[Masao]
FOUR OF FIVE: JUST LIKE SUMMER RAIN
by chaineddove
Hikaru likes the rain. He purposely finds reasons to walk places and forgets his umbrella. He likes the cool water sliding over his face, plastering his hair to his forehead, beating out all his thoughts and the silence with its steady rustle against the sidewalk. He knows Akira thinks he's a little crazy, but he also knows that no matter how wet and miserable he looks, he will be allowed to enter into the hallowed halls of the Touya household and drip on the priceless wood floors.
He allows the usual tirade to pass in one ear and out the other and accepts the towel thrust into his arms. He rubs it over his head and then shakes the water out of his ears. Akira squawks, because now he has droplets of water on his hideous sweater vest and the pristine white collar of his shirt and, Hikaru is sure, all over his dignity. "-Shaking yourself like some sort of dog, and really, Shindou, if you think I'm going to keep opening the door to you when you come around in such a state, then you had better-"
The endless stream of words cuts off as Hikaru grabs Akira by the wrist and neatly trips him into his soaking arms. This has to be timed very carefully, Hikaru knows, so that their lips meet before Akira can remember to protest. Then the stiffness pours out of Akira's body, and he is very close and warm and soft. When Hikaru pulls back at last, Akira opens his eyes with a little sigh.
"I'm Shindou now?"
"When you annoy me," Akira tells him. "You're soaked."
"You, too," Hikaru points out, and kisses him on the nose because he is cute and miffed and the best sight he's seen all day.
"Because of you. You're going to catch a cold," Akira tells him. "It's dark already. Where have you been?"
"I missed the afternoon train," Hikaru replies. "Anyway, it's practically summer. I'll be fine."
"It's barely May," Akira tells him, and tugs on his sleeve. "Come on, get upstairs before you turn blue."
Akira fills the bath and they maneuver themselves into the tub, cramped together as the steam rises around them. Hikaru traces wet patterns on the back of Akira's neck, parting his heavy, sodden hair as the rain knocks at the window. Akira shivers under the touch of his fingers and bends forward to rest his chin on his knees. "How was Innoshima?"
"Wet," Hikaru tells him, and smoothes lines over his shoulders where he senses tension. "It rained so hard, the ferry wasn't running. The bridge was closed for repairs. I had to bribe this guy to take me over."
"I'll bet you stood in the rain all afternoon."
"Maybe."
"Without an umbrella."
"Maybe."
"You're hopeless," Akira says, but Hikaru can hear the smile in his voice. He leans back as much as he can, rests his back on Hikaru's chest, his head on his shoulder. "Do you really think he'd want you to catch pneumonia and die?"
Hikaru can smile now, thinking about him, even on a day like this one, spent kneeling in a silent, rain-washed Innoshima graveyard. "He liked umbrellas. But he didn't believe me that people had been to the moon."
He feels Akira's laugh rumble through him. "You make no sense."
"If I catch a cold," Hikaru continues, "you'll take care of me."
"I won't," Akira argues. "Not if you're forgetting your umbrella on purpose."
"You will," Hikaru says with certainty.
"Maybe next year, I can go with you," Akira says instead of refuting again. "I'd like to."
Hikaru thinks about that a moment. The way they are now, that's one thing, but Innoshima is something else, probably because he knows that he goes every year to mourn someone who would have stood between them always, had he not passed. He thinks that if it weren't for Innoshima, they would never be here, like this, at all. There would be no warm slick skin under his fingers, no long hair sticking to his neck and shoulders, no one to open the door to him when he comes in out of the rain. It is almost easy conversation between them, now, what he might have wanted, might have thought, might have done, had things gone another way. But Hikaru knows very well that there was never any other way leading here.
He tightens his arms around Akira and reminds himself to put his ghosts to rest. Whatever else may be, he is here, right now. "Thanks for warming me up," he murmurs, and he knows Akira knows this means that he isn't ready to say anything yet. But he'll think about it.
Akira turns, making water slosh to the floor, skin sliding against Hikaru's in a way that makes him shiver. The look in his eyes suggests they're about to get a great deal warmer. Water falls from the ends of his hair and meanders down Hikaru's chest like warm, comforting raindrops. Hikaru smiles and closes his eyes.
by chaineddove
Hikaru likes the rain. He purposely finds reasons to walk places and forgets his umbrella. He likes the cool water sliding over his face, plastering his hair to his forehead, beating out all his thoughts and the silence with its steady rustle against the sidewalk. He knows Akira thinks he's a little crazy, but he also knows that no matter how wet and miserable he looks, he will be allowed to enter into the hallowed halls of the Touya household and drip on the priceless wood floors.
He allows the usual tirade to pass in one ear and out the other and accepts the towel thrust into his arms. He rubs it over his head and then shakes the water out of his ears. Akira squawks, because now he has droplets of water on his hideous sweater vest and the pristine white collar of his shirt and, Hikaru is sure, all over his dignity. "-Shaking yourself like some sort of dog, and really, Shindou, if you think I'm going to keep opening the door to you when you come around in such a state, then you had better-"
The endless stream of words cuts off as Hikaru grabs Akira by the wrist and neatly trips him into his soaking arms. This has to be timed very carefully, Hikaru knows, so that their lips meet before Akira can remember to protest. Then the stiffness pours out of Akira's body, and he is very close and warm and soft. When Hikaru pulls back at last, Akira opens his eyes with a little sigh.
"I'm Shindou now?"
"When you annoy me," Akira tells him. "You're soaked."
"You, too," Hikaru points out, and kisses him on the nose because he is cute and miffed and the best sight he's seen all day.
"Because of you. You're going to catch a cold," Akira tells him. "It's dark already. Where have you been?"
"I missed the afternoon train," Hikaru replies. "Anyway, it's practically summer. I'll be fine."
"It's barely May," Akira tells him, and tugs on his sleeve. "Come on, get upstairs before you turn blue."
Akira fills the bath and they maneuver themselves into the tub, cramped together as the steam rises around them. Hikaru traces wet patterns on the back of Akira's neck, parting his heavy, sodden hair as the rain knocks at the window. Akira shivers under the touch of his fingers and bends forward to rest his chin on his knees. "How was Innoshima?"
"Wet," Hikaru tells him, and smoothes lines over his shoulders where he senses tension. "It rained so hard, the ferry wasn't running. The bridge was closed for repairs. I had to bribe this guy to take me over."
"I'll bet you stood in the rain all afternoon."
"Maybe."
"Without an umbrella."
"Maybe."
"You're hopeless," Akira says, but Hikaru can hear the smile in his voice. He leans back as much as he can, rests his back on Hikaru's chest, his head on his shoulder. "Do you really think he'd want you to catch pneumonia and die?"
Hikaru can smile now, thinking about him, even on a day like this one, spent kneeling in a silent, rain-washed Innoshima graveyard. "He liked umbrellas. But he didn't believe me that people had been to the moon."
He feels Akira's laugh rumble through him. "You make no sense."
"If I catch a cold," Hikaru continues, "you'll take care of me."
"I won't," Akira argues. "Not if you're forgetting your umbrella on purpose."
"You will," Hikaru says with certainty.
"Maybe next year, I can go with you," Akira says instead of refuting again. "I'd like to."
Hikaru thinks about that a moment. The way they are now, that's one thing, but Innoshima is something else, probably because he knows that he goes every year to mourn someone who would have stood between them always, had he not passed. He thinks that if it weren't for Innoshima, they would never be here, like this, at all. There would be no warm slick skin under his fingers, no long hair sticking to his neck and shoulders, no one to open the door to him when he comes in out of the rain. It is almost easy conversation between them, now, what he might have wanted, might have thought, might have done, had things gone another way. But Hikaru knows very well that there was never any other way leading here.
He tightens his arms around Akira and reminds himself to put his ghosts to rest. Whatever else may be, he is here, right now. "Thanks for warming me up," he murmurs, and he knows Akira knows this means that he isn't ready to say anything yet. But he'll think about it.
Akira turns, making water slosh to the floor, skin sliding against Hikaru's in a way that makes him shiver. The look in his eyes suggests they're about to get a great deal warmer. Water falls from the ends of his hair and meanders down Hikaru's chest like warm, comforting raindrops. Hikaru smiles and closes his eyes.