Normally I don't have a lot to say. I let my writing do the talking for me. However, I have a few things that need to be stated.
This is fiction, not a true story. Any similarities to living (or dead) persons is utterly coincidental, and I will look into a career as a psychic if I have fictionalized someone's life.
The name Eian was ripped off after watching Fushigi Yuugi Eikoden. He was so cute, ne?
The narrator's name ... well I'll explain that once he gives his name.
Thank you to my pre-reader who helped me correct my mistakes and keep continuity, plus she gave me some good ideas. It goes without saying that her nibbling of her nails between chapters was a good ego booster.
The first chapter is a little short compared to the others, but I will try to start new chapters where there are breaks in the story. So some will be much longer than others.
These things aside, as for the actual content, I gave it an R rating because of one "sexual" scene, otherwise it's more like PG-13, if you can deal with the narrator's less than eloquent descriptions of his genitals.
I chose to write this about two males because in fiction, they can actually be romantic. I don't think it would have had the same impact if one had been female.
I'm not a male, nor do I play one on TV. I just have an all-male cast in my life, and I think I have done a good job convincing myself and the pre-reader that the narrator is male. I hope you agree.
A lot of the story is based around what the narrator is thinking, so pay close attention to the words in italics.
While I do not condone mindless flames, constructive criticism and encouragement are very much welcome.
This is for my husband who has shown me everything a man shouldn't be (but he did manage to get a few things right, the poor guy).
For the rest of you, you have my utmost wishes that you find your soul mate.
Love is genderless.
It seemed like I was a normal guy once. I ran my school, and no one had the courage to disobey me. Girls were drawn to me because of my bad boy image, and boys wanted to be me. Despite that joy I had and the crowds that followed me, I was very much alone.
I lived with my mother a few weeks of the year, but for the most part, I was on my own. It had been nearly two years since she left on a spiritual journey to find herself, meanwhile leaving me behind to care for the apartment. And my dad, well, he popped his head in on holidays. "Drink up, Mickey!" he always said, thrusting a bottle of cheap booze into my hands. I would throw it away after he would leave. It was pointless to talk to him, especially since he wouldn't bother to even remember my name.
I was a senior in high school, rapidly approaching my eighteenth birthday. I worked a lot when I wasn't going to school, mainly doing odd jobs. Around then, though, I had steady employment at a body shop across town. The owner liked me, I liked the pay, and I only worked a few nights a week and sometimes weekends. My life sounded pretty good on the whole.
How wrong I was.
All it took was him to make me realize how empty my existence was. 'He' was a transfer student in my history class. A few months into the school year, he transferred in and was seated beside me in the back of the room. At first I completely ignored him, but soon, I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit. He had this long, straight ash blond hair that stopped in the middle of his back. Coupled with a willowy frame and a girly appearance, he was the perfect target for me to pick on when I finally noticed him. I'd knock his books off his desk or steal his pen, whatever juvenile prank I saw fit to tease him with. He would never say anything though or react in any manner, and that is what ignited the fire inside me. I took a vow that I would get him to react, no matter what.
One day, about a month after he had transferred in, I was walking home when I saw him walking by himself on the opposite side of the street. He didn't have any friends, as I made sure of that, so I wasn't surprised to see him alone. At the intersection, I quickly crossed to his side and trailed behind him. It turned out that he lived five blocks from me in a decent neighborhood. When I saw him turn from the sidewalk towards a gray house with light blue trim, I ran up and jumped in his path. "Is this where you live, Eian?" I asked with no interest.
His eyes, light green like a cat's, stared at me for a moment before he replied. "It is." His voice grated my nerves when I heard it; it was slightly high-pitched and soft like a shy girl's voice. Back then, I had a very stupid notion that men should look like men, not to mention sound and act like them too.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" I suggested with hidden threat. Of course he had no choice. If he didn't, he knew I would probably beat the snot out of him. I watched him produce a key from his pocket and unlock the door. I smirked then followed him inside the house after he opened the door. The interior had a rather stale quality. It smelled of fresh paint and plaster, and sparsely covering the light gray carpet was a dark green sofa and some oak furniture that looked like it had been used on a rare occasion. "Did you just move in?" I asked.
Eian shook his head and leaned down to take his shoes off. "No," he murmured. He paused; I guess he was waiting to see if I would follow his lead and remove my shoes also. He received his answer when I paraded across his living room to inspect the kitchen. Behind me I could hear a faint sigh of exasperation. When I ventured into the hall, I could hear him say, "That's my room."
I peered into the mostly dark room with a few hints of light peeking through the closed blinds. I flipped the light switch on, flooding the room with artificial light. The room was decorated as sparsely as the living room. The walls were sterile white with no decorations at all, beneath the light switch was a mahogany desk with a pencil case on top, and pushed into the far corner was a queen-sized bed with scarlet satin sheets. Surprised at the bed which was horribly out of place, I moved across the plush, light gray carpet and grazed the sea of red with my fingertips.
"Soft, don't you agree?"
I withdrew my hand like the redness of the sheets was a hot burner then whirled around. Eian was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with a slightly raised eyebrow. I wish one of my girls would pose like that for me, I found myself thinking. Suddenly feeling disgusted with myself for thinking such a thing, I looked away and shrugged. "Seems girly to me." I wasn't going to admit it to him, but I did like the way the fabric felt.
He stayed in his lazy stance for about half a minute before he pushed away from the doorframe and ran his slender hands through his hair. His eyes were on me, sizing me up in some mysterious manner that I couldn't figure out. His weight shifted from foot to foot then he finally asked, "Why are you here, Ky-"
My hand shot up, cutting him off. "You haven't earned the honour of speaking my name," I informed him coldly. I brushed past him, nearly knocking him down in my flight from his room. I had no interest in the open door to the bathroom, but my attention was captured by another door at the end of the hall. I moved to that doorway and glanced inside at another dark room with next to no furniture. I've heard of minimalists, but this is going to the extreme, I thought, frowning. "Your parents' room?" I inquired aloud.
Rubbing his temple, Eian shook his head. "That is my aunt's room. She never uses it though," he answered. My teeth gritted. Why was I conversing with him when his voice annoyed me so much? I could feel his gaze staring a hole through me so I let the matter drop. I nearly bit his head off for acting like I was going to steal something of his aunt's, but really, what was there to take? A vanity? A bed? Get real. I went back to the living room in a huff, finding myself angry with him without a good reason. My attention lazily drifted to the effeminate 'man' of the house. Still feeling angry for no reason I could put my finger on, I watched him move about in the kitchen for a few minutes, setting various boxes on the countertop. Finally, I asked in a disinterested tone, despite my curiosity, "Why do you live with your aunt?"
I watched Eian appear in the kitchen's doorway. At some point when he was out of my line of sight, he had put on a white canvas apron with a pair of big red lips right in the middle of his chest. In small print beneath the lips were the words "Kiss the cook". I felt more like smacking the cook around. He gathered his hair behind his neck in one hand as he answered me. "She's my guardian. A couple of years ago, my parents were killed in a train wreck." He paused, keeping his blond locks pulled back with a rubber band. His hands lowered and sought refuge in his pants' pockets. "So, she moved in here with me. After I turned eighteen, she moved out to live with her boyfriend. She left her furniture here and some clothes, saying she'd come back for it sometime. That was a couple months ago though."
That was the most I had ever heard him speak. Even in school, he did a fantastic job imitating a mime. I was somewhat taken aback that he would be so earnest with me after I constantly picked on him. "I'm sorry to hear that," I murmured in an almost non-existent voice, "about your parents." I looked away from him when it felt like his gaze was burning a hole through me. Then I realized what he had said. Eighteen? That sissy is older than me?
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" his annoying voice inquired, causing my attention to revert to him. "My aunt says I am a pretty good cook," he added, actually flashing me a faint smile. My eyebrows shot up at his boasting. What a strange thing to hear coming from his mouth. Strange and nerve grating. My eyebrows continued their ascent when I caught the suggestive look he tossed my direction. I couldn't find my voice to answer; I merely stood and walked out of his house.
Eian actually received several days of peace from me after giving me his dinner invitation. I was aghast. Shaken up. Shocked. Even after the fourth day, I was still dumbfounded that he would be so coy with me. Was he really trying to flirt with me, or was I reading into it? Maybe it was really just a friendly invitation to dinner. But why? Why would he want to show me any kind of compassion after how I treated him? Was it some kind of reverse psychology or something?