Him and I
All For Myself
Him and I
Chanyeol was really the cool brother, when I was maybe, twelve years old. He was the guy, I thought, had a lot of friends, and was popular. The precise idea of what was popularity wasn’t really clear, but he knew a lot of people. People from other schools too, and it seemed pretty amazing to have that large of a social circle.
He was going out. He was partying. He was being loud, and he didn’t want me included.
At that age, I didn’t have memories of talking to him. We shared nothing in common, apart from our parents.
We did travel in family. We did move house in family. We did go to suppers, that friends of our parents organized. However, we both loathed these sort events and only stayed close for the evening, because we were to each other, a bit less strangers than the adults were.
When came time to enter high school, I was pretty excited to see him there, be the brother of the cool guy. But we weren’t in the same building, and by the time there were comments on the fact that we were related, an embarrassment about the thing had developped. I was caught up in my own world, with my friends, and school work. School though, wasn’t much in fact, since my group of friends weren’t into studying. Rather, we had girls’s drama, and dudes breaking their leg skateboarding.
It was around the time, I turned sixteen, that we realized each other’s existence. I was over the fact of being a teen, thinking I was getting old, and that I was quite mature for my age.
Chanyeol’s existence was like a puzzle getting pieced together: details, things, I noticed suddenly.
I noticed his body. I got curious about what was under his clothes, about him getting out of his T-shirt, seeing armpits hair and a few faint ones on his chest. I noticed, that his jeans were tight at the waist, his stomach budging out a bit. I was enthralled by him drinking messily. Orange juice getting on his chin, and how he would then curse at the spill, with that low voice of his. Everything about his face, I came to know by heart— his hair’s texture, his eyelashes’s length, his eyebrows’s shape. The slope of his nose, the color of his eyes, and the bow of his lips.
I was curious about what it was to be intimate. Questionning myself on how his skin would feel under my touch.
Because, appearance-wise, we were different.
We weren’t look alike brothers.
Details, as such found in his messy room. Things, he would bring from outside, notes and papers—useless —he would scatter everywhere in his room. On the ground, his dirty clothes from sport, that mom had to wash, and never stopped nagging him about. And, his guitar, his skate, and his video games that were loitering around, occupying the rest of the space. I mostly owned the same things, apart from the guitar. But, it all felt different, anyway, as it was his.
I wasn’t allowed inside, but never, did it stop me to enter, when he wasn’t there.
I tried on his clothes. It was thrilling, thinking about when he would come back. At how, he would get so mad. But since he had graduated, I could borrow some, and wear it to school safely.
But things had evolved. We were talking now. And he was beginning to sound like a dotting brother. Me, I was curious about university. How things were there. It was another world, unreachable.
We bounded over the Black Keys. We were already playing video games together, but it was more exciting suddenly, out of the blue.
Everything became fun to do, if it was with him.
We cooked special breakfasts in bed for Mother’s day. We mowed the lawn in summer and cleared snow in winter. We joined our efforts for birthdays’s gifts.
He asked me for advice, asking me what I thought about this and that. I mattered in his life. We fought less. We laughed together more. We did things together more.
And along this, we began to kiss. As jokes on the cheek, when we played in the kid playground in the park, near our home. When we talked of understanding each other so well. On the lips, when he came back from a party, drunk. One I snatched, when he caught me in his room browsing his closet. One we fell into, when at the end of a movie we watched, I latched on him to fight a bit, to hug a bit.
We didn’t put out words to explain them. But they became a constant occurrence.
We stole kisses from each other, hiding from our mom, giggling away when she would nearly catch us.
Sometimes, the kissing would last longer.
It began to feel really good, and to burden my mind. I knew no one, who were kissing their brother on the mouth, and enjoyed it. Where was the feeling of disgust at? We weren't kids anymore, and we had never been close, when kids, anyway.
And someday, our shirts got discarded. We found oursleves chest to chest, eyes searching in the other’s.
I kissed girls, for dares, and in parties. I kissed guys, drunk, showing off in front of girls.
I dared to talk about my ‘brother isssues’ with Jongin. Who rationalized it in two word: brother complex. So I didn’t get to explain we had already kissed, that I got hard against his thigh. But I asked about his sisters.
’’What? No, that’s just wrong! I don’t say, we didn’t bathe together, but we were five, and they kissed me a lot.’’ Jongin had looked at me, searching reassurance. ’’But it’s family. It’s different, right?’’
’’Right,’’ I said.
Jongin, did think about it, for my sake. Wasn’t his style to ponder about with siblings, it seemed.
’’I did imagine it,’’ he mumbled, eyes casted on his linked hands on his lap. ’’You know, a few years back, like two ago. But it was just wrong.’’ He looked back at me, one eyebrow inched up. ’’You’re plain sick if you look at your sister in that way.
’’Your friends talk about your sister's looks, and you feel icky. Like you don’t want to talk about that.’’
He shook his head for a moment. ’’You don’t think of your sister as a girlfriend. No romance and .’’
I frowned.
That did block me for a month. To the point, we had a conversation Chanyeol and me. Conversation that ended in a kissing session. So, it began again.
And at a certain point, we did more.
We surrendered.
Him and I.
I was , I wanted it all.
’’I've got you,’’ he said, at the end.
And I came down for the high I had reached, with him inside me. I put my arms around his neck, approaching my lips to meet his own, and we kissed tenderly.
Getting intimate bought us closer. We were on a cloud, it was hard to hide. It was hard to breathe in mom’s presence. It was difficult to say family, when I considered Chanyeol my lover. When he was my boyfriend.
I was around eighteen, when I realized how deep I was in. How emerging from these dark waters, now, couldn't be done alone.
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author's note: hello, finally it's herrrree!! :) I hope to know what you thought of it! I guess concerning time frame with the other work linked to it, it's a bit not in synch... still next chapter is another scene I thought of, different from the others two! Thank you to have read!! feel free to comment or anything else! ;)
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