Chapter Text
The big guy made of steel was unscathed by all kinds of blows, between punches and kicks, but he soon discovered in the simplest way that he was not unharmed by beer.
Saint found himself leaning his head against the wall of the bar, where he had spent the evening with Ken and the twins, his eyes closed and the world around him whirling terribly fast.
“Ai'Saint, are you sure you're fine?” asked Knot, casting worried glances at the two friends beside him. Neither of them was in a state to lecture, let alone afford to be a responsible person and find a reasonable way to retire home safely. Saint only bellowed, nodding chaotically and rocking his torso back and forth, almost risking sliding backward. An invisible force, certainly not gravity, kept him up. He just wanted to sleep, not expending any more energy for that evening. And if that meant sleeping sitting on the sidewalk, out in the open, exposed to the dangers of the street in that neighborhood, he could care less.
“You can't stay here,” Ken affirmed, hovering on his own feet. The twins, on either side of him, were what kept him on his feet.
“I'll...recover… a little...and...then… I’ll…go...back...to...home...you go” Saint whined. Too much energy wasted even to answer him.
If they had been less tipsy, they probably would have taken the situation more seriously, but none of them were really in the state of consciousness to act like true friends, and they simply burst out laughing. “God, man, you're so drunk,” exclaimed Nate, phone in one hand.
“Let's all go, my house is not that far from here, you can stay over” proposed Ken. Saint rocked his head again. It was out of the question: get on your feet and walk. “I’m going to throw up” he mumbled, sparking more laughter.
“At least...have you written to someone to pick you up? You can't get on the scooter in this state--or even stay here, the mosquitoes will eat you alive.”
Being able to keep up with that conversation was really difficult, for all the four of them. They were talking, but it was like playing the wireless phone with the end result being totally unsuccessful.
“Shin...”
Saint's answer took so long to come that Knot, who had asked, forgot the question.
“Shin? Shin, what, man? Will Shin kick your ass tomorrow for getting drunk? Ai'Saint, your boyfriend is holding you to the noose” Knot bullied him. They always amused each other by joking about their friendship, Ken often reiterating to him how close he felt to the twins too, yet it never reached the levels of cloying that Saint and Shin touched on practically daily.
Ken then threw a slap between head and neck at Knot, risking tripping over his own feet for that rash action. “Shin! He wrote to Shin, you idiot,” he muttered to his friend, who still seemed not to understand. Knot, with a frown painted on his face, and his hand massaging the stricken spot, looked first at Ken, then at Saint. “I'm about to wet my pants, I have to pee,” he exclaimed. Nate mumbled something; he must have had bladder problems, too. The bar where they had been reduced to that condition was now closed.
“Go,” cried Saint, whimpering. “It's okay, we'll...see you tomorrow...”
It needed to be reiterated: in a better situation, none of the four of them would have abandoned a friend in that state. But the beer had made them unconscious and stupid-more than usual, Shin would have pointed out had he been present-so they heeded Saint's reassurance and after saying goodbye, zigzagging through the dark streets disappeared into the night.
Initially, he could not tell how long, Saint simply stood still, eyes still closed, half-asleep, in the same position in which he had slumped once he left the club.
He hadn't really written to Shin, his intention-because he was a fucking stubborn- was to recover thanks to the fresh air and get on the scooter to return home. After that, between bumpy thoughts, he had pondered leaving the vehicle and setting out on foot, to avoid traffic accidents. But he was too sick. His head felt incredibly light and tremendously heavy at the same time. Yet he had not been drinking that much. He hypothesized that one of those three damn friends had spiked a round of beer, simply to get more high. Then he counted on the fingers of both hands the mugs he had downed and-no, maybe it hadn't really taken a little extra help to reduce him to that state.
Oh, Shin was seriously going to cut him down to the bone when he learned about it. Saint pouted at the emptiness in front of him: but Shin hadn't gone out with them that night, and maybe the number of beers swallowed was due to that as well. If he had attended, perhaps Saint would have had one more excuse to be responsible for their return home... No, no... that talk could not have been brought up with either Shin or himself because he would have ended up in the wrong anyway. He kept his pout, however. Because he was entitled to be sad if his best friend refused to spend an night together with him. On this, he had every reason in the world to be sad. Even if they spent entire days together, between school and free time, an evening in Shin's absence was equivalent to a month of forced distance. Saint had even considered ditching Ken and the twins, to stay home with h bis best friend but he knew it was wrong even then. Shin had told him to go, because if his best friend didn't get angry, then surely he would have to deal with Ken's anger. And that was never a good thing, the little guy's anger. Ken knew how to retaliate in really...sneaky ways.
Thunder broke the silence around him. It was too dark to be sure by looking at the sky, but that sound gave him a hint that it would soon start raining. So now, the problems were increasing: sleeping in the open air, defenseless to any kind of danger, the mosquitoes that were already slaughtering him ... and soon a thunderstorm to drench him from head to toe.
With a half-grimace, Saint tried to get to his feet. With little success, he slumped back to the ground, completely lying down. Everything was still spinning. Too much.
At that point, the best friend's name, like so many flying stars, began to swirl around his mind.
Shin. Shin. Shin. Shin. Shin.
Only Shin could save him in that situation. He would pay the consequences, hear his scolding, mumbling for weeks on end, but he had no viable alternative. His father? He was probably drunker than he was, unconscious on the crib in their small apartment. And who else? He had only Shin.
Only that name really mattered in his life, only he could blindly entrust his life to him. And it didn't matter that he had only him, because in his heart Shin was as valuable as an entire world population.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket. It took him longer than necessary because every action turned out to be immeasurably difficult in that state. When he finally clutched the phone in his hands, raised a few inches from his own face he was dazzled by the light of the screen. Keeping his eyes open proved to be yet another difficulty to be faced. Fortunately, reaching Shin's chat was a little easier; he was always the first contact on the list: among the latest calls, the latest messages, on social... everywhere. Shin was always at the top.
When he opened the chat, he realized it was 2 a.m. God...it would have given him a heart attack if he tried to call him, he was sure. For some absurd reason, he felt that sending him a message was less dangerous. He did not know, whether for his best friend's life or his own.
Shin, I’m drunk, come
Saint managed to type only those few words. Then again, he had always been the idiot among the two. As he succumbed to exhaustion and senses permanently, Saint took solace in the idea that his best friend would need neither the location nor a clearer message than that to find him.
---
If he had bet on it, Shin would have won. Not just that night, but whenever it came to Saint and his unreliability. Even though he was overwrought from soccer practice that night and the muscles in his legs now coldly reminded him of all the sacrifices he was making to improve as a soccer player, he had first set about studying, anticipating some homework, and then reading one of his favorite comic books. Because he could bet that Saint would ask for his help one way or another. It wasn't even a transcendental feeling, of one soul separated into two bodies, no shit like that-Saint was just a fucking idiot, and Shin knew it. He didn't even relent around one o'clock, although sleep was beginning to set in. He watched a zombie apocalypse movie, the only genre that didn't put him to sleep.
Then, came the proof of his victory through the trill of a notification on his cell phone.
Saint:
Shin, I’m drunk, come
Shin did not waste any time on curses either. Perhaps a part of him was simply expecting a message from his friend advising him that the evening had ended on the best of terms, that it was too late to go to his place to sleep, and therefore wishing him a good night. A tiny, infinitesimal particle, perhaps, wished it. But almost the entirety of her person simply knew it.
He hastily slipped on a sweatshirt, after quickly hailing a cab, and grabbed a small bottle of water and an umbrella because lightning and thunder threatened the arrival of a thunderstorm.
He waited for the taxi in front of the gate, impatient. The idiot had not even given him the location, but Shin already knew it. There were no secrets, between them, or perhaps Saint knew himself a little and made an effort to let his friend know his every move in case of an emergency.
When he got into the car, Shin denied with his head “emergency case my ass,” he muttered between his teeth. The driver, without turning around, looked at him through the mirror and asked, “Excuse me?”
Shin rolled his eyes but excused himself, then gave him directions to his destination. They arrived ten minutes later in front of the bar with the sign now unlit. Shin quickly used his own phone to pay the driver and got out. Ideally he would have had him wait to go home the same way he had arrived, but Saint had gone out on his own scooter and knew he could not leave it there, unattended-they would surely not find it the next day. That very vehicle was the first thing he noticed: Saint had been there. And he hoped he had stayed there, otherwise the search would be greatly complicated.
He approached the club, looking around. The idiot had to be somewhere. He turned each place over, only to find him lying on the ground completely, near the red and yellow garbage bins. Someone might have considered him dead, Shin didn't even scruple because otherwise he would have done anything to bring him back to life, with the sole purpose of killing him with his own hands.
“Ai'Saint, what dam-” he almost cursed but restrained himself, kneeling in front of his friend and abandoning the umbrella on the ground. She tapped his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up. “Saint, Saint- wake up!” He grabbed back the small bottle stuck in his sweatshirt pocket, deposited some water in the palm of one hand and threw it in his face. Saint only winced, but he did not wake up.
He was alive. Shin thought he could finish him off there, because that would have been the end of him anyway. He clenched a jaw and continued to tug at him. “Ai'Saint, if it starts raining and we're still here like a couple of assholes, I swear I'll never forgive you,” he cursed him. Then, with that tone of voice alone, Saint seemed to come out of the unconscious state he was in.
“Ai'Shin” he exclaimed with a smile.
“Ai'Sat” he quickly retorted, forcing him to take a sip of water. “Can you get up?”
Saint nodded, but only with his friend's help did he manage to clumsily get to his feet. “What do we do?” ironized Saint, chuckling tipsily. Shin lifted a foot to kick his backside and curse him further but he cared more about Saint staying on his feet and his balance was truly precarious. He dragged him, therefore, toward the scooter. During what seemed like a religious procession, Shin pondered what to do: he didn't drive, he didn't even have a license, but to let Saint do it in that state was like wishing to kill himself. And he only wanted the stupid, idiot dog dead. It could still have been dangerous to get behind the wheel with that big guy on his back, but he had no other options.
Shin slipped his helmet on, arranged his umbrella and small bottle under the seat. At least the sky was gracing them. It was thundering, but the rain still hadn't found them. Putting Saint on the scooter was complicated. It required all of Shin's patience and good will, while the jerk kept laughing and sneering. “Ai'Shin how would I do without you…” he told him, trying to hug him. Shin pushed him away and ordered him to lift one leg to get on the scooter, but he had to do it over and over again before Saint understood.
Finally, they hit the road. And it was an adventure there, too. Saint was completely abandoned on his back, and he had to be super-concentrated in driving, lest he risk some slip during a turn.
Saint was gripping his waist tightly with his arms, which distracted him from driving.
He was breathing on his neck, asleep, with his face on one shoulder, and this also distracted him from driving.
He was used to distracting himself in return, because Saint was a physical person and he necessarily had to think about something else so as not to focus his thoughts on that hand gripping a wrist, or a thigh, or a hip...
He roused himself nervously, kicking those thoughts out of his head as they crossed the bridge near the house. They were almost there. Incredibly, they had made it.
The sky, unfortunately, decided not to support them any longer, and it began to rain just as Shin parked in front of the house gate.
Trying to divide himself between things to do and supporting a Saint who had no desire to make himself useful, Shin still managed to grab the umbrella and open it. He placed Saint at his side, supporting him and dragging and cursing him. “I hate you, you damned stupid drunk dog,” he exclaimed in front of the door, just before closing the umbrella. He allowed himself a glance at Saint's face. The moments under the umbrella during the rain had always been so declarative.
The hatred he felt was on par with the love they had declared to each other. But deciding to have in Saint's life also meant this: taking on for better or worse his whole person.
He turned the key in the keyhole and again began a mental process of how to get to his room without waking anyone.
There were the stairs to make it complicated. He ordered Saint to take off his shoes and, surprisingly, that dying man breathing down his neck complied without complaint. They dangled losing their balance a couple of times but did not fall, then one step at a time they reached the top. Shin bit his tongue to keep from speaking, he wanted to keep hurling all kinds of insults at him but knew that if it was not a fall of Saint from the stairs that woke his mother and sister, it could have been himself and they could not afford, either of them, a lecture from the women of the house.
They arrived in his room and abandoning Saint wretchedly on the bed was like a release. She caught her breath, looking at him with both hands on his hips.
“Tomorrow I will reduce you to ashes,” he mumbled and then removed his sweatshirt. Next, he tugged the comforter away under his marble body. Those movements woke him up, at first only making him grumble in his sleep; after, when Shin was gently encompassing him with the blanket, how that gentle action was more violent and unexpected than the brutality his friend had reserved for him so far, Saint opened his eyes. And for an indefinite amount of time he and Shin found themselves staring at each other at a ridiculous distance of space. Saint frowned, bewildered: perhaps the hangover he was going through was causing problems with his short-term memory because he seemed unable to comprehend how he had suddenly ended up there in the best friend's room.
“I missed the moment when you choked me with your own hands and this is heaven?” he asked in a slurred voice, crinkling one eye. Shin sketched a smile.
“I'm going to kill you tomorrow, sleep easy now” he reassured him with a grin. Saint gave a huge grin, “Ai'Shin...” he said softly, chuckling and coughing; he was not very present to himself, so Shin could have taken advantage of it: he knew, in fact, that Saint talked in his sleep, so if questions were asked, he would answer unable to filter or lie.
“Who were you with, tonight?”
Saint wrinkled his nose in a grimace and bobbed his head left and right. “Ken, Knot, Nate... Shin,” he replied, babbling.
Shin frowned. “Ai'Saint, I was at practice. Who else was there?”
“You...” insisted Saint, then softly clapped a hand on his chest. “Because you are here, always with me,” he affirmed, smiling broadly, opening his eyes again to look at him mischievously. And he chuckled. Shin rolled his eyes, forced himself not to smile by biting his lip and sighed an 'Ai'Sat,' getting back on his feet with his arms on his sides. “Sleep now, it's late even for your bullshit,” he ordered. Saint grumbled without saying anything sensible and turned on his heel to get on his side. Not even a minute later and his breathing had become deep. He was asleep.
Shin needed a hot shower, to stretch out all the frayed nerves, but having reached relief also came fatigue, so all he did was shed his own clothes and slip into a pair of shorts and a tank top and then flank Saint on the bed.
His friend was fast asleep, and he laid on his side to watch him in the silence of the room and with the sound of the storm beyond the window. A flash of lightning gave him a few seconds' view of Saint's profile, and Shin awoke from his own thoughts, guilty of the bad joke his eyes were playing on him.
Staring at him, knowing he would not be caught, was wrong. It was dangerous. It was ... a cold shower: he kicked away a hand that had reached out to a strand of Saint's hair to move it away from him and almost slapped it.
“I'm going crazy” he mumbled, jumping on the spot to give his friend his back. Forcefully closing his eyes and biting the inside of one cheek, he tried to sleep.
He only managed to do a few minutes later, listening to Saint's cadenced breathing behind him.
---
When Saint opened his eyes, startled by a sudden noise, he saw everything black around him. It was still night, but he was no longer outdoors, left to his own. How he had gotten there, however, he could not remember.
He went groping with one hand, was confused but felt as if he were lying on a mattress-this was the only awareness he could process at that moment. He was comfortable, but he did not remember getting to his feet and finding his way home. Total blackout. He found his own cell phone in the pocket of the jeans he was still wearing. The sweatshirt, on the other hand, dispersed, wearing only a black tank top. When he unlocked it, there was still an active chat with Shin on the screen. He had not received a reply, but the idea that his friend might worry the next day by reading the message made him act and write.
Shin, don't come over, I'm home.
And with the phone still an inch from his face, he lost consciousness again.
----
Saint awoke to yet another noise. He sprang to his seat and this time he knew that the rumble of thunder had been the cause. He saw the flash of lightning illuminate the surface of a window, and then he heard again the sound of the thunderstorm brewing outside.
He had been having a nightmare. A soccer field, the smell of damp grass, soggy clothes clinging to his skin, wet hair on his forehead, burning rage in his chest of inexplicable, ungovernable jealousy. Two black eyes, disappointed, staring at him without ever relenting in fear, which would then haunt him for years, and not only in dreams. He hated that nightmare, taking space in his own unconscious fortified by the sound of thunder, of rain beating on glass. He hated that memory, because it had happened, it was not a figment of his twisted, dark imagination. Yet another thunderclap stirred him, now awake, evoking the sound of the kicks his own foot had delivered against another person. And not just anyone. He shuddered, his hearing playing the nasty trick of recalling even the sound of the bone he had broken, and the screams, desperate, his name shouted so many times, a shot for each of his faults, and the heartbreaking cry of the person he loved so much, he could not contain those emotions so wrong. One more kick, dealt the wrong way, and his soul had been broken. He had never been the same, under that sky, that rain, on that soccer field. He had not been the same, and neither had the person whose body part he had destroyed not only, but also all his dreams.
Shin.
He realized he had been holding his breath. He gasped ungainly but it was as if he had unlearned how to breathe. His heart began a mad race in his chest, rumbling in his ears, disorienting him. He tossed and turned in bed, as if he could find air around him and suck it in mechanically and unnaturally. He tried to sit up, but he could not, and at the same moment one of his arms collided with another body that was lying beside him. He heard, then, the breathing of the person sleeping near to him, and only then he remembered how to breathe. But he was agitated and had begun to sweat. He tried to focus on who was next to him, but his vision was blurred and his temples throbbed so hard it hurt. The person beside him had to, in his sleep, realize his distress, and Saint felt him move.
“Ai'Saint?” he called to him, his voice slurred by sleep.
Shin.
Shin.
Shin.
Shin.
Shin.
Like the chiming of a clock, each second summoned the name of his best friend, and because of this Saint was able to calm his own panic. A nightmare remained simply a nightmare. A thunderstorm was just a thunderstorm. And although, thanks to his newfound calm, the memory pushed further and further away, but the ache in his chest did not diminish. With his hand he walked up his friend's arm to his shoulder, then reached toward the center of his chest, stopping with his open palm at heart level.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Shin,” he whispered. Then the light of a flash, two seconds after the sound of thunder. Saint trembled. And at that point Shin's hand stopped on Saint's touching it.
“Sleep now, you must be awake tomorrow for when I kick you,” he scolded him.
Saint wrinkled his nose, his eyes tightly closed. The nightmare returned a little closer to his senses. “I didn't mean to hurt you, Shin ... I didn't mean to-”
“You're drunk. You're babbling-”
“It’s raining now, and it was raining that night too” he muttered, rubbing a cheek against the pillow, as if that was enough to wash away those thoughts. Shin huffed.
“Saint, damn it, what are you talking about? Sleep!” he ordered him dryly, and with an equally impatient gesture he pushed his hand away on his chest. For Saint, that lack of contact was a painful deprivation on a par with a slap in the face. Therefore, it did not take him long to find his way back, with one hand, to Shin's heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Saint smiled, that sound perceived through the juxtaposition of fingers calming him like chamomile tea.
“How did you forgive me, Shin?”
“If you mean for tonight, I haven't forgiven you at all, you idiot,” Shin replied. Saint felt him move between the covers: one hand went to clasp around his wrist, to keep his palm on his chest as he turned to his side.
“Did I beat you tonight?” asked Saint, confused.
“What? Don't-oh...” exclaimed Shin softly. Saint felt him move once more, then the light breath escaping Shin's mouth felt it collide on his face. He was warm. And close. Saint breathed it in like lifeblood and sighed relieved for the second time.
“Saint...” he said again and Saint was certain that their faces were at ridiculously close proximity. “Did you have a nightmare?” he asked. He did not let him answer. “Why?” he asked again. Saint sighed. “Does this happen to you often?” at the third question, Shin's thumb began to stroke the wrist he was still clutching with one hand. Saint moved, moving one leg closer to Shin's. He crept there, knowing that his friend would let him. For so it was, as two perfectly disunited halves in life, when they sought each other, they found like two magnets attracted to opposite poles. “Mh-mh,” he simply assented, lowering his head a little and no longer feeling Shin's breath collide against his own skin. It was an intolerable deprivation; he raged at himself for shifting. So he raised his face again, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. “You must not drink so much,” Shin scolded him.
“The storm,” Saint confessed then. He convinced himself that what it’s happaning in that moment was a dream too. He was still leaning against the wall of that bar, completely soaked now from the rain, and left to his own devices, devoured by insects. He did not remember the journey home. He did not remember resting his head on a pillow, being wrapped gently with a blanket under a sequence of scolding and mumbling. He had been having a nightmare, and now Shin had arrived, in his dreams, to relieve him of the burden he had continued to carry for years. For this he allowed himself one more proximity: levering his leg wedged between Shin's, he moved his pelvis to come completely close to his friend's body. There was no more space, no boundaries determining where one began and the other ended. Shin showed no grievance.
“It's like having a dog with you,” he heard himself whisper in one ear as a hand began to stroke his hair. “Sleep, you stupid drunken dog, the storm is ending,” he sneered at him. Saint yelped like the animal with which he had been associated. If he had had a tail, he probably would have waved it, glad of that thoughtfulness.
“Ai'Shin?” he called to him.
“Hmm?”
Just a dream, that. He could do that, and it would be stuck in the meanders of his memories. The ones that seemed real, but weren't.
It's just a dream, and he would have thanked him for taking him away, away, from his worst nightmare.
At that closeness, meeting Shin's lips with his own mouth was not such a daunting task to do. It was in the dark, but it was not difficult at all. Kissing the best friend, satiating repressed, unresolved and unconscious desires was absolutely impossible when sober, but he was drunk. A stupid drunk dog. Besides, it was just a dream -- oh, dreams are not just unfulfilled desires.
The hand that did not jealously listen to the restless thumps of Shin's heart settled on his neck, without squeezing but only to stroke lightly, with a thumb on his chin.
Impossible, if this was really happening, Shin would never have allowed it. He would have kicked him away already, furious. He gently moved away from the other man's face, after brushing his mouth softly. “Thank you, Shin,” he breathed on him. If he had been lucid enough, he would have become aware of the broken breath of the boy whose kiss he had stolen, become aware of the sudden rigidity of his body and the turmoil such a simple gesture had caused. His pulse quickened as if he was about to violently burst out of his rib cage and fly away. But Saint was drunk. He realized nothing of what he had gone to accomplish.
---
Saint was an idiot, he would never have realized, even fully awake and alert.
He was an idiot, period.
Tsunami had razed everyone he had encountered in his life through violence, but Shin realized the power of that nickname only at that moment. And he felt tiny. He had stolen his name, in the years when they had lost each other. He had allowed others to praise him because of his violent deeds against bullying. But Tsunami had never been strong for a punch or a kick, not even for a broken shin.
The nickname had come about to describe his unpredictability, his sparkling instinctiveness, and his madness. Nothing to do with Shin. Tsunami was not uncontrollable water movement because of suffering, pain, tragedy, trauma caused bya friendship that ended in the worst way. Tsunami was fire. Devastating.
His mouth was burning now. There were thoughts he did not handle, that he would not listen to. For they demanded more, than that simple juxtaposition. Shin sighed impatiently. They were too close. Too close. He felt himself suffocating. As much as one force was urging him to get away from there quickly, there was another more violent and uncontrollable one pressing him to get closer. Again. Again.
Again. How it could pierce through every layer of skin, bones, organs and meet directly with his soul.
He clenched his jaw, imagining himself trying to throttle him, if not physically at least spiritually.
Because Shin wanted to kiss him. More.
How much he had wanted it, only he knew. He was all too aware of it, but certain thoughts, certain desires over time he had come to terms with. He had repressed them, shelved them. And when their paths had parted, then confusing, covering, concealing everything with anger had been all too easy. He hated Saint, would never love him again. In no way could he manage to love him. He would never forgive him, for what he had done to him. Saint had abandoned him, so he did not deserve those feelings, that delicate vulnerability. He would never deserve it again.
Yet they had made peace. And with that, the feelings had resurfaced like a flower in cement. Quite naturally. But then he had told himself that having Saint as a friend was the right thing to do, being Saint's friend was as simple as that between them. No more complications, just peace. And every day, when his friend had one of his usual melancholy outings, he would roll his eyes and snort, or give him a slap between head and neck, or stuff him with bread as long as he did not have to face his no longer dormant desires.
Now, Saint had kissed him. The idiot had kissed him.
How could he remain impassive? He no longer had any control. He could no longer. He simply could not.
“I hate you, you stupid, idiot dog.”
---
Saint wished that dream would never end. Probably in the rain, eaten alive by mosquitoes, if he hadn't caught a simple flu, then he would have even died, stuck in that endless night clinging to Shin. Who knows, maybe some miscreant had already attacked him, stealing everything from him. Wherever he had ended up, his mind was with one hand on Shin's heart, the other on his neck, his legs entwined with him, and that was how...he wanted to stay.
Shin kissed him seconds after he had thanked him. Perhaps he had even cursed him earlier, or had railed some insult at him but had no way to process it, given what was happening.
There was nothing mild about it, such as his touching Shin's lips. Absolutely not, there was no grace, no innocence. And this dragged him out of the trance in which he was absorbed to tumble into actions, much more chaotic and profound sensations. He opened his eyes for a moment and came upon Shin's closed ones.
Shin's mouth enveloped one of his lips and bit it. Indignantly. As if it were a rebuke.
Damn you, you idiot dog. Damn you for doing such a thing to me.
Saint's hand, at Shin's neck, squeezed slowly but did not pull him back. His response, to that bite, was to wet his lips with his tongue.
If Shin chose violence, Saint responded with bravado.
Shin seemed to shudder. Not from fear, not from surprise, Saint knew him well and those emotions did not belong to him. His body reacted ecstatically out of mere excitement. Their noses rubbed against each other as their faces bent left and right, looking for a way to be more comfortable and surrender to that new closeness. And, then, the kiss was a real kiss. No more thanking, scolding or tasting. It was a full meal, a feast they had witnessed helplessly and on an empty stomach for years and could finally gorge themselves on without hesitation, without apology.
When Saint's hand reached one of Shin's cheeks, the latter finally let go of the wrist that relegated Saint's other hand to his chest and went to clutch the hair at the back of his neck with both hands. He wanted to hurt him, to make him feel a minimum of the fire burning violently on his mouth. And Saint groaned at that grooming. Shin was pleased enough to give himself a moment and smile on his lips.
They caught their breath, but did not give their minds a chance to process the mistake they had made because they resumed kissing with the same eagerness the next moment. Saint's hand slipped to Shin's side, under the covers, with the sole intention of dragging him as close to him as possible. He slumped with both shoulders to the mattress, and Shin was on top of him accordingly. The movements that followed were for their bodies to adjust to the new position.
Gasping, they did not want to stop because doing so also meant realizing the actions they had taken. And neither of them would have liked the consequences. At yet another bite from Shin, Saint grabbed him again by the throat and pulled him away slightly only to kiss his chin and glide over his body with more kisses. It was Shin's turn to moan softly. And at that sound, the beast - not a puppy, tsk! - responded. He nimbly reversed positions and was on top of him, towering over him. In the darkness of the room, their eyes met at a ridiculous closeness. Greedy, deep-set, dilated pupils filled with a lust they had concealed with quips and barbs that, now, showed themselves for what they had been: alarm bells.
Hey Saint, you're such an idiot you'll never get it, will you?
Hey Shin, I want exactly what you want, when do we realize it?
Saint leaned his own forehead against Shin's and breathed on him. A moment of clarity.
“Ai'Shin”
“Shut up, don't talk.”
Saint agreed, kissing him one more time. This time more softly. Shin did not seem to like that sudden gentleness and pulled the hair at the back of his neck one more time. Then he bit his lip. Saint yelped and smiled, licking the area as if he expected to find a few drops of blood there. He slumped completely over Shin, pressing his body against him, intending only to sink his head into the hollow of his neck. And he bit back.
Shin let a groan escape. “Ai'Sat, don't leave bruises.”
“I don't want to hurt you at all, Shin.”
“I told you to shut up” he scolded him.
There was silence as Saint pulled up his neck to face him. Shin saw him, or imagined, at that point he was at a loss for words, a swaggering grin painted on his face.
“Make me, then.”
Shin was tempted. He could have drawn him for that short distance between them and kissed him as every cell in his body craved, but he still chose the path of violence, they had talked too much, they had given each other too many breaks to get the blood flowing not only in one direction, and his brain had begun to unsettle him with too many “what ifs,” too many “tomorrows.” So he punched him in the side and tried to wriggle out of the grip of that huge guy who had positioned himself on him by caging him. “Get off me, big boy, I can't breathe anymore.”
Saint slumped to the side, his breath breaking not so much from the pain as from the sudden turn of events. He chuckled as he closed like a shell, at Shin's side. “I didn't mean to shut me up like this,” he muttered sadly. Shin stretched his mouth into a half-smile as he looked up at the ceiling and tousled his hair. Everything inside him was upset, upside down, but he sought an unnatural composure because -my ass!- he would give such satisfaction to that being who dared to upset him every fucking day in a different way.
“Yet you still talk, you want another punch?” he threatened him. Saint leaned his forehead against Shin's forearm, and in this way he was certain that he was denying in response.
They remained like this for a few interminable minutes, their breaths now placid and synchronized. They both believed they had fallen asleep, impossible as that was given what had just happened between them, but talking became increasingly difficult.
“Ai'Shin?” Saint broke the air that simple call. Shin was still staring at the ceiling; he would not have blinked, but he could not confess such weakness. He remained silent.
“I don't know if it's a dream, but it was good,” Saint continued. Shin rolled his eyes in exasperation. If fame had come to Hercules by means of twelve extreme labors, then he had not had the -mis-fortune to run into Saint. Even a mythological hero, faced with that exhausting human being so idiotic, would have lost all reason.
“Sleep, idiot,” he urged him, clearing his throat, thinking he could find some self-control in this way. Miserably, he was failing. Saint had begun to travel along his arm with his index and middle fingers, as if tenderly strolling to find who knows what road ... perhaps home? In fact, when he reached his destination, his palm once again positioned itself at the level of Shin's heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Fan dee na, Shin”
Shin reduced his eyes to two slits. His faltering control clung with difficulty to the faint conviction that they should go to sleep in earnest, avoiding making the biggest mistake of both their lives.
“Or good morning, I don't know exactly where I am,” he continued to rant, now drawing concentric circles on Shin's chest with one finger, his forehead still resting on one of his forearms and his entire body curled up in a fetal position very close to Shin's, who sighed softly.
“Tomorrow I'll make you pay for this, you stupid drunken dog,” he cursed him through clenched teeth, torturing his hair. He had to keep his hands busy, or else-oh, the temptation was so appetizing.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” that hopeful tone was truly the limit of endurance for Shin, who, again, wiggled in place to get on his side, but this time with his back to the crazed, out-of-control puppy dog.
“It's not like I took the initiative!” he pointed out. Saint, suddenly torn from the proximity of the best friend's warmth yelped sadly. If he had not spent those seconds feeling offended by the shrug Shin was now giving him, in a clear sign of closure, Saint might have bounced back that, yes, it was indeed Shin who had taken the initiative: he had thanked him, a harmless little kiss. He could have been mistaken, in the dark, aiming for a cheek and pecking his lips.
But Shin, oh, Shin had aimed at goal and scored several goals.
Saint, on the other hand, was an idiot and did not win that opportunity to expose him. His priority now was to touch him, get close again and fall asleep- or come back to reality, he still wasn't sure what was true or not- following Shin's heartbeats. He made a small movement of his pelvis, helping himself with his legs, as if he were a shrimp out of the water that was floundering, trying to make as little noise as possible. Shin was like an alert cat, and he wasn't sure if he was going to sit still and wait to be enveloped by his arms completely helplessly. He could even scratch him, Saint had no certainty. When the urge to savor the warmth of that body again became insurmountable, however, he danced on the mattress shaking his helpless body in front of him as well but it was too late to wriggle out anyway and Saint's arm swooped over Shin's abdomen drawing him to his chest. Then a leg again made space between those of Shin, who barely huffed. He began to breathe on one bare shoulder, and Saint felt the boy shudder at the contact. Another snort, nothing more.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“You just won't leave me alone, huh.”
Saint stretched a smile, pulled up with his nose inhaling Shin's scent. His lips were firm against his skin. Not a movement, but a presence. Shin moved his shoulder to push him away but he seemed stuck with glue. “Saint, you're tickling me,” he huffed. “I swear to you that if you get drunk one more time, I'll...I'll...” but no threat, in his own mind, seemed valid compared to the desire for how much he wished Saint would always be uninhibited enough to have that kind of contact. That knowledge, for Shin, was real torture. He hated that it reduced him to such a pitiful state.
“Will you kiss me again?” asked Saint, but there was no irony, no sarcasm. It was not a challenge. Shin elbowed him at navel level. Saint coughed but said nothing. Shin huffed.
“Your lips are soft, Ai'Shin,” the silence was broken, then, by Saint, not at all fearing the wrath of the boy he held in his arms.
“God, please be quiet,” whimpered Shin.
“Mh, mh. You. Make me.”
Shin tried another elbow but at that point Saint's hand, placed on his chest, was quicker to prevent him by grabbing his wrist. He began kissing him at the spot where his lips were still and went down the length of his shoulder meeting his neck. He kissed that, too.
“Ai’Sat, will you stop?” exclaimed Shin, shaken and stunned by all the attention. The tone used, however, was not at all convincing. If there could have been a translation to those words, it would have come out something like: stupid dog in heat, did it take you this long to go through puberty?
When Saint continued on his way to one of Shin's ears, who knows to whisper to him what things, something inside Shin imploded, broke like a dam, allowing water to flow into those little-explored streets. If they had caused a Tsunami, whatever, they would have dealt with it!
He turned facing Saint who, hoping it was in his favor, let him do so, even though doing so risked a very high probability of being slapped in the face. Shin's hands, however, both rested on the big boy's shoulders, quickly caressing them in all their grandeur, went up to his neck and with his thumbs traced the tight lines of Saint's jaw, and only then did he grasp him on the nape of his neck to draw him close to his mouth.
Saint moaned, relieved to feel the softness of those lips again. Even though Shin had his own, sometimes violent, way of kissing him. It was as if he too liked the full texture of Saint's mouth and tasted him, ate him greedily as if his lips were seasonal strawberries wrapped in sugar.
They kissed for a ridiculous amount of time, the dawn lights gradually making more and more space in the room but they gave no sign of wanting to stop. The more they could bring out parts of them, the more they explored with their hands, mouths, tongues and teeth. For too long, individually, in great secrecy, they had fantasized about it, and now, with that opportunity, they found themselves being all too fond of it.
Saint devoted himself to Shin's neck, helpless with his eyes closed, as if he wanted to brand that area as his property.
“You smell good.”
“You smell like beer, so shut up” Shin admonished him by pulling him up with both of hands on his cheeks to silence him by dabbing his lips with his mouth. “Shut up,” he moaned, backing away briefly and then sticking his tongue in the Saint’s mouth to keep him from responding.
“You must be quiet, you must not speak again. Your mouth only use it for that,” and he bit his lip. Saint sighed, only to look Shin in the eyes for perhaps the first time. Shin sustained his gaze with difficulty. More than what they were up to under those blankets, that pair of straight, fixed eyes in his pupils sent him reeling. He was blushing, most likely, and that idea he could not sustain. Shin was about to draw him for another kiss, just to break that exchange of glances when the door to his room squeaked just warning them of someone's entrance.
Then it was panic. Shin pushed him away, furiously, and covered himself with the blanket to hide. Saint slid to one side, half uncovered and totally shocked.
ChingChing was at the edge of the bed moments later, with the plush toy clutched in her arms, her hair tousled and er eyes sleepy but full of tears.
“P'Shin, P'Shin...” she whimpered, walking quickly to the side of the bed where her brother slept. Shin re-emerged from under the covers, pretending to be dazed and sleepy. “What's wrong, ChingChing?”
“P'Shin, I had a nightmare, you were fighting with P'Saint again and I couldn't eat noodles with him anymore. Can I sleep with you?”
Fighting with that idiot was perhaps the only viable alternative to keep him from jumping on his neck and continuing in that endless series of mistakes. Shin sighed, distressed.
Neither he nor Saint could classify that turn of events as good fortune or misfortune, but Shin lifted the blanket slightly to make room for her sister and said nothing, hugged her tightly to himself as if she were his comforting stuffed animal.
Similarly, Saint, in the position he was in, did not pretend to be awakened by the baby's entrance and remained as still as a statue on his side of the bed.
A few minutes later, their breaths were the only semblance of peace that prevailed in the room.
---
Saint awoke late in the morning in a state of confusion and a throbbing headache. He tossed and turned in the blankets searching for the presence of someone beside him, but found no one. He was at Shin's house. How he had gotten there a real mystery.
He searched and then picked up his own cell phone, abandoned on the floor, and turned it on. The screen was still open on the chat with his friend.
Saint:
Shin, I’m drunk, come
Saint:
don't come, I'm home
The messages had been viewed. And, now, a new message was waiting to be read just below Saint's.
Shin:
I brought you home.
You, stupid drunk dog.
Saint smiled, ruffling his hair and yawning. He sat up and looked around.
Stupid drunk dog.
That epithet had the ability to arouse in him a few shivers of an emotion he could not explain, a reminiscence of a dream he had probably already forgotten when he woke up. He had drunk too much. He had lost track of time, but he knew he should not have gone to school that day. He pointed his feet to the ground and got to his feet. He grabbed his sweatshirt and put it on. Then he walked over to the window and looked out.
Shin entered the room, silently, a few moments later. He found Saint standing and was surprised, planting himself on the spot. He said nothing to him.
Saint just turned around, smiled at him, and “Good morning,” he wished him. Shin studied him for a while, as if expecting a different reaction to their morning meeting, and how disappointed he finally saw him deny it with his head and curse him with a series of insults.
“Stupid idiot dog” he managed to decipher between mutterings as he shook the comforter of the bed with a violence that, sooner or later, he might have used on him as well.
Saint chuckled and went back to looking out the window. He noticed the wet streets and people walking with an umbrella on their arms.
“It must have rained last night” he commented simply.
Shin's response came precise and focused: a pillow hit him on the shoulders and the back of his head.
And that, Saint thought, was just the beginning of the show that saw him as the unfortunate protagonist targeted by his best friend just for getting drunk one night with friends.