[33. Desperate plea - "To someone I can't bear to love"]
Junjou Pathetic, back to the days when they were still very much a pathetic couple. Listening to Stacie Orrico ("Stuck" & "I'm Not Missing You") and suddenly, Keiichi was tsunny. And then, I remembered this.
For Ly-chan (dog_and_wolf), who is worth all the pine trees in the world.
I'm not missing you
I'm not going through the motions
Waiting and hoping you call me
I'm not missing you
The date skips in his head: It was the 8th, and now, it was the 20th.
Twelve days-- and Keiichi refuses to count the hours, minutes, seconds, because that was what desperate people did. He tries not to think about the fact that he was wearing the same shirt today, washed twice already, worn only since then. It doesn't even remotely smell like anything now, and even the bruises on his hips have faded.
He stares outside, refrains from noting the lack of screeching tires and sleek black ten-figure-expensive cars, and the bastardly men who drive them, and ends up missing half of the professor's lecture.
His phone doesn't ring. It sits in his pocket, mute but with the volume set to the highest level --rightly so, his alarm clock's batteries had run out, and not because he was waiting for a call or a text. During a lull in conversation, he checks his phone three times. When Misaki asks him what time it is, he has to check it again.
Irritably, he thinks to himself, "I'm not missing you."
--
In the middle of the night, he wakes up, for once not pinned to the mattress and arching into calloused, careless hands. He doesn't feel suffocated, cornered, pushed to his limit.
Moreover, he can't hear his voice, smooth and low, whispering next to his ear, "Should I fuck you harder?"
When he gets to his first class, there are shadows under his eyes and a scowl on his face, and Misaki refrains from doing anything that might annoy him all day.
--
He lasts fifteen days before he calls him.
"It's not that I miss you," Keiichi begins, clipped and ill-tempered, "but I don't have classes tomorrow. I'm going to the usual place, and if you don't want me to drink a hole through your tab, I suggest you meet me there at seven."
Five shots of vodka and a close-call in the elevator later, Keiichi sits on the bed, naked, forehead pressed to Haruhiko's nape as he mutters, "I wish you were Akihiko," in a voice that is soft, fragile even.
His arms are locked around Haruhiko's waist, his chest pressed against his back, so he can feel it when his muscles tighten, as if he were preparing to throw him off.
And he continues, lips moving against Haruhiko's skin, "I wish you were Akihiko, just so I'd know why I love you as much as I do."
--
Will my true love ever be?
Why would I go on a search again
When I know what the end will be
What good is love when it keeps on hurting me?
For Ly-chan (dog_and_wolf), who is worth all the pine trees in the world.
I'm not missing you
I'm not going through the motions
Waiting and hoping you call me
I'm not missing you
The date skips in his head: It was the 8th, and now, it was the 20th.
Twelve days-- and Keiichi refuses to count the hours, minutes, seconds, because that was what desperate people did. He tries not to think about the fact that he was wearing the same shirt today, washed twice already, worn only since then. It doesn't even remotely smell like anything now, and even the bruises on his hips have faded.
He stares outside, refrains from noting the lack of screeching tires and sleek black ten-figure-expensive cars, and the bastardly men who drive them, and ends up missing half of the professor's lecture.
His phone doesn't ring. It sits in his pocket, mute but with the volume set to the highest level --rightly so, his alarm clock's batteries had run out, and not because he was waiting for a call or a text. During a lull in conversation, he checks his phone three times. When Misaki asks him what time it is, he has to check it again.
Irritably, he thinks to himself, "I'm not missing you."
--
In the middle of the night, he wakes up, for once not pinned to the mattress and arching into calloused, careless hands. He doesn't feel suffocated, cornered, pushed to his limit.
Moreover, he can't hear his voice, smooth and low, whispering next to his ear, "Should I fuck you harder?"
When he gets to his first class, there are shadows under his eyes and a scowl on his face, and Misaki refrains from doing anything that might annoy him all day.
--
He lasts fifteen days before he calls him.
"It's not that I miss you," Keiichi begins, clipped and ill-tempered, "but I don't have classes tomorrow. I'm going to the usual place, and if you don't want me to drink a hole through your tab, I suggest you meet me there at seven."
Five shots of vodka and a close-call in the elevator later, Keiichi sits on the bed, naked, forehead pressed to Haruhiko's nape as he mutters, "I wish you were Akihiko," in a voice that is soft, fragile even.
His arms are locked around Haruhiko's waist, his chest pressed against his back, so he can feel it when his muscles tighten, as if he were preparing to throw him off.
And he continues, lips moving against Haruhiko's skin, "I wish you were Akihiko, just so I'd know why I love you as much as I do."
--
Will my true love ever be?
Why would I go on a search again
When I know what the end will be
What good is love when it keeps on hurting me?