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We Should Be One
I wonder when I started seeing him for how he truly is, through the same prism a passer-by or a classmate might use to gaze at him.
By the time he disappeared, we had been friends for so long that all his signifiers had lost their meaning: his gender, his looks, his moods, habits, fashion, way of talking, walking, sleeping. He just was. It’s only now that he’s resurfaced from the underworld that I get a second chance at looking, as if my eyes had been diverted before by the fact he was my best friend. And that makes me feel fucking strange, because on the one hand I’m discovering how not to take him for granted, but I also miss being so attuned to his existence that the separation between he and I disappears. This change could have been triggered by the dangerous experiences of middle school, or maybe by the end of puberty? Mine or his? He can’t have changed that much since we were kids.
I’ve long suspected that I don’t feel sexual attraction like other boys my age. I never used to fantasise about kissing or having sex because I couldn’t fathom how it could physically feel good, let alone anything more abstract than that. For the most part, that hasn’t changed. Sometimes, I see people I find beautiful, or even arousing, but I have no impulse to touch them or for them to be attractive near me. Is that the same thing as “aesthetic beauty”? But when I say “attractive”, I do mean that it makes something inside my chest painfully retract and expand throughout my body, which I guess is what people refer to as “desire”. I wonder how common it is to want a glossary to wade through this mindfuck. Jian Yi, on the other hand, seems to have had it all figured out from the beginning.
All that craziness that was somewhere between a kiss, a love confession, and a how-fucking-dare-you-touch-me moment has also started to fuzz around the edges. What exactly was my problem there anyway that I reacted so violently? The fact that he didn’t ask? At the time, I had been given no reason to believe that anyone asks. He was also quite young and, as far as I understand it now, been agonising about kissing me for years by that point.
Ok, so 1. He didn’t ask. At the time, I thought it might also have to do with the fact that he’s a boy, but I think I would’ve punched him even if he wasn’t, because he’s Jian Yi, and I’ve always treated him a bit like I owned him. Which, fuck. Probably didn’t help his crush. But anyway, I am only vaguely aware of how his gender defines him, so I don’t think that was the problem. But I can definitely give reason 2. The feeling of it. Wet, and slimy, and kinda painful. Once again, the problem wasn’t really who done it, it was me not wanting any of that shit. Which I think brings us to the most important point 3. I didn’t understand why people did that. What felt good about it? Did people kiss for the meaning it conveyed, of love? As a socially required prelude to sex? What could there be in the act itself to justify the action to me? And not understanding it made me fear it. Feel unsafe. I guess that’s how people who aren’t men feel all the fucking time when people are attracted to them. There is something about not understanding the emotion you’re eliciting in someone, the energy they are directing at you, that is fucking terrifying.
Eventually, I realised that (as dodgy as it may sound) I held enough power over Jian Yi that I had nothing to fear. If anything, I was the one capable of unsettling him. Indeed, I probably do so all the time. I know I’m not the most expressive bastard out there. Living with him has admittedly given me a bit of a power trip.
Before he disappeared, I thought I was good at conveying the important stuff: yes, I know you like me; yes, of course we love each other; no, I wouldn’t really know what to do about that anyway; please, can we just keep going like this forever? I now realise the sheer selfishness of it, to be so caught up in the illusion of shared knowledge that I expected him to read my mind. And he just kept letting me. Perhaps my attitude cruelly kept him hopeful? Should I be grateful that our friendship only grew stronger because he could accept the crumbs I was giving him? Talk about co-dependent.
Now, when I look at him, I see an optical illusion. One moment, he’ll be the person I know most profoundly, invasively; who knows me despite my reluctance to share myself with anyone. Then, I’ll remember the uncrossable gap of knowledge of his disappearance which can’t be resolved by a “Tell me what happened.” When I was there, with him, inside him, day in and day out, I thought I could feel what he was thinking, experiencing; see it and hear it and feel it - this unexplainable conviction I had that we somehow shared a consciousness), that I didn’t have to tell him anything because he already knew everything I could think and feel. In the same arrogant way I presumed to know everything about him.
Oh, and here we have 4. I wasn’t expecting it. Finding out that my whole theory of spiritually knowing everything about each other was a load of bullshit? Not good. If he wasn’t who I knew him to be, who the fuck was sat next to me all the time? Which is a bit how I feel now, but without the fear. Okay, so Jian Yi actually exists when I’m not there and I need to imagine him complexly. Cool, I can do that. But because of this fucking dynamic that I have created of not being straightforward with each other, I have no clue how to jump across this massive gap of knowledge except by maybe, God forbid, communicating.
He’s told me a bit about the shit that happened to him while he was away, and I’m old enough to understand that not even a day-by-day recounting of it will make a difference. That time is lost. Something between us has fractured. But maybe it’s just that our old relationship is fading into the mist, taking the mirage away with it.
Surely it’s only right to bring this up with him, as I’m the one that’s had the sudden revelation that I want to touch him. He’s aesthetically beautiful, I’m attracted to him, I love him, and I want to feel those things right at him instead of from afar. I’ve thought a lot about whether I would like kissing him, to test my own sincerity. The truth is that, still not knowing what kissing is like, I won’t know until I try it. But there’s something deeper and darker within me that makes me think I could do anything with him and like it, so long as he desired it. I feel like I could channel his sexuality, his sensations, and learn via imitation what I’m supposed to feel and want. And although this kind of thinking brings back up the issue of sincerity, I feel like my desire to let him do as he pleases is as authentic as wanting things of my own volition. I’m not at all worried that I’ll recoil, but I am curious to see whether I will only be able to mirror him, or whether these natural instincts that everyone else seems to possess will emerge.
Only one way to find out.
We are sitting in the living room in a chaos of our things. Video games, magazines, take-out boxes, dirty laundry. Am I sentimental for liking how our stuff is all mixed together? A bit like how I imagine our lives to be. How I’d like our minds to be.
Seeing Jian Yi in his school uniform makes me feel like a dirty pervert. It’s not like I don’t watch porn. I watch a lot of it, and all sorts of weird shit at that. I’m pretty sure that you could give me the most repulsive type of porn and, so long as the participants were enjoying the fuck out of it, I’d be game. Anything seems to work if I’m able to channel the pleasure of the people enacting it. And sometimes I feel like I’ve absorbed so much of other people’s tastes that I’ve adopted their gaze, perhaps why I can now too clearly see the appeal of Jian Yi as a schoolboy. I’m even getting flashbacks to when he used to wear school shorts. He’s always been beautiful, and I wonder whether I have the right to say it without being creepy because we’ve been the same age, having been there for every phase of the evolution.
Sometimes I pretend that it bothers me having him in my space, but it’s more that I’m falling back on old habits. I’m so relieved that he’s here, always right in front of me where I can know he’s safe, that my stupid man-brain chooses the unhealthiest way of expressing it.
I’ve been trying to figure out whether I should wait for one of those moments when he’s looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. Or some sort of tender moment more linked to friendship. But that feels staged, and inauthentic, because it implies that I know what to do in those situations. I’ll just have to create my own situation.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I state, turning off my console but keeping it in a vice grip. He's lying sprawled on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, in that way that makes me think he’s so unselfconscious around me because he assumes I’m unaffected by that expanse of skin.
“Huh? Xixi, say that again?” As usual, his complete attention is on me in a second. Maybe that’s what used to make me uncomfortable. This undeserved devotion. Made me suspect that anyone would start having ideas, knowing they had so much power over someone, and that's why he tempted me, rather than for legitimate reasons. It’s nice to finally ascertain that I’d be feeling this way regardless.
“You, Jian Yi. I’ve been thinking about you. For a while, actually. You know, about how I feel towards you,” I explain, forcing myself to make eye-contact.
“Y-yeah?” He’s blushing. I’m pretty sure I find that charming all on my own.
“Yes. Can we talk about it?” I don’t know if it would be better or worse if I wasn’t so expressionless and monotone. He’s getting nervous.
Making space for himself on the floor, strewing a few things around, he sits cross-legged right in front of me, slightly beyond arm's reach. The fact that he’s matured and learnt about boundaries is definitely another reason for my sudden surge in attraction.
“Listen,” he says shyly, tucking a stray lock behind his ear, “if I still make you uncomfortable, being so intimately in your space and everything, I can always find another place? I know I’ve kind of been forcing it, trying to pretend we could be so close as if I wasn’t… you know.”
I haven’t seen him this insecure in so long. In fact, I am the only person that’s ever made him feel small. “No," I rush to say, waiting for his eyes to focus back on mine, "I want you to stay.” Ah fuck, that look of tentative hope in his eyes. “Put simply, if you still want me, I think that now I want you too.” He’s totally freaking out, and I’m definitely a sadist for liking it. “Stay still. I’m gonna say it matter-of-factly, and I don’t know how it’s gonna sound because I have no clue how this stuff works in real life, but you’re gonna try and get me, okay?”
A slow nod.
A deep breath.
“So, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, if you will. By the way, this is probably the most you’ve ever heard me talk." This must be what it's like to feel hysterical. "I had a bit of a sexuality crisis while you were gone. I couldn’t understand myself, and I still don’t. So you’re going to have to help me, and explain stuff, and tell me what to do, and what you want. But I’ve concluded that I can only touch someone I already have feelings for. Which is why I’ve always turned everyone down.” I ignore his gasp. “I’ve also realised that it really doesn’t matter if this person is a boy, because you’re my best friend, and I think I might love you the same way you love me, I just need some guidance.” Jian Yi is looking more and more confused, and I don’t know what that means, but as always he’s listening. He always listens to me. So long as that pillar of truth is still standing, I’m okay. “I don’t want to make it sound like I can be with you just because of some platonic bond. I’ve been looking and liking what I’m seeing.” Almost involuntarily, I scan my eyes over his body, which makes him clench his hands over his knees. Definitely an appealing reaction. "Do you still want me?”
After a few false starts, Jian Yi manages to speak in his newly gravelly voice: “Of course I still fucking want you. I always will. What is this? What is happening?”
“I want us to give it a go. I want to try being with you. In all ways. But I need you to guide me. Will you kiss me?” I ask, which is the easiest and hardest request I’ve ever voiced.
“Xixi, if this is just curiosity because I’m here and panting to fucking do anything to please you, that’s fine but – fuck, please tell me now.” He looks fierce, and scared, and there’s that fucking hope again which will never stop tearing me apart.
“It’s not just curiosity. And I know you would. I know because I feel the same for you.”
Those seemed to be the magic words. A new adult version of Jian Yi is emerging from behind his eyes; the man I’m starting to fall in love with on top of all the other Jian Yis I already own.
Almost as if trying not to spook a small animal, he's crawling over to me (yep, definitely into that) without breaking eye contact. My lack of nervousness is all the self-confirmation I need. When he rests his bony fingers on my thigh, I feel a frisson run through me. It’s unlike all the other times he’s touched me. Perhaps because, for this, his primary motivation is visibly desire.
“Are you sure?” he asks, gently, resignedly. It’s incredible that you can know someone all your life and realise that you’ve never really faced them head on.
“Kiss me,” I demand.
I don’t think I’m supposed to be this conscious of everything. His transparent eyelashes fluttering to his cheeks, his weight pressing down through his hand into my thigh, his body heat enveloping me. At first, my brain doesn’t compute. I had somehow transformed the concept of lips in my mind to have transcendental properties or something, but it merely feels like skin. At first, it’s just a lot of softness moulding together. Then, I remember that they are Jian Yi’s lips, and I want to do something, but the slide just feels weird. Putting a hand on my neck, he tilts my head in the opposite direction to his, and our lips interlock in a totally new way, now slightly wet. I feel a pull towards the physicality of him that I never could’ve imagined. After one more motion of pressure, he pulls back, and I try to chase, not knowing what I’d do if I got there. The look in his eyes is unreadable.
“So? Am I really something you want?” There’s something almost angry in the way he asks, as if my answer will be the final curtain call to our farce.
“Can you show me more? And can I put my hand through your hair while you do it?” My heart is beating so fast. That’s one physiological response I can identify. But there’s so many other things going on within me that I might not be able to decipher them until after many, many more kisses.
“Can I be more intense?” asks Jian Yi, now giving me that determined look I’ve come to admire.
“That's very you,” I say, chuckling. “I want you to make me do what you want.” Something shifts again behind his eyes, and suddenly my hand is shoved into his hair, begging me to grip hard. My thighs are spread wide so that he can fill that space right up against my chest, where he fits perfectly to form a whole.
There is a distinct change, this time. It’s not just skin and flesh moving together. Tongues get involved, and I realise with trepidation that I want to lick his mouth inside-out. When he pulls me in, I instinctively pull back out, and his teeth lightly graze across my tongue, sending pleasured spikes down my body. I want to do that to him. Imitating the movement, I pull him closer and smash our mouths together, teeth clacking, and why is that supposed to be bad, I want all the contact possible, and I close my teeth on his pink, pink tongue but end up biting. The sound he makes is jarring and perfect. From here on out, I'm losing all sense of objectivity. From behind my closed eyelids, I can see a 3D reconstruction of the insides of our mouths. Jian Yi is everywhere (it never occurred to me that when kissing you also taste them, inhale them, drink them in) and he’s making the grateful little sounds of a dying man finding absolution.
I do not know who is straddling whom, or for how long we’ve been making out for my lips to be bruised, but I get lost in my nostalgic, comforting delusion that, at least in this moment, we are feeling, thinking, perceiving, existing as one.