This is the first fic ever, that had me crying while writing. *sniffles* Hope you enjoy! *sniffles some more*

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I could vaguely remember our first meeting.

We were still in our schooling years, then, and by some ironic twist of fate, we somehow managed to sit right beside each other in our classroom. Cliched as it may sound, that was just the way we had met. By sitting side by side for five long hours every five out of seven days.

I was a wreck then. Despite my attentiveness in class, homework was simply a no no for me. Each and every time we managed to get some, I would be seen struggling at the last minute to accomplish the intended assignment, with him by my side, aiding me through the harder ones, and encouraging, and sometimes even forcing, me to complete my work quickly.

Long hours spent in front of a certain machinery called computer, and traipsing off to clubs during the dead of the night where I worked off my ass to ensure my financial status, had also ensured that I would not be able to enjoy the luxurious eight-hour sleep standard every night. As a result, sleeping and listening to the lectures at the same time was a common occurrence for me. So common that half the time, he was laughing his bottom off at the portraits he had drawn of me while I had been drowsing.

Despite all those flaws, he viewed me as no less an individual, and we discussed a wide variety of topics, ranging from psychological analysis to computer games. Of course, there were topics that would always be left untouched, topics that simply could not be mentioned between the two of us. But I never did care anyway, since the probability of such topics being raised was close to nil, and even if they did crop up in our conversations, they could be easily brushed away.

However, friendship between us was never one to be smooth sailing. If there were indeed a metaphor I would use to describe our own quirky friendship, it would probably be a cross between the Dead Sea and the Bermuda Triangle. As life-wrecking as the Bermuda Triangle, which threatened to sink all ships that passed by it, yet as calm and unyielding as the Dead Sea, which was reputed to allow even the densest of people float amidst the water with ease.

Squabbles between both of us was commonplace, and at times, our tempers could escalate and eventually towards the point where we vented our frustrations physically. So common, such situations were, that even his girlfriend had tried many a times to convince him to leave his ‘destructive and immature friend who probably did more harm to him than good’.

Yet we were best buddies, most of the time, he and I. He could confide in me, confident that it too would never reach the ears of others, and I could tell him most of my troubles without worry that it would leak from his air-sealed mouth. Yet there were things never meant to be made known to him. For example, my underlying reputation of being a homosexual, and my (supposedly secret) occupation as a bartender in a gay bar.

How it hurt, he probably would never know, with him and his budding romance with the lady of his life, of being so close to one you loved, yet unable to touch him. To profess your undying love, to confess your darkest wishes, and lastly, to share every special moment between you and him.

Yet, that was what I experienced for half a dozen years. With him by my side whilst we studied in high school, and after we had survived college.

It was easy to see that he was straighter than a bamboo stick. He would wrinkle his nose gently whenever politics on homosexuals popped up, and even if I thanked his maturity for not commenting on it, a part of me still died at the knowledge that he would never, ever become mine.

Oh yes, I knew the general philosophy of ‘I will be happy so long as he is happy’ existed in amongst a large percentage of the human population. I myself am quite happy to admit that such philosophy did exist within the depths of my mind. However, I, most unfortunately, do not happen to be one that would give up something that, by some miracle, could end up in my grasp on a silver platter. Nor do I deny the lingering pain in my heart that would never cease lest he be mine.

The point where our friendship almost reached breaking point would be when he eventually realized the reputation I held amongst the nightclub society, having heard it whilst he himself visited one with his girlfriend. Unease grew in his heart at the knowledge of my preferences, and suspicion bloomed quickly, as recollections of my ‘almost too affectionate’ actions appeared in his mind’s eye, almost as if to pin all signs of my guilt to him.

Confrontation was inevitable. Not that I was expecting that he be ignorant of it all his life, but the sheer abruptness of his questions had me off-guard. A simple less-than-ten-worded sentence. Yet that was all that needed for my mask to slip off my face, and for all truth to appear on my accursedly expressive face.

Much truth was expelled in that night. From my, ahem, nightly activities since college to the ‘affections’ I had for him. As he left my apartment with a grave, thoughtful expression, I was left with naught but physical silence and mental cacophony.

Re-arranging my mind had been easy, since I did it practically every night ever since I discovered my feelings for him, but reviving my broken heart was not. The steadily decaying organ had already more than enough to deal with, with his recent official engagement with his six-year-and-running girlfriend, and the troubled expression on his face at my mute admittance to my ‘affections’ was nowhere near a nice little four lettered-word that began with a ‘H’.

It was perhaps near midnight, when I finally woke from my daze, only to realize that not only had I been staring at the door for the past few hours, my poor abused stomach, which had to suffer multiple high msg intake food resources (also known as cup noodles) for the past few days due to my inability to spend as much time in my beloved kitchen as I would have liked to, was long past growling its agony to me, and merely expressed a sense of vacancy in its storage unit.

Slowly hefting my stiff form from my (once) comfortable sofa, I paced across the ice-cool marble floor awkwardly, only to fall against the soft, almost liquid-like silk covers of my bed, where I simply laid still and allowed the blurring darkness to consume my entire awareness.

It was probably several months after that incident. Several long months of agony at pretending that that incident had done nothing to affect my ‘friendship’ to him. Of maintaining my mask of cheer and joy, and pretending that my heart did not crack or break whenever I witnessed a particularly affectionate moment between he and his love.

Ah, love. How I cursed that four-lettered word. For if I had not been entangled by its treacherous vines, there probably existed a possibility that I could turn out a happier person. Masochistic I may be, there still existed certain limits to heartbreaks after all.

Even when he had announced cheerfully that he and his bride-to-be’s intention to travel overseas where they would attend a renowned university for their Masters, I had not the chance to allow my emotions let slip. Swallowing the water that had me gagging for a minute hastily, and verbally pushing to blame of my tears to the poor water that had chosen to enter my air pipe, I ‘enthusiastically’ patted on his back with a well perfected ear-to-ear smile, half-demanding why he had not told me earlier.

It was practically hell for the following weeks, where we were determined to ‘create more memories’ of ourselves while we were still together. For those weeks, I could do naught but to force the thoughts of his departure to the furthest depths of my mind, and instead concentrated on the fun we had.

Alas, what comes round must come round. The day of their leavings soon arrived, and despite the effort that took me to prepare myself to send him off at the airport, I arrived at the aforementioned landmark quite on schedule. Masking my mourning heart just as I did everyday, I allowed myself one final embrace with him, practically blackmailing my reluctant arms to release him as his began to lax.

And then, he left. Left his friends who hollered promises of remaining contacts with him. Left his family who waved at the duo with shaky hands and unshed tears lining their eyes. And finally, left my bleeding heart that silently mourned for its loss, for the wrenching pain that shredded it into a million pieces, never to be fully healed again.

-Ende-