Pairing: Jou x Ryou
Genre: Romance, slight humor
Rating: PG-13
Words: 941
Summary: Jou tells the school counselor about what's on his mind.

Memory Album
Installment Ten

Ryou tastes like sugar.

Maybe it's a remembered taste from that time when he snuck into my room at four in the morning. It was a Wednesday, and I had school in the morning. Obviously then, I wasn't idiotic enough to be up. So there I was, minding my own business, dead asleep without a care in the world (except the subconscious fear that I was to fail my chemistry exam in about four hours). But I was unceremoniously awoken when an unidentified object landed upon me.

When I came to, I found my cry of shock swallowed up between something distinctively soft and warm.

Initially, my first reaction was to struggle. Limbs went flailing, adrenaline swirled through my veins, and the irrational part of my mind quickly conjured this frenetic conjunction of phrases and inquiries: ohmygoddouble-you-tee-effIcan'tbreatheisthisaburglarI'mtooyoungtodiewhere'sthecopswhenyouneedthem!

Then, as I was suffering from an undue panic attack, my rational mind decided to kick into gear—late as always. After smacking the illogical part of my mind upside the head (figuratively), it endowed me with the much needed conclusion that a criminal would most likely shoot me before leaping onto my stomach. And that said criminal would not likely be inclined to make-out with me, either.

Which, of course, was what the unidentified object was happily doing, and without restraint.

It took me an impressive total of ten seconds to wholly process the situation after the Grand Epiphany made its entrance, with heavenly light shining every which way.

One. Blink owlishly while wishing I could see in the dark.

Two. A soft tongue running along the seam of my slack lips.

Three. Lungs cooperating finally and deciding to reward me with a much needed dose of oxygen. Gasp rings loudly in the silence of the room.

Four. Downside/Upside: tongue has invaded the space of my mouth through parted lips.

Five. Blinking owlishly again, but now no longer dying for air. Mouth still being raped.

Six. Limbs functional at last and manage to push offensive (though debatably pleasurable) unidentified object away.

Seven. Stare some at midnight attacker, now that eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark.

Eight. Stare some more. Attacker/molester stares back placidly before grinning toothily.

Nine. Stare yet some more while mind attempts to absorb this shocking revelation.

Ten. Splutter ridiculously. Proceed to shriek.

R-R… Ryou!

His response had been to giggle at that time. As I stared oddly at him, he sat back upon my stomach (my oh so perceptive mind was just comprehending the fact that his slim legs were spread and wrapped around my waist) and supported his weight on his arms, hands pressed flatly to my chest. The little Cheshire cat grin remained upon his lips. One wouldn't expect it, but Ryou is a mischievous little creature. The angelic appearance can beguile rather well—then the proverbial brick tends to fall smartly upon one's head when his complex and often dirty pranks come to culmination.

I should know. Being a close friend of the boy, I generally wound up as his guinea pig more often then not. But I digress.

So there I was, gawping inelegantly and just comprehending that my best friend had kissed me—and then some. Well, that was a shocker.

I stupidly asked him what he was doing. He then proceeded to stupidly reply that he was sitting on my stomach. Right, so we've established that stupid questions deserve stupid answers; but I was too flabbergasted, for obvious reasons, to think straight then.

He apparently found my bewilderment rather amusing, for he giggled some more before bending down close to my face again. I remember his hair brushing against my cheeks—like the whisper of the wind, a spider's web, the physical manifestation of the phantom desires which plague my nights. You know, and all that good stuff. He'd grown his hair out over the course of the year, and it cascaded down his shoulders and draped across the pillowcase like little streams of moonlight.

So I have an obsession with his hair. I admit it.

Well, it all pretty much blurs together in my memory after that point. His lips met mine once more, and I decided that maybe it was for the best to reciprocate the gesture. If my best bud decides he wants to get more than chummy, then I'm one to oblige. The fact that I'd been fancying him for the past two years kind of helped with that decision a bit, though.

I think it was during those next fifteen minutes of learning each other's mouths through our tongues that I realized he tasted like sugar. Later on, I was to learn that he had been sucking on sugar cubes before he'd all but pounced upon me. I have no idea why he was snacking on them, but I'm rather glad that he was. How he got to my bedroom or why he was even awake at such an hour remains unknown to me, however.

I suppose it's because of that memory that I always taste a subtle sweetness upon his lips. Or maybe it's just his personality blended into his unique flavor. Whatever.

Oh yeah, and I failed my chem test. Just in case you were wondering.

Why are you looking at me like I'm a weirdo? You were the one that asked me to say what was on my mind—this just happened to be it. Anyways, I didn't ask to come here. Personally, I don't think my track record of detentions and minor delinquency can be cured if I discuss my "issues" with you. No offense, but a counselor isn't going to prevent anything, since I'm just having harmless fun—sorry I don't have any more "issues" to impress you with. That's for the school to decide, not me.

Uh, so… can I go now? My half hour's up.