#37 Theme 21: Illness Illusion - Gackt; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Blueberry Crush (2/?)
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 021 Illness Illusion (Gackt)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto, Tora/OFC
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, some smut
Comments: He preferred living and thriving on dreams.
Previous Chapters: [1]
Chapter 2
A middle aged man in a dark grey suit gave him a funny look as he tossed his sandwich wrapper in the waste bin. There were people milling, moving, conversing all around him, loud trains thrumming to a halt and hissing doors opening and shutting closed.
Regretfully, Hiroto let himself stare an extra five minutes, knelt there, squatting in place, fingers twisting the cuffs of his sweater up. He waited long enough for a train to come and whisk the couple away, for regret to pile up heavy in the pit of his stomach, for the butterflies to catch fire and burn slowly one by one, leaving singeing disappointment that churned hotly in his chest.
Joints popping as he stood, the wind suddenly felt twice as chilly, maybe even stormy. He hoped. No. No, he wouldn’t wish for a walk in the rain to wallow in cliché filled self pity, to get sick, to wish it were possible to die from mortification. Instead, Hiroto tromped back to his apartment. No rain, no dark cloudy skies, no lost keys or misplaced wallet to hate his life even more. Just a sunny, sunny day and the big, bright, beautiful sky. He normally liked the sky, the clouds and the sun, liked to sit for hours on end gazing at the vast expanse of blues and light white greys. But today it felt too empty, he felt too small.
As soon as he got home, the fridge door was yanked open, contents hurriedly pulled out onto the linoleum floor while a stinging burn grew behind his eyes. Hiroto swallowed.
Stupid blueberries. Stupid ice cream. Stupid tomatoes and celery, dip, fish, cheese and wine and canned drinks.
It was stupid, all of it, everything was stupid. Stupid choked out sob that was silly and frustrating, stupid disappointment, stupid stupid. Refusing to cry, Hiroto stopped his angry tidying.
Defeated fingers slumped down the sticky inside of his empty fridge.
He sat back, knees spread beside him, staring into white plastic nothing bathed the warm yellow of his open fridge light.
Sniffling once, wiping a hand over his eyes twice, he slowly began replacing everything back where it'd started; cool air billowing out and goose bumping his flesh, mechanical hum covering up the imaginary beat-thump-stutter of his heart.
Two hours later he called in sick. Coughing on the gritty ache of crestfallen butterflies, Hiroto cradled his lone bottle of plum wine, a tub of ice cream and the couch cushions. Just for tonight he would pretend he was eating these for the taste.
Just for tonight he would pretend vanilla really did go perfectly with just about anything.
---
The sound of his alarm finally woke Hiroto late into the next morning, blaring bluntly into the sensitive side of his skull where it throbbed with too much sugar and too much wine. Panting, it hurt so much, he pulled his head out from the cushions, turned off the TV and left his mess of a snack on the coffee table to stumble over into his bedroom and punch off the alarm. A bath sounded heavenly right now, being clean, ignoring the morning ache between his legs.
Turning on the tap, he swallowed handfuls of the warm water, swishing and trying to clear up the dense fog blurring his mind, clinging uncomfortably to his teeth. He felt dead today, tired and unseeing when the tub finally filled and he slipped into the warm water with a ready sigh. Hiroto wished he could just go back to sleep in the humid heat, that it wouldn't go from this perfect degree to lukewarm to cold. If he couldn't have a solid warm back to sleep next to, why couldn't he have this? Why couldn't time just stop and leave his pretty bathtub happily untouched?
Wrapped up in liquid warmth - the first few minutes right after the tub was filled - was always the best. The small window from hot to cool where he could make believe the heat was another's arms hugged tight around his chest. Banging his head against the tub's side to try and wipe away those thoughts, Hiroto did his best to soak and scrub, wash his skin fresh and clean and shiny new.
"Don’t get snarky with me, Tora."
He wanted to forget. He honestly did. But Hiroto was having a hard time not remembering the other man. Not with the picture still guiltily saved on his phone, fleetingly perused, and longingly traced.
Tora.
Large palms that had wrapped protectively around a thin waist. As thin as his.
His own palm brushed unconsciously against his side, curving around his sharp hipbone and hugging himself, wistful, there.
"Hey, you're that kid from the grocery store aren't you?"
His cheeks burned recalling that, more mortification. He was just another kid. Just a kid.
But those hands, lips revealing teeth and tongue and sound, seemed so promising.
He wasn't a kid.
They could do so much for him, to him. He would let them do so much to him, do so much for them, for Tora. His body burned at the mention of the name. Tiger. He didn't want to, but the more he thought, the faster his breathing picked up, stomach clenching heavy under his skin. So what if it was wrong? It wasn’t like he would ever get to have him.
Hiroto let himself have the fantasy.
Or at least half of it.
Leaning back into the curve of his tub, he fisted his arousal, rubbing, stroking, pressing his heels flat and lifting desperate hips into a submerged palm. Bath water lapped up his shoulders and out over the sides as he lazily closed his eyes and imagined the broad chest, pale, lean muscles, capable arms and thrumming skin he couldn't have. How good someone nicknamed Tora would feel; in him, on him, pushing him to his limits, hands in his pants, dirty and hard.
"Don’t get snarky with me, Tora."
She said it so easily, as if it didn't mean what he was sure it meant.
"Tora," it hissed involuntarily past his lips, burn feeling oh so good.
Hearing himself say it, the want in those two syllables, only made the ache worse; arousal catching in his throat, forcing his legs wider as he imagined the larger man's sweaty chest, skin glistening and fucking some pretty thing into the bed. It was wrong, so wrong, imagining him fucking him girlfriend or wife or whoever, but it wasn't like he would ever be her. It was okay to linger on the image of strong hips pistoning against a supple frame. Envision the clenching of knuckles, white and gripping harsh. Because it would never be him.
Hiroto came with a gasp, nails of one hand digging into the soft skin of his own thigh and pushing him over the edge. There was nothing wrong about wanting to feel. He tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to catch his breath again. It was wrong, but it felt amazing to imagine him. Now he just felt dirty, raw and wrong.
The water was chilly as he pulled the plug, finally climbing out.
Time didn't wait for anyone. Fate didn't pick sides. The bath was already drying cold on his heated skin and it was time to move on.
Tora. He wouldn't let the man plague him any further. He'd had his moment. He could move on. Ignore just another slip in his self control.
Sadly, this time felt like all the other disappointing times before it. Just a crush but somehow serious. It felt like love but he was sure love took longer to form, with someone who actually cared. At least initially. All his past relationships had ended so quickly, Hiroto had to wonder if he was unlovable. And like all the breakups before - imaginary with a crush, face to face unrequited - he felt his heart curling in on itself all over again.
Dropping the feeling was never easy, the warm fondness and excited familiarity. But he could force it, recoil with a new hole in his chest. He could pretend everything was okay, that nothing had ever happened, with the smallest tilt of his lips even while his eyes bruised a darker deep. After all, part of healing was forgetting, part of forgetting was pretending, part of pretending was believing.
But believing was so hard to do all on his own. And he wanted to forget.
He knew it honestly wasn't a big deal - or at least it shouldn't have been, they had barely gotten to speak - but everything was starting to hurt more. Things he should have been able to brush off without so much as a blink snuck too easily under his skin, invaded his mind and punctured his heart.
He could blame it on always being alone, and even that was his fault. Manning the store floor after hours, reshelving, restocking, inventory and the only 'hi' from the late night security guard. Hiroto said he wanted to live, breathe, dream and eat music, but in the end it was too much effort to go out looking for band members. It wasn't like him to kiss up to the first vocalist or manager, bassist or drummer to walk his way. Instead Hiroto trudged home most nights, burrowed under the covers, content just to sleep and live.
Now everything was too amplified.
The simplest looks from passing strangers made him feel special. And then the disillusioned realizations hurt twice as much after. Everything made so much sense and yet none at all. He knew what was wrong, knew what needed to be fixed, but not how to do it.
He just had to get through this day by day by maybe someday, someday, one day, not this day.
---
Tora tapped his fingers impatiently on the bare tabletop, glancing down at the menu in front of him, back to the door, back to the packet of cigarettes sitting tauntingly beside him. He desperately wanted to smoke one, but he was almost certain the ramen shop's owner would kick him out as soon as the embers started to collect enough dust on them, ashes flit quietly to the floor. Sighing, Tora pretended he could bore holes through the glass of his watch with just his eyes, though preferably not through his wrist. Maybe his eye beams went through everything but him.
Damn was he bored.
Sipping his ice and water, the brooding man finally gave in and ordered his usual bowl and broth. If he couldn't smoke so help him he would eat and drink. Nodding righteously to himself, Tora began to idly spin the extra coaster, back to waiting, but for something more substantial at least.
She was late.
Today Tora wasn't sitting in the back like he normally did. He'd gotten antsy and moved to stand at the long bar table against the store front. It was tempting to press his face against the large tinted pane of glass and watch all the people passing by. All he had to do was actually sit on a bar stool and he could lean over and make faces...
The door opened with a jingling sort of smash, jolting Tora from where he had his foot propped on a stool leg, face inching closer and closer to the glass.
Eyes wide with surprise lingered on him, flickered to the other tables near the back, flickered back, then a slim frame took the bar stool closest to the doorway.
---
Hiroto swore he had the worst timing in the world.
At home he was too restless to sit through the sunny, workless day; woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. He needed to get out and so he'd chosen this specific time, this specific day, because he'd been certain Tora wouldn't be here. Well Tora was here, sitting quietly beside him, twirling a coaster round and round.
Sighing - he didn't know why he did this to himself - Hiroto found himself taking a seat closer to him instead of far away. He settled down without another glance, folded his arms up on the table and rested his head between them. Today was definitely not a good day. He wondered if the other man even remembered who he was, if the eye contact affirmed anything of the fact.
As hard as he'd tried to stuff the hope and longing back down in his chest, when the coaster gave a final thump and the sound of a new chair sliding across the floor permeated his thoughts, Hiroto couldn't stop the sudden pang of anticipation in his chest.
He wasn't disappointed.
Peeking out from a crack near the crook of his elbow, Hiroto's eyes fell on a similarly curious gaze directed his way.
Tora had gotten up and shifted three seats closer, right beside him.
---
He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it back shut when a messy fluff of hair tilted his way.
Wounded eyes blinked.
Tora blinked back.
They weren't like that last time.
It didn't take much for Tora to forget a face, but this one was cute. He remembered the cute faces. Plus it was hard to forget the mental alarm that went off when, for the first time in a while, a complete stranger had stopped him on the street. Okay maybe not a complete stranger, but he hadn't remembered him too well that time in the subway. He remembered now.
The young man didn't look like a bad person, not some sassy punk from the back alley of a godforsaken street. He had helped Tora find his original chips after all (nobody wanted to sell original these days) and his shirt was a fuzzy pink beneath a jacket that looked far too thin for the weather. None of it screamed any particular sort of danger.
Time seemed to suspend for a minute while they shared a couple quick blinks. He obviously must have recognized Tora the minute he entered the door right? Otherwise, who in their right of mind would sit there and let some massive foreign looking stranger with sharp eyes stare at them? Tossing around things to say while he waited for food to arrive, Tora finally took in the slumped back and defeated frame, sad eyes different from the shiny ones before them.
"What's wrong?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
It sounded natural enough, something strangers would say, he was curious to know.
There was silence, kitchen clattering, chin and cheek rubbing into arms and moving to rest atop their tiny nest. Pink plump lips came into view, whispering a low, barely there sound. The smallest of breathes yet the words echoed so loudly in his mind; Tora was sure he wouldn't have heard them if he hadn't been straining so hard to hear.
"I'm lonely."
---
The smallest, simplest of confessions always hurt the worst. Little things he tried lying to himself about and ended up telling no one.
I'm lonely.
"That hurt."
I'm sick.
"I'm sorry."
They sounded weak and so he hid them. Flipped the dark over to white and voiced the inconsequential that socially mattered.
"How are you today?"
"Fine."
No one wanted to hear about how lonely your day was, how bad it hurt to be alive. They wanted you to lie, pretend everything was okay so they could move on with their lives bereft of the added spot to their conscious, another charity case on their list of projects.
They were the smallest things that hurt Hiroto the most, cut him the closest.
"What's wrong?"
That was no greeting he could say 'fine' to. There was no distracted glance or buzzing phone he could hide behind.
Everything was raw on the inside and today he had no lie to stick to.
---
"I'm lonely."
Tora wondered if bells made the sound of a heart clinking and shattering in two.
The sad admission left a dent in his chest. An achy knot that only worsened when manicured fingers slid over his features, "Guess who," and the pained eyes he knew he hadn't imagined were blocked from sight. He reached up, slightly stunned, to pull down slender wrists just in time to catch soft eyes sliding off the adjacent seat, heavy feet slipping out the jangling front door.
"Friend of yours?" she murmured, hugging him from behind.
"No, he's no one babe," Tora whispered, giving the street one last look before craning his neck back for a kiss.
What was he supposed to do? He didn't know him.
He was no one.
---
The next day felt better.
There was a new wall hastily built up and hiding away his heart. A taller one that was harder to get over, harder to break, harder to reach over and make Hiroto feel. He knew he shouldn't, but he did it anyway. Part of healing is learning to pretend.
The next time something broke through, he wouldn't know what to do. It'd be harder to rebuild, harder to make himself happy again, but he needed this.
Seeing Tora as soon as he'd stepped into the ramen shop had been too much, too soon. The imaginary glue had yet to settle in. The slabs of determined forget were still wrought with new holes. Then Tora had asked and he'd told the truth.
Now Hiroto was sitting on a bench feeding fat pigeons in the park. He was supposed to be asleep, but sleep was always the hardest thing to revert after lengthy disappointment. He couldn't hide away longing secrets when his mind became vulnerable in his sleep. Instead, Hiroto ventured out into the land of the living, lived mornings the way most people did, ate breakfast and then left the house for work - a new daytime job feeding birds in the park. It wasn't a real job, but he wouldn't let the pigeons know that. Their bobby heads and inquisitive eyes were the only thing keeping him sane right now. Demanding coos muffling out the trains of what could be, what would be, what had never been.
---
He couldn't explain it, but for the third time that week Tora found himself standing quietly in the snacks aisle.
The giant grocery chain was well on its way into selling out the local competition all down the bustling street, but this was still the only place he could get his damn original chips. Not that he needed anymore of them - there was a bag on his shelf for almost every day the week. Sighing, he walked over to look at fresh fish and lobsters.
None too secretly, he was hoping to spot a familiar stranger bending over to pick a snack off the bottom shelf for him. Not even for him, it didn't have to be for him, it could be for anyone else.
Tora just wanted to know he was going to do fine again.
---
Out on his small crevice of a balcony, Hiroto fingered the only cigar he was able to find in his flat.
He'd bought it a couple weeks ago. Blueberry flavored and useless because he didn't smoke. But now, box of matches in hand, he didn't care, he wanted to be reckless and this was the only way he knew how. Striking a flame up, he brought it to the end of the thickly rolled tobacco.
The irony wasn't lost on him, recklessness in the form of slow death, the lingering pain of a fleeting obsession already itching to be let loose, to go out and buy the hardest brand of cigarettes and smoke them. Biting his lip, take the plunge, Hiroto took a slow, practiced drag, not swallowing but letting the taste settle heavily on his tongue, allowing the tar to slowly infect his lungs and the blueberry to bring bitter tears to mind.
He probably found some masochistic pleasure in this, in making his life difficult all over again, in doing things so slow and uselessly it hurt.
Hiroto laughed.
---
When Tora finally caught sight of him, he was sitting on a bench smoking mindlessly in the park. That was surprising in itself. He hadn't expected it from such sweet, innocent eyes, however shaded and sad they were.
He had his dark hair pulled back in a halfhearted ponytail, random locks that weren't quite long enough slipping free of the tie until his bangs were really the only thing held up. Everything else blew wildly in the wind, across delicate features that suddenly looked far too feminine and far too lost. Watching the steady puff and flick, puff and flick, Tora contemplated what he was supposed to say, what he would do next.
He was lonely. He said he was lonely.
Tora hadn't done anything to assuage that. He didn't know why he felt that he needed to, but he did. His girlfriend's arrival not seconds after the confession, proof that he wasn't lonely made Tora feel guilty. Somehow he wanted to go back in time, grab a retreating arm and pull him back.
"She's just my sister. It's okay, we need to talk."
The words sounded good on his tongue. They would hurt her but he was sure she would understand. Understand that Tora had once seen eyes bright and sparkling with a nervous light. Now they were murky and sad.
Sucking in his lip and playing with the metal stud there, Tora watched him smoke and feed the gathering pigeons for another half second before making his move.
Next Chapter
A/N:
I got conned into making a sequel :\ Now this sequel looks like it will need a sequel TAT
I apologize for how bad this came out, I kind of wrote it the past 2-3 days mostly when I should've been asleep XD
Comments? Should I seriously just stop?! D: WTF is Tora doing anyways???
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 021 Illness Illusion (Gackt)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto, Tora/OFC
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, some smut
Comments: He preferred living and thriving on dreams.
Previous Chapters: [1]
Chapter 2
A middle aged man in a dark grey suit gave him a funny look as he tossed his sandwich wrapper in the waste bin. There were people milling, moving, conversing all around him, loud trains thrumming to a halt and hissing doors opening and shutting closed.
Regretfully, Hiroto let himself stare an extra five minutes, knelt there, squatting in place, fingers twisting the cuffs of his sweater up. He waited long enough for a train to come and whisk the couple away, for regret to pile up heavy in the pit of his stomach, for the butterflies to catch fire and burn slowly one by one, leaving singeing disappointment that churned hotly in his chest.
Joints popping as he stood, the wind suddenly felt twice as chilly, maybe even stormy. He hoped. No. No, he wouldn’t wish for a walk in the rain to wallow in cliché filled self pity, to get sick, to wish it were possible to die from mortification. Instead, Hiroto tromped back to his apartment. No rain, no dark cloudy skies, no lost keys or misplaced wallet to hate his life even more. Just a sunny, sunny day and the big, bright, beautiful sky. He normally liked the sky, the clouds and the sun, liked to sit for hours on end gazing at the vast expanse of blues and light white greys. But today it felt too empty, he felt too small.
As soon as he got home, the fridge door was yanked open, contents hurriedly pulled out onto the linoleum floor while a stinging burn grew behind his eyes. Hiroto swallowed.
Stupid blueberries. Stupid ice cream. Stupid tomatoes and celery, dip, fish, cheese and wine and canned drinks.
It was stupid, all of it, everything was stupid. Stupid choked out sob that was silly and frustrating, stupid disappointment, stupid stupid. Refusing to cry, Hiroto stopped his angry tidying.
Defeated fingers slumped down the sticky inside of his empty fridge.
He sat back, knees spread beside him, staring into white plastic nothing bathed the warm yellow of his open fridge light.
Sniffling once, wiping a hand over his eyes twice, he slowly began replacing everything back where it'd started; cool air billowing out and goose bumping his flesh, mechanical hum covering up the imaginary beat-thump-stutter of his heart.
Two hours later he called in sick. Coughing on the gritty ache of crestfallen butterflies, Hiroto cradled his lone bottle of plum wine, a tub of ice cream and the couch cushions. Just for tonight he would pretend he was eating these for the taste.
Just for tonight he would pretend vanilla really did go perfectly with just about anything.
---
The sound of his alarm finally woke Hiroto late into the next morning, blaring bluntly into the sensitive side of his skull where it throbbed with too much sugar and too much wine. Panting, it hurt so much, he pulled his head out from the cushions, turned off the TV and left his mess of a snack on the coffee table to stumble over into his bedroom and punch off the alarm. A bath sounded heavenly right now, being clean, ignoring the morning ache between his legs.
Turning on the tap, he swallowed handfuls of the warm water, swishing and trying to clear up the dense fog blurring his mind, clinging uncomfortably to his teeth. He felt dead today, tired and unseeing when the tub finally filled and he slipped into the warm water with a ready sigh. Hiroto wished he could just go back to sleep in the humid heat, that it wouldn't go from this perfect degree to lukewarm to cold. If he couldn't have a solid warm back to sleep next to, why couldn't he have this? Why couldn't time just stop and leave his pretty bathtub happily untouched?
Wrapped up in liquid warmth - the first few minutes right after the tub was filled - was always the best. The small window from hot to cool where he could make believe the heat was another's arms hugged tight around his chest. Banging his head against the tub's side to try and wipe away those thoughts, Hiroto did his best to soak and scrub, wash his skin fresh and clean and shiny new.
"Don’t get snarky with me, Tora."
He wanted to forget. He honestly did. But Hiroto was having a hard time not remembering the other man. Not with the picture still guiltily saved on his phone, fleetingly perused, and longingly traced.
Tora.
Large palms that had wrapped protectively around a thin waist. As thin as his.
His own palm brushed unconsciously against his side, curving around his sharp hipbone and hugging himself, wistful, there.
"Hey, you're that kid from the grocery store aren't you?"
His cheeks burned recalling that, more mortification. He was just another kid. Just a kid.
But those hands, lips revealing teeth and tongue and sound, seemed so promising.
He wasn't a kid.
They could do so much for him, to him. He would let them do so much to him, do so much for them, for Tora. His body burned at the mention of the name. Tiger. He didn't want to, but the more he thought, the faster his breathing picked up, stomach clenching heavy under his skin. So what if it was wrong? It wasn’t like he would ever get to have him.
Hiroto let himself have the fantasy.
Or at least half of it.
Leaning back into the curve of his tub, he fisted his arousal, rubbing, stroking, pressing his heels flat and lifting desperate hips into a submerged palm. Bath water lapped up his shoulders and out over the sides as he lazily closed his eyes and imagined the broad chest, pale, lean muscles, capable arms and thrumming skin he couldn't have. How good someone nicknamed Tora would feel; in him, on him, pushing him to his limits, hands in his pants, dirty and hard.
"Don’t get snarky with me, Tora."
She said it so easily, as if it didn't mean what he was sure it meant.
"Tora," it hissed involuntarily past his lips, burn feeling oh so good.
Hearing himself say it, the want in those two syllables, only made the ache worse; arousal catching in his throat, forcing his legs wider as he imagined the larger man's sweaty chest, skin glistening and fucking some pretty thing into the bed. It was wrong, so wrong, imagining him fucking him girlfriend or wife or whoever, but it wasn't like he would ever be her. It was okay to linger on the image of strong hips pistoning against a supple frame. Envision the clenching of knuckles, white and gripping harsh. Because it would never be him.
Hiroto came with a gasp, nails of one hand digging into the soft skin of his own thigh and pushing him over the edge. There was nothing wrong about wanting to feel. He tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to catch his breath again. It was wrong, but it felt amazing to imagine him. Now he just felt dirty, raw and wrong.
The water was chilly as he pulled the plug, finally climbing out.
Time didn't wait for anyone. Fate didn't pick sides. The bath was already drying cold on his heated skin and it was time to move on.
Tora. He wouldn't let the man plague him any further. He'd had his moment. He could move on. Ignore just another slip in his self control.
Sadly, this time felt like all the other disappointing times before it. Just a crush but somehow serious. It felt like love but he was sure love took longer to form, with someone who actually cared. At least initially. All his past relationships had ended so quickly, Hiroto had to wonder if he was unlovable. And like all the breakups before - imaginary with a crush, face to face unrequited - he felt his heart curling in on itself all over again.
Dropping the feeling was never easy, the warm fondness and excited familiarity. But he could force it, recoil with a new hole in his chest. He could pretend everything was okay, that nothing had ever happened, with the smallest tilt of his lips even while his eyes bruised a darker deep. After all, part of healing was forgetting, part of forgetting was pretending, part of pretending was believing.
But believing was so hard to do all on his own. And he wanted to forget.
He knew it honestly wasn't a big deal - or at least it shouldn't have been, they had barely gotten to speak - but everything was starting to hurt more. Things he should have been able to brush off without so much as a blink snuck too easily under his skin, invaded his mind and punctured his heart.
He could blame it on always being alone, and even that was his fault. Manning the store floor after hours, reshelving, restocking, inventory and the only 'hi' from the late night security guard. Hiroto said he wanted to live, breathe, dream and eat music, but in the end it was too much effort to go out looking for band members. It wasn't like him to kiss up to the first vocalist or manager, bassist or drummer to walk his way. Instead Hiroto trudged home most nights, burrowed under the covers, content just to sleep and live.
Now everything was too amplified.
The simplest looks from passing strangers made him feel special. And then the disillusioned realizations hurt twice as much after. Everything made so much sense and yet none at all. He knew what was wrong, knew what needed to be fixed, but not how to do it.
He just had to get through this day by day by maybe someday, someday, one day, not this day.
---
Tora tapped his fingers impatiently on the bare tabletop, glancing down at the menu in front of him, back to the door, back to the packet of cigarettes sitting tauntingly beside him. He desperately wanted to smoke one, but he was almost certain the ramen shop's owner would kick him out as soon as the embers started to collect enough dust on them, ashes flit quietly to the floor. Sighing, Tora pretended he could bore holes through the glass of his watch with just his eyes, though preferably not through his wrist. Maybe his eye beams went through everything but him.
Damn was he bored.
Sipping his ice and water, the brooding man finally gave in and ordered his usual bowl and broth. If he couldn't smoke so help him he would eat and drink. Nodding righteously to himself, Tora began to idly spin the extra coaster, back to waiting, but for something more substantial at least.
She was late.
Today Tora wasn't sitting in the back like he normally did. He'd gotten antsy and moved to stand at the long bar table against the store front. It was tempting to press his face against the large tinted pane of glass and watch all the people passing by. All he had to do was actually sit on a bar stool and he could lean over and make faces...
The door opened with a jingling sort of smash, jolting Tora from where he had his foot propped on a stool leg, face inching closer and closer to the glass.
Eyes wide with surprise lingered on him, flickered to the other tables near the back, flickered back, then a slim frame took the bar stool closest to the doorway.
---
Hiroto swore he had the worst timing in the world.
At home he was too restless to sit through the sunny, workless day; woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. He needed to get out and so he'd chosen this specific time, this specific day, because he'd been certain Tora wouldn't be here. Well Tora was here, sitting quietly beside him, twirling a coaster round and round.
Sighing - he didn't know why he did this to himself - Hiroto found himself taking a seat closer to him instead of far away. He settled down without another glance, folded his arms up on the table and rested his head between them. Today was definitely not a good day. He wondered if the other man even remembered who he was, if the eye contact affirmed anything of the fact.
As hard as he'd tried to stuff the hope and longing back down in his chest, when the coaster gave a final thump and the sound of a new chair sliding across the floor permeated his thoughts, Hiroto couldn't stop the sudden pang of anticipation in his chest.
He wasn't disappointed.
Peeking out from a crack near the crook of his elbow, Hiroto's eyes fell on a similarly curious gaze directed his way.
Tora had gotten up and shifted three seats closer, right beside him.
---
He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it back shut when a messy fluff of hair tilted his way.
Wounded eyes blinked.
Tora blinked back.
They weren't like that last time.
It didn't take much for Tora to forget a face, but this one was cute. He remembered the cute faces. Plus it was hard to forget the mental alarm that went off when, for the first time in a while, a complete stranger had stopped him on the street. Okay maybe not a complete stranger, but he hadn't remembered him too well that time in the subway. He remembered now.
The young man didn't look like a bad person, not some sassy punk from the back alley of a godforsaken street. He had helped Tora find his original chips after all (nobody wanted to sell original these days) and his shirt was a fuzzy pink beneath a jacket that looked far too thin for the weather. None of it screamed any particular sort of danger.
Time seemed to suspend for a minute while they shared a couple quick blinks. He obviously must have recognized Tora the minute he entered the door right? Otherwise, who in their right of mind would sit there and let some massive foreign looking stranger with sharp eyes stare at them? Tossing around things to say while he waited for food to arrive, Tora finally took in the slumped back and defeated frame, sad eyes different from the shiny ones before them.
"What's wrong?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
It sounded natural enough, something strangers would say, he was curious to know.
There was silence, kitchen clattering, chin and cheek rubbing into arms and moving to rest atop their tiny nest. Pink plump lips came into view, whispering a low, barely there sound. The smallest of breathes yet the words echoed so loudly in his mind; Tora was sure he wouldn't have heard them if he hadn't been straining so hard to hear.
"I'm lonely."
---
The smallest, simplest of confessions always hurt the worst. Little things he tried lying to himself about and ended up telling no one.
I'm lonely.
"That hurt."
I'm sick.
"I'm sorry."
They sounded weak and so he hid them. Flipped the dark over to white and voiced the inconsequential that socially mattered.
"How are you today?"
"Fine."
No one wanted to hear about how lonely your day was, how bad it hurt to be alive. They wanted you to lie, pretend everything was okay so they could move on with their lives bereft of the added spot to their conscious, another charity case on their list of projects.
They were the smallest things that hurt Hiroto the most, cut him the closest.
"What's wrong?"
That was no greeting he could say 'fine' to. There was no distracted glance or buzzing phone he could hide behind.
Everything was raw on the inside and today he had no lie to stick to.
---
"I'm lonely."
Tora wondered if bells made the sound of a heart clinking and shattering in two.
The sad admission left a dent in his chest. An achy knot that only worsened when manicured fingers slid over his features, "Guess who," and the pained eyes he knew he hadn't imagined were blocked from sight. He reached up, slightly stunned, to pull down slender wrists just in time to catch soft eyes sliding off the adjacent seat, heavy feet slipping out the jangling front door.
"Friend of yours?" she murmured, hugging him from behind.
"No, he's no one babe," Tora whispered, giving the street one last look before craning his neck back for a kiss.
What was he supposed to do? He didn't know him.
He was no one.
---
The next day felt better.
There was a new wall hastily built up and hiding away his heart. A taller one that was harder to get over, harder to break, harder to reach over and make Hiroto feel. He knew he shouldn't, but he did it anyway. Part of healing is learning to pretend.
The next time something broke through, he wouldn't know what to do. It'd be harder to rebuild, harder to make himself happy again, but he needed this.
Seeing Tora as soon as he'd stepped into the ramen shop had been too much, too soon. The imaginary glue had yet to settle in. The slabs of determined forget were still wrought with new holes. Then Tora had asked and he'd told the truth.
Now Hiroto was sitting on a bench feeding fat pigeons in the park. He was supposed to be asleep, but sleep was always the hardest thing to revert after lengthy disappointment. He couldn't hide away longing secrets when his mind became vulnerable in his sleep. Instead, Hiroto ventured out into the land of the living, lived mornings the way most people did, ate breakfast and then left the house for work - a new daytime job feeding birds in the park. It wasn't a real job, but he wouldn't let the pigeons know that. Their bobby heads and inquisitive eyes were the only thing keeping him sane right now. Demanding coos muffling out the trains of what could be, what would be, what had never been.
---
He couldn't explain it, but for the third time that week Tora found himself standing quietly in the snacks aisle.
The giant grocery chain was well on its way into selling out the local competition all down the bustling street, but this was still the only place he could get his damn original chips. Not that he needed anymore of them - there was a bag on his shelf for almost every day the week. Sighing, he walked over to look at fresh fish and lobsters.
None too secretly, he was hoping to spot a familiar stranger bending over to pick a snack off the bottom shelf for him. Not even for him, it didn't have to be for him, it could be for anyone else.
Tora just wanted to know he was going to do fine again.
---
Out on his small crevice of a balcony, Hiroto fingered the only cigar he was able to find in his flat.
He'd bought it a couple weeks ago. Blueberry flavored and useless because he didn't smoke. But now, box of matches in hand, he didn't care, he wanted to be reckless and this was the only way he knew how. Striking a flame up, he brought it to the end of the thickly rolled tobacco.
The irony wasn't lost on him, recklessness in the form of slow death, the lingering pain of a fleeting obsession already itching to be let loose, to go out and buy the hardest brand of cigarettes and smoke them. Biting his lip, take the plunge, Hiroto took a slow, practiced drag, not swallowing but letting the taste settle heavily on his tongue, allowing the tar to slowly infect his lungs and the blueberry to bring bitter tears to mind.
He probably found some masochistic pleasure in this, in making his life difficult all over again, in doing things so slow and uselessly it hurt.
Hiroto laughed.
---
When Tora finally caught sight of him, he was sitting on a bench smoking mindlessly in the park. That was surprising in itself. He hadn't expected it from such sweet, innocent eyes, however shaded and sad they were.
He had his dark hair pulled back in a halfhearted ponytail, random locks that weren't quite long enough slipping free of the tie until his bangs were really the only thing held up. Everything else blew wildly in the wind, across delicate features that suddenly looked far too feminine and far too lost. Watching the steady puff and flick, puff and flick, Tora contemplated what he was supposed to say, what he would do next.
He was lonely. He said he was lonely.
Tora hadn't done anything to assuage that. He didn't know why he felt that he needed to, but he did. His girlfriend's arrival not seconds after the confession, proof that he wasn't lonely made Tora feel guilty. Somehow he wanted to go back in time, grab a retreating arm and pull him back.
"She's just my sister. It's okay, we need to talk."
The words sounded good on his tongue. They would hurt her but he was sure she would understand. Understand that Tora had once seen eyes bright and sparkling with a nervous light. Now they were murky and sad.
Sucking in his lip and playing with the metal stud there, Tora watched him smoke and feed the gathering pigeons for another half second before making his move.
Next Chapter
A/N:
I got conned into making a sequel :\ Now this sequel looks like it will need a sequel TAT
I apologize for how bad this came out, I kind of wrote it the past 2-3 days mostly when I should've been asleep XD
Comments? Should I seriously just stop?! D: WTF is Tora doing anyways???
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