Current mood:	...empty
Current music:	Seishun Kyousokyoku - Sambomaster

Right.
DUSK, part two
Author: Mushroom
The very desolate Seme's POV
Rating: You know the drill.
Summary: A conclusion to a dramatic occurrence. The others gnash through the seme's brain. "Just face him," They chant, with much vigor.

Notes: I deleted AN ENTIRE portion of pointless, very porny, horny, and out-of-this-world PORN. FIVE pages were occupied (font size nine, times new roman), full of "What the fuck" sex, so I just had to remove it completely. Although it is fun, yes, and it involves innocent furniture, it is not really that important. It's JUST SEX, that's all. (Wait, how can sex be anything 'just'?) Okay, I take it back. The seme is really cute here. But that doesn't stop me from deleting it. If you're curiosity reaches a point in which you shall comment and convince me to post it, then let me place a quote that is included in the gratuitous sex scene:

"Let's test its durability."

(You may notice that I am allowing them to hit it off in other places other than the traditional bed. It lessens the romance, heightens the kinkpassion. Okay, this is too long.

Let's move on, shall we?
</b>



I was sorry.

But I didn’t want to say it. The words ‘I’m sorry’ had a bitter aftertaste and I know he deserved more than a fucked-up excuse. They sounded shallow and blunt, and my love for him wasn’t like that at all. I was willing to do anything to compensate, yet somehow I didn’t want to make up for my stumpy behavior either (I know, it was just too darn confusing). I believed that I deserved the shitty feeling I was going through, and if that was the punishment for my damnable actions then so be it. Yet…I wanted him to know that I regretted what I've done. Regretted it so much, to the point that sleep never came and days were like fleeting moments whenever he was gone. The slap he gave me made me accept my father’s death, that I would never be satisfied by revenge alone, especially if I really didn’t mean it.

I wanted to embrace him, to completely wash away every evidence of the rape and blasphemy I had unleashed towards him, one who wasn’t even involved in the situation. I tried blaming my father but deep down I knew I had been a bastard of the worse sort. I would have locked myself up in jail to starve and choke by lack of proper oxygen intake if only I wasn’t determined to show him one last ounce of affection.

I would do anything just to make him listen to me, somehow. Hell, I would even dance naked on the streets and bear the humiliation of women’s attentions on my wieners. I would even french kiss the most troublesome woman in the world—his coworker-slash-stalker, although I would have to hang myself on a tree afterwards. His lips were the ones I wanted, more than chocolate or cinnamon or probably even my own. Downright humiliation was the only thing that felt right for shit like me. Humiliation...and something else, but I was too afraid to say it out loud.

I didn’t feel like cooking so I ordered Chinese take-out. The delivery man came in several minutes later, looking smug. “So,” The man handed me a piece of paper and I signed my name without even glancing at it. “You both had a fight. Again.”

Great, so the entire universe knew of our latest problem, and the entire human race was laughing at me behind my back. I glared at him. “They don’t pay you to talk—” I imagined my roommate’s scolding tone; don’t act like an asshole, asshole.

I cleared my throat and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, we fought.”

“I figured. You only call when you’re depressed and he’s off someplace. I mean, you’re a good cook, why would you need to order? That’d be forty bucks.” I handed him the money and he tipped his cap. I was about to close the door when he stopped me.

I looked at him curiously. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh…just wanted to say that whatever it is, it’s just a phase. Another obstacle, y’know? Can be fixed in a jiffy. Relationships, that is. Only if you want to. I mean, just say sorry and mean it.”

Nice try. “But it’s too overused.” I explained in a dull voice, since I've been saying the same thing to everyone who offered. “I don’t want him to think that I’m just playing.”

He shrugged. “Mebbe. But it’s the closest thing to ‘I love you that’s why I’m gulping all my fears and accepting my mistakes’. Had a brawl with my brother once. I thought I would hate him for eternity; gave me some nasty bruises, still here—“ The delivery man rolled his sleeves to reveal black spots. “—but when he said sorry, I just forgave him. Takes guts to come up to me and say somethin’ like that, y’know? It can be like that in your case. You’ve been together since like, I had this job…five years back? Four? Whatever. You’ve been living together for a long time now. Anything can be fixed. Say sorry. Or, if you don’t want to, just do somethin’. Better than brooding at some musty old apartment while eating Chinese take-out. Oh wait, I just blasted our own business.” He chuckled to himself.

I didn’t know what to say. “Uh, thanks.” I said instead. He tipped his cap again, fixed his sleeves, and walked down the hallway in a merry mood.

It’s kinda funny to think that I only realized that there were other people surrounding us after we were on hostile grounds. I was too absorbed in myself and our relationship, too busy trying to push all thoughts of “other people” away because I always thought that they tried to destroy the both of us, just like the ghosts of our past. But I was wrong; there were other people who were affected. Yes, so maybe they knew out of curiosity and not concern, but knowing that they cared...it felt strange, happy. I always thought that the ‘others’ found us disturbing so I mentally told them to fuck off, but that was quite close-minded of me. Not all were judgmental. Good people aren’t the only ones who can help you.

However, our problem didn’t concern some stupid brawl. It involved bruises darker and larger than all his wounds combined. It involved ache, tears, internal struggles and unfading scars. Even if I said sorry, nothing would happen, because they already did. And I had to accept it.

But if I hurt myself…

No. I shouldn’t think of hurting myself. That will only make things worse. Nothing could compare to what he experienced. I would never know the pain he felt, never experience the sorrow. But I could taste blood like he did.

I ate dinner, watched some T.V., then washed the blood from my wrist on the sink, feeling slightly stupid, slightly lonely, slightly wondering when he would come back home.

***


“They’re going to barge in, scream, and send us to jail.”

“No they won’t.” I made light yet lingering kisses along the line of his stomach.

The landlady of our apartment announced that today was “Clean-up day”, and we both kindly offered to help. As soon as my roommate and I grabbed two mops and buckets we headed off to the stairs that lead straight to the rooftop. My roommate mopped like an expert, naturally, and I used the handle of the mop to balance my right arm as I swiped a cigarette and lit it slowly.

“When are you going to help me?!” He demanded, scrubbing every nook and cranny as if we only had a few seconds left to clean them all up. “If you’re going to complain like the former rich and spoiled brat you were, I swear I’ll mop your ass clean.”

I puffed out smoke, making sure that it didn’t veer at his direction—they say smoke has worse effects on the vulnerable people surrounding you—and grumbled. “Why are we doing this again?”

He gave me a look. “You’re the one who agreed to help her, remember?”

“Right. Anyways, we have the whole day ahead of us, and I want to do something first. Something…interesting. You know, all work and no play makes—“

“—you a lazy bastard.” He rolled his eyes, then turned to face me with folded arms. “Okay, then…what do you want us to do first? If this involves the bathroom incident wherein we almost drowned ourselves in the process, I’m warning you, it is not possible to wreak havoc with just two pails of mucky water. We’d itch all over.”

“Actually, I’m already itching all over,” I looked at him straight in the eyes. “Itching for YOU.”

His eyes widened and blinked rapidly. “Oh.” Gulp. Comprehension dawned on his face.“OH.”

And that was the reason why we were sprawled on the stairs, mops and buckets set aside for other purposes to be accredited later. He sat on the topmost step with his shirt rumpled on his neck, revealing a heaving bare chest and a tiny waist. I sat a few steps down and faced him; hands groped whatever it could reach and lips pressed against the unclothed skin presented to me. I stripped every covering and tilted towards him, relishing the scent and sensation and never getting tired of it even after many progressions. He whimpered defiantly.

“They’re going to barge in, scream, and send us to jail.”

“No they won’t.”

“And what makes you think they won’t?”

“I locked the hallway door,” I answered. “They can open it, but we’ll hear it, and that should give us a head start.” Damn, his skin was so smooth. I stuck my tongue inside his navel, teasing him by tracing downward lines, and paused to savor the sound of his stifled sobs.

“Mmmm…a very careful strategist, as always.” He arched his back and leaned slightly on his right arm, allowing me to plant openmouthed kisses at his left waist. “Nevertheless…your risky decisions scare me sometimes, not to mention your endless current of libido.” He bent forward and nibbled my earlobe. I grinned playfully and held him closer.

"My back is going to ache like hell tonight." He complained.

I grinned. "Just like the usual."

We accomplished a series of nasty activities after that—I was the one behind it all, of course, but he was cooperating magnificently—and by the time the landlady came in to check up on us we were already at our respective places, mopping the floor vigorously to get rid of further evidence, and sharing a secret smile.

It’s true. I only think about sex, myself, and him. Or at least I think I do. To be honest, I think I think too much. I think I’m an idiot for being so silent. I think I’m a loser for not even reaching out to him. I think he’ll probably never speak to me again, but it’s his right to decide. I think I won’t be thinking much about sex and myself anymore, because without him, they’re both crushed. Nothing to think about. I think it's about time I humiliated myself.


***

I walked outside for the first time. Outside in the dreary outskirts of the city, the abandoned pathways and shady outposts. Blinking lights blinded my eyes but I still continued staring at the signs that lingered overhead. Signs that said words I could not relate to. Blinking signs. Dancers. Pubs. Night spots.

I held a bottle of strong wine in one hand, and chugged it. Soon I was quite drunk, but it was no big deal because I could still think clearly. My breath stank though.

“Ugh! Stop whirling me around~! I hate dancing…I hate…oh fine, if you insist…”

“You look really lonely there, hunk.” A very wet voice stated, and I stopped walking.

I didn’t even look back, but I understood. It was a hooker.

“Maybe you need to lighten up a bit…and relax.”

“Hush, keep quiet…can’t sleep? There, turn around, like this…let me.”

I felt scared. I was a grown man scared of a woman with a low, feminine voice…proof of depression and hysteria. I spun around and glared at her. The hooker wore skimpy clothes, so other aspects of her didn’t matter; it just told everyone who she was. There was a time when I would grasp the chance with hunger, when I was determined to show my best friend that I was just like him in any way. There was also a time when I would fling a winning one-liner back at her, and leave her stunned and unable to shout back.

But it was not this time. I needed to relax, maybe…to clear my thoughts and do something stupid to hide my stink hole, at least for a while…

She purred. “You can talk to me while we’re at it…use me, handsome.”

I touched her hip, a hip so robust it felt synthetic. “I screwed things up.”

“Can I paint a portrait of you? No, you egotistical bastard. It’s just, but you probably know this already, you’re like, well…good-looking. No wait, forget I said that. Forget—.”

“What happened?” She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Ooh, you like this, don’t you?”

I nodded, feeling dry. You used to wrap your arms around my neck—no, you’re fingers. You would choke me after I give an unsurprisingly nasty comment. I would flail my arms and you would look furious, but we end up wrestling on the bed, pillows leaping at the sides and the comforters twisted around our legs. You would call me nasty, I would call you cute, but we always solve the case by kissing, and it seems to make everything normal somehow. Yes, kissing a guy is normal for me, kissing YOU is the most normal feeling of all, because it’s the simple things that are the nice ones. And that’s not all there is to it. Even the snaky blanket makes us feel closer. The window, it’s open, and the air feels so good. I don’t know what you do to me. You were just a scrawny, dirty kid. But you love art, like I do, and you understand why I do this. You love taking risks, and I feel braver. You have red hair, and it’s just strange, but I like it anyways. Darn it, I feel strange. I ruined everything, though. Where’re your fingers? No don’t take them away—

I felt arms sliding away from my neck. The hooker lit a cigarette, puffed out smoke, and frowned.

I looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were black.

“Go away. I don’t offer service to those who are already taken.” She said thickly.

“Oh god…did I say those aloud?”

A huff.

“I’m sorry.” I said hastily. I couldn’t apologize to him, but here I was, asking forgiveness from a lowlife just like me.

She shrugged. “Enough shit. Don’t tell me. Tell him.”

“How?”

“Love advice is not included in my services.”

I was dazed. “Yeah., that’s what it’s called, isn’t it?”

She walked away, the smoke from her cigarette rising high, but not as high as my spirits as I ran back to my office…it was higher than most; searing, soaring.


***

I rubbed my hands nervously. I don’t know if it was because of the chilly air that swept through town this winter season or because my heart was dipped into a bucket of ice. If I were to explain what I was feeling that time—in which I can’t, so it’s rendered useless—I would compare it to skydiving without a parachute. Or maybe even skinny dipping on the Atlantic Ocean. Okay, so I was just standing on the doorstep of my apartment, which became OUR apartment, then went back to being mine alone all over again. Simple, right? Well, let’s just say that the person standing or maybe sitting beyond that door was someone I hurt ruthlessly even though I loved him far too much. I let my emotions take hold of me entirely, and as a result I lifted hell.

I pondered backing out for a moment but shook my head in despair. There was no giving up now; now that I managed to come back home after several hours of deliberation, self mutilation and mental struggles in the park, where people made conclusions that I was undeniably a madman. I held this shiny, round object with uneasy hands like it was my only life source. Raising my fists, I gently rapped on the door. “Can I come in?”

I heard a brief gasp. That was my cue.

Entering the room with all the subtlety I could offer, I scanned the room frantically and found his slim figure bent over the kitchen counter, seemingly washing his hands in a rather hasty manner. I closed the door softly and winced when I heard the loud thunk it made.

You can do it, asshole. I told myself.

This was the last time I’d ever face reality again. Soon I would leave the room and myself within its walls, leaving nothing but a mere copy of a memory we both pieced together. Though my hands felt nothing but daggers and his back continued to mock me, I placed the CD on the dining table. There it lay, dead and awkward.

After a few seconds of meaningful silence, he spun around. I would never forget the look of sheer surprise that was evident in his face, those wide grey eyes full of shock and nostalgia. He couldn’t look at me yet, but it didn’t matter. I stared through those eyes for a while, and even if he never noticed it, fuck, I was happy enough. I cleared my throat and clasped my hands at my back so that he wouldn’t see the spasms they were making. “Uuhhh…there. That’s for you.” Obviously. He’s not stupid, you blundering—

He remained wordless. Was that apathy in his silence? I didn’t dare find out. Looking at the lifeless CD appeared comforting, and that was where my eyes strayed.

“I m-made it—no, I mean I—“ What the hell was that term again? “—B…burned it.” That look of his, that lingering gaze…it was enough to make me crumble. I, the renowned wealthy heir and professional photographer, fell apart at the presence of another. His fingers reached out to touch the CD case as if trying to determine whether it was real or an illusion, and I imagined that it was my neck he was stroking with those nimble hands, my lips he was touching for unspoken kisses.

God, I’m shameful.

At last, he picked it up.

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned around quickly, almost losing my balance. I wanted to run away and hide from the prying eyes of the world—yes, I was pathetic, damn my mind for reminding me over and over again. I couldn’t bear to see his reaction; would he be amused? Insulted? Would he send me out the door? It was no worry though, I was headed there already.

It was always he who came into my room with a bunch of CDs whenever we had a fight that previous day. The CDs would contain loads of beautiful songs; he always knew what kinds I appreciated, and being a musically-inclined genius he sometimes even recorded his own tunes. I would listen to them obsessively every night and the guy would have to lure me with a batch of cookies to finally stop playing his CDs. We would listen to music in the morning, after making love; listen to the blues while we shared the tub, jam with alternative music in hot afternoons and sleep to the melody of ballads. We often danced; I would scoop him up in my arms even if he threatened to beat me up every now and then. I would continue swinging him around, fingers entwined, dancing to the beat of lively music. When the whole CD was finished both of us would flop down on our abused bed, exhausted; then laughter would ensue almost immediately, followed by random sweet nothings in which he would blush furiously and sock my eye with one fist. Everything was good, to the verge of being perfect.

Everything was good—black-eyed and all, but it was good, very good.

I walked back to the door, feeling the chilly doorknob before perking my ears to the word “Wait.”

Really now, I was spinning around too much that nausea was more than possible.

He walked across the room and entered the bedroom. I didn’t even stop to think and followed him, certain that this was heading nowhere. That word, however…who would have thought that four letters combined would make me feel so hopeful? Once he placed the CD inside the stereo though, I knew I was a goner.

“SCCREEEEECH~! Scccreeeeeccch.....SCREEEEEEECH~!!!!”

I cringed as the stereo scratched and shrieked like a weasel.

“SCCCCREEEEEEECCCCCCH~!!!! ScccccreeeeeEAAAAAAccch~!!!”

He pressed the stop button gently.

“…Are you sure you completed the burning process?”

I made a questioning noise.

The computer literate started explaining stuff about downloads and dialog boxes and shit like that, and I found myself staring wide-eyed at his lips as they moved, circling with an ‘o’, tongue between, teeth barely visible. For the first time I looked beyond the lips as kissing material; god, it deserved its own worshipping temple.

“...and you shouldn’t go doing stuff you have absolutely no knowledge of.”

How the hell was I supposed to know how they worked, anyway? As expected, my move was a foolish one. The sight of his face meant spring, however; and that met matters. “Uh yeah. I don’t know how to use the program, I just i-installed and—“

“What’s inside?”

I cleared my throat. “…Vivaldi, Bach. Fields of Gold.”

He frowned. “They’re not your type.”

What exactly is my type? “Nope. But I was listening to them the other night and they’re great. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons were telling me something. I wanted you to hear what they were saying.”

A loud yet gentle laugh echoed across the room, bouncing through the walls, gleaming at the covers, and landed at my chest like a ping-pong ball. I was shocked. He was laughing. HE WAS LAUGHING, MY GOD HE WAS LAUGHING, HE WAS SMILING, THAT WAS LAUGHTER, DAMN IT’S AMAZING, HE’S SO GORGEOUS, IT’S…I…I MISSED IT FOR SO LONG.

“So you went through all this trouble so that I could hear Four Seasons? You should listen to yourself right now, you utter geek. I’ve heard it a lot of times.”

I continued to gape at his tightly shut eyes and reddened face. He bent his head back and laughed in a clear, tranquil voice; and I noticed his fair neck, his now scarred neck. I tried to close my eyes and disregard the culprit behind it, but I couldn’t stop staring at the damage I had done. Fuck my past, fuck my career; I was now witness to the horror I have done, and it was as apparent as dripping blood.

“…What did it tell you, then?” I asked.

He stopped.

“Why…Why are you doing this?” There was that faint voice again.

“It’s about time I’ve stopped being an asshole.” I had enough. I was determined to leave him alone in peace. I knew that my offense was so foul that forgetting it seems like a laughing matter. He would never forget; and even if he told me he did, there were still the scars and the bruises and the nightly tears. I would never forget how low I had become either. I deserved to be plagued at night by constant screams of grief; but he needed a good night’s sleep…I wanted him to sleep in peace, unmindful of the horrible things I’ve done. I picked up the CD, reminded myself never to tinker with unfamiliar computer programs again, and walked slowly towards the door.

“Running away again?! If you want to say something, just say it!” Anger. He was angry now. But it was a different kind of angry. It was not the usual heated voice he raised whenever I would taunt him about some certain mistake, not the usual irate tone that meant genuine irritation and plans of further ‘shutting-up’ methods. It was an angry voice I have never heard before. It was anger that needed something, probably even pleaded for it.

This time, I spun around for the last time, intent on bringing the problem across. “I need you to hurt me.” I ordered him. He took a step backward and shook his head. “Please. Please hurt me.” I was begging to be beaten up now; I knew that any form of cruelty was not enough to heal injured memories, but my body was demanding to be trampled on. “You might not be satisfied, but please try. I know I’ll be fine. If you still feel like it’s not worth it, hit me harder. When you hear me shout, please don’t cover your ears. I never did, when I heard yours. It might be easier for the both of us. Please. Just hurt me like you used to. It’s easy. It will be.”

His hands were covering his face now; I could not see his decision. “H-How could it be easy? Do you really think hurting you is easy for me?!”

I gave an exasperated sigh...and beneath it, aching depression. “After everything I’ve done…it should be.”

“Well.” He inhaled slowly. “It isn’t.”

The cat bounded inside the room, and we both held a staring game. I flinched. The cat was winning. “…What do you want me to do?”

“Hold me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I was too shocked that all self-control and composure was sucked out of me into this unknown and concealed vortex. All plans of acting so cool in the outside to hide my collapsing soul vanished because of my reaction, which was… “W-Whu?” That was supposed to be ‘Why would you ask for such a thing from the biggest, bastardized dipshit?’ I was expecting blows, kicks, and a call for the cops…but touching him was a surreal request. “That’s not right. You should hit me. It has always worked before, when you wanted to let go…why can’t it work now?!”

“Y-you DICKHEAD!!!” I felt a knuckle hit my cheek so I closed my eyes tightly, waiting for the impact. Nothing. I looked ahead. His knuckle didn’t HIT my cheek, it touched it. “YOU DAMN SHIT, YOU STUPID, STUPID, STUPID…THING…I MISSED YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD SHIT YOU--DAMN YOU!”

The hand placed itself beside his hip. Unclenched.

He was wiping the corners of his eyes now. “This is too hard. I’ve been waiting for so long. In the grocery store, I saw you watching me, and I felt so loved and ashamed at once. I wish I could’ve just smacked you straight in the face, only to find out later that smacking you was a nonexistent wish of mine. Everybody noticed, you blundering idiot—the whole town had been asking what our problem was, I’m serious. Then I realized, what WAS the problem? There wasn’t any at all. I mean, it used to be a huge predicament, but what dilemma could be worse than you and I in separation? That, I realized, was the problem after all. I felt so alone when you were…when you did horrible things to me, but now the feeling of solitude has worsened by the second. I was just waiting for you to come up and say something, ANYTHING, just so that I could have an excuse to forgive you verbally, because I already did when I saw your face when I slapped you. How could I not forgive you, YOU of all people, especially when you looked like the boy I constantly argued with before, yet ended up forgiving anyway? You’re important, you see?”

“That boy hurt you. And you’ll never forget it. Neither will I.”

He held his hands close to his chest and sighed forlornly. There were his wet eyelashes again, hiding the grey that waited beneath. “Of course I won’t…nothing is that easy. But who says that someone should forget things, anyway…? I was hurt. But if you count the times I hurt you as well, this may have added up to—“

“DON’T MAKE COMPARISONS!” I shouted. This was a strange. I was the fucker who degraded him and yet he was the one willing to make up for it. I wanted us to be together so badly, I WANTED HIM SO BADLY, but I still couldn’t forgive myself even if he did. “Whatever the reason, you still can’t deny that what I've done was BULLSHIT. How could you be so considerate?!” He was hurting me…hurting me by being too kind, damnit.

“Why does it matter…if I already forgive you.” He said simply. The way his mind and actions was complex yet managed to come out through words in the simplest of manners was what I loved about him, I realized. “What you need to do now is to forgive yourself. Try it, please. It will be easier for the both of us.” He echoed. “Maybe you can’t do it now, but please try. It’s easy, like you said. It will be.”

Shit, I was still fucking in love with him. Trying to burn a CD in such a hurry and completely forgetting to check it was proof enough.

“You want me to be happy, right?”

I nodded.

“I accept your apology. It’s not the nicest, most romantic apology ever made by man, and you may have damaged my delicate eardrums for a few weeks, but it’s all you gave. I appreciate it, really. Accept my forgiveness. We wasted a damn month already.”

“…I haven’t wasted my time while you were gone. I’ve been going around, talking to people. People, real people, you know…just people.” He stared at me cutely, his face scrunched up, trying to determine what I just said. “I realized, ‘Wow, there are OTHER people after all.’”

“And who were these people?”

Wow, I remembered them clearly. “The stalker…delivery men…store owners…a hooker.”

There was a look of disbelief in his face. “THOSE kind of people?”

We were actually talking casually, damnit, and I was willing to make it go on and on and on… “Yeah. It’s really ironic to think that life’s answers come from a bunch of ordinary people.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel better.” His arms were folded across his chest.

My heart sank. What bullshit did I say this time? I peered at his eyes helplessly, and then something clicked. Those eyes. They were furious. Not at me. At…

He was jealous.

I snorted, then laughed. “Nothing happened, I swear. We just talked.” His face looked indignant, as if he wanted to shout back, but certain memories told him to keep quiet.

“They all told me one thing, though. To come up here.”

He nodded.

It wasn't the time to be teasing him. “What do I do now?”

“Just hold me.”

“H-hold you?” I choked. “I can…hold you?” Was that even PROBABLE?

“Yes.”

“I can…wrap my arms around you? Like, a hug or something?” I could be a dork sometimes.

“Yes.”

“You won’t call me an idiot for it?” Make that a major dork.

“Yes.”

I glanced at the CD, still afraid to look straight into his eyes. When I finally gathered the courage, when I realized that he was the best thing that ever happened to me, that CDs were little cherubs and stereos a gift for humankind, I uttered what we both desired to say or hear from the other.

“…I acted like shit. Can I stay?”

He made a soft noise, closed his eyes, then—

“Yes.” He whispered breathlessly, instantly.

We embraced. I took a hasty step forward and he jumped at me, wrapping his arms around my neck. My hands roamed from end to end and yearned for the smoothness of his crimson hair, the supple slant at the center of his back, and I recognized the same emotions, the places I’ve journeyed and known during the years we’ve been together. That was all I wanted; to wrap my arms around him. There were no kisses and touches but pouring emotions and enclosed spaces. It has been a long time since I cuddled him this way, and now I remembered how nice it felt. So I literally crushed him and myself together into pieces, or maybe one piece, hugging him tightly but making sure that he wasn’t hurt. And when I felt a slight smile against my shoulder, my arms grasped him firmly.

(For the first time, I did not desire to press my lips against him, or carry him towards the bed. I just wanted to hug him. It was simple, it was corny, but my arms were long enough to keep him very close, the closest we could be. A month of hostility, and it ends in an embrace. Really, our life is not really similar to movies.)

“What have I done…what have I done to you, TO YOU—I was a bastard, I wanted to kill myself, what have I done, damnit?! How could I have hurt you, YOU, I really don’t know what to do, I can’t say I’m sorry but that’s what I really feel, I’m really sorry…” I cupped his cheeks and leaned my head near his neck. I missed him so much that I released a moan of bliss.

“I know you are.” He murmured, running his hands on my back, starting his infamous vertical and horizontal lines and shapes. “Do you really think I did not notice how depressed you were? You moped around and ate vegetable crackers when I know how much you detest such things, so my heart just ached for you.” His hands lifted my scarred wrists. “You bastard, there was no need to do this.”

I pressed my lips on his forehead slightly before beginning on my ramblings.

“I’ve been acting like a fucker these days, and I know I can’t make up for it, but I promise I’ll do anything—people have been scolding me after the incident, and I’ve been listening intently. When I saw you in the grocery store, DAMN I WANTED TO STRANGLE MYSELF if that was possible, which I did—no, don’t give me that look, I only hurt myself to wake up—okay, okay, so I DID HURT MYSELF, but I won’t do it again! You’re with me now, and come to think of it, that was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it? Yeah. When I saw you struggling for our expenses and all that, I tried to come near but I couldn’t…well, that was another cowardly act by yours truly, but I was TOTALLY, NERVE-WRACKINGLY afraid of rejection even if I WANTED you to reject me because it justifies the means. Does that make sense? Oh yeah, I thought so. Anyway, I realized that being poor was crap, not because I’m not used to it but because I want you to alleviate from your former life. So I went back to the attorney—yeah, I lied, I really kept his business card. Eherm, so I went to his office, then accepted the will. That was the last thing my father has ever offered me, and I wanted to accept it and use it for good use. My father picked me, of all people...that means something, right? I had it shipped on my account. DON’T YOU DARE GIVE ME THAT LOOK, you deserve it too, and my money is yours. Handling a business is not really my thing though, besides I already got promoted so it’s okay…I gave the ownership rights of the condo to my uncle, but we’ll be the ones who’ll manage it."

A sudden intake of breath, and I continued.

"We’ll be moving there now, we’ll be leaving this room behind—too many sad memories in here anyway. I don’t want to erase them completely, because we had many unforgettable moments here, but I don’t want you to remember the shit that ended it all. That’s why we’re moving to the condominium. I’ve checked the space thoroughly; I quickly grabbed the best room of them all just for the both of us. Right. We’re going to move all our stuff there, hmmm, maybe sometime this week. The sooner the better, right? Okay, so….”

With much uncertainty and wishful thinking I finally let go of him little by little. He laughed warmly as I walked across the room with insane gesticulations and tried hard to suppress my enthusiasm.

“We won’t be needing this bed, too creaky…but the sheets will definitely be missed, what with all the scrubbing we had to do after that fun-filled summer night…ahh, memories. The bed is going to be sold, along with this cabinet that doesn’t even contain anything—ahh, what’s this?” I held up an electric toothbrush with one hand and a microphone on the other.

“Oh, so this is where it went. Couldn’t brush for weeks when it was lost—just kidding. So the cabinet is going too. We’ll be taking the—eherm—rocking chair, and our clothes, and my desk. We’ll bring your canvas and the stereo; damn, these boxes are heavy, aren’t they? What’s inside? CDs? Oh yeah. They’ll be shipped too. Let’s place them here for the meantime. Cooking utensils and stuff—let’s pack them on boxes, I’ll have them prepared tomorrow. Appliances will be the first to be moved inside our van. You’ll just be the driver. Please, I don’t want you to do all the work, besides this is my choice so I’ll be doing all the moving. Just drive for us, will you? No? Please?”

He gave me a stern glare.

I sighed, defeated. “Okay. You’ll drive and help me…carry the sheets and pillows or something. I was about to buy a bed but I remembered that we’ll be sharing it, and so I would need your advice. Got the furniture ready though, they’re all there already. There’s actually a bed there, ready to be defiled—I mean slept on, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it. I tested it and it looks classy and soft but it’s easy to fall off and end up on the floor. We do not want interruptions, do we? Hah."

I can't stop, a month of not talking, I used to be so quiet but I just can't

"So…about the money I received, it’s about time we shopped together again. We do nothing nowadays but exchange snappy comebacks and ignore each other. Shopping is tiring; as much as possible I’d run away from such a responsibility, but I want to see you wear new clothes. Not like I don’t like your clothes now—your thin white sando is a favorite of mine. It’s just that you need more clothes, and I thought about it when I was observing—okay, stalking—you these days. So we’ll buy the both of us some clothes and possibly new furniture. But we have to make sure that your new outfits will come off easily, too lazy to wriggle them out during intimate moments…I’m kidding again. We’ll be bringing everything that is important. EVERYTHING you want, your books and—“

“The cat.” He was snuggling closer now.

I nodded fervently. “Yes, the cat must come. What else would disrupt us from happiness and therefore give us an irritating experience? We need the cat to meow annoyingly during happy-happy times. He’ll be locked out of our room for obvious purposes, ‘course. Now all we need is a moving date. What do we have tomorrow?”

“Work.” Closer still. “Full day, tiring, exasperating work.”

“Not anymore. I called your officemate and he said he was willing to take all your shifts.” I declared.

“You did what--?!”

I shrugged. “I had to threaten, bribe, and blackmail him though. That doesn’t matter. He said he was willing anyway. It’s just for a few days. You need to rest sometimes. We’ll go pack tomorrow and if we have time lock ourselves in the room one last time. The next day after that?”

“More work, supposedly…but since there’s none…”

“We’ll go shopping. Ugh, I hate that word. What’s on Friday, then?”

For the first time after my moving speech of beds and condominiums, he looked up at me and gave me the sweetest smile ever. “We’re a year older.”

I blinked. “Wow. It’s that fast?”

“I only remembered a while ago when I noticed we actually owned a calendar. We were too…preoccupied these weeks.”

Maybe I forgot birthdays because I was born, or reborn, everyday. I don’t know if he really forgave me, or if he didn’t, if he will…but I was determined to show him that I wasn’t the foolish maniac I was before. Moving out will give us a new tablet.

“Then...we’ll celebrate by moving in permanently. Wine, shrimp and cocktail. Rock music, hair balls and pillow fights. Just like the usual times; remember when we used to—“

He whispered my name.

“Yes?”

I could feel his breath on my lips. “…Shut the hell up.”

I obeyed.

***



Complete list...three more (shorter) chapters and it's all over. ;_;