in the morning.

***

He was emotionally unstable. I preferred calling him an emotional retard, but my chest was already full of punch marks so I opted to stop. He would fret over useless things, throw tantrums and beat up inanimate or animate objects when he was having a rough day (the wall being the non-living one, and myself being the latter). His eyes would blaze in fury when he felt deep resentment. Those eyes were the reason why I loved grating him until he flew off the handle. He would call me a sadistic freak and rub his temples, or when things got pretty heated he would smack me in the face. In response, I would punch him, or better yet, use more words dripping with blunt sarcasm. My techniques brought the most damage, while his blows were rendered useless. Fighting for even the shallowest of reasons brought a playful smile to my lips. Yes, I was the sadistic freak with a masochistic smudge. I endured all the pain just to see his hatred. His hatred…it was such a glorious thing to see; a terrible rage that gave me large bruises and cut cheeks. I had his negligent parents to thank for that.

The first time I saw his undeniably awful temper was many years ago, back in the time when we were still nursing fresh wounds from our best friend’s loss. We were both hanging out at the empty lot in school that time. I was showing off my new slingshot by hitting irregular-shaped stones lined up in the corner. Every time I made a perfect hit I sneered at his direction. He looked up from the book he was reading with contempt.

“You’re annoying me.” He announced.

I grinned evilly. “I was just trying to catch your attention…you know how much I crave for it every single day.”

“So hitting immovable targets gives you extreme pleasure,” he gave out a sigh. “It’s a hopeless case, then. There’s nothing I can do. You know I only want you to be happy.”

Damn, sometimes my friend came up with the best comebacks. I was not to be considered the loser, however. “Hah, you should talk. You should have seen yourself when you smashed the table once our ‘best friend’ left us for his other plaything. As far as I know, the poor table wasn’t even given the chance to defend itself.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I have my own grounds. But that’s all you can do. Hitting stones and looking awfully proud of it.”

Once those words were spoken I felt something explode within me. It was not anger, nor sadness, nor anything else for that matter. It was something I had never felt before; or maybe I had just forgotten that such a feeling existed. I wanted to make him regret his words and humiliate him, to forcefully feed him his own blade. Determination welled up inside me as I spotted a flock of birds flying across the glade until they reached a branch of a tree. With concentration and precision I readied my slingshot, aimed, and released the rubber. Before I knew it I successfully hit my target, and it landed with an ugly thwack behind one of the bushes. The rest of the birds hurriedly flew off to safety.

A mischievous grin spread across my face and I glanced back at his place. “See, I can—“

I could not forget the look on his face; I could imagine it perfectly even after a decade had passed. His eyes were wide and blazing, not in anger but rather of disgust. “What the hell did you just do?!” He got up and rushed towards me, ready to strike. “Why did you…why did you hit it…the…why…you…” He looked overwhelmed.

I walked a few paces near the bush where the bird had fallen. “I just wanted to show you that I’m capable of hitting moving things, too. Don’t be such a shithead. It’s just a silly bird.”

He stopped short, shook his head, and bit his lip. I have never seen him in such a strange state before. “It can’t fly anymore.” He murmured, saying all those words in one breath. His whole body was shaking. I didn’t know if he was really referring to the bird or to something of more essence; yet when I parted the bushes and witnessed the bird bathed in its own blood, writhing, trying to escape death, I finally understood what he was trying to say. We buried the bird and my slingshot before heading to my house to watch movies.

There are some things that cannot return. Things like our “best friend” and the trust I once had for my parents. They all departed to fend off for themselves, but he was still with me. Why we continued to guard each other’s backs while creating our own battlefield was another one of those questions that cannot be solved by anyone rather than ourselves.

We grew up a little that time.

***

I vowed that I would hurt him permanently next time. I was sick and tired of him acting like a big crybaby, of his rampages, and his angry tears. He needed to learn how to manage in order to survive. We were nearly adults and yet he still insisted on releasing his unkempt emotions by using me to absorb his violence. He loved me; that I already knew. But we were growing up…we were not children anymore. Phone calls, blasting stereos and fistfights were a thing of a past; they only remained as memorable experiences that drew me to him. He must feel a different pain.

Soon he confessed. It was just your occasional walk in the park when he blurted out the obvious. Afterwards my plan was finally in action. I simply refused to be the dense object of his affections. I gave him one of my well-practiced smirks, waved my trembling hand, and walked back to my empty, desolate and seemingly uninviting apartment.

***

I couldn’t believe it.

He was there. Standing on my doorway, holding up this bright round thing placed inside a plastic case, looking very much like the ‘things’ we loved collecting and was currently stacked messily at one corner of my room.

“I burned a new CD.” he said softly. “Can I use your stereo?”

This certainly was not about the mutual relationship between blood-sucking unseen creatures that our biology teacher was ranting about when we were still busy reading magazines on top of our text books, not all those crap about being leftovers abandoned by our “best friend” that made me wonder why I even interacted with him, not even because of the fact that we had no choice but to stay together. It was he, the person I loved to hate, and hated loving. He still came to my room, gathered all the courage in the world to meet me, swallowed all the pain, and faced me audaciously even with possibly permanent injuries. He was like air; something that I could not grasp nor hold between my fingers. Too fluid, never constant, like translucent silk; and my hands could not contain it for long because they were trembling like crazy.

Grabbing his arm, I pulled him towards me and wrapped my arms around him; my fingers tried desperately to find its own rightful place in his body as they touched everything they could reach. I buried my face in his shoulder, trying hard not to break down and lose myself in his presence. I wasn’t so cool anymore but I did not care, I did not care because he came, after everything, smiling as if I had not acted like an asshole before. I gripped harder and my breathing turned heavy as I clutched handfuls of his shirt; I wanted to say sorry because after all these years I never even uttered a single word of apology, and yet it never came out. I wanted to break him, to shatter him into pieces, and so I yelled at him, shouted the words that were dying to be released, detested him and his damned stupidity, and cursed him for being such an idiot to love an idiot like me. Just as I hurt him by turning my back on him, he hurt me by loving me still.

“Now that makes us even.” he whispered. I pressed my forehead against his, breathed in his scent, and then closed the door. The world disappeared behind it.

***

A phone ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Why the fuck are you calling right now?! It’s already one o’ clock in the—“

“You’re still awake, waiting for me? Awww. I’m assuming you prefer me calling earlier so that we could spend even more time dissing each other. Don’t you worry, I surely won’t disappoint. With the dissing part, I mean.”

“Go to hell for me, please.”

“Anything for your love, dear heart.”

A click. Beeep…beeeeep…beep…

Riiinng!!! Riiiing~!!! Riiiiing—

“Die and leave me alone.”

“Which shall I do first, then?” I could hear his glare. “Heh, I was just kidding.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Sarcasm. “I’m rolling on the floor in amusement right now.”

“Mmm...That sight just took my breath away Allow me to admire you for a moment.”

“Request not granted. What do you want?”

“In a hurry to meet me, are we?” Smirk, smirk. “I need you to come over. I need you.”

“…You need someone to clean up your messy bedroom again, I believe.”

A really, really evil grin. “Yes, since you’re the culprit behind my wrinkled and drenched sheets. Oh, let’s not forget the overturned table and the smell of sweat and—“

Beeeeep…beeeep…beeeep.

***

My mission accomplished, I placed the phone carefully back on the receiver and leaned back on my armchair. I pictured the red streak that probably showed up in his face, popped another CD into the player, and closed my eyes while basking in the breeze by the window.

Perhaps tomorrow my face would wear another nasty bruise and a smile.