Fugue In The Key Of Regret (2/3)
Title: Fugue In The Key Of Regret (2/3)
Author: stupeur
Beta: cranperryjuice
Rating: PG-13 (language and implied sexuality)
Pairing: Tatsurou/Miya
Summary: When Miya wakes up one day with no recollection of who he is, all he wants is to recover his memory - but soon he realizes that some things were better forgotten.
Notes: Chiran is the singer of Pandemic with whom Miya is friends, and he's assisted them as a recording and mixing operator in the past. Also, I just got a new job so it might take a little while before I finish up the last part, but I'll try my best! Enjoy this part in the meantime. ♥
It's already dark outside when Miya wakes up the next day, but he probably could have slept more had his empty stomach not pulled him out of his slumber. He goes straight for the fridge, not even bothering to turn on the kitchen lights.
The pasta leftovers he finds are gone in barely a couple of minutes. He only notices he's not home alone when he glances out the window as he rinses the now empty plastic container in the kitchen sink. Tatsurou is on the balcony outside, leaning against the rail, his silhouette outlined by the street lights.
Miya grabs his cigarette pack and his lighter before slipping out of the apartment. "Hey," he says as he slides the glass door closed behind him.
Tatsurou throws him a glance over his shoulder. "Hey. Thought you'd never wake up," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Yeah," Miya replies with a light chuckle. He leaves it at that - he doesn't really feel like telling him what kept him up for most of the night.
Only the sounds of the city punctuate the silence that follows. They have a nice view of the Tokyo lights from their floor - he can even remember seeing the shape of Mount Fuji on clear days, far off in the distance. The evening is warm, but a little breeze makes it pleasant, and the downpour of the previous day has indeed alleviated the air of its humidity. Miya leans on the rail next to Tatsurou and pulls a cigarette from his pack, vaguely noticing Tatsurou glancing at him.
"Too bad you forgot you were supposed to have quit."
Miya lowers his lighter and raises a brow at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I just said," Tatsurou retorts, turning back to the night cityscape. His profile, standing out sharply from the dark clouds behind it, is perfectly impassive. No amount of scrutinizing him allows Miya to decipher his thoughts. He opts for lighting his cigarette, if only to spite him, but he can't even enjoy it. After only a couple of puffs, he rubs the tip of his cigarette against the iron rail to put it out and reinserts the practically new stick into his pack.
The silence is oppressive this time around, and Miya has to break it himself, as Tatsurou seems dead intent on not saying anything. The question that has been burning his lips since the previous day escapes his mouth before he can even consider the consequences.
"We're not just roommates, right?"
He can hear the question echoing over and over again in his head until it sounds so surreal he could almost convince himself he's never asked it if it weren't for the way Tatsurou's body tensed up next to his.
It feels like an eternity has passed when Tatsurou finally answers. "No, we're not."
"... Why didn't you just say so?"
Tatsurou chuckles humorlessly. "Don't be stupid, Miya."
"Answer me," he demands, barely controlling the anger that has surged through him again.
Tatsurou turns to face him. "Come on, you asked me who I was! What was I supposed to say? 'Hi, I'm Tatsurou, we've been together for five years, by the way'?" His mocking tone fails to cover the bitterness in his voice, and Miya catches a glimpse of indescribable hurt in his eyes before Tatsurou escapes into the apartment.
He follows, pushing the door closed behind him hurriedly, and barely manages to catch up with Tatsurou before he has time to lock himself up in his bedroom. The door closes on his shoulder, but he manages to push his way into the bedroom, and Tatsurou lets him in, defeated.
"... Five years?" Miya asks, unable to come up with anything else.
"On and off," Tatsurou answers, facing away from him resolutely, leaving him to stare at the back of his head, at the black hair running down his back.
Miya suddenly feels lightheaded. He rummages through his mind for something - anything - to say, but no words come to him. Instead, his hand goes to look for Tatsurou's, seemingly out of its own accord.
His fingers slip out of his like sand, however. Without thinking, Miya forces Tatsurou to face him with a hard tug on his shoulder, slips both of his hands into his hair and stands on tiptoe to press their lips together. The kiss is short-lived, but he feels Tatsurou respond to it before suddenly breaking away from him.
"... You don't know what you're doing," he mutters. His hands are now deep in his pockets, out of Miya's reach.
He's right, and Miya knows it - but he remembers the crystal clear memory of Tatsurou's long fingers sliding through his wet hair, and he knows there's only one thing he can do.
Tatsurou gives in this time around. His lips are against his the next moment, his embrace a little too tight, and his heart pounding against Miya's chest betrays the desire that he had repressed.
It's only moments later, when Tatsurou's weight is resting on top of his and his naked limbs are entwined with his own, that Miya realizes just how well his body remembers him. It's as though he knows every inch of his skin by heart - his mouth finds the right angles and his hands the right caresses without fail, and for the first time in weeks, Miya feels like he's home.
He shivers all over when he opens his eyes to see Tatsurou's staring straight into them, and he can't bear to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. He's suddenly terrified of what Tatsurou will see - or not - into his own, and he shuts his eyes tightly as if it were from the pleasure building inside him.
---
There's another flower arrangement on the kitchen table - in shades of pink, this time, and adorned with a large card that reads "to Miya, from all MUCCers".
Next to it is a box filled with letters from all corners of Japan - a few are from foreign countries, even, and written in languages he can barely or can't decipher at all - and they're accompanied by paintings and hand-made dolls and stuffed animals and photo montages and all kinds of gifts.
Miya goes through each and every one of them. It takes him a small eternity, but all the "Get well soon"s and the "We're waiting for you"s finally break the illusion that his life is contained between the walls of his apartment. He doesn't give himself the chance to back out this time - he heads back to his room, takes one of his acoustic guitars and sets it in his lap before strumming a random chord, wincing a bit when Rumi punches his shoulder angrily. "Hey, you promised!"
"It's not my fault! I have to take an entrance exam this weekend." He stares resolutely at his fingers as he picks at the strings of his acoustic guitar. "My mom wants me to go to school in Mie."
"What?! Why?"
He shrugs a shoulder. He knows why, though, and he's pretty sure the idea has been brewing in his mother's mind for a while. Stealing that kid's bicycle was just the last straw.
"... You'd go to my school otherwise, right?"
"I guess so, yeah." He moves his fingers down the neck of his guitar and strums a few random chords, improvising a bit of a clumsy melody.
Neither of them says anything until several minutes later, when Rumi gets up to her feet. "Fail the exam," she says firmly, and Miya blinks. He hadn't even thought of that.
She wipes the dust off her uniform skirt and grabs her school bag, and Miya's fingers scratch an incoherent string of notes when she leans down to kiss him on the lips.
He sets the guitar down only a few hours later, scores scattered all around him, to scramble around for the phone that's ringing somewhere in the bedroom. "Hello?" he says, out of breath, narrowly avoiding the answering machine.
"Hey, I'm at the station," Tatsurou says, and Miya breaks into a smile at the sound of his voice. "Want something from the convenience store?"
"A cake, please."
"A... what? A whole cake?"
Miya laughs, unable to hold back his excitement. "I can still play the songs."
There's a short pause, and then he can practically feel the smile in Tatsurou's voice. "Vanilla or chocolate?"
---
Miya is uncomfortably full by the time he convinces himself to put his fork down. He stretches slowly, letting out a low moan of satisfaction, and only becomes aware that his shirt has ridden up his belly when Tatsurou gives it a playful pat.
"Where do you store all that?" he asks with a grin as Miya tugs his shirt back down.
"Look who's talking," he retorts, raising a falsely offended brow at him.
Tatsurou smirks at him. "I'm taller. I burn more calories."
Their appetites combined proved merciless to the small round cake - a ginger, lime and coconut wonder that obviously wasn't bought at the convenience store despite Miya's request - and they dug in without even bothering to cut it into pieces first. All that's left now is a badly-maimed quarter and a large piece of ribbon with the words "Welcome back, Miya" spelt on it in icing.
Miya looks longingly at the remains of the cake, manages to resist the temptation, and instead settles for leaning back against the couch with his cup of black tea. His full stomach protests against his attempt at folding his legs against his chest, though, and he moves his feet back down to the floor. He brings the cup to his mouth, but the steam is so hot that he decides against having a sip just yet and opts for inhaling the cinnamon fragrance instead. "What?" he asks when he notices Tatsurou is looking at him.
"Nothing." He grins, putting his arm on the back of the couch. "I'm just glad you remember the songs," he says, his fingers running up and down the nape of Miya's neck.
Miya hums in agreement. He closes his eyes to better appreciate Tatsurou's fingertips stroking his skin, now drowsy from the soft contact and all the cake he's had. "We'll be able to start working again soon."
There's a pause, and Miya opens his eyes to look at Tatsurou quizzically. "I was thinking we could wait before telling the others," Tatsurou finally says, squeezing Miya's nape lightly with his thumb and index finger as if to curb the objection he knows is coming. "Just a couple of days. I have the weekend off." He gives him the charming smile he usually keeps in emergency cases.
"Everyone's waiting for me to get better, Tatsurou." Not that Miya is doing it for anyone else's sake but his own - the afternoon he spent with his guitars flew by in the blink of an eye, and he's already itching to go back to his routine of music and concerts and studios. It's surreal to think that he's ever managed to forget just how much he loves it.
"We could go to Ibaraki," Tatsurou tries again before throwing a glance at the clock. "We'll be there at nine or so if we leave now. What do you say?"
Miya shakes his head disbelievingly, chuckling. "I say you're crazy."
"Come on! It'll be fun!"
A trickle of black tea runs down Miya's hand at the playful shake Tatsurou gives his shoulder, and he curses out loud in both surprise and pain. "Shit," he hisses, biting his bottom lip and instinctively holding his hand to his chest.
"What now?" Tatsurou asks irritatedly, stepping closer to have a look at Miya's hand. His skin is already flaring up.
"The steam." Miya nods towards the boiling kettle. "It's fine," he grits between his teeth when Tatsurou turns on the tap and pulls his hand under the cold spray.
"It's not fucking fine!" Tatsurou takes a deep breath to calm himself, staring down at the water running on Miya's hand. "Fuck. I just... I don't get you. I'm sick of getting so much shit from you just because you can't make up your fucking mind."
Miya snickers humorlessly, tugging his hand out of Tatsurou's grip and from under the tap. Pain skitters along his nerves almost instantly, but he ignores it and grabs a towel to dry his skin. "I can't make up my mind? Who's itching to fuck someone new every other week?"
Tatsurou turns to glare at him. "Maybe you're the one who should go look elsewhere, then, because obviously you can't stand me," he says viciously. "I won't hold you back."
The burn on Miya's hand suddenly feels numb, and he pulls his hand out of Tatsurou's hold.
"You okay?" Tatsurou asks, visibly startled by the sudden movement. His hand is hovering near Miya's wrist, holding a tissue.
"I, uh... yeah, I'm fine." Miya tries a smile, refusing to let his dismay show on his face, and lets Tatsurou dab the tea off his hand.
"Sorry about that. I got a little too excited," he says with an apologetic smile, then throws the tissue on one of the empty plates. "A'ight, lemme put this in the fridge and we're off."
Miya chuckles as he watches Tatsurou walk enthusiastically to the kitchen, carrying the cake box. He knows it's not worth putting up a fight - Tatsurou has won his case from the start, and Miya's curiosity about returning to his hometown is enough to make him comply to his whim.
He takes a careful sip of tea, unable to bring himself to get up just yet. Maybe Tatsurou will feel generous enough to let him finish his cup.
---
They're standing on the porch of Tatsurou's family home within two hours. Miya hasn't even had time to properly figure out how to act. Not that it would have been worth it - the tight hug Tomoko pulls him into melts any fears he had. Despite the slight commotion their unexpected visit causes, Tatsurou's parents seem more than happy to find them on their doorstep.
Miya inadvertently reveals that their dinner consisted of cake, and Tomoko rushes to throw a meal together despite his and Tatsurou's protests. Miya has to fight for his right to give her a hand - he's a guest and he's supposed to be resting - but he finally makes a case for himself and is reluctantly handed a grater and a piece of ginger root. He's never really enjoyed cooking and his technique is ineffective at best, but for once, he appreciates the normalcy of it.
"Are you guys going to Ishioka too?" Makoto asks.
"Yeah," Miya replies. He gives Tatsurou's father a smile before looking back down at his ginger-grating. "I haven't seen my parents since I got sick."
Tomoko throws a wary glance at her son. "I hope you've given them a call, at least. I would have done the groceries if I'd known you were going to visit."
"You say that like you're not happy to have us here," Tatsurou says facetiously, looking up from the cabbage leaves he's been chopping into unbelievably thin slices to wink at Miya. "We can head to Miya's place instead if you want."
"Oh, you're not going anywhere before I get to cut your hair," she says, earning herself a genuinely bothered look from Tatsurou.
"My hair is just fine. It's rock star hair," he says, and Miya has to bite his cheek in order not to laugh at the indignation in his voice.
"It's girl hair," Tomoko corrects, "and it's frayed."
Miya and Makoto throw each other a knowing look and both judiciously stay out of the argument. By the time Tatsurou manages to convince his mother not to do more to his hair than trim the ends, he's already done with the cabbage. Miya, on the other hand, is still struggling with his tiny piece of ginger, his forearm long sore from the effort. Tatsurou apparently takes pity on him because he gives him a smile and helps himself to the grater and the ginger root. Miya leans back against his chair, massaging his forearm as he watches him grate the ginger expertly.
Another smile, and as Miya sits there uselessly, he suddenly feels the gloom he thought he'd left in Tokyo wash over him again.
---
Miya wakes up with a start, his heart racing and his t-shirt sticking to the skin of his back. He dreamed that his brain fell out of his skull, and the fog in his mind is still thick enough for him to instinctively feel the back of his head for a gaping hole before he manages to calm down.
He lies in the dark for several minutes. His breathing has long gone back to normal, but his attempts at going back to sleep are constantly thwarted by the still-fresh memory of the dream he just had. A glass of cold water will do his dry throat some good, he decides, and he finally brings himself to get off his futon.
He throws an idle look out the window as he heads to the kitchen, and the scenery outside almost takes him by surprise - a field and a starry sky that both seem to go on forever. Definitely a nice change from the view of his Tokyo apartment. He suddenly feels compelled to leave the house, and, careful not to make too much noise, fights blindly with the lock on the front door to free himself.
The lack of noise is refreshing. All he can hear is the rustling of the wind blowing through the leaves of a nearby row of trees and the song of a lone cricket. Mito doesn't have Tokyo's concrete and buildings to hold the heat of the sun until dawn, either, and its nights are much cooler. Miya actually feels cold for the first time in a long while. He sits down on the step leading to the front door, folds his legs against his chest and wraps his arms around himself. He just stays there, his chin resting on his knees, and watches shadows run on the grass as it ripples gently under the night wind.
He wakes up for the second time that night when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Tatsurou frowning at him.
"You okay?"
Miya nods and stretches his arms and legs lazily. "Just needed some fresh air. I had a weird dream."
"What was it?" Tatsurou asks as he sits down next to him. No use telling him the truth - it'd only make him worry, and Miya mumbles something about not remembering. Tatsurou sees right through him, though. "Something on your mind?"
Miya stares down at his own feet, feeling Tatsurou's eyes on him. The memory of that fight they had keeps gnawing at his mind. He starts shivering despite himself when Tatsurou puts his arm around him, a welcome relief from the too-fresh air.
"I might not get you, but I know you pretty well," Tatsurou says with a chuckle, rubbing the cold skin of his arm. "You've had that bothered look on your face all evening."
"I'm scared of remembering things I'd rather not," Miya finally admits.
A long silence follows his confession, during which Tatsurou's thumb find its way under Miya's shirt to stroke his side. "It's probably normal considering what you're going through," he says, then shrugs. "There are some things I'd love to forget, myself, but that's life. There isn't much we can do except try and make the best of it."
Miya simply mms in reply. He realizes for the first time that his own hand is resting on Tatsurou's knee, and he allows himself to lean against him. "I'm just scared of finding out I'm not who I thought I was," he continues. He's not making much sense, but at least Tatsurou has the decency to not laugh at him.
"You're tired, Miya. And there's a spider on your foot."
The randomness of that statement tears a confused chuckle out of Miya, but he feels a ticklish sensation on the top of his foot and realizes that Tatsurou literally meant what he just said. He watches as Tatsurou leans in to wave the spider off with a finger, but in its panic, it moves off Miya's foot to run up his hand instead.
"Wow, you're stupid," Tatsurou says, raising his hand to eye level and moving it around to keep the running spider in sight.
Miya chuckles against Tatsurou's shoulder. "Aren't evening spiders bad luck?" he says, mainly in an attempt to get Tatsurou to leave the poor creature alone.
"Yeah," he starts, "but I'd say it's morning now."
And he's right. The sky has already turned from black to the muted shade of blue that preludes dawn without Miya even realizing it. The answer brings a smile to his lips, and he watches as Tatsurou stretches his hand toward the ground and blows softly on the spider, sending it running into the grass.
---
Music takes up most of Miya's time as soon as he's back in Tokyo. Tatsurou gives their manager a call, and a band meeting takes place that very day - an informal affair that ends up being mostly a pretext to have too many celebratory drinks in a downtown izakaya.
Once his hangover has subsided, Miya takes it upon himself to revisit his computer and his work station. His computer files are a mess, but he manages to make sense of them without effort, and he even remembers what he had planned to do with a bunch of orphan riffs waiting around on his desktop. Before he knows it, he's spent the whole day in front of his computer and he has a couple of working tracks ready for pre-production. He forwards the songs to his bandmates and calls it a day.
He's back in the studio before the end of the week.
"Good job," he tells Chiran when he spots her walking up to the building where the studio is located. They're taking a small break, which for Miya means smoking as many cigarettes as humanly possible in fifteen minutes, seeing as they've somehow ended up in what's probably the only smoke-free studio in Tokyo.
"Right back at you," she replies, returning the smile. "I didn't expect you to start working again so soon."
He sees the Starbucks cup in her hand and immediately regrets not having thought of that earlier. "Me neither, but it's going well so far."
"Is your memory completely back now?"
Miya shrugs a shoulder. "Not completely, so you can imagine how awkward it is sometimes," he says with a bit of smile. He feels a tinge of guilt at the thought that he remembers how to do his job better than he remembers some of his friends, but he's gotten pretty good at shaking off the feeling. At least now he has the option of doing something other than staying home smoking too much and wallowing in self-pity. "And that means I have to take pretty much everything people tell me for granted because I can't remember for myself."
"I can't even imagine. It's hard enough to trust people as it is," she says, and Miya smiles at how perceptive she is.
He almost dismisses her comment, but then thinks better of it. Maybe a fresh take on the situation is what he needs. "Yeah, there's that. It's hard to confront people about it, you know? I don't want to piss anyone off by accusing them of being liars."
Chiran takes a careful sip of coffee. "Well, I think you should ask anyway. They'll probably understand."
Miya nods his head and puts out his cigarette stub before lighting himself another one. He suddenly notices that Chiran is staring at his lips, but then he realizes it's the cigarette she's looking at. "Sorry. You stopped smoking, right?"
She blushes like he had just caught her red-handed. "Trying. I thought you had, too?"
"I gave up," he confesses with a grin. "I like it too much." He's about to offer her a cigarette, out of habit, but he holds himself back just in time. She still resignedly asks for one, however, and he complies without a word. As far as he's concerned, he likes the slight, smoke-induced huskiness of her voice, but he figures it's not the best thing to tell someone who's trying to quit.
They stand there for a moment, smoking, Chiran alternating between her cigarette and her coffee until it's Miya's turn to give in. "Can I have a sip?"
From the way she laughs, she'd obviously been expecting it. "Sure," she says, handing him the warm cup.
---
It's already morning when Miya heads back home, drunk again, his lungs painful from all the smoke he's inhaled in the izakaya where they celebrated the end of the recording session. The sky is bright already, but Tokyo is still a ghost town at this early hour, and as he walks to the train station, he can't hold back a smile at the irony of feeling lonely in a city of several millions.
He's just in time for the express train. He steps into the first car, sits down behind the operator cabin and sets the alarm on his cellphone to make sure he doesn't miss his stop. He listens absentmindedly to the names of stations where the train is going to make a stop as it starts running. It doesn't go very fast or even very far, but Miya is ecstatic for the minute or so that it lasts. His heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest, but he manages to keep his cool and concentrate on the rails lined up in front of the train he's operating.
He's not strong enough to pull down the lever by himself, but with the operator's help he manages to make the train slow down. A few seconds later, it reaches a complete stop.
"Dad, did you see? I drove it!" Miya exclaims excitedly, unable to hold back his joy any longer.
His dad claps his hands enthusiastically, laughing. "You did great!"
"You'll make a great train driver," the operator concurs, pushing a few buttons on the panel before opening the locomotive door. The three of them step back onto the platform, and Miya takes his dad's hand, ready to head back home. His mom will never believe that he really did drive a train just now.
His dad, however, doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all. "Thank you very much, sir," he says, ignoring Miya when he starts pulling on his arm determinedly - without much result. "It means so much to him. All we ever hear about are trains."
"It was my pleasure. It's good to see someone being so enthusiastic about it!"
"C'mon, dad, I wanna tell mom!" Miya insists, praying with all his might that the two grown-ups won't start one of those endless conversations now.
"Not so fast," his dad says, pointing to his own head, and only then does Miya remember to take off the too-big cap he's still wearing. He hands it back to the operator before bowing deeply as he thanks him.
"No problem, kid," the operator answers, laughing. "See you around!"
Miya and his dad make their way to the exit, and there's already a crowd waiting for the Tokyo-bound train on the other side of the platform. He eyes the imagawayaki stand, but it's still closed, unsurprisingly, and he passes the ticket gate before making the short walk to his apartment building.
Even his pets don't bother greeting him. He quietly takes off his shoes and heads to his bedroom, unable to resist a peek into Tatsurou's on his way. He's sleeping, his back to the door, the shadows somehow accentuating his long silhouette. Without thinking, Miya makes his way to the edge of the bed, at first with the intent of slipping under the covers, but the very real possibility of Tatsurou complaining about the smell of cigarettes stops him.
He stands there dejectedly, staring at the slow movement of Tatsurou's side rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. He's about to leave the bedroom when he spots the cellphone sitting on the night table, and he stops dead in his tracks again. He doesn't even try to resist the temptation, and before he knows it, the phone is flipped open in his hand.
A bitter smile twists his lips when the words Please enter your password mock him from the center of the small screen. Sorely uninspired, he types Tatsurou's birthday first, then his own (wishful thinking more than anything else), and then a few more random combinations of numbers. The phone, however, stays resolutely locked - a nice reminder that he doesn't know Tatsurou as well as he would like to think.
He finally puts the cellphone down, now wishing he hadn't taken it in the first place, and heads to his bedroom. It doesn't take long before he falls asleep, but he has time to hear Tatsurou's alarm clock ring in the room next to his.
---
There's something comforting in the aggressiveness of Tatsurou's lovemaking. His rough, barely restrained movements somehow have a soothing quality to them, and Miya feels a strange feeling of peace from being at his complete mercy, Tatsurou's fingers clawing at his shoulder blades and his teeth biting too hard at the nape of his neck.
That nagging feeling that's been gnawing at him for the past few days is back, however, once Miya's breathing goes back to normal. He's lying on his belly, Tatsurou's fingertips tracing intricate patterns on his back.
"You're drawing?" he asks to break the silence. Tatsurou has been going at it for a while, and, knowing him, Miya wouldn't be surprised if his entire back was now adorned with an imaginary cartoon strip.
"Just tracing the outline of your tattoo," he answers nonchalantly, laughing only after Miya almost sprains a muscle trying to get a look at his own back.
Miya grunts as he lets his head fall back on the pillow. "You're an asshole," he says, making a mental note to have a look in the mirror despite Tatsurou's assertion that he doesn't have any tattoos.
"I didn't think you'd fall for it," he retorts, still cackling as he sits up on the mattress. "Thought you'd at least remember whether you'd gotten tattoos or not." He takes one of the two pairs of thick-rimmed glasses resting on the bedside table and puts it on his nose, promptly making a face and blinking exaggeratedly as he replaces it with the one that's actually his own.
"I don't remember everything," Miya corrects, watching him pull his boxers on. "And that wasn't funny."
Tatsurou chuckles, obviously unbothered, but he leans in to press his mouth against his apologetically. Miya's lips are still sensitive from all the stubble burn and biting they've endured, and he has to force himself to break the kiss when a shiver of renewed pleasure runs down his body. "I wanna ask you something," he finally says.
"What is it?"
The nervousness must have seeped into Miya's voice because Tatsurou is now looking at him with a slight frown. "Have you ever cheated on me?" he asks plainly, not allowing himself to think his question over.
"Is that what's been on your mind all this time?" A corner of Tatsurou's mouth is curved upward in amused disbelief, and Miya would fall for it if he didn't know just how convincing his poker face can be.
He lets out a loud sigh. "Just answer me."
"I haven't. Why?" The last word comes after a long pause, as though he didn't really want to ask but felt obliged to.
"I remembered a fight we had," Miya starts, shaking his head dismissively, "and I guess I wanted to know for sure."
A chuckle, and Miya could swear there's something forced about it. "Don't worry about it. We fight all the fucking time." Tatsurou gives Miya's arm a light squeeze. "If it can make you feel better, I love you and I love having sex with you."
The boldness of this statement almost makes Miya want to laugh, but he manages not to at the very last second. "All right. I'm sorry."
"No worries. You're just thinking too much. You hungry?"
Miya nods absentmindedly, agrees to Tatsurou's suggestion for dinner and immediately forgets what it was. Only after Tatsurou has left the bedroom does Miya notice how large and empty-looking it is. There's not much in it save for the bed - large enough for two - and the night table. An odd contrast to his own bedroom, Miya realizes - the guitars and the futon fighting for space, the clothes piling up on the floor for lack of a dresser, the clutter on the computer desk - and something suddenly clicks in his mind.
He suddenly has to get out of there. He jumps to his feet, heads to his own bedroom, and the ring he wears around his neck disappears into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Cash Back Bargains
Author: stupeur
Beta: cranperryjuice
Rating: PG-13 (language and implied sexuality)
Pairing: Tatsurou/Miya
Summary: When Miya wakes up one day with no recollection of who he is, all he wants is to recover his memory - but soon he realizes that some things were better forgotten.
Notes: Chiran is the singer of Pandemic with whom Miya is friends, and he's assisted them as a recording and mixing operator in the past. Also, I just got a new job so it might take a little while before I finish up the last part, but I'll try my best! Enjoy this part in the meantime. ♥
It's already dark outside when Miya wakes up the next day, but he probably could have slept more had his empty stomach not pulled him out of his slumber. He goes straight for the fridge, not even bothering to turn on the kitchen lights.
The pasta leftovers he finds are gone in barely a couple of minutes. He only notices he's not home alone when he glances out the window as he rinses the now empty plastic container in the kitchen sink. Tatsurou is on the balcony outside, leaning against the rail, his silhouette outlined by the street lights.
Miya grabs his cigarette pack and his lighter before slipping out of the apartment. "Hey," he says as he slides the glass door closed behind him.
Tatsurou throws him a glance over his shoulder. "Hey. Thought you'd never wake up," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Yeah," Miya replies with a light chuckle. He leaves it at that - he doesn't really feel like telling him what kept him up for most of the night.
Only the sounds of the city punctuate the silence that follows. They have a nice view of the Tokyo lights from their floor - he can even remember seeing the shape of Mount Fuji on clear days, far off in the distance. The evening is warm, but a little breeze makes it pleasant, and the downpour of the previous day has indeed alleviated the air of its humidity. Miya leans on the rail next to Tatsurou and pulls a cigarette from his pack, vaguely noticing Tatsurou glancing at him.
"Too bad you forgot you were supposed to have quit."
Miya lowers his lighter and raises a brow at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I just said," Tatsurou retorts, turning back to the night cityscape. His profile, standing out sharply from the dark clouds behind it, is perfectly impassive. No amount of scrutinizing him allows Miya to decipher his thoughts. He opts for lighting his cigarette, if only to spite him, but he can't even enjoy it. After only a couple of puffs, he rubs the tip of his cigarette against the iron rail to put it out and reinserts the practically new stick into his pack.
The silence is oppressive this time around, and Miya has to break it himself, as Tatsurou seems dead intent on not saying anything. The question that has been burning his lips since the previous day escapes his mouth before he can even consider the consequences.
"We're not just roommates, right?"
He can hear the question echoing over and over again in his head until it sounds so surreal he could almost convince himself he's never asked it if it weren't for the way Tatsurou's body tensed up next to his.
It feels like an eternity has passed when Tatsurou finally answers. "No, we're not."
"... Why didn't you just say so?"
Tatsurou chuckles humorlessly. "Don't be stupid, Miya."
"Answer me," he demands, barely controlling the anger that has surged through him again.
Tatsurou turns to face him. "Come on, you asked me who I was! What was I supposed to say? 'Hi, I'm Tatsurou, we've been together for five years, by the way'?" His mocking tone fails to cover the bitterness in his voice, and Miya catches a glimpse of indescribable hurt in his eyes before Tatsurou escapes into the apartment.
He follows, pushing the door closed behind him hurriedly, and barely manages to catch up with Tatsurou before he has time to lock himself up in his bedroom. The door closes on his shoulder, but he manages to push his way into the bedroom, and Tatsurou lets him in, defeated.
"... Five years?" Miya asks, unable to come up with anything else.
"On and off," Tatsurou answers, facing away from him resolutely, leaving him to stare at the back of his head, at the black hair running down his back.
Miya suddenly feels lightheaded. He rummages through his mind for something - anything - to say, but no words come to him. Instead, his hand goes to look for Tatsurou's, seemingly out of its own accord.
His fingers slip out of his like sand, however. Without thinking, Miya forces Tatsurou to face him with a hard tug on his shoulder, slips both of his hands into his hair and stands on tiptoe to press their lips together. The kiss is short-lived, but he feels Tatsurou respond to it before suddenly breaking away from him.
"... You don't know what you're doing," he mutters. His hands are now deep in his pockets, out of Miya's reach.
He's right, and Miya knows it - but he remembers the crystal clear memory of Tatsurou's long fingers sliding through his wet hair, and he knows there's only one thing he can do.
Tatsurou gives in this time around. His lips are against his the next moment, his embrace a little too tight, and his heart pounding against Miya's chest betrays the desire that he had repressed.
It's only moments later, when Tatsurou's weight is resting on top of his and his naked limbs are entwined with his own, that Miya realizes just how well his body remembers him. It's as though he knows every inch of his skin by heart - his mouth finds the right angles and his hands the right caresses without fail, and for the first time in weeks, Miya feels like he's home.
He shivers all over when he opens his eyes to see Tatsurou's staring straight into them, and he can't bear to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. He's suddenly terrified of what Tatsurou will see - or not - into his own, and he shuts his eyes tightly as if it were from the pleasure building inside him.
---
There's another flower arrangement on the kitchen table - in shades of pink, this time, and adorned with a large card that reads "to Miya, from all MUCCers".
Next to it is a box filled with letters from all corners of Japan - a few are from foreign countries, even, and written in languages he can barely or can't decipher at all - and they're accompanied by paintings and hand-made dolls and stuffed animals and photo montages and all kinds of gifts.
Miya goes through each and every one of them. It takes him a small eternity, but all the "Get well soon"s and the "We're waiting for you"s finally break the illusion that his life is contained between the walls of his apartment. He doesn't give himself the chance to back out this time - he heads back to his room, takes one of his acoustic guitars and sets it in his lap before strumming a random chord, wincing a bit when Rumi punches his shoulder angrily. "Hey, you promised!"
"It's not my fault! I have to take an entrance exam this weekend." He stares resolutely at his fingers as he picks at the strings of his acoustic guitar. "My mom wants me to go to school in Mie."
"What?! Why?"
He shrugs a shoulder. He knows why, though, and he's pretty sure the idea has been brewing in his mother's mind for a while. Stealing that kid's bicycle was just the last straw.
"... You'd go to my school otherwise, right?"
"I guess so, yeah." He moves his fingers down the neck of his guitar and strums a few random chords, improvising a bit of a clumsy melody.
Neither of them says anything until several minutes later, when Rumi gets up to her feet. "Fail the exam," she says firmly, and Miya blinks. He hadn't even thought of that.
She wipes the dust off her uniform skirt and grabs her school bag, and Miya's fingers scratch an incoherent string of notes when she leans down to kiss him on the lips.
He sets the guitar down only a few hours later, scores scattered all around him, to scramble around for the phone that's ringing somewhere in the bedroom. "Hello?" he says, out of breath, narrowly avoiding the answering machine.
"Hey, I'm at the station," Tatsurou says, and Miya breaks into a smile at the sound of his voice. "Want something from the convenience store?"
"A cake, please."
"A... what? A whole cake?"
Miya laughs, unable to hold back his excitement. "I can still play the songs."
There's a short pause, and then he can practically feel the smile in Tatsurou's voice. "Vanilla or chocolate?"
---
Miya is uncomfortably full by the time he convinces himself to put his fork down. He stretches slowly, letting out a low moan of satisfaction, and only becomes aware that his shirt has ridden up his belly when Tatsurou gives it a playful pat.
"Where do you store all that?" he asks with a grin as Miya tugs his shirt back down.
"Look who's talking," he retorts, raising a falsely offended brow at him.
Tatsurou smirks at him. "I'm taller. I burn more calories."
Their appetites combined proved merciless to the small round cake - a ginger, lime and coconut wonder that obviously wasn't bought at the convenience store despite Miya's request - and they dug in without even bothering to cut it into pieces first. All that's left now is a badly-maimed quarter and a large piece of ribbon with the words "Welcome back, Miya" spelt on it in icing.
Miya looks longingly at the remains of the cake, manages to resist the temptation, and instead settles for leaning back against the couch with his cup of black tea. His full stomach protests against his attempt at folding his legs against his chest, though, and he moves his feet back down to the floor. He brings the cup to his mouth, but the steam is so hot that he decides against having a sip just yet and opts for inhaling the cinnamon fragrance instead. "What?" he asks when he notices Tatsurou is looking at him.
"Nothing." He grins, putting his arm on the back of the couch. "I'm just glad you remember the songs," he says, his fingers running up and down the nape of Miya's neck.
Miya hums in agreement. He closes his eyes to better appreciate Tatsurou's fingertips stroking his skin, now drowsy from the soft contact and all the cake he's had. "We'll be able to start working again soon."
There's a pause, and Miya opens his eyes to look at Tatsurou quizzically. "I was thinking we could wait before telling the others," Tatsurou finally says, squeezing Miya's nape lightly with his thumb and index finger as if to curb the objection he knows is coming. "Just a couple of days. I have the weekend off." He gives him the charming smile he usually keeps in emergency cases.
"Everyone's waiting for me to get better, Tatsurou." Not that Miya is doing it for anyone else's sake but his own - the afternoon he spent with his guitars flew by in the blink of an eye, and he's already itching to go back to his routine of music and concerts and studios. It's surreal to think that he's ever managed to forget just how much he loves it.
"We could go to Ibaraki," Tatsurou tries again before throwing a glance at the clock. "We'll be there at nine or so if we leave now. What do you say?"
Miya shakes his head disbelievingly, chuckling. "I say you're crazy."
"Come on! It'll be fun!"
A trickle of black tea runs down Miya's hand at the playful shake Tatsurou gives his shoulder, and he curses out loud in both surprise and pain. "Shit," he hisses, biting his bottom lip and instinctively holding his hand to his chest.
"What now?" Tatsurou asks irritatedly, stepping closer to have a look at Miya's hand. His skin is already flaring up.
"The steam." Miya nods towards the boiling kettle. "It's fine," he grits between his teeth when Tatsurou turns on the tap and pulls his hand under the cold spray.
"It's not fucking fine!" Tatsurou takes a deep breath to calm himself, staring down at the water running on Miya's hand. "Fuck. I just... I don't get you. I'm sick of getting so much shit from you just because you can't make up your fucking mind."
Miya snickers humorlessly, tugging his hand out of Tatsurou's grip and from under the tap. Pain skitters along his nerves almost instantly, but he ignores it and grabs a towel to dry his skin. "I can't make up my mind? Who's itching to fuck someone new every other week?"
Tatsurou turns to glare at him. "Maybe you're the one who should go look elsewhere, then, because obviously you can't stand me," he says viciously. "I won't hold you back."
The burn on Miya's hand suddenly feels numb, and he pulls his hand out of Tatsurou's hold.
"You okay?" Tatsurou asks, visibly startled by the sudden movement. His hand is hovering near Miya's wrist, holding a tissue.
"I, uh... yeah, I'm fine." Miya tries a smile, refusing to let his dismay show on his face, and lets Tatsurou dab the tea off his hand.
"Sorry about that. I got a little too excited," he says with an apologetic smile, then throws the tissue on one of the empty plates. "A'ight, lemme put this in the fridge and we're off."
Miya chuckles as he watches Tatsurou walk enthusiastically to the kitchen, carrying the cake box. He knows it's not worth putting up a fight - Tatsurou has won his case from the start, and Miya's curiosity about returning to his hometown is enough to make him comply to his whim.
He takes a careful sip of tea, unable to bring himself to get up just yet. Maybe Tatsurou will feel generous enough to let him finish his cup.
---
They're standing on the porch of Tatsurou's family home within two hours. Miya hasn't even had time to properly figure out how to act. Not that it would have been worth it - the tight hug Tomoko pulls him into melts any fears he had. Despite the slight commotion their unexpected visit causes, Tatsurou's parents seem more than happy to find them on their doorstep.
Miya inadvertently reveals that their dinner consisted of cake, and Tomoko rushes to throw a meal together despite his and Tatsurou's protests. Miya has to fight for his right to give her a hand - he's a guest and he's supposed to be resting - but he finally makes a case for himself and is reluctantly handed a grater and a piece of ginger root. He's never really enjoyed cooking and his technique is ineffective at best, but for once, he appreciates the normalcy of it.
"Are you guys going to Ishioka too?" Makoto asks.
"Yeah," Miya replies. He gives Tatsurou's father a smile before looking back down at his ginger-grating. "I haven't seen my parents since I got sick."
Tomoko throws a wary glance at her son. "I hope you've given them a call, at least. I would have done the groceries if I'd known you were going to visit."
"You say that like you're not happy to have us here," Tatsurou says facetiously, looking up from the cabbage leaves he's been chopping into unbelievably thin slices to wink at Miya. "We can head to Miya's place instead if you want."
"Oh, you're not going anywhere before I get to cut your hair," she says, earning herself a genuinely bothered look from Tatsurou.
"My hair is just fine. It's rock star hair," he says, and Miya has to bite his cheek in order not to laugh at the indignation in his voice.
"It's girl hair," Tomoko corrects, "and it's frayed."
Miya and Makoto throw each other a knowing look and both judiciously stay out of the argument. By the time Tatsurou manages to convince his mother not to do more to his hair than trim the ends, he's already done with the cabbage. Miya, on the other hand, is still struggling with his tiny piece of ginger, his forearm long sore from the effort. Tatsurou apparently takes pity on him because he gives him a smile and helps himself to the grater and the ginger root. Miya leans back against his chair, massaging his forearm as he watches him grate the ginger expertly.
Another smile, and as Miya sits there uselessly, he suddenly feels the gloom he thought he'd left in Tokyo wash over him again.
---
Miya wakes up with a start, his heart racing and his t-shirt sticking to the skin of his back. He dreamed that his brain fell out of his skull, and the fog in his mind is still thick enough for him to instinctively feel the back of his head for a gaping hole before he manages to calm down.
He lies in the dark for several minutes. His breathing has long gone back to normal, but his attempts at going back to sleep are constantly thwarted by the still-fresh memory of the dream he just had. A glass of cold water will do his dry throat some good, he decides, and he finally brings himself to get off his futon.
He throws an idle look out the window as he heads to the kitchen, and the scenery outside almost takes him by surprise - a field and a starry sky that both seem to go on forever. Definitely a nice change from the view of his Tokyo apartment. He suddenly feels compelled to leave the house, and, careful not to make too much noise, fights blindly with the lock on the front door to free himself.
The lack of noise is refreshing. All he can hear is the rustling of the wind blowing through the leaves of a nearby row of trees and the song of a lone cricket. Mito doesn't have Tokyo's concrete and buildings to hold the heat of the sun until dawn, either, and its nights are much cooler. Miya actually feels cold for the first time in a long while. He sits down on the step leading to the front door, folds his legs against his chest and wraps his arms around himself. He just stays there, his chin resting on his knees, and watches shadows run on the grass as it ripples gently under the night wind.
He wakes up for the second time that night when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Tatsurou frowning at him.
"You okay?"
Miya nods and stretches his arms and legs lazily. "Just needed some fresh air. I had a weird dream."
"What was it?" Tatsurou asks as he sits down next to him. No use telling him the truth - it'd only make him worry, and Miya mumbles something about not remembering. Tatsurou sees right through him, though. "Something on your mind?"
Miya stares down at his own feet, feeling Tatsurou's eyes on him. The memory of that fight they had keeps gnawing at his mind. He starts shivering despite himself when Tatsurou puts his arm around him, a welcome relief from the too-fresh air.
"I might not get you, but I know you pretty well," Tatsurou says with a chuckle, rubbing the cold skin of his arm. "You've had that bothered look on your face all evening."
"I'm scared of remembering things I'd rather not," Miya finally admits.
A long silence follows his confession, during which Tatsurou's thumb find its way under Miya's shirt to stroke his side. "It's probably normal considering what you're going through," he says, then shrugs. "There are some things I'd love to forget, myself, but that's life. There isn't much we can do except try and make the best of it."
Miya simply mms in reply. He realizes for the first time that his own hand is resting on Tatsurou's knee, and he allows himself to lean against him. "I'm just scared of finding out I'm not who I thought I was," he continues. He's not making much sense, but at least Tatsurou has the decency to not laugh at him.
"You're tired, Miya. And there's a spider on your foot."
The randomness of that statement tears a confused chuckle out of Miya, but he feels a ticklish sensation on the top of his foot and realizes that Tatsurou literally meant what he just said. He watches as Tatsurou leans in to wave the spider off with a finger, but in its panic, it moves off Miya's foot to run up his hand instead.
"Wow, you're stupid," Tatsurou says, raising his hand to eye level and moving it around to keep the running spider in sight.
Miya chuckles against Tatsurou's shoulder. "Aren't evening spiders bad luck?" he says, mainly in an attempt to get Tatsurou to leave the poor creature alone.
"Yeah," he starts, "but I'd say it's morning now."
And he's right. The sky has already turned from black to the muted shade of blue that preludes dawn without Miya even realizing it. The answer brings a smile to his lips, and he watches as Tatsurou stretches his hand toward the ground and blows softly on the spider, sending it running into the grass.
---
Music takes up most of Miya's time as soon as he's back in Tokyo. Tatsurou gives their manager a call, and a band meeting takes place that very day - an informal affair that ends up being mostly a pretext to have too many celebratory drinks in a downtown izakaya.
Once his hangover has subsided, Miya takes it upon himself to revisit his computer and his work station. His computer files are a mess, but he manages to make sense of them without effort, and he even remembers what he had planned to do with a bunch of orphan riffs waiting around on his desktop. Before he knows it, he's spent the whole day in front of his computer and he has a couple of working tracks ready for pre-production. He forwards the songs to his bandmates and calls it a day.
He's back in the studio before the end of the week.
"Good job," he tells Chiran when he spots her walking up to the building where the studio is located. They're taking a small break, which for Miya means smoking as many cigarettes as humanly possible in fifteen minutes, seeing as they've somehow ended up in what's probably the only smoke-free studio in Tokyo.
"Right back at you," she replies, returning the smile. "I didn't expect you to start working again so soon."
He sees the Starbucks cup in her hand and immediately regrets not having thought of that earlier. "Me neither, but it's going well so far."
"Is your memory completely back now?"
Miya shrugs a shoulder. "Not completely, so you can imagine how awkward it is sometimes," he says with a bit of smile. He feels a tinge of guilt at the thought that he remembers how to do his job better than he remembers some of his friends, but he's gotten pretty good at shaking off the feeling. At least now he has the option of doing something other than staying home smoking too much and wallowing in self-pity. "And that means I have to take pretty much everything people tell me for granted because I can't remember for myself."
"I can't even imagine. It's hard enough to trust people as it is," she says, and Miya smiles at how perceptive she is.
He almost dismisses her comment, but then thinks better of it. Maybe a fresh take on the situation is what he needs. "Yeah, there's that. It's hard to confront people about it, you know? I don't want to piss anyone off by accusing them of being liars."
Chiran takes a careful sip of coffee. "Well, I think you should ask anyway. They'll probably understand."
Miya nods his head and puts out his cigarette stub before lighting himself another one. He suddenly notices that Chiran is staring at his lips, but then he realizes it's the cigarette she's looking at. "Sorry. You stopped smoking, right?"
She blushes like he had just caught her red-handed. "Trying. I thought you had, too?"
"I gave up," he confesses with a grin. "I like it too much." He's about to offer her a cigarette, out of habit, but he holds himself back just in time. She still resignedly asks for one, however, and he complies without a word. As far as he's concerned, he likes the slight, smoke-induced huskiness of her voice, but he figures it's not the best thing to tell someone who's trying to quit.
They stand there for a moment, smoking, Chiran alternating between her cigarette and her coffee until it's Miya's turn to give in. "Can I have a sip?"
From the way she laughs, she'd obviously been expecting it. "Sure," she says, handing him the warm cup.
---
It's already morning when Miya heads back home, drunk again, his lungs painful from all the smoke he's inhaled in the izakaya where they celebrated the end of the recording session. The sky is bright already, but Tokyo is still a ghost town at this early hour, and as he walks to the train station, he can't hold back a smile at the irony of feeling lonely in a city of several millions.
He's just in time for the express train. He steps into the first car, sits down behind the operator cabin and sets the alarm on his cellphone to make sure he doesn't miss his stop. He listens absentmindedly to the names of stations where the train is going to make a stop as it starts running. It doesn't go very fast or even very far, but Miya is ecstatic for the minute or so that it lasts. His heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest, but he manages to keep his cool and concentrate on the rails lined up in front of the train he's operating.
He's not strong enough to pull down the lever by himself, but with the operator's help he manages to make the train slow down. A few seconds later, it reaches a complete stop.
"Dad, did you see? I drove it!" Miya exclaims excitedly, unable to hold back his joy any longer.
His dad claps his hands enthusiastically, laughing. "You did great!"
"You'll make a great train driver," the operator concurs, pushing a few buttons on the panel before opening the locomotive door. The three of them step back onto the platform, and Miya takes his dad's hand, ready to head back home. His mom will never believe that he really did drive a train just now.
His dad, however, doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all. "Thank you very much, sir," he says, ignoring Miya when he starts pulling on his arm determinedly - without much result. "It means so much to him. All we ever hear about are trains."
"It was my pleasure. It's good to see someone being so enthusiastic about it!"
"C'mon, dad, I wanna tell mom!" Miya insists, praying with all his might that the two grown-ups won't start one of those endless conversations now.
"Not so fast," his dad says, pointing to his own head, and only then does Miya remember to take off the too-big cap he's still wearing. He hands it back to the operator before bowing deeply as he thanks him.
"No problem, kid," the operator answers, laughing. "See you around!"
Miya and his dad make their way to the exit, and there's already a crowd waiting for the Tokyo-bound train on the other side of the platform. He eyes the imagawayaki stand, but it's still closed, unsurprisingly, and he passes the ticket gate before making the short walk to his apartment building.
Even his pets don't bother greeting him. He quietly takes off his shoes and heads to his bedroom, unable to resist a peek into Tatsurou's on his way. He's sleeping, his back to the door, the shadows somehow accentuating his long silhouette. Without thinking, Miya makes his way to the edge of the bed, at first with the intent of slipping under the covers, but the very real possibility of Tatsurou complaining about the smell of cigarettes stops him.
He stands there dejectedly, staring at the slow movement of Tatsurou's side rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. He's about to leave the bedroom when he spots the cellphone sitting on the night table, and he stops dead in his tracks again. He doesn't even try to resist the temptation, and before he knows it, the phone is flipped open in his hand.
A bitter smile twists his lips when the words Please enter your password mock him from the center of the small screen. Sorely uninspired, he types Tatsurou's birthday first, then his own (wishful thinking more than anything else), and then a few more random combinations of numbers. The phone, however, stays resolutely locked - a nice reminder that he doesn't know Tatsurou as well as he would like to think.
He finally puts the cellphone down, now wishing he hadn't taken it in the first place, and heads to his bedroom. It doesn't take long before he falls asleep, but he has time to hear Tatsurou's alarm clock ring in the room next to his.
---
There's something comforting in the aggressiveness of Tatsurou's lovemaking. His rough, barely restrained movements somehow have a soothing quality to them, and Miya feels a strange feeling of peace from being at his complete mercy, Tatsurou's fingers clawing at his shoulder blades and his teeth biting too hard at the nape of his neck.
That nagging feeling that's been gnawing at him for the past few days is back, however, once Miya's breathing goes back to normal. He's lying on his belly, Tatsurou's fingertips tracing intricate patterns on his back.
"You're drawing?" he asks to break the silence. Tatsurou has been going at it for a while, and, knowing him, Miya wouldn't be surprised if his entire back was now adorned with an imaginary cartoon strip.
"Just tracing the outline of your tattoo," he answers nonchalantly, laughing only after Miya almost sprains a muscle trying to get a look at his own back.
Miya grunts as he lets his head fall back on the pillow. "You're an asshole," he says, making a mental note to have a look in the mirror despite Tatsurou's assertion that he doesn't have any tattoos.
"I didn't think you'd fall for it," he retorts, still cackling as he sits up on the mattress. "Thought you'd at least remember whether you'd gotten tattoos or not." He takes one of the two pairs of thick-rimmed glasses resting on the bedside table and puts it on his nose, promptly making a face and blinking exaggeratedly as he replaces it with the one that's actually his own.
"I don't remember everything," Miya corrects, watching him pull his boxers on. "And that wasn't funny."
Tatsurou chuckles, obviously unbothered, but he leans in to press his mouth against his apologetically. Miya's lips are still sensitive from all the stubble burn and biting they've endured, and he has to force himself to break the kiss when a shiver of renewed pleasure runs down his body. "I wanna ask you something," he finally says.
"What is it?"
The nervousness must have seeped into Miya's voice because Tatsurou is now looking at him with a slight frown. "Have you ever cheated on me?" he asks plainly, not allowing himself to think his question over.
"Is that what's been on your mind all this time?" A corner of Tatsurou's mouth is curved upward in amused disbelief, and Miya would fall for it if he didn't know just how convincing his poker face can be.
He lets out a loud sigh. "Just answer me."
"I haven't. Why?" The last word comes after a long pause, as though he didn't really want to ask but felt obliged to.
"I remembered a fight we had," Miya starts, shaking his head dismissively, "and I guess I wanted to know for sure."
A chuckle, and Miya could swear there's something forced about it. "Don't worry about it. We fight all the fucking time." Tatsurou gives Miya's arm a light squeeze. "If it can make you feel better, I love you and I love having sex with you."
The boldness of this statement almost makes Miya want to laugh, but he manages not to at the very last second. "All right. I'm sorry."
"No worries. You're just thinking too much. You hungry?"
Miya nods absentmindedly, agrees to Tatsurou's suggestion for dinner and immediately forgets what it was. Only after Tatsurou has left the bedroom does Miya notice how large and empty-looking it is. There's not much in it save for the bed - large enough for two - and the night table. An odd contrast to his own bedroom, Miya realizes - the guitars and the futon fighting for space, the clothes piling up on the floor for lack of a dresser, the clutter on the computer desk - and something suddenly clicks in his mind.
He suddenly has to get out of there. He jumps to his feet, heads to his own bedroom, and the ring he wears around his neck disappears into the bottom drawer of his desk.
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