WARNING: This is slash. Yaoi. Boy on boy. Homosexual relationships. So, if that's not your cup of tea, then click that beautifuk back button. K?

There were just some things you weren’t supposed to do. There were rules to life, a bit like common sense. Of course those rules weren’t written out for you, but you had learned them over time.

Like, to not wear muddy shoes on white carpet. You had learned that when you were young. You had been playing outside and, well, the soles of your shoes had gotten completely covered with mud. So when you went inside, footprints (more like shoe-prints) appeared wherever you stepped. Your mom had been so mad. That day you learned how protective mothers could be of carpets. Or of their home décor in general.

Then there was that other rule you had learned while in junior high. Whenever your girlfriend asked you if you loved them, and you didn’t, you either lied or changed the subject. You never say no. You did once. Said no that is. And your girlfriend…Yea, she wasn’t your girlfriend after that. Maybe this is what made you gay. Girls needed constant verbal reassurances that you loved them. Of course, later on, you learned that some guys needed constant verbal reassurance, too.

Those three words…It was just three simple words. But, then again, those three words could easily depress a person if they weren’t said…And sometimes, if said, they could make a person the happiest man (or woman) in the world.

You hate the fact that some people need to hear those words to know a person loved them. You like it when you could just look at a person and know that they loved you, that they’d do anything for you, that they would always be there…

It hasn’t happened yet, but you’re sure it’ll happen some day.

Another rule you learned is that you shouldn’t let your parents tell your extremely religious, homophobic aunt that you’re gay. That had happened one Christmas. You can still remember the dark glare she shot you and the whispered, “You’re going to Hell. You are damned, boy.” You haven’t spoken to her in years. Oh well. It’s not like it matters.

But there had been a rule that had been popping up lately. It was shouting at you and glowing neon in your head for weeks now. You don’t kiss and/or profess your love to your best friend, who doesn’t even like guys. But, then again, it does match your situation. Maybe that’s why it had been popping up.

It pops up once more as you’re sitting on a bench next to him, listening to him ramble away about something or other. You had quite lost the thread of the conversation minutes before, when he had turned and gave you a dazzling grin. It was slightly pathetic that all rational thought flew away at the mere sight of a smile.

And that rule pops up again, irritating you to no end. But even as the rule sits in your thoughts, you can’t help but think of kissing him.

Then he turns towards you and beams, green eyes crinkling because of the bright smile he has on.

And…you kiss him.

You expect him to push you away, maybe, or to scream or curse. Maybe even punch you. You wonder if he’ll stop being your friend because of this. You hope not, but hey…you can’t change what he thinks. Or feels.

You don’t expect him to pull only slightly away for barely second and peer at you, before kissing you, harder and more desperately than you had kissed him. And you’re delighted by the fact that he’s kissing you back (even though that hadn’t been the reaction you’d expected) and hope swells within your chest, that maybe just maybe he returns your feelings…

So the next morning, when you wake up, and you’re at his house, and your arm is curled protectively, possessively, around his slim waist, you realize that, for once that rule, that little sentence, wasn’t bugging the hell out of you by repeating itself over and over and over again in your head. You also realize that maybe…just maybe, breaking the rules every once in a while could do some good.