Why I Hated You
Disclaimer: No, they aren_t mine.
Warning: Contains SetoXJou shounen ai. Some violence(as in fist-fighting) and an in-depth examination of Kaiba_s physce and why he hates Jou so much. This fic is the result of too much sugar, obscure rock bands, and being permitted to flip through my brother_s college physcology textbook.
Why I Hated You
You asked me once why I hated you. I believe it was during one of our frequent fights, those arguments that begin with a glance and then escalate. I couldn_t answer you, only seethe as I walked away, flipping you off over my shoulder as I left.
And it bugged me. I hate not having answers, and not knowing what drove me to despise you so violently tugged at my mind, like a snippet from a long unheard song, there, but not fully comprehended. And then I knew, in the way that all of the words to that unattainable verse will inundate one_s thoughts, as the final bit of that epiphany will come to offer complete understanding, I knew.
You made me feel too much.
To hate someone requires passion, emotions as untamed as lightning, and you drew those emotions from me. I realized why I hated you; it was because I could hate you. Because you could affect me in that way. And I couldn_t stop you from coaxing me into rage, which required feelings, even if they were of the irritated variety, so I hated you even more, which required even more passion.
This loop, this repetition, it was like a circle penned by a child. Not perfectly round, and it wasn_t the same in all spots, shaky and uneven, but it never ended. It continued on, and just when I thought you couldn_t make me feel anymore, you did. You and you alone could scratch at my self restraint until I was nothing but crackling emotions, contained solely by sheer will.
They say there_s a thin line between love and hate, and now I understand why. They both require such passion that one could easily misinterpret the emotion. Perhaps I_m not even going too far in my assumption that one can hate another simply because that person can make them love.
Maybe that_s what impelled me to drive my fist into you gut and kiss you when you stumbled into my arms. There, in the school yard, with half the school as a witness, I kissed you. Then I let you fall to the ground and walked off. You had made me feel again. In that one kiss any feelings I had for you, be it love or hatred, became a tenfold more strong.
The next day you confronted me about it. Alone in a hallway I slammed you against a wall, my hand on your throat and hissed, "You make me feel, Jou. How_s that Puppy, you make me feel."
And again I turned to walk away, and you made something that could_ve either been a whimper or a meek, "Kaiba." I like to think it was the later, you hoarse voice sounded sexy when wrapped around my name. I paused, considered, what-kissing you?, talking with you?, holding you, hurting you?- but left anyway.
The next day you had angry red scratches on your neck from where I had held you. I heard you lie and say that you had been out late last night and hadn_t been watching what alley you walked into. For a brief second your eyes flicked to me, and some thought, some unnamable idea that your glance caused tilted my lips into a smirk. I had cause you to feel physically, while you made me feel emotionally.
We fought again that afternoon. Word of our little liplock had spread, and maybe they were watching for some action, maybe they wanted one of us to beat the other. I pistoned my fist forward, felt a satisfying shift of bones in your jaw, then grabbed your shoulders, jerked you around, slammed you back against a wall.
Then I kissed you, the contact made sticky and slimy by the blood in your mouth. And when I finished you smiled and said, "You don_t make me feel nearly enough." So I meshed our mouths together again, binding us in a web of spit and blood. Maybe it was what we wanted, but it was definitely what we needed.
Maybe we love one another, perhaps we hate each other. Either way, I_m good for you in the same way that you_re good for me. You make me feel.
Disclaimer: No, they aren_t mine.
Warning: Contains SetoXJou shounen ai. Some violence(as in fist-fighting) and an in-depth examination of Kaiba_s physce and why he hates Jou so much. This fic is the result of too much sugar, obscure rock bands, and being permitted to flip through my brother_s college physcology textbook.
Why I Hated You
You asked me once why I hated you. I believe it was during one of our frequent fights, those arguments that begin with a glance and then escalate. I couldn_t answer you, only seethe as I walked away, flipping you off over my shoulder as I left.
And it bugged me. I hate not having answers, and not knowing what drove me to despise you so violently tugged at my mind, like a snippet from a long unheard song, there, but not fully comprehended. And then I knew, in the way that all of the words to that unattainable verse will inundate one_s thoughts, as the final bit of that epiphany will come to offer complete understanding, I knew.
You made me feel too much.
To hate someone requires passion, emotions as untamed as lightning, and you drew those emotions from me. I realized why I hated you; it was because I could hate you. Because you could affect me in that way. And I couldn_t stop you from coaxing me into rage, which required feelings, even if they were of the irritated variety, so I hated you even more, which required even more passion.
This loop, this repetition, it was like a circle penned by a child. Not perfectly round, and it wasn_t the same in all spots, shaky and uneven, but it never ended. It continued on, and just when I thought you couldn_t make me feel anymore, you did. You and you alone could scratch at my self restraint until I was nothing but crackling emotions, contained solely by sheer will.
They say there_s a thin line between love and hate, and now I understand why. They both require such passion that one could easily misinterpret the emotion. Perhaps I_m not even going too far in my assumption that one can hate another simply because that person can make them love.
Maybe that_s what impelled me to drive my fist into you gut and kiss you when you stumbled into my arms. There, in the school yard, with half the school as a witness, I kissed you. Then I let you fall to the ground and walked off. You had made me feel again. In that one kiss any feelings I had for you, be it love or hatred, became a tenfold more strong.
The next day you confronted me about it. Alone in a hallway I slammed you against a wall, my hand on your throat and hissed, "You make me feel, Jou. How_s that Puppy, you make me feel."
And again I turned to walk away, and you made something that could_ve either been a whimper or a meek, "Kaiba." I like to think it was the later, you hoarse voice sounded sexy when wrapped around my name. I paused, considered, what-kissing you?, talking with you?, holding you, hurting you?- but left anyway.
The next day you had angry red scratches on your neck from where I had held you. I heard you lie and say that you had been out late last night and hadn_t been watching what alley you walked into. For a brief second your eyes flicked to me, and some thought, some unnamable idea that your glance caused tilted my lips into a smirk. I had cause you to feel physically, while you made me feel emotionally.
We fought again that afternoon. Word of our little liplock had spread, and maybe they were watching for some action, maybe they wanted one of us to beat the other. I pistoned my fist forward, felt a satisfying shift of bones in your jaw, then grabbed your shoulders, jerked you around, slammed you back against a wall.
Then I kissed you, the contact made sticky and slimy by the blood in your mouth. And when I finished you smiled and said, "You don_t make me feel nearly enough." So I meshed our mouths together again, binding us in a web of spit and blood. Maybe it was what we wanted, but it was definitely what we needed.
Maybe we love one another, perhaps we hate each other. Either way, I_m good for you in the same way that you_re good for me. You make me feel.
