Bittersweet (BoyxBoy)
  • Reads 634
  • Votes 9
  • Parts 9
  • Time 1h 41m
  • Reads 634
  • Votes 9
  • Parts 9
  • Time 1h 41m
Ongoing, First published Dec 09, 2014
Mature
"Life at best, is bittersweet" Jack Kirby

That was what Connor had always thought anyway. He firmly believed that when things couldn't get any better, they couldn't possibly get worse. Connor figured that if life handed you lemons, you cut those lemons up and allowed them to sting your scratched up and bleeding hands, because it was okay to bleed. It was okay to take lifes abuse and say 'You can screw with me, but I won't back down.' Because even if the blood doesn't stop flowing, you have bandages to create a blockage and stop the gushing sting. He believed all that until a boy named Matthew Waters came crashing into his life with his terrible cooking skills and his obnoxious go-getter attitude. 

"You burn everything you try to make."
"Do not!" He exclaims defensively.
I roll my eyes. "You literally just burnt microwave popcorn."
He falls quiet, bottle green eyes narrowed in thought. 
"Well, if you're so good, why don't you teach me?" He muses.
I feel my cheeks warm.
"You're on."
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Echo of the Past by KiyuMiyuu
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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"We can't do this." I whisper as our lips re-connect, a tingling fire surging through my body as his hands ravage unexplored lands; my innocence dissipating away with every peck he trails down my neck. "I know we can't. That's why it's so exciting." He replies through kisses. His effortless charm intoxicates me; drowning me; hunting me; devouring me. "What if my brother finds out?" The perpetuated patter of the rain unable to subdue my groan as he digs his nails deeper into my skin. "Who cares." ********** Welcome to my story, where an innocent boy finds a not so innocent boy in his bed; where they do not so innocent things. - YOP