Hullo everyBADDIH and welcome to my new story that I'm writing in replacement of Fate's Fools, which I've finished writing! I don't know how long this is going to be, I' just letting it all come to me and write down. It have for the moment just a very vague storyline for it. The length will depend on THE READERS REACTIONS, okies? Okies. Well. Enjoy!...please.

Warning: SLASH, (yaoi, boys love, mxm, shonen-ai…you know what I'm talking about) and SWEARING. Loads of it. May be some violence. Also: high bubble content. BE WARNED.

Rating: as of now? T.

Summary: I blame the bubbles. It's all the bubbles' faults. The fact that everything is going weirder and weirder between Syl and I…not my fault. DAMN BUBBLES.



Relationships are based upon all sorts of things. The most common of these things is love. Another common thing is lust. Hatred is pretty common too, as is affection. Then, there is the immense spectrum of other things that people don't even notice their whole relationship is balanced on: crumbs. A dog. Windows. Shoes. Light bulbs. Anything, really.

My relationship with Syl is based on bubbles.

It all began when I was seven. I'd just gotten my lunch stolen, so I was crying, sitting miserably at the edge of the noisy playground. My throat was hick with sobs and my mouth thick with saliva, and I began blowing large, wet bubbles with my mouth. When they got too big they exploded, showering my face with spit. It was disgusting. It was awesome.

'I bet I can blow bigger spit bubbles than you,' a snide voice sneered at my side.

I looked up and saw a little boy my age standing defiantly in front of me. His ugly little face was splattered with ugly little freckles, and his hair was like carrot salad. Smeared chocolate surrounded his mouth.

'You're ugly,' I said. 'And I'm the best blower of spit-bubbles in the world!'

'We'll see!' he cried out, sitting down beside me.

He blew a spit bubble, and it burst, showering my face with his saliva. In order to get my revenge I blew an even bigger bubble.

After fifteen minutes, I said:

'Okay. You blow bigger spit bubbles than me. But you're still ugly.'

Which brings us here. Ten years later. Sitting on the swings in Syl's garden. We're each holding a little tub of bubble-liquid and are both blowing bubbles, watching them as they float up, all shimmery and cute, into the icy nightfall. Syl says:

'Okay. You blow bigger bubbles than me. But you're still ugly.'

Nothing has changed.

Or rather, everything has changed. Swapped roles, somehow. From him being an ugly carroty-haired, chocolate-mouth brat and me a cute, angelic blond sweetie we've moved into him being a stunning, emerald-eyed, crimson-haired lady-killer and me being a scrawny, scruffy, mousy-haired geek. In these terms, everything changed. All the rest, however, still remains the same.

'I may be ugly but at least I'm not stupid,' I snap, and blow a particularly large and beautiful bubble.

'Pity you can't have the looks and the brains, like me,' he snorts, poking a finger in my bubble.

'You bastard! You killed my bubble!' I yell, rage choking me.

I get up from the swing and launch my fist in his face. It connects with a satisfying thud and I sit back down, satisfied. I blow a pretty little medium-sized bubble and watch it rise into the air.

'Fuck you!' Syl yells, and empties his bubble liquid tub in my hair.

'You son of a bitch! My hair!' I scream, desperately trying to stop the thing from reaching my eyes.

'At least it's getting washed. For once in its miserable mousy life!' Syl cackles.

I throw my bubble-liquid at his face.

With an inhuman scream, he launches himself on me, knocking me off the swing. We land in the wet, muddy, icy grass, hitting each other wherever we can reach. I punch his cheek, he paunches my stomach, I kick his leg, he hits my hips. We're clawing at each other's clothes, hitting and scratching and swearing and yelling and breathing hard, our hands slippery with bubble liquid, our hair wet and sticking to our face, our bodies and clothes smeared with mud and wet grass.

A window opens, and Syl's sister's voice reaches us, yelling:

'Will you cut it off! Your fits of testosterone overdose are doing my head in!'

'You're only jealous because you wish you were the one getting your hands all over Dale's body!' Syl yells back.

He pinches my side and I let out a regrettably girlish scream.

'No thanks!' her voice reaches, disdainful. 'I, unlike you, have taste in men!'

I yell: 'Hey!' but she slams her window shut without another word.

'Aw, it's alright, baby, you don't need her, you have me!' Syl coos, burying his head in my neck and caressing my wet hair soothingly.

'Get off! You will not seduce me into forgetting all the harm you did to me!' I squeal damsel-in-distress-ly, trying to shove him off.

'Aw, but sweeting! If I cannot have your body willingly then I shall have to ravish you!' Syl says with a pathetic excuse for a manly growl.

'You've been reading Am's Mills and Boons again, haven't you? Dude, you are so sad,' I sneer.

'Fuck you! You're the one who spends all your money on fucking Japanese cartoon porn!'

'It's not Japanese cartoon porn! It's manga and it's a form of Art!' I yell, bucking my hips in order to throw him off. Syl, unfortunately, swims every day. He also runs everyday. He also eats too much healthy food. And drinks too much energizing stuff. Which means that his body is much stronger and much heavier than mine. And it just won't budge.

'Get off!' I scream, losing my patience and feeling my body growing numb with lack of blood circulation.

'You do realise that getting off is American slang for having an orgasm, right?' Syl snickers in my neck.

Thank God for the rapid British nightfall…I don't think I've ever blushed that hard in my life.

An hour later, we're sitting in Syl's bedroom, hair still wet from our showers, lounging on his bed, stuffing our faces with pizza and arguing over what to do. Syl's dressed in a black sleeveless shirt, and baggy pyjama trousers that hang down on his hips, showing a strip of pale flat flesh between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his trousers. I hate him. He's so freaking confident about his stupid fit body, it's sickening! But somehow, when I'm with him, I never really mind much that he's fitness and sexyness incarnate and I'm scrawny-skinny-weakling-stickman: I'm in my oversized paint-splattered I Eat Bunnies For Breakfast T-shirt, which is just so big it keeps falling off my left shoulder so I have to haul it back up every five seconds and oversized pyjama trousers. I know I'm ugly and awkward in comparison to him, but I've also known him from the time I was still the pretty one and him the ugly one, so I don't bother heaving my too-big trouser higher over my hips when they fall down, and eventually stop hitching the shirt back over my shoulder.

'I don't care what you say! I want to play!' Syl yells.

'Well, I don't! You only have stupid race games and mafia crap or whatever! I say we have a Tim Burton fest!' I yell back.

'What the hell do you mean!' he snapped. 'I bought the latest Kingdom Hearts the other day!'

'No way!' I shout. 'You're lying!'

'Jeez—I'm not lying!'

Syl rolls off the bed, drags himself to his pile of video games and pulls out one box, throwing it at me. I catch it, and realise that he is not lying: I am actually holding the latest Kingdom Hearts game in my hands.

'I love you Syl!' I scream, launching myself at him.

He catches me in a hug, laughing, and abruptly flips us around so that I'm lying beneath him on the floor. His legs are on either side of mine, his arms are wrapped around me and he's leaning his whole weight on me, effectively pinning me to the ground. His face is so close to mine our noses are practically touching. The wet strands of hair fall around his face, dripping water on my face.

'If you love me,' he whispers, his voice husky and seductive, 'then prove it.'

I stare at his eyes, all green and murky and unique and goddamn beautiful, and find myself wishing that he weren't my best friend. Because I don't think that what's going on right now in my chest and down there is very normal behaviour between two best friends. I sigh.

'Okay, okay…I'll buy you chocolate ice-cream at college tomorrow… satisfied?' I ask, trying to make my voice as light as possible.

He stares at me for a second, and his face drops abruptly so that his lips are so close to mine that I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. I think I stop breathing.

'Fuck you.' Syl snaps, getting off me, and stomping out of the room.

I stay lying on the ground, my heart hammering so hard in my chest I can barely hear myself thinking.

Well…that was weird.