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bakerstreet2025-04-06 11:11 am
mllememe) wrote in bakerstreet2025-04-06 11:11 am
Entry tags:
april texting.
You’ve got your TFLN, you’ve got your sexting, now here’s the meme for all those gen texts, phone calls, voicemails, pictures of your cats, and whatever else your little heart can come up with, because who doesn't like a little old fashioned friendly texting. (Or enemy texting, if that's more your bag.)
instructions: What it says on the tin! Leave a comment with your character, include preferences, a start, absolutely nothing or whatever you want. Run around and reply to others. Lather, rinse, repeat.
no subject
a romantic.
cheap boxed wine isn't just cheap boxed wine. it's ten year late rebellion to an ambassador father. mugs left unbought or unreplaced are not just mugs. they're reminders of what ugetsu ruined. and the man above him isn't just a man above him.
kaji akihiko has always been more. since a music room. since shared earphones over a piece they know by heart. since "i'm leaving this place".
silent sobs wrack ugetsu's body like a secret storm. he can't understand it, feels like he might die even as he's never felt more alive. his fingers tighten even in aki's short hair, as if to keep him against his neck, as if to keep him at all. the other arm still limp at his side, tingles vaguely. ]
Oh Aki.
[ quiet. and i love you. quiet. and i love you. quiet. and i love you.
if akihiko dared to reach into him he could tear it out of him and ugetsu would thank him for impossible freedom.
so stupid.
of course he'll let him ruin him. escape was his only way out. but here he is again.
the laugh that trickles from his sobs is hysterical but no less quiet. ]
And...if I want it to hurt? What then?
[ it's not right. it's not fair. it is--
-- the truth.
if aki cannot even handle that answer though then it's already over, again. it's not that ugetsu isn't afraid; it's that he doesn't remember a life without fear and so what of it? 'nothing' to lose has always been a lie when akihiko's lips glance against his ear or his bruise bloomed throat. 'everything' a fever dream or just a fever without a dream to speak of. he trembles still, soft little whines escaping him between his inhales and exhales. the hand in his hair slips down to his nape, a loose desperate grasp: i need...
i want. ]
no subject
his breath stutters against ugetsu's neck. ugetsu is storm bright and trembling. he's always been beautiful like this. a ruined radiance, as though his breaking point is just another offering. another offering to the stage he so desperately wishes to play on. ugetsu's laugh echoes softly]
You know me. I'm going to ask you why. Because I have to know. Why do you want it to hurt?
[there's a falter in his voice, while a shudder runs through him. he knocks their hips together again, ripping a whine from his throat. bare skin on fabric. it's never meant to last like that. but something allows it, just for this moment. so caught up in each other's galaxies]
You want to bleed music, bleed love, bleed you.
[his hand slips down, pressing into ugetsu's thigh, pushing his leg up. all to get a better angle. he bites his lip, the quiet softened with the hysterics of ugetsu's laughter. all peppered with those inhales and exhales. like he's trying to learn all over again. how to do this, how to exist as a person and not a machine]
Ugetsu, please.
[he whines, nuzzling against ugetsu's arm, all while those grounding fingertips press into his nape]
no subject
[ nothing left.
that had been the unofficial unwritten unspoken plan. had part of aki known it soon or not so soon? or was it enough for haruki to come into his life like the spring flower murata ugetsu never could nor would be? he won't ask. aki's hand on his thigh is familiar, the way he pushes is also familiar and it makes ugetsu's broken body preen underneath him; like someone whole and glowing just for him. sometimes, he did: just for him. no one else could elicit it from him besides. the closest came was music and even then they could never be equal. ugetsu shifts, impatient, wrecked, wanting, and forces his heavy bloody arm up just to curl shivering fingers into the waist and tug. off. stop teasing.
he knows aki isn't. but he'll blame him anyway.
the world spins even though ugetsu barely moves. he's so dizzy. his heart beats too fast. he's starting to wonder if any of it is even real.
he's hallucinated aki before, after all, had full conversations, had cinema worthy breakdowns, had once a near reconciliation only to shatter it with his own inability to breathe, waking up before the bathtub could kill him. an accident, as it turned out, though of his own making as always: drink, smoke, bed, drink, fight, run. the need to be clean and also see himself for all his dirt.
the concerto that night had been his best yet and ugetsu had wanted to die.
he wanted to live.
but the difference between the two...he was losing the sound of it.
now, days later, he can hear it. the threshold.
shape and touch. akihiko akihiko akihiko. music. there are eight phases of the moon.
for ugetsu, aki is every single one.
and so is music.
he can't reconcile it even now but they're too far gone again. he's staining aki's pants with blood he's sure and doesn't care, tugs again, pointed. hurry. and echoes wretched but wanton, the kind of voice people pay for, ]
Please.
no subject
he stares at ugetsu. shivering, soaked in blood. all his brilliance and madness. his own pulse sluggishly dwindles. ugetsu is one breath away from breaking entirely, he's unraveling completely as he tries to shove akihiko's pants down. he doesn't rush though. he doesn't want ugetsu to dictate the pace through this panic. akihiko holds him. that hand steady on his thigh, another running fingers through those coarse locks]
I'm here.
[quiet words. there's no promise. they've both broken too many of those maybe. reassurance would be far too easy. reality is easy, truth. this may be the only one either has left]
Is this how you need to feel it?
[his fingers drag along the glass lodged in ugetsu's arm. he's taking the time now, to recognize it. or maybe he's recognizing the entirety of their wrcked crescendo. a symphony that's always been feared and craved in a single breath. one by one, he plucks what he can away. the only thing he can do. he moves with care, voice catching against ugetsu's ear]
Tell me where it is. I don't want to hurt you.
[not that kind of hurt at least. maybe that bottle is where it's always been. akihiko can't bear to bring more onto what's already bleeding under, on, ugetsu's skin. but it's been a long time. so many people could have come in and out of here. so many did, under their sheets, while akihiko was still here after all. his thumb brushes carefully between ugetsu's legs]
no subject
and no.
i don't know.
but ugetsu has trained his body to respond and so it does; so he will. perfect teeth worry his lower lip redder, softer and swollen. it hurts. it feels good. or it just feels. to discern the difference is...he's not sure he can. and it takes him longer than usual to understand aki's words. his brow pinches, inarticulate sounds escape him, confused, and when he realizes? another hysterical giggle. silly. aki is so silly.
and gorgeous. and perfect. and the only one.
ugetsu wants to cut himself open under his teeth and his piercings and his long long fingers.
i don't want to hurt you.
there's the difference of course.
on ugetsu's left ear: an earring that was never his and he knew it and still refused to return it, to bring it to akihiko and haruki's door. once, mafuyu stared at it a little too long and ugetsu knew: ah. always the quiet ones. but because it was mafuyu he did not say anything until much later. now, underneath that earring's original owner, ugetsu arches, winsome, and then --
-- opens his red red mouth: ah.
bottle? he doesn't know or remember. he's taken his dissatisfying one night stands outside for a long time, not that they have anything for him either. he lets his eyes fall half-mast again, a look he's given akihiko countless times; strings pressed under knowing fingertips. it'll be enough. and if it's not, fine. ugetsu feels like he's so empty he might die from it.
here. i can help with that. or so he seems to say, reaching back to curl his fingers at aki's hand in his hair, pulling it up only to bring it to his own lips. he mouths at the tips, grazes his teeth, hums along the skin. then takes three all the way to the back of his throat with a choked sigh. with how he lathes his tongue around and through them, he knows it'll be 'enough' even if it still hurts. and isn't it just like them: every step is a test. a challenge.
an are you sure you want this.
are you sure you want
me? ]
no subject
he should.
he won't.
the sight of ugetsu, lips stretched, eyes slipping between consciousness, still trembling while he takes. akihiko exhales, a thick swallow trailing after. his voice, when it finally comes to him, is hoarse. so rough after a night like tonight]
You never make this easy.
[his fingers trace the hollow of ugetsu's cheek. a reverence, maybe this is the apology he wants to give. for everything. he leans in, testing the waters. fingers in and out, in and out. all of this is so long broken. but he.
ugetsu wants this to hurt so bad. like he thinks he deserves the punishment. but akihiko can't, won't.
he grits his teeth, ripping his fingers out past those sinful lips]
I'll be gentle.
[one hand grips ugetsu's thigh as he pushes it up. out of his way. he repositions it, up, maybe braces ugetsu's ankle on his shoulder. wherever. he can give him this without it hurting. even if this is the best way. it's still akihiko. he tugs at ugetsu's entrance with his thumb, swiping his tongue over immediately after]
no subject
don't be.
but in many ways it's what ugetsu needs: someone who doesn't listen to him but still hears him. ]
Mmn...hn....ah...
[ warm. a whining noise that sounds like begging. he's intimately familiar with aki and all the ways he touches. the time he takes. but it's been so long. if aki doesn't hold him down with his other hand, ugetsu is ugetsu; impatient, impossible. he tries to angle his hips and push up. he doesn't need to be treated well. doesn't want to be. his arm throbs, the skin discolored around where the glass was pulled out, but ugetsu wants to feel that all over. from the inside, out.
days or afternoons or evenings or mornings. the dust motes would catch the scant light and look like stars. the music never sounded as good as it should but for this ugetsu made his concession because his head was leaning on aki's shoulder anyway, the earbud in his other ear. all with a background of soundproofed isolation. their own little world, for better or for worse.
things got bad before they got better before they got worse.
something lit up in ugetsu to see the joy akihiko got from playing those incessant drums. and part of him drowned, wanted to drag him down with him: stop leaving. even though he told him to; even though he did everything he could to make it happen; it's all his own fault. the crow cuts off its own wings and it's still bitter underneath the same half of sky. ugetsu dreams. ugetsu wakes. ugetsu
misses him.
oh.
but he's here.
to akihiko it will look like some strange mix of how ugetsu looks when he's blissed out beyond imagination, fucked out, and wasted, and high after a performance gone so well it might crush him one day. his breaths come as wet needy little things and he doesn't hear himself, just reaches a clumsy blood stained hand to aki's head, his ear, thumbing at his piercing. mine. you were mine.
i think you were. ]
no subject
their lost small world. it seems so far away now. all those nights spent bathed in the moonlight here.
akihiko holds him down, not rough. firm. the pressure that screams i'm here. somewhere akihiko refuses to depart fully is ugetsu. even if they both know it's inevitable. maybe not this time? maybe akihiko is too far in now, he doesn't know if he could go home without shame littering every inch of him. he's not a liar.
his fingers tighten against ugetsu's thigh, his tongue pressing in deeper while one finger keeps ugetsu open. he'll carve patience in the shape of ugetsu's name. even if ugetsu only craves the exact opposite. but that hand at his ear. it screams
mine.
akihiko nearly chokes on it, anguished under the full body shiver that rips through him. he leans into the touch, lets it scald him. he groans as he plunges his tongue in and out. he can feel ugetsu's pulse, fast and stuttering. just like the trapped bird he's always been. akihiko pulls back for a moment to whisper against ugetsu's thigh]
You're the only one I could write music for.
[and without another word, he pushes his tongue back in]
no subject
sometimes in the morning aki would make them coffee, before the old mug and after. sometimes ugetsu would cling to him like a real first love and impart unto him that leaving the bed at all was a hand no worse than death. sometimes the basement apartment lay as if abandoned: neither of them there at all, akihiko doing what he had to do to have a place to stay or to get by, and ugetsu doing everything he could to run from it all only to wind up back on a polished stage. like a long leashed figurine in a music box.
once, recently, ugetsu screamed until he could barely breathe. the basement kept his secret.
he couldn't hear anything.
not a nightmare but a waking death.
it's not hard to say what would have happened if his manager hadn't come in just half an hour later.
right now, he's more alive than he's been in he doesn't know how long.
akihiko opens him up the way no one else ever could. it's a shame ugetsu's too wasted to fully comprehend his words. or maybe it's a blessing. the faint touch of his piercing against the tender skin of his thigh, the wet heat of his breath. shaking. shuddering. falling apart.
falling in love.
the same?
the hand curled like possession at aki's ear drags trembling fingernails against his head, from temple and back: yes, yes, yes. there you are. his own voice is foreign to him when it slurs, too hot and too destroyed, ]
Why--ah mmn...
[ why won't you hurt me? why do you care? why are you here?
his vision swims. tears, yes. but also black spots. overwhelmed and begging for more. because if this is the last time akihiko makes this mistake -- and ugetsu knows it is one, he is one for him -- then he needs all of him. his green eyed sun that might swallow the crow colored moon, the music he would write, the glass he pulls out of his body.
his heart. just for now. just one more time.
maybe it could anchor ugetsu's, beating hummingbird fast and ghost silent. ]
no subject
yet, in reality it's everything.
akihiko simply can't bring himself to ruin and wreck this man. leaving him with nothing but the silence of this basement. he can't. his fingers grip ugetsu tighter instead. the kind of grip that should say you're safe here, but maybe it's just the kind that makes him cry harder.
you were always too much for me.
i could never be enough for you.
he has to leave. but he can't stop. ugetsu's hand incessantly raking, clawing through his hair. it's like he's carving yes into his scalp. akihiko would rather die than pull away now. the tremble spreads like a virus between them. there's no telling where one ends and the other begins. his mouth presses kindly against ugetsu's entrance. a soft murmur of something unspoken between them. ugetsu is too far gone for words now anyways.
maybe if he does this hard, soft, anything enough--whole enough--maybe it won't end. akihiko never wants this to end, he realizes, as he slides a finger alongside his tongue. his lids drop heavily, succumbing to the chilled heat of this place. it's always been ugetsu]
no subject
all of them useless. even the way they hurt him did nothing.
ugetsu became his own blackhole, smiling glimmers of a comet tail on stage, shattered light of a stained glass cathedral and hundreds of white smiles that only meant people knew how to bare their teeth and prove their statuses. all the reviews couldn't be better. all his benefactors, never happier. and ugetsu...
ah he can't breathe.
aki's name chokes out of him like he actually might be dying.
the hand in aki's hair, at his ear, falls away not because he lets it but because he has no choice, the dead weight of it heavy against the bloodied wine soaked floor where sheet music tears and half melts away. tingling. he can barely feel it, he realizes. a deep contrast to akihiko's steadfast worship. he can't help how he clenches down around that finger and tongue, desperate. starving. heat knots in the pit of his stomach and burns outward. he can't stop crying, stop gasping these heady little moans that reach and curl down into aki like secret notes, wanting, needing, begging; notes only he can hear:
more.
the only person ugetsu has ever asked that of; the only one he ever will. ]
no subject
maybe shattering into pieces. maybe staying intact. there was never any solid guess.
worship carved into flesh. akihiko carefully slides another finger to join his tongue, and the first. he hears ugetsu's body scream, feels it ache more. a note threaded through with everything ugetsu's body refuses to vocally let him ask for. akihiko's is hooked, dragged forward into it.
i never stopped hearing you is what his ministrations scream in return. akihiko is still maddeningly gentle. but there's worship at play now. he has never stopped hearing uetsu. not on the stage, or the silence in his sun kissed apartment. ugetsu is nowhere at all, yet everywhere all at once. every smile he faked, every night he let someone split him open only to stitch himself shut before morning.
akihiko gives him so much more now. he can't even think of his guilt, of haruki and mafuyu when they find out. but not in the way ugetsu craves. the way akihiko needs to. full of ache and love. the thing that two people who have never truly loved can know.
his free hand finds ugetsu's limp on the floor, threading their fingers together. a silent plea. stay with me. their song. their prayer]
no subject
was it good?
not the way others call it as such.
aki never lied to him.
that was always ugetsu's specialty.
but their bodies were honest. music was honest. silence less so. conversation even less.
the sounds that escape ugetsu sound too perfectly split between something good and something bad. yes. no. it feels good. it hurts. it's everything. it's nothing. aki. aki. aki. the feeling of those fingers lacing with his own feels like being struck until he can't breathe. his hand spasms, not quite able to tighten the way the rest of him does. the pale arch of his back is a crescent moon, pulled taut, the knee hooked on akihiko's shoulder curling tighter like he could force him deeper this way. but there's no real leverage in it. the wine has made ugetsu too pliant even at the same time that he's wound so tight he might break.
all the inarticulate, slurred warm huffs of air and gasps of not enough muddle together, objectively quiet but flooding the basement apartment, obscene mixed with the sound of aki's worship. and yet. not enough. ugetsu knows it. akihiko knows it. but the thing is, it's not enough for ugetsu, obviously, and yet the other truth is this: it's not enough for aki either. why they work. why they don't.
why there's no one else.
no one else. ]
no subject
Ugetsu...
[akihiko's fingers are delicately slow, trying to anchor ugetsu through the chaotic confines of his mind. here in the reek of wine and sex and music that nobody else can hear. in this little place nobody else exists.
there's so much damage. wrecking ugetsu's every little gasp, whimper, anything that bubbles from his throat. akihko hears it all. the pleases in every little sob. the i love yous in every broken whine. and the whys everytime his body thrashes under akihiko's fingertips. akihiko can only give him so much like this, he can't bear to hurt someone he loves and cherishes so deeply.
but he gives what he can.
two fingers and his tongue. it's what he wants to give, what ugetsu's body can take (despite his mind screaming otherwise. for more suffering). and that's what akihiko gives him. agonizingly slow, meticulous. every stroke, every push of his tongue, every curl of his fingertips. the desperate press of their bodies. he arches up where ugetsu's leg is curled around him. burying himself in all of this, maybe it's something that will finally stick this time.
he just wants the sound. that torn, holy sound ugetsu makes when he's falling apart. akihiko wonders how long it's been since he sobbed like this. nobody else ever hears it. nobody else ever will]
no subject
and then for a few moments, long moments, ugetsu's entire body gives with violent shudders, hot and wet and trembling like a struck chord. dark swallows him, those snags of shadow blotting out everything else finally too. he floats, hasn't the wherewithal or the soberness to tell aki any kind of truth or lie. everything feels heavy. he sighs, half whines. why?
it's a dream isn't it? he's going to open his eyes and he'll be alone.
just how it's supposed to be.
just as he's afraid of.
just.
except no. ugetsu's eyes slowly open, though it's excruciating. his hand spasms more than grips at akihiko's. and...in the midst of the wine and the blood, that's a scent unmistakably aki. he shudders, eyes fluttering. not gone? not a dream? would explain why his body aches, hurts even, despite akihiko's tenderness. what he does not realize: how his breaths are coming a little too fast still, too shallow. all he can manage, stumbled and round as it is, ]
Aki...
[ just his name and also not at all. tears still leak traitorous and alarming down the sides of his face. he doesn't notice, can't feel much beyond the burning anywhere aki touches, needing his hands his mouth his everything all over. his leg slides if aki doesn't hold it in place, down his shoulder to hook against the bend of his arm, splayed open. sweat beads down his skin even though he can't feel it, mixing with the mess he's made of his own stomach. unconsciously, he's still trembling. dimly he's aware aki's not planning to fuck him, not like how he wants, not like this. as it is, he's a boneless mess on his own floor, barely able to move at all.
aki he thinks, since he can't find his voice again. even if he lied, tried to coax akihiko into filling him until he screamed and said it was good for him, even if he begged...it feels like he won't relent this time. ugetsu doesn't even know why. it just seems...true. ]
no subject
but for the time being, he doesn't move.
he works ugetsu through his spiral, so agonizingly gentle. ugetsu is boneless under him, barely able to keep himself together. always so feeble. he pulls away, pressing his lips to ugetsu's thigh. it's trembling under him]
I'm still here.
[he whispers like a promise. his voice low and cracked because he's broken too. there's no going back now. a deeply ugly thing he's let himself do here. it's slow and unbearable, watching someone you love hurt themselves. know how powerless you are to stop it and can only hold them through it.
he slowly crawls up the length of ugetsu's body. his nose brushes sweaty strands from ugetsu's face, just like he always has. but delicately so. the wrong touch might send him shattering all over again. he presses their foreheads together. he can't bear to let this go. why? why can't he let ugetsu go?
because he loves the violin]
Please don't make me leave.
[his voice breaks. he won't say why. he doesn't think ugetsu could survive hearing it. that this--this wreckage on the floor, this beautiful ruined thing that's begging to be broken again--akihiko wants him whole. not hollow and begging for--
so akihiko just holds ugetsu. lets the silence fill. it's just the whisper of ugetsu's labored breathing, the trickle of his sobs. akihiko lets his heart break against the echo. he's still wanted, somehow. he's still needed, somehow. he doesn't want to fuck ugetsu into forgetting. he wants to just stay.
oh he doesn't deserve someone like haruki. he deserves this desolate bunker, free of sunlight]
no subject
his sobs lessen until they are nothing but his staggered breaths, little thready things so uneven one would mistake him for being conscious. but he isn't. perhaps aki feels it, the very last drops of tension as they collapse him. ugetsu won't tell him to leave; he can't. he tried. he did.
i wanted to...
do the right thing.
once. if only.
.
if aki does indeed stay, he'll find ugetsu doesn't wake up for almost 24 hours. like finally relenting brought the last of his defenses down. he's sick, and it's not the first nor the last time. fever keeps him unable to wake for too long. and when he finally can drag himself to the edge of awareness, it's still slow. struggled. his body feels heavy, and he does mistake what happened for a dream. because why on earth would aki ever come back here? to this place?
to him?
a soft groan shudders out of him, and he can feel the dry crack of his lips, taste the blood there. familiar.
it's only when he tries to push himself up to sitting that a pained noise escapes, the arm where he had decorated himself in glass, still too sore and tender, and he sways, nothing to brace himself on. so that part wasn't a dream, he thinks and almost laughs about it. ]
no subject
not out of guilt, or some weird sense of duty. but because the moment ugetsu collapsed, no music, no seduction, no beauty in the breakdown, akihiko understood something. that ugetsu never needed saving. only to be held. so he holds him.
he stays with him for so long. all through the hours where ugetsu doesn't stir except for the trembling. he tenderly puts ugetsu in his bed--their bed--at some point. when even the hard floor is too much for him, let alone ugetsu. after he cleans the mess on the floor, on ugetsu's skin. maybe the one in the air.
akihiko aches, touching him through his slumber. and when ugetsu finally wakes, akihiko is gone for a moment. only a few feet away, pouring hot water over tea. he hasn't been drinking much coffee recently. he doesn't think he could stand it right now anyways. he doesn't notice ugetsu waking, just seating himself on the floor next to the futon. there's an open book on the floor, though ugetsu will never know akihiko hasn't turned the page in two hours. he watches as ugetsu stirs. watches the pain bloom across ugetsu's face like a bruise reopening. his free hand presses against him]
Don't push yourself. You scared the hell out of me.
[the glass in his arm. the blood. there's two cups. he tries offering one to ugetsu, tentative of course. he remembers so many broken cups and shards of glass ripping him open over the years. so all he does is offer. offer his presence alongside it. or maybe offer the chance to not have to say sorry outloud]
no subject
another breath. ah. the brand of cigarettes aki favors. something else. antiseptic? the smell of wine is all but gone. and...
...ah.
he stares at the tea for a while, his gaze not quite able to focus, likely due to the fever. he closes his eyes, a slight shake of his head before falling back against the bed. ]
I won't tell him.
[ everything that happened is somehow both very clear and the haziest of dreams. a line was crossed but it would be a lie to say ugetsu ever cared about haruki's feelings. it's akihiko he cares about; for. aki asked him to not make him leave (again) and ugetsu isn't. he just wants to make that one perhaps very important thing crystalline.
if akihiko feels the need to bare his trespasses to the bassist, well, that's his choice.
and, likewise, if he finds now, hot tea a poor consolation for years of whatever they were and weren't, he wants to make the most of ugetsu's silence, he also will not stop him.
eyes fluttering shut, ugetsu's hand reaches over to his own arm to absently pick at the newly closed scabs. itchy. and in the meanwhile he hums, nothing he's going to perform but a few pointless notes like stars slung on fishing wire. when they were younger, their humming would overlap and it was warm. it was the gold and the red of autumn. it was shoving at each other until they fell, over and over. ugetsu lifted a red maple leaf to aki's eye and aki mirrored it with a gold gingko to spare. warm.
right now, ugetsu's voice is too weak but if nothing else he knows music; the pitch is right, the tone is sound. it's pretty. it's nothing.
the slight twist of his body is supine, sheets slid down to tangle at his narrow waist as he sighs, rainfall eyes opening to level once more at the person he knows best. ]
no subject
akihiko watches ugetsu ponder if sleep might offer a more merciful end to all this. he watches his fingers drift, picking at his scabs, like he has to revisit pain the second it begins to swallow him. but most of all, he listens. he listens to that hum curl into the air groggily. akihiko's chest tightens, as he tries to bat his hand away from his arm]
Don't do that. You're going to bleed everywhere again.
[mother henning him, as always. beautiful. he thinks. and he hates himself for it.
it's quiet, only ugetsu's soft hum rattling the silence. it doesn't mean anything. that's the worst part. the last note falls heavier than the melody itself. akihiko leans back against the futon, sipping at the tea he made too strong for himself. like it might jostle something loose. he runs a hand through his hair. his fingers pause at the nape of his neck; they dig in. a reminder to not get caught up in ugetsu's gravitational pull. he sighs]
You won't tell him. I figured.
[it's not accusatory. far from it. just fact, dripping in space like a dying note]
...but I will.
[there's no self righteousness in his voice. it's only inevitability. he has to. he's not so cruel. turn his life around for someone, because of how much he loves them huh? then crawl off to crawl under the sheets of his ex. he sighs. his fingers curl into a fist. he lets his head fall back against the futon, as he looks over ugetsu]
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Oh Aki.
[ it isn't pity. it isn't kindness. resignation? not something ugetsu traffics in much. then? he reaches out with his injured arm to tiptoe his fingers along the side of aki's face, his neck, his shoulder, wherever he can reach. to remember how they were at the beginning is not difficult and that is part of why the present is. even then...well, even though he did not drag him back here at gunpoint, he didn't lock his door to him either. though the spare key would have made that a moot action, if aki wanted to come in that much.
and that's the thing of course; aki wanted; aki, perhaps, even wants.
ugetsu cannot fathom why else he would be here.
doesn't make it a 'good' decision.
his head throbs and he lets his eyes fall shut, his hand fall away. hangover. and whatever else. the added-up residual effects of taking such excellent care of himself, no doubt. aki, he thinks and can't really say it even now. i missed you.
there's a particular song for them. it floods him whenever they're together whether they're fighting or not, whether they're fucking or not. akihiko. aki. autumn colors shot through with a near fluorescent green of the eye. violin strings and a touch of piano. the shutter of a phone's camera. rain without an umbrella. a car barely pulled into the garage, fogged up and subjected to their impatience. more music; always more music. like this, aki, you know. always more. please--.
the throbbing recedes enough for him to shiver, hand brought to his head to push against his temple. well. it's his own fault of course. he could ask aki why he gave in; why he came. why he drew a line they sometimes didn't in the past: unwilling to hurt even if ugetsu begged him for it, even if ugetsu always did. doesn't seem to know how not to. maybe if it doesn't hurt, it's less real. maybe. he could ask why. but it's ugetsu.
what stumbles from his mouth is just a sigh. ]
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ugetsu's sigh sounds like a door closing. maybe something that was never open more than a crack to begin with. he doesn't move away when ugetsu touches him. does ugetsu not believe he's real? it's what he feels in that cracked glass laugh, the way ugetsu simply exists looking at him.
he turns to look back towards the bed. his gaze is soft, unsparing. akihiko reaches his hand out, brushing ugetsu's hair from his eyes. just the way he always used to. it's a fleeting touch, maybe lingering just a moment too long before akihiko lets his hand fall to rest on the sheets.
ugetsu has tried so many times to throw akihiko away. why does he want to uncrumble him now? fold out all those smooth edges, but the wrinkles are always there. akihiko bites his lip.
sex was something they were always good at after they moved in together. it was easier than words. in high school... all those memories of them sharing an earbud, playing together, rolling around in the leaves. there was so much innocence still left in them. what happened to it all?
right. ugetsu grew up. the world called for a world class violinist, and he answered it. leaving everything behind. akihiko flicks ugetsu's forehead. lightly of course. he can see the pain ticking in ugetsu's temple]
Shower? Bet you feel like shit after drinking all that.
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[ lilting, teasing, the knee jerk defense mechanism of a person whose problem isn't a lack of feeling but a surplus of it. he's never known how to manage or handle it and that might be indicator enough: that he still doesn't know. he already misses the feeling of aki's fingers in his hair, the feeling of aki all over; like he was the only thing worth knowing and, for a while, ugetsu could almost believe it.
almost.
he sighs, still staring at aki. it would be nice if he were less attractive but somehow the years have only seen fit to make him even more handsome. absurd. but it's also just that despite his utter inability to show it like a normal human being, murata ugetsu does love kaji aki akihiko. the gentleness ugetsu would tease him for and sometimes criticize him for in turn, the sharpness; the music. sometimes, after performing, ugetsu locks himself in the room for him offstage and goes very still and very quiet and does not fall apart. eventually, he leaves. life continues.
his eyes fall shut, the headache winning against any effort otherwise.
a shower would help. but in some ways he and aki aren't so different; to be pitied is to die slowly. your strings cut one
by one.
until the only sound you can make is always a wrong one. ]
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[it's spoken in that worn out, fond kind of way. the glimpses of ugetsu's exhaustion slipping through. he stays where he is, fingers loosely draped together. holding back, before eventually he sighs. they both know what happens when he doesn't.
he crawls up on the bed, movements slow. careful not to jostle him too much. he sits at ugetsu's side, silence still dampering. another moment passes, before he runs his fingers through the tangle of wine scented hair. it's a song and dance he's been intimately familiar with.
maybe not this amount, he notes but...
is it a romantic gesture? maybe not. it's far too tired for that. but intimate in a way that surely makes ugetsu ache worse. akihko's fingers drag through his curls with methodical strokes. the kind a fevered person needs, reassurance. his gaze doesn't leave the top of ugetsu's head]
Bath instead? Or would that be overstepping my role as an adoring critic?
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Still adoring?
[ it comes out shockingly soft even to ugetsu himself. rainfall you cannot quite see.
show don't tell. in ugetsu's case: couldn't tell, could never say it so just invited akihiko into his music, into his body, the two sides of his heart. but aki is different; ostensibly better. at least at that. maybe ugetsu has grown a little or maybe he has not and this is just circumstance; ugetsu himself couldn't say. but for once, he asks. neither demand nor criticism. not charity of course. it's a selfish question even so. so transparently: say yes. but ugetsu only begs pushed to the edge in bed. if he's thinking even a little clearly it just isn't possible. no matter how much he wants; no matter how much the moon misses the autumn.
an interviewer once asked ugetsu if he was sentimental, because his concertos are full of so much emotion it can make someone feel impossible things.
he said:
"i don't really know." and laughed.
akihiko might be the only person who knows the truth: that forever there has been too much sentimentality too many emotions so much feeling it bleeds from his body in excess and pulls him into his own black hole. devastating phenomenon. and, right now, nosing against aki's palm if he lets him, when he blinks again his long lashes drag against the skin there. feather light. the polar opposite of ugetsu. ]
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