[RP LOG] - Michael & Takeru (finished, pending sequel?)
What: Takeru's "comeback".
Why: After the 'clensing' he'd been through he cut himself off... and Michael came to investigate.
When: Saturday, 19th March.
Who: Michael, Takeru.
Where: Takeru's apartment.
Warnings: ... some angst & a kiss. | Oh, and it's sloppily beta-ed because my pc keeps dying. u.u;
Wordcount: 2600+ ... but that's because I cut the log where it sort of got away from us and turned into a soft lemon. >////>; The full thing is about 8800+ and it just got a nice start on the good part... *coughs* I might post the rest if people are interested? But if not, Vix and I'll just greedily keep it for ourselves. XD
Hearing the sound of the knob turning, Takeru buried his head into the pillow, face first, deeper. There were only four people who could get into his apartment without him letting them in, three of which members of his own family and the remaining one--
He briefly pondered it could be Yamato, but he'd texted him he needed some time alone. A loner wolf all his life, surely Yamato would not come poke at him - he usually wouldn't need to anyway. He'd just send him a message in a couple of hours (or days), that he wanted his oniichan to come by, just like he'd wrote in his first scrawny letters when they had to pick a topic for letter-day in first grade. Since then, cellphones came to speed up those letters, and Yamato could be by within hours.
But this wasn't Yamato. He hadn't heard the front door open at all. This was the only person he'd given the code of his home-terminal port to... and yes, he had forgotten his laptop on stand-by, damn. He hunched his shoulders, feeling them lock with the tension washing over him suddenly. Unused to the speeding up of his heartbeat anymore, of the sheer prospect of 'feeling', he gripped the sheets harder, wishing he could sink deep enough in them to hide. Because he remembered everything, every single glance, kiss and touch, his own self-designed last chance to feel, the dizzy spiral of what seemed like the most amazing love he could ever find, only to be left climbing out of an unmade bed, leaving it all behind after making that one last drop of affection ebb away into nothingness, realizing he had lost everything for nothing.
It had been liberating in way. After all, when you've got nothing left, there's nothing more you can loose. But now all those lost feelings were crashing back, months of tapped thoughts rushing with flashes that made his heart race painfully and his head explode with headaches. They would fade, Ken had said, take it easy. He would not black out anymore now, it just had to clear out... but how could it? He would rather die than come undone in front of somebody, friend and family alike. Takeru's walls were everything; his whole being depended on it. Who got through which walls, what could he talk about with who, who would respect him after hearing what... he'd always been this way. And who was turning the knob now, was one of the few people he didn't think he could spare to loose and come out whole again. Nobody was, truth be told... but if he could feel him through the obscured veil, could connect then - what would the feeling be like now, untapped?
The knob turned all the way and he gripped the pillow harder, knuckles white.
A hand poked in through the thin gap between the door and wall, followed by a mess of blond curls, and shortly thereafter the body they belonged to, too. "Takeru?" A par of half-lidded, teal eyes set sight on the curled up form occupying the usually perky blond's bed. The -body- lying on it now- it was nothing like the Takeru he knew. Face-down in the pillow, the other made no sound or any other action to let Michael know he'd acknowledged him. So Michael cleared his throat.
He stood there, between the door frames, for about half a minute, before remembering that doors were in fact made to be closed. As silent as he could be, he closed the door softly and made his way closer to the messy bed. "Is..." The words died in his throat, fearing the answer. If he did not ask, he would not get a bad reaction, right? But... seeing Takeru like this was probably the worst sight ever, worse than whatever the answer might be. So Michael swallowed and brought to daylight any courage and humour he could find deep down withing himself. "Is this a bad time?" he restarted, with what he hoped was a light enough tone.
Memories overwhelmed the blond... how many times had Michael said his name, in how many tones? Reluctance, uncertainty, acceptance, passion, coldness, regret, reluctance again - all those months spent alone replayed in his head with the flood of feelings he thought lost, before he could feel the bed dip by his side. Mike's scent was familiar... sort of foresty, maybe pine, mixed with a lighter fragrance that always lingered in his hair... he could tell the shower-gel's name and the conditioner's brand by heart. It was automatic. It was things he knew, things he had always liked, loved even, but was finding out only now. The familiarity of it eased him up a bit, unclenched that tight stiffening in his shoulders ever so gradually. He softened his grip, the pain still swimming dully just under the surface, waiting for a memory to trigger it again... but for the time being he could be honest. Michael's voice, and presence, were soothing.
"I don't know," he sighed, quietly. "But please don't go..."
Reassured in his actions, Michael took another step towards the bed where the other was... resting? He couldn't tell if Takeru was trying to rest for real, or if he was just seeking refuge, comfort for his inner turmoils. "I won't," Mike answered as he sat on the chair, promptly pushing the clothes resting on it to the floor. He could care about cleaning the room later. "So..." he tried making a conversation, he really tried. "So. Want to talk?"
Takeru never looked up from his pillow, swaying his head 'no' into it. "No, I want to..." he let the feeling overwhelm him, telling him what he really wanted to do, reason thrown aside. "I want to spoon," he admitted, "I want you here. But I'm not sure that's what I'm supposed to want... it's confusing." His voice was calm, even when he wasn't sure what he was trying to tell the other. He'd not gotten used to taming reason and feelings anymore, it was hard to tell which was for the best.
»Hah,« Michael tried to sound as confident as possible, as happy as possible. It was really in the best interest for Takeru, he kept telling himself, this visit had nothing to do with himself. Takeru needed comfort now, and he needed to stop being selfish. So when the other asked for closeness, he had to give him closeness, no matter how he wished it'd be more out of some... mutual feeling than Takeru's need for comfort. Michael scooped closer to the other, not laying beside just yet, instead letting his hand travel up the bent spine to the blond's short hair, gently stroking the back of Takeru's head.
»You know...« Michael wanted to cheer Takeru up so badly, to tell him something that'd make him smile again, that'd let him know just how much he cares; but he couldn't. He could not compare the phase Takeru was undergoing to anything he knew, and all he had were prepositions, facts he put together in the dark with a blindfold. »Sometimes things have to get complicated to get clearer in the end.« He paused, reflecting on the situation, on Takeru, on himself, on -them-. »But in the end... they always do get clearer.« He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the top of Takeru's head before quietly laying down next to him, holding the desolate blond in his arms all the while.
The kiss was sweet, as were the words... and the hand was warm, he could feel the tension in his back ebb away. Michael slipped beside him with ease, like a puzzle that fit its place, like a-
Like a club-lit smirk, so inviting, pressed against his lips. He had yielded, had melted into it, because no-one was watching, because he could.... because Dai was gone and--- there was none of the alarming guilt that rocked his essence now. He pressed his eyes shut tighter, to block it out. Yes, it had been wrong. Yes, he shouldn't have done it, he knew, not like that...
He rolled just slightly, back towards that familiar warmth behind him, searching blindly behind himself to resettle in the tightening hold he was enveloped in. Now the heartbeat against his back meant something, as did the brushing thumb against his chest, as did the heavy curls falling over the side of his face and neck. Takeru could not pinpoint the feeling, but it felt big, felt warm and just theirs.
He marveled in it quietly, just letting himself sink deep into that embrace, the clock on the shelf ticking away as though counting breaths... or was it the other way around? From where he was laid now, he could only watch the blankness of the wall the bed was pushed against for more room. "Mike," he said quietly, "the thing with me is that... I've always been... 'complicated' if not confused, always sort of... on the brink of what I wanted to do and what I was supposed to." He sighed, curling closer, "don't know if this... blocking part of me out did a good or bad thing... yet." He was frowning now, fingers curling around the other's wrists. "Not that I ever am uncomplicated, am I?" He gave a short, dry laugh. "You sure you want to take me back?" His voice dripped of sarcasm, but it was hollow, ringing the underline of a true question, of a fear, maybe.
Mike let out a sigh he hoped was slight enough for the other not to notice. It wasn't that he was annoyed with Keru's 'I-couldn't-care-less' behaviour, he just... he hated seeing him like this, not seeing a purpose in anything, not even trying to untie the knots that were binding him in this state of misery. But just by going through the door that kept Takeru's room away from the rest of the apartment, Michael was decided he'd at least try to bring the other up. »No,« he replied, bringing Takeru a little closer to himself. »Only a complicated person would say uncomplicated instead of simple.« He smiled against Takeru's head, feeling a sudden wave of pleasant warmth envelop him. »And I can't think of anyone who wouldn't want you back, Takeru.« You are the sunshine in so many people's lives, and yet you don't even realize it.
Takeru could think of a person who wasn't going to want to take him back. He couldn't tell for sure, but at the same time he didn't think he wanted to find out. Too many things came rushing back as it was. Instead, he closed his eyes back against the warmth, breathing out. "My English's rusty, I only use it with you nowadays anyway." That big, calm feeling was still there, what with being wrapped close and squeezed tight, just for the heck of it a few times. It was a bliss that felt twice as good, from somewhere in the depth of his heart, and not just as a contact.
"Thanks," he murmured, never registering the smile in his voice before it was already out in the open. It felt good to smile, it sent pleasing waves all over him. "I'm gonna be okay, I'll wake up from this and be the same as... two-three years ago?" He crammed his neck, barely managing to catch the glimpse of the other's eyes. "We got along then, remember? You were sick and I was down and... something told me I needed to go see you," he couldn't stop smiling, now that he was on a toll, "and then you got better and played the violin at 3AM and took me down to... Liberty Park, was it?" he thought for a moment, "You were telling me which isle was what, and which building was whose and then just... kissed me for the first time." His voice was soft now, recalling the moment. "I didn't know what to do with myself out of nervousness then, really..."
Stretching his back a bit, Michael thought. He though of Takeru's words, about what they meant, about all the memories they'd shared over the past years... about the future. He did not believe in fate, destiny, or such, but events like these made him wonder what did the future have in store for them. Would Takeru really be the same as he was when they'd first started hanging out?
»It's okay,« he laughed quietly and nuzzled into Takeru's back some more. »I'm quite sure it's much better than my Japanese. Or French.« Michael let the words sink in for a minute, before continuing with his light tone. »Yeah, I wonder if you still remember any of those names.« But he knew Takeru most likely didn't; it wasn't what they did in those precious moments, it was the fact that they were there, that they spent time by each other's sides, that they shared a piece of history together. »Ah, anxiety,« Mike smiled quietly. »One of the first symptoms of being helplessly lovestruck,« his voice faded to a mere whisper. »If it helps, I think I caught it from you, too.«
A sudden idea flashed through his mind. There were many nowadays, many feelings, many things he wanted to do... and he wanted to start doing them, get up and smile, now that he could again. An elbow placed tight, a hand pushing just there, and already he was turning in the other's embrace, leaving Mike's hands to resettle where they willed as he leaned in, slow enough to be stopped, but determined enough to never stop anyway, blue eyes closing on the way, and he let their lips meet, lightly. He wasn't stopping there though, pushing beyond the simple press, to where he could tag-invite the other for a deeper kiss.
He liked Michael on top while kissing, because then those long angel-curls would caress his face ever so gently... but now waves of feeling did instead. He could feel them graze him all over, a calm, glad tingle just underneath his skin, as if meant to sync heartbeats. His fingers sought grip on the shoulder of Mike's shirt and the pillow underneath the other's head, elbows planted into the mattress around the older blond's form, all on their own. He let his weight settle onto the other, pleasantly, slowly, shiftily, however necessity dictated, and however it helped to spark the kiss up with that slow, enjoying pace.
He came for air what seemed several minutes later, could have been hours for all he cared; he'd stopped listening to the ticking clock now, his heartbeats were way too loud anyway. Lips still pecking the other's, small little kiss upon another, he murmured against them. "Your... 'French' is just fine." He was smiling now again, eyes still closed and body lax against the other's inviting form.
The other's sudden movement caught Michael by surprise; he hadn't expected such an impulsive action mere seconds after the gloomy conversation masked by both of their cheerful tones. That, however, didn't mean he particularly minded it. Having Takeru lie on top of him brought a strange, pleasant sort of nostalgia - one that could be easily turned back into present.
He let the other kiss him, the familiar feeling of mouth on mouth, tongue against tongue bringing back memories he wished to never forget. And yet... it ended, and he feared that the memories would fade just like the taste did, slowly slipping out of his reach, close and untouchable. He couldn't help but give the other a bitter-sweet smile, accompanied by a tighter hold on the blond's back. »I'm glad at least someone appreciates it,« he laughed. Somehow, he felt he had to grab an opportunity for laughter when it came. Smiles were never too many to cheer someone up.
Why: After the 'clensing' he'd been through he cut himself off... and Michael came to investigate.
When: Saturday, 19th March.
Who: Michael, Takeru.
Where: Takeru's apartment.
Warnings: ... some angst & a kiss. | Oh, and it's sloppily beta-ed because my pc keeps dying. u.u;
Wordcount: 2600+ ... but that's because I cut the log where it sort of got away from us and turned into a soft lemon. >////>; The full thing is about 8800+ and it just got a nice start on the good part... *coughs* I might post the rest if people are interested? But if not, Vix and I'll just greedily keep it for ourselves. XD
Hearing the sound of the knob turning, Takeru buried his head into the pillow, face first, deeper. There were only four people who could get into his apartment without him letting them in, three of which members of his own family and the remaining one--
He briefly pondered it could be Yamato, but he'd texted him he needed some time alone. A loner wolf all his life, surely Yamato would not come poke at him - he usually wouldn't need to anyway. He'd just send him a message in a couple of hours (or days), that he wanted his oniichan to come by, just like he'd wrote in his first scrawny letters when they had to pick a topic for letter-day in first grade. Since then, cellphones came to speed up those letters, and Yamato could be by within hours.
But this wasn't Yamato. He hadn't heard the front door open at all. This was the only person he'd given the code of his home-terminal port to... and yes, he had forgotten his laptop on stand-by, damn. He hunched his shoulders, feeling them lock with the tension washing over him suddenly. Unused to the speeding up of his heartbeat anymore, of the sheer prospect of 'feeling', he gripped the sheets harder, wishing he could sink deep enough in them to hide. Because he remembered everything, every single glance, kiss and touch, his own self-designed last chance to feel, the dizzy spiral of what seemed like the most amazing love he could ever find, only to be left climbing out of an unmade bed, leaving it all behind after making that one last drop of affection ebb away into nothingness, realizing he had lost everything for nothing.
It had been liberating in way. After all, when you've got nothing left, there's nothing more you can loose. But now all those lost feelings were crashing back, months of tapped thoughts rushing with flashes that made his heart race painfully and his head explode with headaches. They would fade, Ken had said, take it easy. He would not black out anymore now, it just had to clear out... but how could it? He would rather die than come undone in front of somebody, friend and family alike. Takeru's walls were everything; his whole being depended on it. Who got through which walls, what could he talk about with who, who would respect him after hearing what... he'd always been this way. And who was turning the knob now, was one of the few people he didn't think he could spare to loose and come out whole again. Nobody was, truth be told... but if he could feel him through the obscured veil, could connect then - what would the feeling be like now, untapped?
The knob turned all the way and he gripped the pillow harder, knuckles white.
A hand poked in through the thin gap between the door and wall, followed by a mess of blond curls, and shortly thereafter the body they belonged to, too. "Takeru?" A par of half-lidded, teal eyes set sight on the curled up form occupying the usually perky blond's bed. The -body- lying on it now- it was nothing like the Takeru he knew. Face-down in the pillow, the other made no sound or any other action to let Michael know he'd acknowledged him. So Michael cleared his throat.
He stood there, between the door frames, for about half a minute, before remembering that doors were in fact made to be closed. As silent as he could be, he closed the door softly and made his way closer to the messy bed. "Is..." The words died in his throat, fearing the answer. If he did not ask, he would not get a bad reaction, right? But... seeing Takeru like this was probably the worst sight ever, worse than whatever the answer might be. So Michael swallowed and brought to daylight any courage and humour he could find deep down withing himself. "Is this a bad time?" he restarted, with what he hoped was a light enough tone.
Memories overwhelmed the blond... how many times had Michael said his name, in how many tones? Reluctance, uncertainty, acceptance, passion, coldness, regret, reluctance again - all those months spent alone replayed in his head with the flood of feelings he thought lost, before he could feel the bed dip by his side. Mike's scent was familiar... sort of foresty, maybe pine, mixed with a lighter fragrance that always lingered in his hair... he could tell the shower-gel's name and the conditioner's brand by heart. It was automatic. It was things he knew, things he had always liked, loved even, but was finding out only now. The familiarity of it eased him up a bit, unclenched that tight stiffening in his shoulders ever so gradually. He softened his grip, the pain still swimming dully just under the surface, waiting for a memory to trigger it again... but for the time being he could be honest. Michael's voice, and presence, were soothing.
"I don't know," he sighed, quietly. "But please don't go..."
Reassured in his actions, Michael took another step towards the bed where the other was... resting? He couldn't tell if Takeru was trying to rest for real, or if he was just seeking refuge, comfort for his inner turmoils. "I won't," Mike answered as he sat on the chair, promptly pushing the clothes resting on it to the floor. He could care about cleaning the room later. "So..." he tried making a conversation, he really tried. "So. Want to talk?"
Takeru never looked up from his pillow, swaying his head 'no' into it. "No, I want to..." he let the feeling overwhelm him, telling him what he really wanted to do, reason thrown aside. "I want to spoon," he admitted, "I want you here. But I'm not sure that's what I'm supposed to want... it's confusing." His voice was calm, even when he wasn't sure what he was trying to tell the other. He'd not gotten used to taming reason and feelings anymore, it was hard to tell which was for the best.
»Hah,« Michael tried to sound as confident as possible, as happy as possible. It was really in the best interest for Takeru, he kept telling himself, this visit had nothing to do with himself. Takeru needed comfort now, and he needed to stop being selfish. So when the other asked for closeness, he had to give him closeness, no matter how he wished it'd be more out of some... mutual feeling than Takeru's need for comfort. Michael scooped closer to the other, not laying beside just yet, instead letting his hand travel up the bent spine to the blond's short hair, gently stroking the back of Takeru's head.
»You know...« Michael wanted to cheer Takeru up so badly, to tell him something that'd make him smile again, that'd let him know just how much he cares; but he couldn't. He could not compare the phase Takeru was undergoing to anything he knew, and all he had were prepositions, facts he put together in the dark with a blindfold. »Sometimes things have to get complicated to get clearer in the end.« He paused, reflecting on the situation, on Takeru, on himself, on -them-. »But in the end... they always do get clearer.« He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the top of Takeru's head before quietly laying down next to him, holding the desolate blond in his arms all the while.
The kiss was sweet, as were the words... and the hand was warm, he could feel the tension in his back ebb away. Michael slipped beside him with ease, like a puzzle that fit its place, like a-
Like a club-lit smirk, so inviting, pressed against his lips. He had yielded, had melted into it, because no-one was watching, because he could.... because Dai was gone and--- there was none of the alarming guilt that rocked his essence now. He pressed his eyes shut tighter, to block it out. Yes, it had been wrong. Yes, he shouldn't have done it, he knew, not like that...
He rolled just slightly, back towards that familiar warmth behind him, searching blindly behind himself to resettle in the tightening hold he was enveloped in. Now the heartbeat against his back meant something, as did the brushing thumb against his chest, as did the heavy curls falling over the side of his face and neck. Takeru could not pinpoint the feeling, but it felt big, felt warm and just theirs.
He marveled in it quietly, just letting himself sink deep into that embrace, the clock on the shelf ticking away as though counting breaths... or was it the other way around? From where he was laid now, he could only watch the blankness of the wall the bed was pushed against for more room. "Mike," he said quietly, "the thing with me is that... I've always been... 'complicated' if not confused, always sort of... on the brink of what I wanted to do and what I was supposed to." He sighed, curling closer, "don't know if this... blocking part of me out did a good or bad thing... yet." He was frowning now, fingers curling around the other's wrists. "Not that I ever am uncomplicated, am I?" He gave a short, dry laugh. "You sure you want to take me back?" His voice dripped of sarcasm, but it was hollow, ringing the underline of a true question, of a fear, maybe.
Mike let out a sigh he hoped was slight enough for the other not to notice. It wasn't that he was annoyed with Keru's 'I-couldn't-care-less' behaviour, he just... he hated seeing him like this, not seeing a purpose in anything, not even trying to untie the knots that were binding him in this state of misery. But just by going through the door that kept Takeru's room away from the rest of the apartment, Michael was decided he'd at least try to bring the other up. »No,« he replied, bringing Takeru a little closer to himself. »Only a complicated person would say uncomplicated instead of simple.« He smiled against Takeru's head, feeling a sudden wave of pleasant warmth envelop him. »And I can't think of anyone who wouldn't want you back, Takeru.« You are the sunshine in so many people's lives, and yet you don't even realize it.
Takeru could think of a person who wasn't going to want to take him back. He couldn't tell for sure, but at the same time he didn't think he wanted to find out. Too many things came rushing back as it was. Instead, he closed his eyes back against the warmth, breathing out. "My English's rusty, I only use it with you nowadays anyway." That big, calm feeling was still there, what with being wrapped close and squeezed tight, just for the heck of it a few times. It was a bliss that felt twice as good, from somewhere in the depth of his heart, and not just as a contact.
"Thanks," he murmured, never registering the smile in his voice before it was already out in the open. It felt good to smile, it sent pleasing waves all over him. "I'm gonna be okay, I'll wake up from this and be the same as... two-three years ago?" He crammed his neck, barely managing to catch the glimpse of the other's eyes. "We got along then, remember? You were sick and I was down and... something told me I needed to go see you," he couldn't stop smiling, now that he was on a toll, "and then you got better and played the violin at 3AM and took me down to... Liberty Park, was it?" he thought for a moment, "You were telling me which isle was what, and which building was whose and then just... kissed me for the first time." His voice was soft now, recalling the moment. "I didn't know what to do with myself out of nervousness then, really..."
Stretching his back a bit, Michael thought. He though of Takeru's words, about what they meant, about all the memories they'd shared over the past years... about the future. He did not believe in fate, destiny, or such, but events like these made him wonder what did the future have in store for them. Would Takeru really be the same as he was when they'd first started hanging out?
»It's okay,« he laughed quietly and nuzzled into Takeru's back some more. »I'm quite sure it's much better than my Japanese. Or French.« Michael let the words sink in for a minute, before continuing with his light tone. »Yeah, I wonder if you still remember any of those names.« But he knew Takeru most likely didn't; it wasn't what they did in those precious moments, it was the fact that they were there, that they spent time by each other's sides, that they shared a piece of history together. »Ah, anxiety,« Mike smiled quietly. »One of the first symptoms of being helplessly lovestruck,« his voice faded to a mere whisper. »If it helps, I think I caught it from you, too.«
A sudden idea flashed through his mind. There were many nowadays, many feelings, many things he wanted to do... and he wanted to start doing them, get up and smile, now that he could again. An elbow placed tight, a hand pushing just there, and already he was turning in the other's embrace, leaving Mike's hands to resettle where they willed as he leaned in, slow enough to be stopped, but determined enough to never stop anyway, blue eyes closing on the way, and he let their lips meet, lightly. He wasn't stopping there though, pushing beyond the simple press, to where he could tag-invite the other for a deeper kiss.
He liked Michael on top while kissing, because then those long angel-curls would caress his face ever so gently... but now waves of feeling did instead. He could feel them graze him all over, a calm, glad tingle just underneath his skin, as if meant to sync heartbeats. His fingers sought grip on the shoulder of Mike's shirt and the pillow underneath the other's head, elbows planted into the mattress around the older blond's form, all on their own. He let his weight settle onto the other, pleasantly, slowly, shiftily, however necessity dictated, and however it helped to spark the kiss up with that slow, enjoying pace.
He came for air what seemed several minutes later, could have been hours for all he cared; he'd stopped listening to the ticking clock now, his heartbeats were way too loud anyway. Lips still pecking the other's, small little kiss upon another, he murmured against them. "Your... 'French' is just fine." He was smiling now again, eyes still closed and body lax against the other's inviting form.
The other's sudden movement caught Michael by surprise; he hadn't expected such an impulsive action mere seconds after the gloomy conversation masked by both of their cheerful tones. That, however, didn't mean he particularly minded it. Having Takeru lie on top of him brought a strange, pleasant sort of nostalgia - one that could be easily turned back into present.
He let the other kiss him, the familiar feeling of mouth on mouth, tongue against tongue bringing back memories he wished to never forget. And yet... it ended, and he feared that the memories would fade just like the taste did, slowly slipping out of his reach, close and untouchable. He couldn't help but give the other a bitter-sweet smile, accompanied by a tighter hold on the blond's back. »I'm glad at least someone appreciates it,« he laughed. Somehow, he felt he had to grab an opportunity for laughter when it came. Smiles were never too many to cheer someone up.