(no subject)
Title: Seventh Seal
Fandom: JE (Akanishi Jin/Ueda Tatsuya)
Rating: PG
Summary: To a doom no voice can speak, nor eye regard.
A/N: Originally posted here as part of je_ficgames.
One: Euthanasia
You find him in a train station, waiting for something you'll never know.
"Akanishi?"
He ignores it, ignores you, and you grab at his wrist. "I know it's you, Akanishi. I bought that stupid coat for your birthday three years ago," and your tone is so stern that he turns his head to face you.
He's changed. It's not just the wispy hair and tired lines in his face, it's in his eyes, how they pierce through your hope, spear you to the moment.
"How long have you been back in Japan?" you demand.
He doesn't say anything, so you look at him carefully. "Are you not going to say anything at all about why you've been gone two years and not contacted any of us?" Not contacted any of you even when you'd all been fractured into five unequal-sized pieces and left out under dying spotlights because of him?
He nods, and you think you're going to hit him. He must too, because he shrinks back half a step.
"That's just like you, Akanishi. Spoiled. You've always pulled stuff like this."
He cringes and you pretend like you don't care.
"I can't believe we even wanted you back at first. I'm glad KAT-TUN's over." You turn to leave, to board whatever train is loading just to escape the tension.
"Ueda," your name sounds like glass in his throat, shattering against the concrete walls.
And you stop. "Did you just..." You turn around and feel everything you've been waiting for breaking.
Two: Crave
Once, when you were younger and stupid and on your way to the top, back when the sequins were still troublesome and you wished you could breathe through vinyl and feathers, you thought you might have been in love with him, in that puppy-eyed kind of way that people pretend to look back on fondly.
Once, when you were both a little awkward, you would give him your brightest smiles and he would ignore them because you were quiet and strange and he wasn't really certain why you were in KAT-TUN or Johnnys or entertainment at all. You were all misfits, but you didn't quite match any of them, and they all wondered why you tried, why you showed up everyday with your head down and indifference on your face.
Once, when you were all different people, back when he played on everyone's moods and affections, back when he would hang off the nearest person, he would wrap his hands around your wrists, cup his fingers around the back of your neck, and you'd let him, pretend that it meant so much more to him, pretend you weren't starving for this.
Three: Spartan
The train ride to your apartment is silent until you pull him off at the wrong stop.
"I moved a few months ago. Everyone thought it'd be a good idea," you explain without saying much at all when he looks at you.
He doesn't say anything.
The new apartment looks just like the last, deep red fabrics against white wood with big empty windows that face nothing, everything that Akanishi would remember. Everything that Akanishi used to love.
He sits on the floor and draws patterns with his fingers in your carpet and doesn't say anything.
"Akanishi."
"You can't tell anyone," he says, and you pretend you're not wincing and turning away.
"I've never told anyone anything." But you know it's more the fact that you've never known how to put it into words than any desire to keep anything secret. You've always been vengeful, and you know you'd want people on your side if you'd known where the lines had been drawn when he'd left.
Four: Martyr
Before tonight, the last time you'd seen him, the last time any of you had seen him, was after the press conference where it was announced Akanishi was leaving for a few months to study English and KAT-TUN was going on permanent hiatus. You don't remember all the things you said back then, all the things he'd said or they'd said, but you remember feeling like you wouldn't mind never seeing him again.
It hadn't hurt when you packed up his things and left them with Yamashita. It hadn't even hurt when the screams of the last concert were finally starting to fade.
You can't remember when it started bruising, can't remember the dull ache or the nail marks in your palms or the rips in your heart; it had to have been months and months later, after the lonely nights had piled up.
You can't even really remember when it stopped hurting and started feeling like something that had never even existed at all.
Five: Shock
"Tell me what happened," you say. "Tell me why you left."
Instead, he tells you that he dreams of fire and glass consuming him, everything dark and red, colours swirling, sounds melding into the next, the ocean and sky ending and becoming one; the world a blur and melting. He tells you about the blood in the back of his throat and phantom sequins still scratching his arms, about how his words sit in the ends of his fingertips. He tells you about doctors and thick, polluted air.
Mostly, he tells you about dying and living and how they are more different than he ever thought.
*
You want to tell him how angry you've been, how betrayed you've felt, how cynical he's made you. How pathetic you've convinced yourself you are.
Mostly, you want to tell him how stupid and soft you've been since he'd left.
You swallow your words and pretend you never planned to say anything at all.
Six: Hollow
It's easy to kiss him, easy like it's always been, easier than you think it should be after all this time. He makes the right noises, presses against your mouth and hums, wraps his fingers around your wrists like he always has.
He clings, but he's always done that, always pressed and melded and melted. It's kind of desperate, the way his nails knead your wrists, and you wonder what he really needs from this, what he really needs to be reminded of, because this is something he's never needed before. At least, not from you.
His eyes are closed when you pull away and his mouth is open, bleeding red.
"You're not leaving again. I don't care." You drag your knuckles across the ridges of his spine.
When he touches you, his hands are cold and careless and everything you remember. "I'm not leaving." His voice presses scars against your skin.
*
It's easy to remember, even easier to dream. His hands on your hips, the slope of his neck, the way his hair lays around his face, his elegant wrists and the curve of his waist. Moonlight melting into his skin and smudging under his eyes. It's easy to pretend that it's going to last forever.
Seven: Rapture
It's almost morning. You're sleeping and the train station is deserted except for Akanishi.
Fandom: JE (Akanishi Jin/Ueda Tatsuya)
Rating: PG
Summary: To a doom no voice can speak, nor eye regard.
A/N: Originally posted here as part of je_ficgames.
One: Euthanasia
You find him in a train station, waiting for something you'll never know.
"Akanishi?"
He ignores it, ignores you, and you grab at his wrist. "I know it's you, Akanishi. I bought that stupid coat for your birthday three years ago," and your tone is so stern that he turns his head to face you.
He's changed. It's not just the wispy hair and tired lines in his face, it's in his eyes, how they pierce through your hope, spear you to the moment.
"How long have you been back in Japan?" you demand.
He doesn't say anything, so you look at him carefully. "Are you not going to say anything at all about why you've been gone two years and not contacted any of us?" Not contacted any of you even when you'd all been fractured into five unequal-sized pieces and left out under dying spotlights because of him?
He nods, and you think you're going to hit him. He must too, because he shrinks back half a step.
"That's just like you, Akanishi. Spoiled. You've always pulled stuff like this."
He cringes and you pretend like you don't care.
"I can't believe we even wanted you back at first. I'm glad KAT-TUN's over." You turn to leave, to board whatever train is loading just to escape the tension.
"Ueda," your name sounds like glass in his throat, shattering against the concrete walls.
And you stop. "Did you just..." You turn around and feel everything you've been waiting for breaking.
Two: Crave
Once, when you were younger and stupid and on your way to the top, back when the sequins were still troublesome and you wished you could breathe through vinyl and feathers, you thought you might have been in love with him, in that puppy-eyed kind of way that people pretend to look back on fondly.
Once, when you were both a little awkward, you would give him your brightest smiles and he would ignore them because you were quiet and strange and he wasn't really certain why you were in KAT-TUN or Johnnys or entertainment at all. You were all misfits, but you didn't quite match any of them, and they all wondered why you tried, why you showed up everyday with your head down and indifference on your face.
Once, when you were all different people, back when he played on everyone's moods and affections, back when he would hang off the nearest person, he would wrap his hands around your wrists, cup his fingers around the back of your neck, and you'd let him, pretend that it meant so much more to him, pretend you weren't starving for this.
Three: Spartan
The train ride to your apartment is silent until you pull him off at the wrong stop.
"I moved a few months ago. Everyone thought it'd be a good idea," you explain without saying much at all when he looks at you.
He doesn't say anything.
The new apartment looks just like the last, deep red fabrics against white wood with big empty windows that face nothing, everything that Akanishi would remember. Everything that Akanishi used to love.
He sits on the floor and draws patterns with his fingers in your carpet and doesn't say anything.
"Akanishi."
"You can't tell anyone," he says, and you pretend you're not wincing and turning away.
"I've never told anyone anything." But you know it's more the fact that you've never known how to put it into words than any desire to keep anything secret. You've always been vengeful, and you know you'd want people on your side if you'd known where the lines had been drawn when he'd left.
Four: Martyr
Before tonight, the last time you'd seen him, the last time any of you had seen him, was after the press conference where it was announced Akanishi was leaving for a few months to study English and KAT-TUN was going on permanent hiatus. You don't remember all the things you said back then, all the things he'd said or they'd said, but you remember feeling like you wouldn't mind never seeing him again.
It hadn't hurt when you packed up his things and left them with Yamashita. It hadn't even hurt when the screams of the last concert were finally starting to fade.
You can't remember when it started bruising, can't remember the dull ache or the nail marks in your palms or the rips in your heart; it had to have been months and months later, after the lonely nights had piled up.
You can't even really remember when it stopped hurting and started feeling like something that had never even existed at all.
Five: Shock
"Tell me what happened," you say. "Tell me why you left."
Instead, he tells you that he dreams of fire and glass consuming him, everything dark and red, colours swirling, sounds melding into the next, the ocean and sky ending and becoming one; the world a blur and melting. He tells you about the blood in the back of his throat and phantom sequins still scratching his arms, about how his words sit in the ends of his fingertips. He tells you about doctors and thick, polluted air.
Mostly, he tells you about dying and living and how they are more different than he ever thought.
*
You want to tell him how angry you've been, how betrayed you've felt, how cynical he's made you. How pathetic you've convinced yourself you are.
Mostly, you want to tell him how stupid and soft you've been since he'd left.
You swallow your words and pretend you never planned to say anything at all.
Six: Hollow
It's easy to kiss him, easy like it's always been, easier than you think it should be after all this time. He makes the right noises, presses against your mouth and hums, wraps his fingers around your wrists like he always has.
He clings, but he's always done that, always pressed and melded and melted. It's kind of desperate, the way his nails knead your wrists, and you wonder what he really needs from this, what he really needs to be reminded of, because this is something he's never needed before. At least, not from you.
His eyes are closed when you pull away and his mouth is open, bleeding red.
"You're not leaving again. I don't care." You drag your knuckles across the ridges of his spine.
When he touches you, his hands are cold and careless and everything you remember. "I'm not leaving." His voice presses scars against your skin.
*
It's easy to remember, even easier to dream. His hands on your hips, the slope of his neck, the way his hair lays around his face, his elegant wrists and the curve of his waist. Moonlight melting into his skin and smudging under his eyes. It's easy to pretend that it's going to last forever.
Seven: Rapture
It's almost morning. You're sleeping and the train station is deserted except for Akanishi.