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Theory Of The Constant Melody

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Blurb

Twenty-year-old Cyan Clarkson has been in love with Acherous Miller during their fellowship for they are living under the same roof on Sunset Boulevard. Not wanting to get discovered that he comes out as a homosexual, he acts as normal as he can for the sake of the card 'friendship'.

Acherous looks upon Cyan as his best friend since he is showered by so much kindness. One night, he's devastatingly broken... and here comes Cyan who soothes him and enlivens his spirit.

They've gone through tough and sweet times together, not noticing that Cyan's feeling deepens by the minute as he just chooses to keep their friendship fairly strong even though he's hurt deep inside. He has loved his best friend... every single day, but where does it take him?

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CHAPTER 1
THOSE ARE THE TEARS that kept his entirety alive in the furnace of grief and pain. Perhaps, it may not be such extremely odd for a man like Acherous to let his tears burst forth. Like anybody else who wept in tears was because they’ve ever felt worthless. In fact, a man crying is a sign of boldness. Nonetheless, people who underwent early in their childhood tend to be more mature. As soon as his eyes dripped with tears again after a little while of consuming those salty droplets, he began to pound his head against the headrest of the couch. As I suss out, he’s had a bad day—or sort of painful words coming from his girlfriend. I completely have no idea why he’s behaving this way and what’s going on. Whereas, I just presumed that he’s purely in pain which is actually apparent with most likely of his glinted eyes and slumped shoulders. “Bro, calm down. You’re crying too much. No worries, I’ve got you covered. What you’re struggling right now will be dissipated—or just at least lessened. I’ll help you. Just tell me what happened,” I soothed between his sob. He gasped for air and titled his head upward. Then, his round ocean blue eyes held mine, afterwards he returned those sorrowful eyes to the bottle of beer on the contemporary cocktail and coffee table. He already consumed more or less six bottles and didn’t even pull back from it. “Bro…” he mumbled, sounded guttural. His eyes became tame and excessively sentimental. His hands were suspended at the armrest of our modern leather sofa while he stared out to the window; he may look imagining things. This is actually the first time I saw him being in a state of grief—not even close only to cry for some reason. This time, I believe there’s something that hurts him big time. Living under the same roof in the cheapest apartment on Sunset Boulevard can never be a wicked idea because we are both male and regard ourselves as comrades about nine months now, except for the fact that I live in here for four years to study. Nothing does he know that I am homosexual. “Can you snaffle up a case of beers at the convenience store, bro? You probably want to join me,” he slurred in a low tone; his throat was dried due to the liquor. “Please,” he pleaded like a child asking for a candy. I gave him a half-suppressing laugh and shook my head in disapproval. “No. You’re already drunk. Besides, could you resist me to go out and walk down the busy street for your sake of alcohol? Take your nap, instead,” I replied and sat four-figured on the couch across him. “You don’t understand, bro. I am hurt,” he sneered, and after a couple of seconds, he yowled. Childish. But little does he know that I see what he’s coming from. “Dusty Doughnuts! Bro, you’re choking. And your eyes already poured out plenty of tears. Come on, you looked exhausted—” He strangled, “I’m not worn out. Besides, who wouldn’t cry if your heart is crashing, bro? She has broken up with me just for another man.” I was caught off guard, and my eyes dilated in surprise. My bluntness really sucks. I’ve never thought it over. My presupposition fell through the wrong possible things I made up. I occurred to conclude that the reason behind those tears were just misunderstanding—to which was more complicated than before. “I had to be at the restaurant for their family gathering, but I didn’t make it there with all this for her f*****g text!” he ranted on about this occurrence. He never confides his feeling that’s why all the time he’s hurt, I witness how the heartrending tears stream down his cheeks. He’s downright strong for he, on no account, hides sensibility. I can say that he’s an epitome of man who shows his pain through crying. Not having right there at his downfall was a kind of torture to my soul. Who would bear watching your best friend shedding tears? To ease the disturbing crisis messing up my mind about how can I console him, I stood up and walked past the center table and went straight to his seat. I tousled his caramel pompadour with mid fade hair that made him groan. “Don’t muss my f*****g hair, bro…” he scolded me and jutted out his lips. I sat next to him and patted him on the left shoulder. “Bro, look at me,” I said, requesting, not withstanding the protruding display across his bottom lip and on the verge of continuous tears. He slowly turned to me, and our gaze met in between. I subconsciously moved my right hand and pressed my index and middle fingers against his lips. “Let me have this time to share with you my insights, all right?” He nodded slightly and blinked to refresh his mind which he told me last time about it. He blinked once more—even longer—that signaled me that he’s ready with any judgment and innuendos. Shutting and opening eyes quickly is the sign—not of natural viewpoint of annoyance—but of preparation of obtaining something from anybody. “Bro, crying never minifies a man’s pride, dignity and integrity. You know that, right?” I held out my hand from his lips and eyed him. He nodded in response. I guess, he gets used to hearing those words from me. That is my remark whenever he cries. What’s new about this, then? But I don’t see anything wrong with it “Bro, what you can do now is to turn your back on any of kind that gives you pain. Bro, your girlfriend doesn’t worth of your tears at all. She always makes you cry and doesn’t ponder your situation… not ever,” I advised and gently squeezed his shoulder. “But I love Shandria, Cyan. She’s the woman I’d love to look after,” he commented and beamed a little which appeared to be reminiscing memories of them together. Despite the indistinctive tone he used, I could clearly comprehend his statement—that is the urge to make her girlfriend his. Or must it be ex? Yeah, that’s the best thing to call. “I know… Acherous, I know, but if she keeps on hurting you, don’t be duffer. The more you—” He swatted my wrist softly and spoke crossly, “Duffer? What the f**k! I am not old who needed something underneath for support; otherwise, I will momentarily loss my balance.”  I shook my head with disbelief and cuffed him in the head. “You really are drunk. Cut the comedy or you hit the sack, instead,” I ridiculed, trying to hold on my mirth. He winced and stilly massaged his head. “I am not drunk, bro. I am just tipsy, all right?” His excuse can’t feed me just to believe in him. “So, let me ask you to buy… just a couple beers at the store.” Acherous is really insane. He went on at me to make a purchase of beers which I’ve never done before. Apart from that, he’s visibly inebriate showing how his pale ivory face has flushed red. “No,” I emphasized. “Go to bed and you’re going to tell me what happened lately tomorrow morning.” Somehow, his sob has become fairly softened. I can say that he’s nearly obsessed with Shandria. He really cherishes her. He has loved her. After a few seconds, his face deliberately shifted to seriousness which I don’t usually get used to see. “I should tell you now,” he said in a moderate tone, but vivid in progressively worsening on the emotion that played through his heart, I guess. The state of feigning not to be affected by his true feeling is absolutely hard to have go at. It wouldn’t be out of the woods. I gulped twice and viewed how he relaxed his back against the backrest. He took an audible breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “She talked to me over the phone before you arrived late an hour ago…” he preluded and placed his right hand on my shoulder. He looked gentle, yet underlying. “She confessed how she’s been fooling me for months. She played away and tapped it off with anybody who was able to give her so much pleasure that I had never offered….” “She even told me that she doesn’t want to hurt me which I don’t get it well. What the f**k! It remains a nightmare. If hurting me is not her intention, why did she break up with me, then?” he added as to make him more violent by his action when he threw a glass across the room. Realization really hits me hard. “Dusty doughnuts! Bro, c’mon. It won’t help you,” I snapped, my eyes narrowing with a stressing sigh. As soon as the real reason revealed why he has loaded up on beers for his heart crashes into pieces, I come to think of concluding that he’s more than fragile and broken. I look on him as my best friend so as to feel him my great concern. With the months we’ve been together, his behavior and words have become my happy and sweet pills. Nonetheless, he never cooks every morning; hence, he takes out variety of food from fast-food chains near the drive as our dinner upon coming home. Having this experience with him not screwing me over is pleasing. Further, the Mediterranean Gem Salad slips down a treat as our favorite dish. “Because she dislikes to continue a relationship wherein there’s no love anymore. Bro, making you stupid is not her purpose,” I replied and subconsciously held his bulky knuckles when his fingers slightly joined his palm on his lap. And when I heard him groan, I gave it a once-over. My forehead puckered a little while as I saw it redden and scrape. Then, I let go of it. “What the—dickhead! Bro, that couldn’t help ease the pain... yet, it’ll add much burden,” I reprimanded. “Don’t bother. Just a little cut, bro.” Then, he outstretched his fingers more in a relaxing way and snuffled. “The next time you’ll be punching a wall, call me. Jab my face and you’ll end up realizing it can be lots of happy moments to hold onto. Might as well, we’re both hurt.” Suddenly, he chuckled and thwacked me in the head. “I’m too toxic but you’re irresistibly making me less melancholic. You, douchebag.” Thanks, God. I needed to be such like a consultant to pull him through his problem. Somehow, he forgot it for a moment. “But seriously, she could stay with me, bro…” he argued to pass on to again the topic, bringing it back, and moved a bit. “Yes, she could. But she chose to free you to last shorter the agony in times of your love will have deepened. Bro, I hope you understand her. What she did is for your sake.” “Loving me is not tiring,” he muttered and sat legs apart. Scrutinizing his face, I pinched his Greek nose and snickered. He squeezed his eyes shut and scratched his hand against his neck. He’s saying the truth. Loving him is not grueling. And my feeling toward him can be a piece of evidence. Three months ago, I started to hold him in reverence and greatly delight him. Simply to say, I’m in love with him. Not looking uneasy when I’m with him, I always display my natural act of showing like a best friend. I stroked my index finger against my chin and examined his eyes. “Definitely, whoever wishes to be with you is because of your undying love. Bro, keep going. Don’t pin fully on Shandria for causing you grief. If your heart really yearns for hers, love will find its way part. Bro, that’s love. What she did is right for not engaging you with any weary love.” He opened his eyes and wiped the left corner of his right eye then heaved a sigh. “Thanks. You’re a big inspiration for this, honestly. Thank you for being here always, bro. Can I cuddle you?” I smacked my palm against my forehead and grinned widely. I actually expect this. He has always asked me for a cuddle that I am giving at once. I love being in his arms. Despite the card of friendship and both sexes, we are doing this for comfort—not anything else that somebody thinks of. “A bro cuddle?” I babbled. “Yes, exactly.” He laughed shortly and held my shoulder then pulled me closer to him. My heart straightway throbbed so fast as I chanced to get a sniff of his white shirt—so manly, yet citrus. Good thing, we are not staring at each other. In coincidence that he looks over my face, I believe he could make me deride for having this face burning. “Bro, if anything were to happen to you, I’m here. I’ve got you covered.” “You might go back on your words, bro,” he presumed. “I knew it that I would die in your arms whenever you ask me the same question as before. Bro, I keep my words.” I titled my head upward and met his wonderful eyes. “That’s coming along nicely to you…” he uttered. “What?” I asked for clarification. “If it would happen this to you, it could’ve surely done well by yourself.” In a jiff, the deafening silence took several sighs before getting it deceased. “We are not practically resembling with emotion; you can handle a problem, whereas I hardly deal with it, bro. I wonder if I am actually a man. I am crying. So gay.” I moved out his hand over my shoulder and lammed on his head lightly. “Bro, weeping in tears doesn’t make you fag. Unless…” He chuckled. “No. Erase that thing, bro.” “Good.” “I noticed just by now that we have the same curve of lips.” “Yes. I already observed that a month ago or two,” I answered. “Your celestial nose is really stunning. Man to man, would you mind me asking if you are wooing someone?” I smirked and shook my head. Somehow, he could pull himself together.  Making sure my feeling toward him will not be paid no heed, I swear to keep my words. Friendship. Contentment. Constant melody of our friendship will stay as I still can. 

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