Narcolepsy chapter 1/1 ToraxShou
Title: Narcolepsy
Chapters: 1/1
Author: mxtrxofsomer
Genre: attempt at fluff? you know how weird I can get
Band(s): Alice Nine
Pairing: Tora x Shou
Rating: R-NC-17 (yes you’re gonna read some from me, brace yourselves)
Warnings: my own version of fluff but try reading cus I did try
Synopsis: “How do I know that you ain’t gone away? ”
Notes: this fic has a bgm, yes it does, and I encourage you to listen to it while you’re reading, you can find it below the cut. The song is entitled Gone Away by Binocular. toraxshou seriously needs some loving from us guys~ come and join the campaign. xD this fic btw is dedicated to sazeixrinshou.
here is the bgm:
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“To… Ra…”
That voice, his voice ringing in a volume so quiet, he imagines it the tone of a gentle wind passing by and breathing freedom on his ears, so soft and weak as if any moment it will melt like how the wisps of his hair have turned damp, sticking to his forehead, so powerful that his brain, all messed up in a collage of thousand images including his face and anatomy outdoes his heart in pumping blood in his veins, so needy and pleading that his fingernails sink into the hollow of his shoulders, and he himself bites his inner cheek in pain. That same sound, it doesn’t need to be repeated but he does, and Tora only burrows forward, his speed, unhurried and silky, he maintains the flickering candle flame inside his stomach, the feeling he had when they first kissed.
Tora hears him hiccup and he opens his eyes a fraction, just a millimetre, the light of the moon from the window is not even enough for a clear view, but he wholly sees his face glittering with sweat, his features writhing in between distress and an open-mouthed smile, chest rising and falling almost simultaneously. The sight on his face drives Tora mad and he pushes further, buries his nose on his neck and plants his stretched-out lips on his throat, sensing the other swallow his kiss. He squirms underneath him, arches his body up, allowing Tora to delve deeper within him until he can see sparks. “Shou,” he frantically mouths again and again while he glides up and down pressing small marks of possession all over his skin, “Ah… Shou…”
“Tora,” he heavily says in a lungful of air, eyelids fluttering open, his round orbs glinting against darkness as he smiles faintly, smears his palms over the contours of his face, and firmly locks his hands below Tora’s jaws. “I… ah… ”
“Shhh…” Tora hushes him, placing a finger on his lips and Shou instantly falls silent, his pupils lustfully recoiling at the back of his elegant lashes. Tora then loses himself to him, subtly tracing the shape of his mouth with his fingertip in lengthened pace, their texture a pure torture to his soul that he leans over, and retracts his finger in haste, replacing it with his own hungry lips. “I know,” he soundlessly whispers against his burning mouth. “I know…”
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“TO-RA!”
He blinks once, twice, thrice, and from the pit of blackness, his vision blurs with different shades of light, like that of a lone impressionistic painting hanging on the wall of his room, then gradually solidifies, forms into real figures -objects and people, while the noises become more apparent, starting to register on his sensory nerves. He first takes notice of Hiroto who is in front of him, an outline of energy but unbelievably contained, crouching low, waving his hand inches before Tora’s face, too close, dangerously close that something inside Tora snaps hard. He instinctively smacks Hiroto’s hand away and the other jerks in surprise, curses him at least ten words of profanity in an overly exaggerated dynamism while playfully punching his right shoulder. “You’re too much man,” Hiroto says, or almost yells, but Tora doesn’t really care and he shrugs at him, stays indifferent, giving Hiroto at least a little smirk.
His gaze travels from Hiroto to Saga, seated crossed legged on a single beaten couch at the other side of the room, head bowed above the screen of his black PSP while thumbing control buttons probably as fast as the agility of the character he is currently playing. “Quit bothering people you dumbass,” he comments nonchalantly without even attempting to properly address the right person he’s talking to.
“You’re boring me and he isn’t waking up so it’s not bad if I get troubled by it right,” Hiroto complains back at Saga and he appears disappointed, shaking his head and depositing himself on the space beside Tora with a tired sigh.
Tora’s eyebrows furrow in both curiosity and confusion at Hiroto’s given piece information and he turns to face Hiroto, a puzzled frown evidently carved on his face, his tongue on the border of a serious interrogation. Before he could speak however, his eyes wander off to the wide flooring for a single second, to search for one constant and his intuition catches something amiss, so then he immediately forgets everything that he is to question. He doesn’t understand well but panic anxiously rises inside his chest and consumes him like bile, several beads of dread forming on the side of his neck. There’s nothing to be worried that much, he’s pretty sure of it, basing his guess from the looks of the other two, and he begs himself to calm down but his mind won’t let him rest, still stubborn to think of the opposite. “Where’s,” he gulps, feeling his throat go dry, “where’s Shou?”
“He’s not even paying attention is he?” hitting his own forehead with his knuckles, Hiroto growls more to himself rather than to anyone of them who are physically present but elsewhere in mentality. He stands up from the couch and walks out, muttering to himself something along the lines of finding ways of being saved from too weird people that he can’t stand. Looking at Saga, Tora implicitly asks him for an explanation of the sudden loss of patience from their friend, and he’s kind of lucky that Saga even spares him a glance, but the bassist only grants him an equally befuddled expression and he’s back to his game.
Tora is then left, alone with unanswered queries, alone in thinking, alone because he isn’t with Shou, and there, the night before he woke up, he felt like sharing his vulnerability with him. He can’t bear it if something happens to Shou, that is certain, but his greatest fear is not of losing Shou in such ways; he is scared of Shou leaving him, especially now that he likes to daydream of watching the cloud in the sky with Shou as the first person greeting him good morning. The sound of clicking buttons against the noise of the ticking clock irritates Tora to no end but the two of them combined together seem to create a strange melody which is luring him again into a slumber. He tries to avoid it, frightened of what Hiroto has said about him not waking up, but ever since he was a child autumn has always made him drowsy and he gives into it, shutting his eyes close.
He slowly plummets down the cliff of stupor and he’s near reaching dreamland when a hot object is tenderly forced on the side of his head and the strong smell of caffeine sharply alerts him. He initially thinks of giving the offender a reproach for the disturbance but the idea quickly dissolves, his heart throbbing a familiar rhythm as he feels the addition of a distinct aura of mixed strawberries and peppermint he has learned to naturally pick up. Tora eagerly turns around and true, he finds him there, beaming at him and holding the cup of espresso against his cheek, letting the warmth seep into him. Tora, at that moment, has the urge to jump and wrap him tight in his arms until he almost can’t breathe, only the backrest of the couch prevents him from doing a stunt, but he is nevertheless contented, contented at the reality that there is Shou standing behind him and keeping him awake, just utterly contented by staring at his face. He accepts the drink with a hearty laughter, permitting his hand to brush against Shou’s and Shou doesn’t resist and it is enough. They stay like that for an extent of eternity, exchanging words in silence, only breaking apart when Hiroto comes back in to ask Shou for his cup of cappuccino.
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The last thing Tora knows is that he has fallen asleep and for a reason he can’t quite remember, he’s now on a plush seat of a moving train, watching non-activity on the unoccupied seats opposite him, instilling the last seeds of his dream in the deepest recesses of his consciousness. While he stores them in his memories, he begins to wonder why he has dreamt of an orange sunset, a chilly breeze and falling leaves when it’s nearly the season for the blooming of sakura trees. He can’t find a decent excuse to it and it perturbs him that he is more concerned about the content of his dream instead of the matter at hand -he is obviously going somewhere but he doesn’t have an idea where or what it is that he is travelling for.
The beep on his digital watch, which he has repeatedly failed to take note of in the past, makes him jolt in surprise and inherently informs him that it’s already twelve midnight. If it was, then according to his disjointed logic, he’s riding the last train off to its last few stations so he won’t be able to go back if he already missed his stop. Starting to get nervous, he checks the digital route map above the electric doors, thankfully finds something there, a much known name, and that compels him to heave a reassured sigh. The brief tension like finally waking him up, for real this time though, he squints at the window opposite, the darkness outside is incomplete and roughly bluish and he sees something there -tiny slices of ice ghostly falling down and knocking softly on the transparent glass. Snowflakes, their gracefulness makes Tora frown in a short reminiscence.
His fingers automatically dig inside his coat pocket to retrieve a rectangular item and the smooth surface of the device and its size that comfortably fits his hand eases him a little. He hurriedly flips it open and his thumb, as if it has a mind of its own punches away some keys fast, exploring his phone until he arrives at one particular message on his inbox. I’ll be waiting, three simple easy-to-remember words and Tora closes his eyes, lays his head on the harsh window, chewing his bottom lip. Great, he’s the worst person living on earth right now and how can he have allowed that?
He lazily snaps his phone shut and claws tighter on it in worry, thoughtfully punching it against his chin a few times while he offers many bargains to the gods just to make the train run faster. Tapping his foot in anticipation, he glances at the digital route display once again and discovers that he has twenty more minutes to get to his desired location, twenty more fucking minutes; he has no doubt turned insane just thinking of how long he still has to wait.
So Tora can’t imagine himself or anyone being able to measure the amount of adrenaline rushing in his blood when the train stopped to let him get off. From his seat, he leaps onto his feet literally, unafraid when he nearly stumbles from the force that he has put on his legs to dash out of the double doors. He sprints along the lengthy passageway with a furious pulse, muttering short apologies to the few people he passes by as he curtly avoids bumping into anyone of them. His mind is raging angry at him that he was out of breath for covering just a relatively short distance when his feet stop dead at the side of one particular wooden bench where he finds Shou sitting, wrapped in his brown coat. It’s only then, by watching Shou that he realizes how cold the night is or how the air is clutching his feverish skin with its frozen imaginary fingers and he shivers violently, not sure if he can forgive himself.
“Hey,” Shou feebly says when he catches sight of Tora gaping at him stupidly.
“I’m sorry I’m…” he promptly speaks without thought and he falters, not even able to start. Can a simple apology make up for any of it? He may be overreacting but Shou could have been freezing to death in here for hours, hours, while Tora was inside the comfy train dumbly working his wits out why he was in there in the first place.
“What are you talking about?” Shou answers in a voice hardly distinguishable, his lips shaking and teeth chattering. He holds out a brown paper bag to Tora and unconditionally grins at him. “I made some muffins.”
Tora looks up at the ceiling and covers his nose with his fist as hot liquid begins to brim his eyelashes. He isn’t well in dealing with emotions especially when Shou is involved but he thanks the gods or whatever higher presence there is that he still has Shou now and in the moments he fails miserably at anything. How can Tora possibly live without Shou?
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He wakes up sitting on the floor, head resting on his arms which are crossed together on a low table serving as pillows, fingers curled around two pieces of crayons, one blue and one yellow. He sits up straight, closely examines the crayons he is holding, puckering his eyebrows at them for some minutes then places them back on the table scattered with papers of different colours, colouring pens and pencils, wax and a few neat drawings. He picks up one paper drawn with a picture of a house with an orange roof, a garage and a small garden, much like his dream house and admires the child-like elements on it. He doesn’t have a good grasp of what is happening -he wakes up alone and finds himself with all these stuff of a small kid, so has time somehow drifted him back to his childhood?
He roams his eyes around, discovering more clues that are incoherent, nagging unease at the back of his mind. It is a room full of minimal decorations, a shelf adjacent to the wall with several books tidily stacked up, a small bed at the corner beside the window with pink sheets, pillows and some stuffed animals, two posters of Alice Nine complete with their signatures and messages posted on the wall at the foot of the bed, a study desk beside it and a school bag on a chair, but none of them makes any sense to Tora. Curiously, he stands up and walks to the bedside table, barefooted on the polished wooden floor. He sees some other things laid out there like hairpins, box of hair ties and a brush that gives an indication that the room belongs to a little girl, but he ignores that detail as one specific object grabs his whole attention. A picture frame, a family portrait.
His hands shake involuntarily as he picks it up, greeted by a two familiar faces and a pleasant one that is starting to make an impression on him. He fingers the glass cover encasing the photograph and stretches his lips into a genuine smile, his heartbeat speeding up to the point of melting. A family, he has never once thought of having one and he never knew that he’s going to like the idea or even fall in love with it.
And as if fate is playing games with him, it is that time when a little girl with jet black hair, small eyes, pinkish lips and a height that reached about Tora’s waist chooses to come bursting in the room bouncing up and down her feet, carrying a drawing similar to the one he’s holding, only made with messy lines of crayons in her small hand. “Daddy!” the girl wheezes, running towards him and slamming her lithe body against Tora.
Tora feels elated, his chest blazing with pride and joy at the little thing full of life and energy that he now lacks at his age. “Hanako,” he doesn’t understand how he knows but he mouths the name and he finds it not foreign at all but rather intimate with his own tongue. He drops down to his knees, still holding the photo in one hand and sweeps the other one over the child’s hair affectionately.
Hanako tilts her head at him then pokes his cheek making Tora laugh, and the both them struggle with fits of chuckles. “I showed this to Daddy Shou,” Hanako tries to say in between her giggles but only gets her message across by showing Tora her masterpiece. “He likes it and he’s making me cupcakes for a prize. Daddy says you like them much.”
Caught up in the perfection of the moment, he embraces the child and she’s at first stunned but she pats her hand on his back as if she already understood Tora like a grownup. Unexpectedly but completing the whole picture, the door then cracks open and Shou comes in silently, pausing at the doorway, not daring to move just to gaze at the two of them with a smile. Their eyes meet in empathy and Tora loses count of how many times he has fallen in love with him.
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“Tora, Tora-shi…”
It is Shou, definitely and Tora can’t be mistaken; the gentleness of the touch on his back, the mild soapy scent of his hands shaking him, that deep but careful voice pulling him out of the story of moving images that his subconscious mind has created; all of them fall into place, and when the hazy thoughts clear away, his heart rejoices a beat, seeing Shou’s face so close to his. What is it that Tora was dreaming of again?
“You’re tired so I’ll drive you home,” Shou says softly but with a determination that leaves Tora no methods of protesting, as he wraps his fingers around Tora’s wrist and pulls him up. “Don’t strain yourself.”
“I’m not,” Tora contradicts but obliges anyway, blaming his blind obedience on the faint headache he has gotten from the lack of sleep. He stares at the smaller hand on his and flushes at the thought but the room is already dark so Shou won’t be able to notice it. They walk together and Shou holds him still, doesn’t let go, not even as they step out to lock the doors and he’s having a hard time getting the appropriate keys to work. Tora becomes too aware of their skin contact and he recalls an odd memory that makes their situation look strongly like deja vu.
“Shou,” Tora calls as they walk and Shou halts but keeps his hand in place, clasped on his. “Now or never,” Tora briefly mutters and pulls him close, lightly crashing his lips against the other’s. It is an innocent kiss, testing and nervous that Tora feels all the pressure of the world weighing on his shoulder, little warm flames tickling the base of his stomach; Shou’s lips are plush against his.
It is awkward when he pulls away, he regrets what he’s done but not and he’s embarrassed but not at all. Shou doesn’t move, stuck like a statue, and that scares Tora, he has put all the years of their weird friendship in that kiss and he can’t bear it breaking down into bits and pieces. Despite this, he isn’t sure for what, but maybe for one last time before he descends down to hell, Tora bravely kisses Shou again and this time, he securely places both his palms on his cheeks to keep him there, nibbles on his lips and no sooner, he realizes that Shou is kissing him back.
The corridor is empty and no other entity witnesses a courageous act but perhaps they already know.
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“Amano-san, have you thought about it? Please give it a second thought,” the kid says, almost falling to his knees as if begging, like the matter was a dire situation of life and death.
He rolls his eyes in disgust, crinkling his nose and flings his consumed cigarette stick on the ground, not caring if he gets caught by any school officials. “How many times do I have to tell you no? You’re getting on my nerves.”
“It’s, it’s good isn’t it? We only have to find more people and we can make it,” the other continues animatedly like he hasn’t heard the insult that was thrown at him at all.
He sighs exasperatedly and walks away, the other merely tailing him behind like a dog. Shinji hates the kid, he hates him because he’s so persistent that he wants to toast him alive, really hates him because he has a good point that he can’t deny, hates him so much because he has round eyes that are hard to look away from that he wants them plucked out to be fed to the tigers in the zoo, and just hates him to the every fibre of his being because he simply hates him. How can he possibly work with someone who makes him enraged by just being there, existing? The day he met the kid requesting his suggestions to be heard, he couldn’t stand him for more than a minute so how, how can he share his own ultimate passion with such a creature? No, Shinji doesn’t think it’s plausible so he doesn’t even consider giving it a chance in his thoughts.
“What do you say your name is?” he turns around and asks irritably.
From his desperate look, he rebounds with a new attitude, positive as the daylight, and his face glowing cheerfully. “I like to be called Shou,” he quickly answers with huge grin that makes Shinji flinch. “So when we’re- “
“Good, listen Shou,” hissing, he cuts the kid off, firmly seizing his left arm and squeezing it hard, making Shou wince in pain. “Go away and don’t bother me anymore,” he orders, glaring and he pushes him too forcefully that he tumbles on his bottom on the moss-covered earth. Shinji almost feels guilty at the complete mess the kid has become because of him and scared for one instant when he looks at him challenging but witnesses no glint of anger on his brown orbs.
In shame and fear, Shinji scurries off, taking two steps at a time to get away as far as he can but he suspects that the kid Shou is not going to give up on him that easily and he begins to think whether joining him will make things easier for Tora.
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Endnotes: the fic started with the line: *sends tora and shou on a cupcake* that I sent to sazeixrinshou while we were chatting online. hope you guys like it. finished! *sighs* Comments are love.
Fanfic Archive
Chapters: 1/1
Author: mxtrxofsomer
Genre: attempt at fluff? you know how weird I can get
Band(s): Alice Nine
Pairing: Tora x Shou
Rating: R-NC-17 (yes you’re gonna read some from me, brace yourselves)
Warnings: my own version of fluff but try reading cus I did try
Synopsis: “How do I know that you ain’t gone away? ”
Notes: this fic has a bgm, yes it does, and I encourage you to listen to it while you’re reading, you can find it below the cut. The song is entitled Gone Away by Binocular. toraxshou seriously needs some loving from us guys~ come and join the campaign. xD this fic btw is dedicated to sazeixrinshou.
here is the bgm:
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“To… Ra…”
That voice, his voice ringing in a volume so quiet, he imagines it the tone of a gentle wind passing by and breathing freedom on his ears, so soft and weak as if any moment it will melt like how the wisps of his hair have turned damp, sticking to his forehead, so powerful that his brain, all messed up in a collage of thousand images including his face and anatomy outdoes his heart in pumping blood in his veins, so needy and pleading that his fingernails sink into the hollow of his shoulders, and he himself bites his inner cheek in pain. That same sound, it doesn’t need to be repeated but he does, and Tora only burrows forward, his speed, unhurried and silky, he maintains the flickering candle flame inside his stomach, the feeling he had when they first kissed.
Tora hears him hiccup and he opens his eyes a fraction, just a millimetre, the light of the moon from the window is not even enough for a clear view, but he wholly sees his face glittering with sweat, his features writhing in between distress and an open-mouthed smile, chest rising and falling almost simultaneously. The sight on his face drives Tora mad and he pushes further, buries his nose on his neck and plants his stretched-out lips on his throat, sensing the other swallow his kiss. He squirms underneath him, arches his body up, allowing Tora to delve deeper within him until he can see sparks. “Shou,” he frantically mouths again and again while he glides up and down pressing small marks of possession all over his skin, “Ah… Shou…”
“Tora,” he heavily says in a lungful of air, eyelids fluttering open, his round orbs glinting against darkness as he smiles faintly, smears his palms over the contours of his face, and firmly locks his hands below Tora’s jaws. “I… ah… ”
“Shhh…” Tora hushes him, placing a finger on his lips and Shou instantly falls silent, his pupils lustfully recoiling at the back of his elegant lashes. Tora then loses himself to him, subtly tracing the shape of his mouth with his fingertip in lengthened pace, their texture a pure torture to his soul that he leans over, and retracts his finger in haste, replacing it with his own hungry lips. “I know,” he soundlessly whispers against his burning mouth. “I know…”
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“TO-RA!”
He blinks once, twice, thrice, and from the pit of blackness, his vision blurs with different shades of light, like that of a lone impressionistic painting hanging on the wall of his room, then gradually solidifies, forms into real figures -objects and people, while the noises become more apparent, starting to register on his sensory nerves. He first takes notice of Hiroto who is in front of him, an outline of energy but unbelievably contained, crouching low, waving his hand inches before Tora’s face, too close, dangerously close that something inside Tora snaps hard. He instinctively smacks Hiroto’s hand away and the other jerks in surprise, curses him at least ten words of profanity in an overly exaggerated dynamism while playfully punching his right shoulder. “You’re too much man,” Hiroto says, or almost yells, but Tora doesn’t really care and he shrugs at him, stays indifferent, giving Hiroto at least a little smirk.
His gaze travels from Hiroto to Saga, seated crossed legged on a single beaten couch at the other side of the room, head bowed above the screen of his black PSP while thumbing control buttons probably as fast as the agility of the character he is currently playing. “Quit bothering people you dumbass,” he comments nonchalantly without even attempting to properly address the right person he’s talking to.
“You’re boring me and he isn’t waking up so it’s not bad if I get troubled by it right,” Hiroto complains back at Saga and he appears disappointed, shaking his head and depositing himself on the space beside Tora with a tired sigh.
Tora’s eyebrows furrow in both curiosity and confusion at Hiroto’s given piece information and he turns to face Hiroto, a puzzled frown evidently carved on his face, his tongue on the border of a serious interrogation. Before he could speak however, his eyes wander off to the wide flooring for a single second, to search for one constant and his intuition catches something amiss, so then he immediately forgets everything that he is to question. He doesn’t understand well but panic anxiously rises inside his chest and consumes him like bile, several beads of dread forming on the side of his neck. There’s nothing to be worried that much, he’s pretty sure of it, basing his guess from the looks of the other two, and he begs himself to calm down but his mind won’t let him rest, still stubborn to think of the opposite. “Where’s,” he gulps, feeling his throat go dry, “where’s Shou?”
“He’s not even paying attention is he?” hitting his own forehead with his knuckles, Hiroto growls more to himself rather than to anyone of them who are physically present but elsewhere in mentality. He stands up from the couch and walks out, muttering to himself something along the lines of finding ways of being saved from too weird people that he can’t stand. Looking at Saga, Tora implicitly asks him for an explanation of the sudden loss of patience from their friend, and he’s kind of lucky that Saga even spares him a glance, but the bassist only grants him an equally befuddled expression and he’s back to his game.
Tora is then left, alone with unanswered queries, alone in thinking, alone because he isn’t with Shou, and there, the night before he woke up, he felt like sharing his vulnerability with him. He can’t bear it if something happens to Shou, that is certain, but his greatest fear is not of losing Shou in such ways; he is scared of Shou leaving him, especially now that he likes to daydream of watching the cloud in the sky with Shou as the first person greeting him good morning. The sound of clicking buttons against the noise of the ticking clock irritates Tora to no end but the two of them combined together seem to create a strange melody which is luring him again into a slumber. He tries to avoid it, frightened of what Hiroto has said about him not waking up, but ever since he was a child autumn has always made him drowsy and he gives into it, shutting his eyes close.
He slowly plummets down the cliff of stupor and he’s near reaching dreamland when a hot object is tenderly forced on the side of his head and the strong smell of caffeine sharply alerts him. He initially thinks of giving the offender a reproach for the disturbance but the idea quickly dissolves, his heart throbbing a familiar rhythm as he feels the addition of a distinct aura of mixed strawberries and peppermint he has learned to naturally pick up. Tora eagerly turns around and true, he finds him there, beaming at him and holding the cup of espresso against his cheek, letting the warmth seep into him. Tora, at that moment, has the urge to jump and wrap him tight in his arms until he almost can’t breathe, only the backrest of the couch prevents him from doing a stunt, but he is nevertheless contented, contented at the reality that there is Shou standing behind him and keeping him awake, just utterly contented by staring at his face. He accepts the drink with a hearty laughter, permitting his hand to brush against Shou’s and Shou doesn’t resist and it is enough. They stay like that for an extent of eternity, exchanging words in silence, only breaking apart when Hiroto comes back in to ask Shou for his cup of cappuccino.
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The last thing Tora knows is that he has fallen asleep and for a reason he can’t quite remember, he’s now on a plush seat of a moving train, watching non-activity on the unoccupied seats opposite him, instilling the last seeds of his dream in the deepest recesses of his consciousness. While he stores them in his memories, he begins to wonder why he has dreamt of an orange sunset, a chilly breeze and falling leaves when it’s nearly the season for the blooming of sakura trees. He can’t find a decent excuse to it and it perturbs him that he is more concerned about the content of his dream instead of the matter at hand -he is obviously going somewhere but he doesn’t have an idea where or what it is that he is travelling for.
The beep on his digital watch, which he has repeatedly failed to take note of in the past, makes him jolt in surprise and inherently informs him that it’s already twelve midnight. If it was, then according to his disjointed logic, he’s riding the last train off to its last few stations so he won’t be able to go back if he already missed his stop. Starting to get nervous, he checks the digital route map above the electric doors, thankfully finds something there, a much known name, and that compels him to heave a reassured sigh. The brief tension like finally waking him up, for real this time though, he squints at the window opposite, the darkness outside is incomplete and roughly bluish and he sees something there -tiny slices of ice ghostly falling down and knocking softly on the transparent glass. Snowflakes, their gracefulness makes Tora frown in a short reminiscence.
His fingers automatically dig inside his coat pocket to retrieve a rectangular item and the smooth surface of the device and its size that comfortably fits his hand eases him a little. He hurriedly flips it open and his thumb, as if it has a mind of its own punches away some keys fast, exploring his phone until he arrives at one particular message on his inbox. I’ll be waiting, three simple easy-to-remember words and Tora closes his eyes, lays his head on the harsh window, chewing his bottom lip. Great, he’s the worst person living on earth right now and how can he have allowed that?
He lazily snaps his phone shut and claws tighter on it in worry, thoughtfully punching it against his chin a few times while he offers many bargains to the gods just to make the train run faster. Tapping his foot in anticipation, he glances at the digital route display once again and discovers that he has twenty more minutes to get to his desired location, twenty more fucking minutes; he has no doubt turned insane just thinking of how long he still has to wait.
So Tora can’t imagine himself or anyone being able to measure the amount of adrenaline rushing in his blood when the train stopped to let him get off. From his seat, he leaps onto his feet literally, unafraid when he nearly stumbles from the force that he has put on his legs to dash out of the double doors. He sprints along the lengthy passageway with a furious pulse, muttering short apologies to the few people he passes by as he curtly avoids bumping into anyone of them. His mind is raging angry at him that he was out of breath for covering just a relatively short distance when his feet stop dead at the side of one particular wooden bench where he finds Shou sitting, wrapped in his brown coat. It’s only then, by watching Shou that he realizes how cold the night is or how the air is clutching his feverish skin with its frozen imaginary fingers and he shivers violently, not sure if he can forgive himself.
“Hey,” Shou feebly says when he catches sight of Tora gaping at him stupidly.
“I’m sorry I’m…” he promptly speaks without thought and he falters, not even able to start. Can a simple apology make up for any of it? He may be overreacting but Shou could have been freezing to death in here for hours, hours, while Tora was inside the comfy train dumbly working his wits out why he was in there in the first place.
“What are you talking about?” Shou answers in a voice hardly distinguishable, his lips shaking and teeth chattering. He holds out a brown paper bag to Tora and unconditionally grins at him. “I made some muffins.”
Tora looks up at the ceiling and covers his nose with his fist as hot liquid begins to brim his eyelashes. He isn’t well in dealing with emotions especially when Shou is involved but he thanks the gods or whatever higher presence there is that he still has Shou now and in the moments he fails miserably at anything. How can Tora possibly live without Shou?
-----
He wakes up sitting on the floor, head resting on his arms which are crossed together on a low table serving as pillows, fingers curled around two pieces of crayons, one blue and one yellow. He sits up straight, closely examines the crayons he is holding, puckering his eyebrows at them for some minutes then places them back on the table scattered with papers of different colours, colouring pens and pencils, wax and a few neat drawings. He picks up one paper drawn with a picture of a house with an orange roof, a garage and a small garden, much like his dream house and admires the child-like elements on it. He doesn’t have a good grasp of what is happening -he wakes up alone and finds himself with all these stuff of a small kid, so has time somehow drifted him back to his childhood?
He roams his eyes around, discovering more clues that are incoherent, nagging unease at the back of his mind. It is a room full of minimal decorations, a shelf adjacent to the wall with several books tidily stacked up, a small bed at the corner beside the window with pink sheets, pillows and some stuffed animals, two posters of Alice Nine complete with their signatures and messages posted on the wall at the foot of the bed, a study desk beside it and a school bag on a chair, but none of them makes any sense to Tora. Curiously, he stands up and walks to the bedside table, barefooted on the polished wooden floor. He sees some other things laid out there like hairpins, box of hair ties and a brush that gives an indication that the room belongs to a little girl, but he ignores that detail as one specific object grabs his whole attention. A picture frame, a family portrait.
His hands shake involuntarily as he picks it up, greeted by a two familiar faces and a pleasant one that is starting to make an impression on him. He fingers the glass cover encasing the photograph and stretches his lips into a genuine smile, his heartbeat speeding up to the point of melting. A family, he has never once thought of having one and he never knew that he’s going to like the idea or even fall in love with it.
And as if fate is playing games with him, it is that time when a little girl with jet black hair, small eyes, pinkish lips and a height that reached about Tora’s waist chooses to come bursting in the room bouncing up and down her feet, carrying a drawing similar to the one he’s holding, only made with messy lines of crayons in her small hand. “Daddy!” the girl wheezes, running towards him and slamming her lithe body against Tora.
Tora feels elated, his chest blazing with pride and joy at the little thing full of life and energy that he now lacks at his age. “Hanako,” he doesn’t understand how he knows but he mouths the name and he finds it not foreign at all but rather intimate with his own tongue. He drops down to his knees, still holding the photo in one hand and sweeps the other one over the child’s hair affectionately.
Hanako tilts her head at him then pokes his cheek making Tora laugh, and the both them struggle with fits of chuckles. “I showed this to Daddy Shou,” Hanako tries to say in between her giggles but only gets her message across by showing Tora her masterpiece. “He likes it and he’s making me cupcakes for a prize. Daddy says you like them much.”
Caught up in the perfection of the moment, he embraces the child and she’s at first stunned but she pats her hand on his back as if she already understood Tora like a grownup. Unexpectedly but completing the whole picture, the door then cracks open and Shou comes in silently, pausing at the doorway, not daring to move just to gaze at the two of them with a smile. Their eyes meet in empathy and Tora loses count of how many times he has fallen in love with him.
-----
“Tora, Tora-shi…”
It is Shou, definitely and Tora can’t be mistaken; the gentleness of the touch on his back, the mild soapy scent of his hands shaking him, that deep but careful voice pulling him out of the story of moving images that his subconscious mind has created; all of them fall into place, and when the hazy thoughts clear away, his heart rejoices a beat, seeing Shou’s face so close to his. What is it that Tora was dreaming of again?
“You’re tired so I’ll drive you home,” Shou says softly but with a determination that leaves Tora no methods of protesting, as he wraps his fingers around Tora’s wrist and pulls him up. “Don’t strain yourself.”
“I’m not,” Tora contradicts but obliges anyway, blaming his blind obedience on the faint headache he has gotten from the lack of sleep. He stares at the smaller hand on his and flushes at the thought but the room is already dark so Shou won’t be able to notice it. They walk together and Shou holds him still, doesn’t let go, not even as they step out to lock the doors and he’s having a hard time getting the appropriate keys to work. Tora becomes too aware of their skin contact and he recalls an odd memory that makes their situation look strongly like deja vu.
“Shou,” Tora calls as they walk and Shou halts but keeps his hand in place, clasped on his. “Now or never,” Tora briefly mutters and pulls him close, lightly crashing his lips against the other’s. It is an innocent kiss, testing and nervous that Tora feels all the pressure of the world weighing on his shoulder, little warm flames tickling the base of his stomach; Shou’s lips are plush against his.
It is awkward when he pulls away, he regrets what he’s done but not and he’s embarrassed but not at all. Shou doesn’t move, stuck like a statue, and that scares Tora, he has put all the years of their weird friendship in that kiss and he can’t bear it breaking down into bits and pieces. Despite this, he isn’t sure for what, but maybe for one last time before he descends down to hell, Tora bravely kisses Shou again and this time, he securely places both his palms on his cheeks to keep him there, nibbles on his lips and no sooner, he realizes that Shou is kissing him back.
The corridor is empty and no other entity witnesses a courageous act but perhaps they already know.
-----
“Amano-san, have you thought about it? Please give it a second thought,” the kid says, almost falling to his knees as if begging, like the matter was a dire situation of life and death.
He rolls his eyes in disgust, crinkling his nose and flings his consumed cigarette stick on the ground, not caring if he gets caught by any school officials. “How many times do I have to tell you no? You’re getting on my nerves.”
“It’s, it’s good isn’t it? We only have to find more people and we can make it,” the other continues animatedly like he hasn’t heard the insult that was thrown at him at all.
He sighs exasperatedly and walks away, the other merely tailing him behind like a dog. Shinji hates the kid, he hates him because he’s so persistent that he wants to toast him alive, really hates him because he has a good point that he can’t deny, hates him so much because he has round eyes that are hard to look away from that he wants them plucked out to be fed to the tigers in the zoo, and just hates him to the every fibre of his being because he simply hates him. How can he possibly work with someone who makes him enraged by just being there, existing? The day he met the kid requesting his suggestions to be heard, he couldn’t stand him for more than a minute so how, how can he share his own ultimate passion with such a creature? No, Shinji doesn’t think it’s plausible so he doesn’t even consider giving it a chance in his thoughts.
“What do you say your name is?” he turns around and asks irritably.
From his desperate look, he rebounds with a new attitude, positive as the daylight, and his face glowing cheerfully. “I like to be called Shou,” he quickly answers with huge grin that makes Shinji flinch. “So when we’re- “
“Good, listen Shou,” hissing, he cuts the kid off, firmly seizing his left arm and squeezing it hard, making Shou wince in pain. “Go away and don’t bother me anymore,” he orders, glaring and he pushes him too forcefully that he tumbles on his bottom on the moss-covered earth. Shinji almost feels guilty at the complete mess the kid has become because of him and scared for one instant when he looks at him challenging but witnesses no glint of anger on his brown orbs.
In shame and fear, Shinji scurries off, taking two steps at a time to get away as far as he can but he suspects that the kid Shou is not going to give up on him that easily and he begins to think whether joining him will make things easier for Tora.
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Endnotes: the fic started with the line: *sends tora and shou on a cupcake* that I sent to sazeixrinshou while we were chatting online. hope you guys like it. finished! *sighs* Comments are love.
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