Author's Notes: My best friend and I started writing this story during our vacation in Orlando. We only got a few pages done there and finished the rest during some downtime we've had this week. We decided to do something different. We wrote this story entirely in first person. It switches off between Gojyo and Hakkai throughout the story. Overall, we are very pleased with the final result. Comments are much appreciated! At least, positive ones are.
ADDITIONAL NOTES: This story is based off the song "A Wish" by Gregory and The Hawk. If you haven't heard it, I highly recommend you give it a listen. It's quite good. I wrote for Gojyo and she wrote for Hakkai, as always. Please excuse the extreme vulgarity on Gojyo's part. This story is pretty long, so I will separate it into parts. There are six parts total.
A Wish
(Gojyo's POV)
So, it's the same shit again.
Hakkai hasn't said a damn word to this this entire morning. This was it, the awkward stage. I ain't questionin' my abilities between the sheets 'r nothin', but Hakkai not talkin' ain't exactly a good sign. At the beginnin' of all this, he'd ask me the same BS every morning, and act completely oblivious to the fact that we fucked the night before.
Hakkai probably ain't comfortable with callin' it that. But what else could ya call it? Making love? We sure as hell didn't make love. There was no sappy pillow talk, no promises, no commitment. Thats how I like it. Lot easier that way, 'n not just for me.
...Right?
Ugh, its not important now, I suppose. The bastard ain't talkin' to me. But then again, what could there be to say after all that? I'd be speechless, too.
I'm outside smokin', you know, the same shit.
I'm not goin' in there. I'm probably actin' like a pussy or somethin' but I don't have anythin' to say. Nothin' I say is probably what he wants ta' hear anyway.
"Gojyo?"
Fuck.
"Hm?"
"Would you like some breakfast?"
Tch. Why the hell not.
(Hakkai's POV)
He thinks that I don't know that he's avoiding me as best he can in such a small home. Gojyo has always been easy to read, even from the very briefest of encounters, and this is no different. At this point in whatever type of relationship we've forged, Gojyo and I have reached a level of intimacy that I can't quite place; as much as I'd like to keep these walls of mine high, Gojyo is always there to somehow break them down. He knows me too well, but it's a two-way street. In the years we've lived together, I've had more than enough time to uncover his quirks and mannerisms.
I would like to believe that he's avoiding me because of his own doubts about anything we've done, but I know that isn't the case. He's secluded himself outside with the companionship of nicotine because I haven't spoken to him in what feels like days but, in reality, equates to hours. What he doesn't know is that everytime I think of speaking to him or even open my mouth to, the words simply fail and my mouth is suddenly full of cotton. I can't bring myself to speak for the same reason I nearly bolted from the bedroom that same morning. It's an attachment, another rope binding me to a man that I both love and hate, sometimes equally so. This relationship we've made, this unspoken agreement that we somehow become more than friends, needs to stop.
In retrospect, I'm not quite sure when, or even why, I became quite so fond of Gojyo. Somewhere between waking up in unfamiliar clothes under unfamiliar sheets and chastising him for improperly disposing of his cigarettes I suppose, but even that leaves too many questions unanswered. We're so different, he and I; sometimes I find it hard to believe that we can even properly function as friends living under the same roof. I built those walls for a reason, but he can't seem to comprehend that he's ruined all my hard work. He's wormed his way into the heart that I didn't believe to exist anymore after /her/, and I can't take it anymore.
Just as he hides outdoors with his cigarettes, I hide in the small kitchen. I know he realizes something is wrong, off; though we aren't particularly sentimental, it's very rare that I allow him to wake up alone and then remain silent for the entire morning. I can't face him though, not yet. Petty as it seems, I can't help but think of how temporary this is. I've lived with Gojyo long enough that I know just how fickle his interests are. A night, maybe two, but nothing more; what we have should have ended long ago. I would be lying if I even toyed with the thought of accepting the fact that sooner than later I would become another notch in the bedpost; I wish it could be true, wish that I was able to look at Gojyo and see a friend and nothing more, wish that I didn't look past him and see those eyes, her eyes, staring sadly back at me, but I can't and I don't. He's there, as much as I hate for him to be.
I cook for two because I always have. Split portions of any mean, automatically prepared even if the other hasn't said a word about eating. Though I've avoid himself all morning, I'm reaching for the eggs and bacon without thinking, cooking without even asking if he plans to eat.
He's on the front porch, lounging against the steps with a cigarette in his hand. The smoke curls around him like a blurred halo.
"Gojyo?" My voice is steady enough.
"Hm?"
"Would you like some breakfast?"
He rumbles some sort of answer, yes maybe, but I'm turning to go back inside.
"It's ready whenever you get hungry."
We've shared no more than a handful of words, and already my stomach is in knots because of it.
-End of Part One-