Moss on Stone -- Chapter 04
Title: Moss on Stone
Chapter: 04/05
Author: invisiblehabits
Beta: tingedwords
Genre: Angst/Light romance
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied malexmale sex, suicide attempt, terminal illness, violence, character death
Pairings: Kenzo/Hiroto, Tora/Hirot, Aki/Kenzo
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t know. Won’t make money unless you feel like paying me to read.
Summary: Kenzo could feel Hiroto’s eyes widen at the wording, incomprehension and disbelief filling the space between them on the bench. He wanted to smirk, shrug it off like he did everything else in life, but somehow Hiroto had managed to enter the one topic that mattered.
Comments: Confession time! I entirely forgot I was supposed to post another chapter of this story! Thank you sepore for reminding me! And massive love to tingedwords, as always, for betaing (how do you write that? I never quite figured it out...) while at work! <3
Kenzo didn’t know what was going on in his life anymore. Ever since the day Hiroto came to sit closer than normal it was as if he’d never stepped back again. The younger had pulled him along to the cinema, dragged him out to restaurants and shopping malls, invited him back to his place and somehow even managed to invite himself over to Kenzo’s apartment. Kenzo didn’t know what shocked him most, the fact he went along with all those things or the fact he found himself almost longing for whatever the tiny blond would come up with next.
They still spent a lot of time at the cemetery though, it wasn’t where they’d first met but it was the place they had in common, the only thing they had in common. Or so it would seem.
“What did you like to do before this?”
Before Aki died, before your life was consumed by guilt and grief. It was what Hiroto meant, but he was kind, or perhaps tactful, enough not to voice it. A few weeks ago Kenzo would’ve ignored the question in favour of silence, a couple of months back he would’ve bitten Hiroto’s head off for daring to ask about his past.
“I...liked to swim...”
He hadn’t been to the ocean in twelve years. He’d gone there once shortly after Aki died, to sit in their spot and feel the chilly winds ruffle his hair. Only it wasn’t the same without pliant arms wrapped around him, arms that should’ve protected him from the winds that seemed to blow straight through his heart that day. He’d never gone into the water that day and he’d never gone back since.
“And I used to drum.”
It was barely a whisper, spoken so low he was sure Hiroto hadn’t heard. He didn’t see the way soft brown eyes sparked with interest at the statement, focused only on keeping back the wave of emotions his confessions brought on.
“How come you don’t anymore?”
Hiroto had an idea, assumed Kenzo had stopped after Aki died because somehow drumming too reminded him of his lover and friend. He still hadn’t gotten an admission Aki and Kenzo had been lovers, in many ways he thought they seemed to young to have been in the full sense of the word, but somehow he knew they had been.
“My parents sold my drum kit after I drummed for two days straight.”
There was more hate in his voice right then than Hiroto had ever heard before. He’d never even heard Kenzo mention his parents before and now he thought he knew why, it was quite obvious the black eyed man hosted no warm feelings for his family.
“You could get a new one.”
He hesitated a moment before suggesting it, not knowing the full story behind the hate in Kenzo’s voice made him slightly insecure. But he didn’t want the conversation to die down and surprisingly Kenzo didn’t let it either.
“Not one Aki carved his name into.”
It was easier speaking Aki’s name now than it’d been in years, but digging up memories like this brought Kenzo more pain than he was willing to admit. He’d put a lid over his emotions for the past decade or so, simply because without a way to vent them it was easier to try and ignore them. They were always there, always hurting and boiling in his blood, but he’d learnt to mostly push them away. Until Hiroto came along.
“They sold it after he died?”
Kenzo crushed the cigarette he’d been smoking and lit a new one, feeling the familiar sting of salty tears in his eyes even behind the acrid burn of hate and bile in his throat.
“Yeah, they took away the only outlet I had left.”
Hiroto swallowed a bit more loudly than he’d intended to. It was obvious Kenzo still had found no other outlet, that he carried around things inside that were anything but healthy to keep pent up and for a moment Hiroto felt almost scared. And at the same time he wanted to make the other man snap, for his own sake. He wanted to tear down Kenzo’s defences and make him feel what he clearly refused to let himself feel, make him realise what had happened wasn’t his fault.
“What did you do? After they took your drums, I mean.”
He’d expected Kenzo to retort, snort, do something, instead he got silence, thick and suffocating.
- - -
He stared at himself in the mirror, face streaked with tears and throat sore from too much screaming. Not two days had passed since he’d come back from a walk, one he’d been forced to take after his father quite literally threw him out of the house, to find an empty spot where his drum kit used to be. When he closed his eyes he could still see the kanji spelling out Aki’s name and the knowledge he’d never see that when he drummed again, if he ever got to drum again, hurt almost as badly as the knowledge he’d never see the boy who carved them.
Scratch that, nothing came even remotely close to the pain of knowing he’d never see Aki again.
He’d yelled and screamed, demanded to know where his drums were and that he get them back, he’d even gone so far as striking out at his father. Big mistake when you were a lot smaller and barely worth the clothes on your body, definitely not as much as the money even a battered drum kit could bring in.
“Kenzo! Get back here, I’m not done talking to you!”
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Watch your language you ungrateful excuse of a son!”
The words didn’t become him, he’d long since grown used to the insults and constant barbs thrown at him. His father had never struck him though, not before today and looking in the mirror he could see the bruise starting to form on the side of his face. Pulling the shirt over his head, dropping his pants to the floor, he desperately searched for other marks, made by other hands and for entirely different reasons, marks he’d begged and pleaded for.
Fresh sobs wrecked his body as he realised the last of them were gone, every bruise and nip and bite Aki had left on him the night before he died had faded and healed. He had nothing left and no new ones would ever come. Somewhere in the back on his mind he was aware of his father still screaming through the door but he paid no attention to him or whatever shit he was spewing, it didn’t matter, it wasn’t important and he couldn’t be bothered with it.
Black eyes scanned the bathroom counter for something, anything, to ease the pain burning him from inside. They landed on his mother’s nail file, slender and metallic with a promisingly pointy tip. He didn’t think twice as he picked it up, he just wanted the pain to stop, he wanted it all to end.
- - -
Kenzo slowly pulled the sleeves of his jacket and shirt up, revealing pale forearms with even paler scars decorating them, long and jagged and ugly. He had no idea why he did it, why he let Hiroto in on that secret, lowered his guard and shared things he’d never shared with anyone outside his family. But Hiroto had asked and this was, in all honesty, the easiest way to answer.
Unlike what he’d expected though, Hiroto neither gasped nor whimpered at the sight, he didn’t pull away or flee the scene. The blond just remained quiet, tentatively reaching out to brush fingertips over elevated scar tissue and Kenzo allowed it. It was the most intimate moment he’d experienced since Aki died, just sitting there and letting Hiroto touch the proof of his weakness, his need with no receiver. There was nothing sexual about the act the blond performed, but it held an importance beyond anything Kenzo had let happened in the past twelve years.
And it scared him, it scared him far more than he was willing to admit.
“They saved you, that must mean they care at least.”
He almost wished Hiroto hadn’t spoken, because the words only proved he had no idea what he was talking about, that he didn’t know Kenzo’s parents in the slightest or anything of what his life had been like.
“It had nothing to do with me, they just wanted to avoid another stabbed body in their household.”
Kenzo could feel Hiroto’s eyes widen at the wording, incomprehension and disbelief filling the space between them on the bench. He wanted to smirk, shrug it off like he did everything else in life, but somehow Hiroto had managed to enter the one topic that mattered.
“They needed to save me to save her...”
- - -
Kenzo gasped softly as Aki gave him a slightly rough elbow in the side, he was sore from the night before and he knew Aki revelled in the knowledge, in making him gasp and moan in delicious pleasured pain. There was nothing sweeter than the ache Aki left inside him, making muscles burn to show him he was loved.
“Asshole.”
“What, can’t handle me?”
It was teasing beyond what his parents would ever accept, but they were still outside the house and so they hadn’t broken any rules yet. Kenzo had promised not to ‘indulge in his disgusting habits’ inside his parents’ house, but nothing had been said about the garden. Besides, they were only touching and kissing innocently.
“I should get the mail.”
“Oh, peacekeeping are we?”
Aki chuckled against his neck, knowing far more than anyone else but trying to ease the situation nonetheless. They hardly ever hung out at Kenzo’s house anymore, not since his mother found out the true nature of their relationship, but Kenzo needed clean clothes and so there was little choice left but to head over there. It might’ve been easier for the younger to go alone, but Aki wasn’t about to let him face his parents on his own. He knew for a fact they stayed at least a bit calmer if he was around too.
“Shut up and go inside, I’ll be right there.”
The taller chuckled and pecked him on the lips before he kept on walking while Kenzo headed over to the mailbox by the road, gathering random letters whose addressee he didn’t care about. If a letter or two happened to be for him he assumed someone would inform him later on.
He flipped through the envelopes mindlessly as he crossed the driveway up to the house, mostly to have something to do, when a terrified scream pierced the air. Kenzo was so shocked he dropped the mail and stood unmoving for several moments while the echo died down. It’d been a female voice crying out, one he recognised but didn’t quite want to acknowledge at the time being. His sister, not quite sane but up till then mostly loved none the less.
It took a minute, maybe two, before he was able to move, dashing through the front door to find his mother hugging his sister in the hallway, blood splatter all over her, a common kitchen knife on the floor next to the pair. Kenzo couldn’t breathe as he passed the two, followed the blood pattern to the kitchen and felt his existence crumble at the core.
Aki lay in a puddle of his own blood, gasping for air with several stab wounds to his chest. Kenzo didn’t think, he acted on impulse, closing the few feet between them to wrap his arms around Aki, press hands against bloody wounds in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Call an ambulance!”
But no one listened. His mother was too occupied trying to comfort and calm down his baby sister, where his father was he didn’t know. Kenzo was all alone, fighting a loosing battle as Aki looked up at him with fear and disbelief in his eyes, gasping for breath even as he was drowning in his own blood.
“No, no!”
Kenzo pressed harder on the wounds, cradled Aki’s head to his chest even as he felt the life rapidly seeping out of the body.
“Don’t leave me, please!”
Aki tried to say something, lips moving but words concealed by blood bubbling over them. Kenzo could do nothing but sit there and cry helplessly as eyes glazed over and the steady flow between his fingers decreased when there was nothing left to spill.
- - -
It should’ve been Kenzo crying, instead it was Hiroto shedding tears as the story fell past bitten lips in pained whispers. Kenzo had no idea why he was sharing the story, it hurt beyond belief to think back on that day and actually tell the story of how Aki died.
“Your sister killed him?”
Kenzo didn’t reply at first, merely lit up another cigarette and tried to will the image of Aki’s eyes, scared and unable to comprehend the situation, from his mind. He didn’t want to remember it, not when awake, and therefore he shouldn’t speak of it. But he’d started, for the first time in years he’d opened his mouth to talk about things that truly mattered and now he couldn’t shut up again.
“Yeah, she was....I don’t know, paranoid or some shit like that. Aki walked into the kitchen and she got scared and stabbed him.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, hurt and pain and sorrow flying past his lips much faster than words and Hiroto felt more than he heard the sadness. Reaching out he carefully placed a hand on Kenzo’s shoulder, wanting to touch and comfort but not daring to go all the way. Kenzo stiffened beneath his fingers but he didn’t shrug it off, mostly because Hiroto didn’t say anything. Most people would try to comfort verbally, show that they cared and understood by stating random shit he didn’t care about in the slightest. Hiroto remained silent after having listened, showed that he was there, but didn’t speak up, even though Kenzo knew the blond was one of the few who came close, though not all the way, to understanding how he felt.
Hiroto squeezed the shoulder slightly, dried the stray tears absentmindedly, but otherwise remained still and silent. What happened to Kenzo was so similar to his own story, yet different in every way imaginable. He understood the pain of losing a lover, but not like that. Everything he’d never understood about Kenzo suddenly seemed a lot less puzzling, even if he still didn’t have the full picture. Sitting there right then he was confident he would though, he knew he’d just been let in, trusted in ways he wondered if anyone had before, and it made him both proud and scared.
- - -
Hiroto sighed and dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushed it with his boot even after he heard the sharp hissing sound that told him it was already dead. Winter was finally losing to spring, chasing away the chill and bringing muddy wetness in its wake. He wondered what Kenzo thought of this season, if he liked the budding warmth enough to ignore the annoying mud that stuck to shoes and clothes and everything else, but he couldn’t ask because the older wasn’t there. Ever since the day he’d told about Aki’s death Kenzo had more or less avoided him. Not as bad as the first time, Hiroto had seen the other around every now and then, but several times Kenzo had left after he arrived at Tora’s grave but before he could approach the bench and it hurt more than it should.
He was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake, if he would’ve been better off walking away from the bench than sitting down that day. Kenzo was such a troublesome individual, tainted by loss and grief to an extent Hiroto could never imagine. And at the same time it was that loss and grief that drew him in, had allowed Kenzo to worm his way beneath Hiroto’s skin and into, if not his heart just yet then at least his bloodstream.
Looking left and right he sighed again as he still couldn’t see the small man, couldn’t feel pitch black eyes glaring at him from a distance or beckoning him closer in their own silent call for attention. When his eyes landed on the simple grey gravestone he’d long since learnt to recognise as Aki’s, he only hesitated a minute. He’d spent a lot of time talking to Tora in the past few weeks, even more than normal, almost as much as right after the older died, but Tora had no answers to give him and though Hiroto knew he couldn’t talk to Aki the way he was ‘talking’ to Tora he still wanted to.
It felt strange, approaching Aki’s grave without Kenzo walking next to him. He knew he wouldn’t be upset if the roles were reversed, if Kenzo or anyone else visited Tora’s grave. But Kenzo was a lot more possessive of Aki and his grave than Hiroto had ever been of Tora, Tora was too possessive to allow Hiroto to be the same, but he’d never minded belonging to the older. Still he squatted down in front of the grave, wishing he could sit down properly but knowing it’d ruin his jeans beyond repair, and traced the letters of Aki’s name with his eyes.
“Hello Aki. I’m not sure if you remember me or not, I’m Hiroto, Kenzo’s friend...”
A heavy sigh, heavier by far than he’d allowed himself to utter in a long time, slipped past his lips. Hiroto tried to always stay positive, mostly because he needed to or he was certain he would’ve long ago buried himself in a swamp of depression and grief, much like Kenzo had. But lately he found it harder to keep the frown from his face and the sighs from his lips, and though he didn’t want to admit it, it was all because of Kenzo.
“Well I’d like him to be my friend, but I’m not sure he feels the same way about me.”
To be honest he didn’t even know exactly what ‘feels the same way’ fully meant. His own feelings towards the small black eyed man were confused and conflicting, a crazy mixture of sympathy and understanding, hope to be understood in return, fear of letting someone close again, a touch of annoyance at his overall behaviour, and maybe something more.
“I wish you were here to explain him to me, how he thinks and functions, plus it’d take away his pain and I’d really like to see that happen too. He told me how you died and it was painful to hear, mostly because of how it affected him. For his sake I wish you were still here.”
It didn’t matter such a thing would mean he stood no chance of being understood or find consolation in Kenzo, Hiroto knew the pain of loneliness and if he could he would always save someone else from feeling it. Had there been a way he would’ve brought Aki back for Kenzo, even if he couldn’t bring Tora back for himself in the same way.
“But you’re not here, whereas I am and I was wondering....hoping, that maybe you’d be okay with me getting to know Kenzo better. Would you? I think I like him, you see. It might sound strange, he’s been rather...cold after all, but I think you out of all people should understand, there are just these small things he does...”
Hiroto smiled at the thought, memories of the past months flying back in mindless illogical patterns, all of them helping to raise his mood. Kenzo offering him an already lit cigarette, Kenzo accepting a fleeting touch or sharing a memory, however insignificant it might seem it still meant a lot to him. The curve of his lips faltered slightly as he thought of the things shared lately, Aki’s death and the time following, the suicide attempt. Those were important things and it made Hiroto feel special, trusted in a way he hadn’t since that day eight years ago when he first learnt what CUP stood for.
“I know I can never be you or take your place, no more than Kenzo can ever replace Tora, I wouldn’t even want to. I just don’t want to be alone anymore, and I don’t want Kenzo to have to be, and...I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want him to be either.”
“Don’t talk as if you knew him.”
The words were hissed from behind him and startled Hiroto so bad he almost ended up seated in the mud nonetheless. He knew the voice though, low and laced with smoke, even when it held far more emotion than he’d even heard before. Turning around he stumbled as he got to his feet.
“Kenzo.”
“Don’t talk as if you knew him.”
There was a warning in the statement, but also a nearly concealed pain that made Hiroto think he was right on track. He also wondered how long Kenzo had been standing there, listening to his one-sided conversation with Aki, but found he didn’t care, almost wished the older had heard his confessions.
“I didn’t know him.”
“Then why the hell are you talking to him? You don’t have that right.”
He was hissing, like an angry cat, and Hiroto assumed a lot of people would’ve been scared. Or at least weirded out, it was hard to scare people when you were tiny, he should know. But looking closer it was easy, well not too hard anyway, to tell Kenzo was scared, though of what Hiroto wasn’t entirely sure. The hissed words were protective, possessive even, leaving little doubt as to whom Aki belonged, to whom Kenzo belonged in return.
“You’d rather no one talked to him? That he be alone too?”
It was a cruel thing to say, provocative in the way Hiroto had realised was the only way to get Kenzo to truly open up. Nothing else seemed to work and he was getting desperate and Kenzo was already angry, bordering on furious even though he was eerily calm on the surface, what did he have to lose? His friendship, as it was, yes, but hadn’t he just admitted he wanted more?
Kenzo was furious, positively fuming where he stood, fists clenched so hard blunt nails cut through his skin as he tried not to knock the other out.
“Don’t you fucking dare judge me.”
“I’m trying to get to know you.”
He tried desperately to keep the frustration out of his voice, because Hiroto was beginning to get frustrated with Kenzo. A part of him wanted to shake the black eyed man and scream at him, slap him out of his stupid shell of egoistical self-pitying, another wanted to just walked away. Every time he thought he was getting closer to Kenzo, every time the other seemed to open up even the tiniest bit, he always retrieved even further into himself afterwards, and it was getting tiresome.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Something inside Hiroto snapped at that. He’d somewhat understood Kenzo wasn’t used to kind treatment, that he’d grown up to harsh words and little love, that losing Aki had pretty much robbed him of any traces of happiness, but Hiroto was! His parents had always been there and no one, no one, could be more loving and kind and caring than Tora! What had happened to Kenzo wasn’t fair, but neither was his behaviour.
“Yeah well maybe I am just a masochist. I chose to love a man I knew was dying and I choose to want to get to know a stubborn, rude, idiot.”
Kenzo paused, lighter halfway to cigarette he paused and just stared.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you do it? Why do you put up with me?”
It was an honest question, because just like Hiroto had assumed, Kenzo was not used to people caring, or even bothering to try. He’d grown up fast and hard, been left lonely and cold, and learnt that it was less painful to stay that way.
“I made a promise to move on.”
Chapter: 04/05
Author: invisiblehabits
Beta: tingedwords
Genre: Angst/Light romance
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied malexmale sex, suicide attempt, terminal illness, violence, character death
Pairings: Kenzo/Hiroto, Tora/Hirot, Aki/Kenzo
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t know. Won’t make money unless you feel like paying me to read.
Summary: Kenzo could feel Hiroto’s eyes widen at the wording, incomprehension and disbelief filling the space between them on the bench. He wanted to smirk, shrug it off like he did everything else in life, but somehow Hiroto had managed to enter the one topic that mattered.
Comments: Confession time! I entirely forgot I was supposed to post another chapter of this story! Thank you sepore for reminding me! And massive love to tingedwords, as always, for betaing (how do you write that? I never quite figured it out...) while at work! <3
Kenzo didn’t know what was going on in his life anymore. Ever since the day Hiroto came to sit closer than normal it was as if he’d never stepped back again. The younger had pulled him along to the cinema, dragged him out to restaurants and shopping malls, invited him back to his place and somehow even managed to invite himself over to Kenzo’s apartment. Kenzo didn’t know what shocked him most, the fact he went along with all those things or the fact he found himself almost longing for whatever the tiny blond would come up with next.
They still spent a lot of time at the cemetery though, it wasn’t where they’d first met but it was the place they had in common, the only thing they had in common. Or so it would seem.
“What did you like to do before this?”
Before Aki died, before your life was consumed by guilt and grief. It was what Hiroto meant, but he was kind, or perhaps tactful, enough not to voice it. A few weeks ago Kenzo would’ve ignored the question in favour of silence, a couple of months back he would’ve bitten Hiroto’s head off for daring to ask about his past.
“I...liked to swim...”
He hadn’t been to the ocean in twelve years. He’d gone there once shortly after Aki died, to sit in their spot and feel the chilly winds ruffle his hair. Only it wasn’t the same without pliant arms wrapped around him, arms that should’ve protected him from the winds that seemed to blow straight through his heart that day. He’d never gone into the water that day and he’d never gone back since.
“And I used to drum.”
It was barely a whisper, spoken so low he was sure Hiroto hadn’t heard. He didn’t see the way soft brown eyes sparked with interest at the statement, focused only on keeping back the wave of emotions his confessions brought on.
“How come you don’t anymore?”
Hiroto had an idea, assumed Kenzo had stopped after Aki died because somehow drumming too reminded him of his lover and friend. He still hadn’t gotten an admission Aki and Kenzo had been lovers, in many ways he thought they seemed to young to have been in the full sense of the word, but somehow he knew they had been.
“My parents sold my drum kit after I drummed for two days straight.”
There was more hate in his voice right then than Hiroto had ever heard before. He’d never even heard Kenzo mention his parents before and now he thought he knew why, it was quite obvious the black eyed man hosted no warm feelings for his family.
“You could get a new one.”
He hesitated a moment before suggesting it, not knowing the full story behind the hate in Kenzo’s voice made him slightly insecure. But he didn’t want the conversation to die down and surprisingly Kenzo didn’t let it either.
“Not one Aki carved his name into.”
It was easier speaking Aki’s name now than it’d been in years, but digging up memories like this brought Kenzo more pain than he was willing to admit. He’d put a lid over his emotions for the past decade or so, simply because without a way to vent them it was easier to try and ignore them. They were always there, always hurting and boiling in his blood, but he’d learnt to mostly push them away. Until Hiroto came along.
“They sold it after he died?”
Kenzo crushed the cigarette he’d been smoking and lit a new one, feeling the familiar sting of salty tears in his eyes even behind the acrid burn of hate and bile in his throat.
“Yeah, they took away the only outlet I had left.”
Hiroto swallowed a bit more loudly than he’d intended to. It was obvious Kenzo still had found no other outlet, that he carried around things inside that were anything but healthy to keep pent up and for a moment Hiroto felt almost scared. And at the same time he wanted to make the other man snap, for his own sake. He wanted to tear down Kenzo’s defences and make him feel what he clearly refused to let himself feel, make him realise what had happened wasn’t his fault.
“What did you do? After they took your drums, I mean.”
He’d expected Kenzo to retort, snort, do something, instead he got silence, thick and suffocating.
- - -
He stared at himself in the mirror, face streaked with tears and throat sore from too much screaming. Not two days had passed since he’d come back from a walk, one he’d been forced to take after his father quite literally threw him out of the house, to find an empty spot where his drum kit used to be. When he closed his eyes he could still see the kanji spelling out Aki’s name and the knowledge he’d never see that when he drummed again, if he ever got to drum again, hurt almost as badly as the knowledge he’d never see the boy who carved them.
Scratch that, nothing came even remotely close to the pain of knowing he’d never see Aki again.
He’d yelled and screamed, demanded to know where his drums were and that he get them back, he’d even gone so far as striking out at his father. Big mistake when you were a lot smaller and barely worth the clothes on your body, definitely not as much as the money even a battered drum kit could bring in.
“Kenzo! Get back here, I’m not done talking to you!”
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Watch your language you ungrateful excuse of a son!”
The words didn’t become him, he’d long since grown used to the insults and constant barbs thrown at him. His father had never struck him though, not before today and looking in the mirror he could see the bruise starting to form on the side of his face. Pulling the shirt over his head, dropping his pants to the floor, he desperately searched for other marks, made by other hands and for entirely different reasons, marks he’d begged and pleaded for.
Fresh sobs wrecked his body as he realised the last of them were gone, every bruise and nip and bite Aki had left on him the night before he died had faded and healed. He had nothing left and no new ones would ever come. Somewhere in the back on his mind he was aware of his father still screaming through the door but he paid no attention to him or whatever shit he was spewing, it didn’t matter, it wasn’t important and he couldn’t be bothered with it.
Black eyes scanned the bathroom counter for something, anything, to ease the pain burning him from inside. They landed on his mother’s nail file, slender and metallic with a promisingly pointy tip. He didn’t think twice as he picked it up, he just wanted the pain to stop, he wanted it all to end.
- - -
Kenzo slowly pulled the sleeves of his jacket and shirt up, revealing pale forearms with even paler scars decorating them, long and jagged and ugly. He had no idea why he did it, why he let Hiroto in on that secret, lowered his guard and shared things he’d never shared with anyone outside his family. But Hiroto had asked and this was, in all honesty, the easiest way to answer.
Unlike what he’d expected though, Hiroto neither gasped nor whimpered at the sight, he didn’t pull away or flee the scene. The blond just remained quiet, tentatively reaching out to brush fingertips over elevated scar tissue and Kenzo allowed it. It was the most intimate moment he’d experienced since Aki died, just sitting there and letting Hiroto touch the proof of his weakness, his need with no receiver. There was nothing sexual about the act the blond performed, but it held an importance beyond anything Kenzo had let happened in the past twelve years.
And it scared him, it scared him far more than he was willing to admit.
“They saved you, that must mean they care at least.”
He almost wished Hiroto hadn’t spoken, because the words only proved he had no idea what he was talking about, that he didn’t know Kenzo’s parents in the slightest or anything of what his life had been like.
“It had nothing to do with me, they just wanted to avoid another stabbed body in their household.”
Kenzo could feel Hiroto’s eyes widen at the wording, incomprehension and disbelief filling the space between them on the bench. He wanted to smirk, shrug it off like he did everything else in life, but somehow Hiroto had managed to enter the one topic that mattered.
“They needed to save me to save her...”
- - -
Kenzo gasped softly as Aki gave him a slightly rough elbow in the side, he was sore from the night before and he knew Aki revelled in the knowledge, in making him gasp and moan in delicious pleasured pain. There was nothing sweeter than the ache Aki left inside him, making muscles burn to show him he was loved.
“Asshole.”
“What, can’t handle me?”
It was teasing beyond what his parents would ever accept, but they were still outside the house and so they hadn’t broken any rules yet. Kenzo had promised not to ‘indulge in his disgusting habits’ inside his parents’ house, but nothing had been said about the garden. Besides, they were only touching and kissing innocently.
“I should get the mail.”
“Oh, peacekeeping are we?”
Aki chuckled against his neck, knowing far more than anyone else but trying to ease the situation nonetheless. They hardly ever hung out at Kenzo’s house anymore, not since his mother found out the true nature of their relationship, but Kenzo needed clean clothes and so there was little choice left but to head over there. It might’ve been easier for the younger to go alone, but Aki wasn’t about to let him face his parents on his own. He knew for a fact they stayed at least a bit calmer if he was around too.
“Shut up and go inside, I’ll be right there.”
The taller chuckled and pecked him on the lips before he kept on walking while Kenzo headed over to the mailbox by the road, gathering random letters whose addressee he didn’t care about. If a letter or two happened to be for him he assumed someone would inform him later on.
He flipped through the envelopes mindlessly as he crossed the driveway up to the house, mostly to have something to do, when a terrified scream pierced the air. Kenzo was so shocked he dropped the mail and stood unmoving for several moments while the echo died down. It’d been a female voice crying out, one he recognised but didn’t quite want to acknowledge at the time being. His sister, not quite sane but up till then mostly loved none the less.
It took a minute, maybe two, before he was able to move, dashing through the front door to find his mother hugging his sister in the hallway, blood splatter all over her, a common kitchen knife on the floor next to the pair. Kenzo couldn’t breathe as he passed the two, followed the blood pattern to the kitchen and felt his existence crumble at the core.
Aki lay in a puddle of his own blood, gasping for air with several stab wounds to his chest. Kenzo didn’t think, he acted on impulse, closing the few feet between them to wrap his arms around Aki, press hands against bloody wounds in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Call an ambulance!”
But no one listened. His mother was too occupied trying to comfort and calm down his baby sister, where his father was he didn’t know. Kenzo was all alone, fighting a loosing battle as Aki looked up at him with fear and disbelief in his eyes, gasping for breath even as he was drowning in his own blood.
“No, no!”
Kenzo pressed harder on the wounds, cradled Aki’s head to his chest even as he felt the life rapidly seeping out of the body.
“Don’t leave me, please!”
Aki tried to say something, lips moving but words concealed by blood bubbling over them. Kenzo could do nothing but sit there and cry helplessly as eyes glazed over and the steady flow between his fingers decreased when there was nothing left to spill.
- - -
It should’ve been Kenzo crying, instead it was Hiroto shedding tears as the story fell past bitten lips in pained whispers. Kenzo had no idea why he was sharing the story, it hurt beyond belief to think back on that day and actually tell the story of how Aki died.
“Your sister killed him?”
Kenzo didn’t reply at first, merely lit up another cigarette and tried to will the image of Aki’s eyes, scared and unable to comprehend the situation, from his mind. He didn’t want to remember it, not when awake, and therefore he shouldn’t speak of it. But he’d started, for the first time in years he’d opened his mouth to talk about things that truly mattered and now he couldn’t shut up again.
“Yeah, she was....I don’t know, paranoid or some shit like that. Aki walked into the kitchen and she got scared and stabbed him.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, hurt and pain and sorrow flying past his lips much faster than words and Hiroto felt more than he heard the sadness. Reaching out he carefully placed a hand on Kenzo’s shoulder, wanting to touch and comfort but not daring to go all the way. Kenzo stiffened beneath his fingers but he didn’t shrug it off, mostly because Hiroto didn’t say anything. Most people would try to comfort verbally, show that they cared and understood by stating random shit he didn’t care about in the slightest. Hiroto remained silent after having listened, showed that he was there, but didn’t speak up, even though Kenzo knew the blond was one of the few who came close, though not all the way, to understanding how he felt.
Hiroto squeezed the shoulder slightly, dried the stray tears absentmindedly, but otherwise remained still and silent. What happened to Kenzo was so similar to his own story, yet different in every way imaginable. He understood the pain of losing a lover, but not like that. Everything he’d never understood about Kenzo suddenly seemed a lot less puzzling, even if he still didn’t have the full picture. Sitting there right then he was confident he would though, he knew he’d just been let in, trusted in ways he wondered if anyone had before, and it made him both proud and scared.
- - -
Hiroto sighed and dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushed it with his boot even after he heard the sharp hissing sound that told him it was already dead. Winter was finally losing to spring, chasing away the chill and bringing muddy wetness in its wake. He wondered what Kenzo thought of this season, if he liked the budding warmth enough to ignore the annoying mud that stuck to shoes and clothes and everything else, but he couldn’t ask because the older wasn’t there. Ever since the day he’d told about Aki’s death Kenzo had more or less avoided him. Not as bad as the first time, Hiroto had seen the other around every now and then, but several times Kenzo had left after he arrived at Tora’s grave but before he could approach the bench and it hurt more than it should.
He was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake, if he would’ve been better off walking away from the bench than sitting down that day. Kenzo was such a troublesome individual, tainted by loss and grief to an extent Hiroto could never imagine. And at the same time it was that loss and grief that drew him in, had allowed Kenzo to worm his way beneath Hiroto’s skin and into, if not his heart just yet then at least his bloodstream.
Looking left and right he sighed again as he still couldn’t see the small man, couldn’t feel pitch black eyes glaring at him from a distance or beckoning him closer in their own silent call for attention. When his eyes landed on the simple grey gravestone he’d long since learnt to recognise as Aki’s, he only hesitated a minute. He’d spent a lot of time talking to Tora in the past few weeks, even more than normal, almost as much as right after the older died, but Tora had no answers to give him and though Hiroto knew he couldn’t talk to Aki the way he was ‘talking’ to Tora he still wanted to.
It felt strange, approaching Aki’s grave without Kenzo walking next to him. He knew he wouldn’t be upset if the roles were reversed, if Kenzo or anyone else visited Tora’s grave. But Kenzo was a lot more possessive of Aki and his grave than Hiroto had ever been of Tora, Tora was too possessive to allow Hiroto to be the same, but he’d never minded belonging to the older. Still he squatted down in front of the grave, wishing he could sit down properly but knowing it’d ruin his jeans beyond repair, and traced the letters of Aki’s name with his eyes.
“Hello Aki. I’m not sure if you remember me or not, I’m Hiroto, Kenzo’s friend...”
A heavy sigh, heavier by far than he’d allowed himself to utter in a long time, slipped past his lips. Hiroto tried to always stay positive, mostly because he needed to or he was certain he would’ve long ago buried himself in a swamp of depression and grief, much like Kenzo had. But lately he found it harder to keep the frown from his face and the sighs from his lips, and though he didn’t want to admit it, it was all because of Kenzo.
“Well I’d like him to be my friend, but I’m not sure he feels the same way about me.”
To be honest he didn’t even know exactly what ‘feels the same way’ fully meant. His own feelings towards the small black eyed man were confused and conflicting, a crazy mixture of sympathy and understanding, hope to be understood in return, fear of letting someone close again, a touch of annoyance at his overall behaviour, and maybe something more.
“I wish you were here to explain him to me, how he thinks and functions, plus it’d take away his pain and I’d really like to see that happen too. He told me how you died and it was painful to hear, mostly because of how it affected him. For his sake I wish you were still here.”
It didn’t matter such a thing would mean he stood no chance of being understood or find consolation in Kenzo, Hiroto knew the pain of loneliness and if he could he would always save someone else from feeling it. Had there been a way he would’ve brought Aki back for Kenzo, even if he couldn’t bring Tora back for himself in the same way.
“But you’re not here, whereas I am and I was wondering....hoping, that maybe you’d be okay with me getting to know Kenzo better. Would you? I think I like him, you see. It might sound strange, he’s been rather...cold after all, but I think you out of all people should understand, there are just these small things he does...”
Hiroto smiled at the thought, memories of the past months flying back in mindless illogical patterns, all of them helping to raise his mood. Kenzo offering him an already lit cigarette, Kenzo accepting a fleeting touch or sharing a memory, however insignificant it might seem it still meant a lot to him. The curve of his lips faltered slightly as he thought of the things shared lately, Aki’s death and the time following, the suicide attempt. Those were important things and it made Hiroto feel special, trusted in a way he hadn’t since that day eight years ago when he first learnt what CUP stood for.
“I know I can never be you or take your place, no more than Kenzo can ever replace Tora, I wouldn’t even want to. I just don’t want to be alone anymore, and I don’t want Kenzo to have to be, and...I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want him to be either.”
“Don’t talk as if you knew him.”
The words were hissed from behind him and startled Hiroto so bad he almost ended up seated in the mud nonetheless. He knew the voice though, low and laced with smoke, even when it held far more emotion than he’d even heard before. Turning around he stumbled as he got to his feet.
“Kenzo.”
“Don’t talk as if you knew him.”
There was a warning in the statement, but also a nearly concealed pain that made Hiroto think he was right on track. He also wondered how long Kenzo had been standing there, listening to his one-sided conversation with Aki, but found he didn’t care, almost wished the older had heard his confessions.
“I didn’t know him.”
“Then why the hell are you talking to him? You don’t have that right.”
He was hissing, like an angry cat, and Hiroto assumed a lot of people would’ve been scared. Or at least weirded out, it was hard to scare people when you were tiny, he should know. But looking closer it was easy, well not too hard anyway, to tell Kenzo was scared, though of what Hiroto wasn’t entirely sure. The hissed words were protective, possessive even, leaving little doubt as to whom Aki belonged, to whom Kenzo belonged in return.
“You’d rather no one talked to him? That he be alone too?”
It was a cruel thing to say, provocative in the way Hiroto had realised was the only way to get Kenzo to truly open up. Nothing else seemed to work and he was getting desperate and Kenzo was already angry, bordering on furious even though he was eerily calm on the surface, what did he have to lose? His friendship, as it was, yes, but hadn’t he just admitted he wanted more?
Kenzo was furious, positively fuming where he stood, fists clenched so hard blunt nails cut through his skin as he tried not to knock the other out.
“Don’t you fucking dare judge me.”
“I’m trying to get to know you.”
He tried desperately to keep the frustration out of his voice, because Hiroto was beginning to get frustrated with Kenzo. A part of him wanted to shake the black eyed man and scream at him, slap him out of his stupid shell of egoistical self-pitying, another wanted to just walked away. Every time he thought he was getting closer to Kenzo, every time the other seemed to open up even the tiniest bit, he always retrieved even further into himself afterwards, and it was getting tiresome.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Something inside Hiroto snapped at that. He’d somewhat understood Kenzo wasn’t used to kind treatment, that he’d grown up to harsh words and little love, that losing Aki had pretty much robbed him of any traces of happiness, but Hiroto was! His parents had always been there and no one, no one, could be more loving and kind and caring than Tora! What had happened to Kenzo wasn’t fair, but neither was his behaviour.
“Yeah well maybe I am just a masochist. I chose to love a man I knew was dying and I choose to want to get to know a stubborn, rude, idiot.”
Kenzo paused, lighter halfway to cigarette he paused and just stared.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you do it? Why do you put up with me?”
It was an honest question, because just like Hiroto had assumed, Kenzo was not used to people caring, or even bothering to try. He’d grown up fast and hard, been left lonely and cold, and learnt that it was less painful to stay that way.
“I made a promise to move on.”