First to Leave. Yu-Gi-Oh (Seto/Ryuuji.)
In the mornings, they fight to be the first to leave.
Grabbing at clothes, dressing hurriedly, they avoid each others eyes. Almost if they're alone, except for the haste of their movements. The way his tie is always a little askew, the way the others hair is never quite brushed properly. Good enough to pass the scrunity of a casual observer, or even a fangirl and gods know that they have enough of those, but if they were to look at each other, they'd focus on each others flaws. First, last and always.
So they don't. They leave the room at the same time, one of them politely opening the door for the other, accepting the half-nod of thanks, then they turn and go their separate ways, one going down the left set of the stairs, the other down the right. They meet again at the bottom of course, but the short amount of time away from each other is enough for them to slide on their respective masks.
Glacial cold, for one.
Shallow fickleness for the other.
Except there's nothing cold about the first when he's in bed for he burns with the self-destructive flame of a phoenix... and there's nothing fickle about the other, this arrangement has continued for five years, just as his shallowness masks a very shrewd sense of how to handle people. A sense he's never needed more than dealing with his counterpart.
It's not just sex. It would be easier if it were. Easier to despise the other, to look down him as nothing more than an outlet for certain needs that while reprehensible, do need to be attended to. It's the other stuff that complicates the question, the nights where they just hold each other, the nights where they spill dark secrets that they've hoarded for years; the nights when they cry without shame, the nights when they fall into each other without fear; the nights when it's not just sex.
Those nights come more often than you'd think. For the first two years or so, there weren't any of those nights. They might be making up for lost time now. Or so they would think, if they ever thought about what happens during those nights that that they won't acknowledge.
During those nights, they are closer to each other than any sane human beings have a right to be.
In the mornings, they fight to be the first to leave.
Grabbing at clothes, dressing hurriedly, they avoid each others eyes. Almost if they're alone, except for the haste of their movements. The way his tie is always a little askew, the way the others hair is never quite brushed properly. Good enough to pass the scrunity of a casual observer, or even a fangirl and gods know that they have enough of those, but if they were to look at each other, they'd focus on each others flaws. First, last and always.
So they don't. They leave the room at the same time, one of them politely opening the door for the other, accepting the half-nod of thanks, then they turn and go their separate ways, one going down the left set of the stairs, the other down the right. They meet again at the bottom of course, but the short amount of time away from each other is enough for them to slide on their respective masks.
Glacial cold, for one.
Shallow fickleness for the other.
Except there's nothing cold about the first when he's in bed for he burns with the self-destructive flame of a phoenix... and there's nothing fickle about the other, this arrangement has continued for five years, just as his shallowness masks a very shrewd sense of how to handle people. A sense he's never needed more than dealing with his counterpart.
It's not just sex. It would be easier if it were. Easier to despise the other, to look down him as nothing more than an outlet for certain needs that while reprehensible, do need to be attended to. It's the other stuff that complicates the question, the nights where they just hold each other, the nights where they spill dark secrets that they've hoarded for years; the nights when they cry without shame, the nights when they fall into each other without fear; the nights when it's not just sex.
Those nights come more often than you'd think. For the first two years or so, there weren't any of those nights. They might be making up for lost time now. Or so they would think, if they ever thought about what happens during those nights that that they won't acknowledge.
During those nights, they are closer to each other than any sane human beings have a right to be.
In the mornings, they fight to be the first to leave.