skin and bones
Title: skin and bones
Pairing/Characters: Masuda Takahisa x Ueda Tatsuya
Rating/Warnings: PG
Prompt:#74. Massu lost his smiles and on a journey to find them
Summary: He's battered and broken; a mere shell of what he used to be. All he has left to cling to is the music played by the man next door.
It's a slow song.
It winds and curves, tinkers and soars; it rises and falls and echoes and fades. It wraps around Massu like a lullaby, only it's not a lullaby, not really. It's just a song, played because it just was, because it just is. It's a song, nothing more and nothing less. It doesn't need a fancy title to whatever it is; it's just a song. A slow song.
Massu rests his head against the wall and wraps his arms around his knees. He sighs and closes his eyes, allowing the song to take him away. If only a mere song could do that, he thinks, and sighs again.
The song finishes, and there's a lingering feeling of loss in the air as Massu lets the rest of the world collapse back around him heavily. He feels empty when the song ends but he knows it has to; it always does. He opens his eyes and stands back up, making sure his bed is as neat as it was in the first place and by the time he's done it's like he wasn't there to begin with. Time to go back, he supposes.
He doesn't know why. He doesn't actually do all that much. He just sits and draws horrible things that no longer make any sense to him. They used to, once upon a time. They used to be full of life, full of love - just like him. Massu used to smile and laugh and live, but now he just sits and tries to grasp at the talent that she took with her when she left. Still, Massu tucks a sketchbook under his arm and a pencil behind his ear and makes his way out of his rundown apartment.
The stairs shake as he makes his way down them, but that's normal. The apartment block is old and rickety, and everything is falling apart around them. None of the residents really give a shit though; the rent is cheap and everyone keeps to themselves. There are no prying neighbours asking about their pasts... and Massu needs that. He needs time to himself, now. He needs... silence.
But in the silence comes the tinkering melody that changes day by day, and it's the only thing that Massu can cling to.
He sits in the park and watches a group of children try to manouvre a large red kite that is very quickly overpowering them, and wonders what their lives will be like once they're older. They're shrieking and running and laughing, happiness etched into their very existence as they tear across the park. He starts drawing - loose shapes and outlines; brief flicks of pencil on coarse paper. It's still as hypnotic as always, but there's no feeling to it. He's drawing shapes and forms and it's all very mechanical, not like it used to be.
He draws until the wind picks up and it's too cold to sit there any longer. His fingers are shaking and he finds that he longs for the closed walls of his room, so he folds his sketchbook shut and heads back home.
It begins to rain just as Massu reaches the apartment block. Even so, he quickly hides his sketchbook under his jacket and quickens his pace, running the last few metres until he's under shelter. He watches the rain from under the overhang, watching as it pounds against the pavement outside. It has its own little melody, he thinks to himself, as he shivers and turns around to head up the stairs.
He's fumbling around for his keys when the door next to him opens and a small man stumbles out of the room. Massu watches, wide-eyed, as the man mutters to himself and pushes his short black hair out of his face, his eyebrows knitted crossly as he glares at the doorframe. He's a blur of blues and blacks, and Massu doesn't know what to do or say, because this is the man who lives in the apartment next to him; this is the man who makes that beautiful music.
Massu forgets all about unlocking his own door when the man turns to leave and sees him standing there. The man's eyes are so piercing and intense; Massu feels himself rooted to the spot, unable to move even if he wanted to.
The other man nods to him and he nods back hesitantly.
Those piercing eyes haunt his dreams that night.
***
Massu doesn't see the other man for weeks, but he still hears him playing his piano. It's a different song today, but it still curls around him like a blanket; he sighs and buries his head in his hands, letting the music take him away. He doesn't care where.
He gets a letter one day. Massu never gets letters. His hands shake with curiosity as he picks it up but there's not much to it, not even a stamp. It's a single piece of paper with a simple sentence written on it, but it's enough to make Massu even more curious.
i hope you're having a good day.
--tatsuya
Massu knows who it's from, even if he doesn't recognise the name. There are only two people who have dared to speak to him in the years he's been here - Tegoshi, the little blonde-haired boy with the fake smile, and Kato, who was all kinds of boring and spoke in a dull monotone. Neither of them spoke to him after the first month.
There are other people on Massu's floor but he still knows - somehow - that it's him. That it's the man from next door with the deep eyes.
Massu stores the letter away, not knowing how to reply to it. The next day, a similar one appears.
what's your name?
--tatsuya
Massu takes this one with him when he goes to the park. He fingers the edges of it; it's been ripped out of a music notebook. The writing is coarse and messy, and he aches to straighten the lines; to smooth them again. Massu doesn't really know quite what to do. He hasn't really spoken to anyone since she had left him. Maybe that was why Kato and Tegoshi no longer spoke to him.
Massu keeps the note tucked in his sketchbook, and every so often he flips the pages back so he can peer at it again. Make sure it's still there. He really doesn't know how to answer. A name is a very personal thing, he thinks. It's who he is. It's his identity.
It's three in the morning and Massu's lying in bed, his gaze fixed on the sketchbook as he traces the lines of Tatsuya's name on his leg with a finger. Over and over and over. It's a gentle sort of name, Massu thinks.
He slips the note back under Tatsuya's door at four fifteen, a tiny little Massu written underneath Tatsuya's name in an unsteady hand. Massu can't sleep that night.
***
There's another note on his doorstep when he finally wakes up - it's almost noon - and he practically leaps for it.
massu, huh? mine's tatsuya.
I know, is all Massu writes back, and runs his fingers over Tatsuya's handwriting. Tatsuya writes quickly and lightly; there are no indents in the page from where he's pressed his pen down too hard. Massu's own writing is slow and considered; each word is carefully thought out before he writes them. Even then, he makes sure he's made no mistakes. He can already feel the difference between he and Tatsuya.
He slips the note under Tatsuya's door before he leaves to go to the park.
Massu's mind is not on the sketchbook with him, it's back in the apartment block on a little slip of paper. Today, he only spends an hour at the park before heading back - there's no-one here anyway. He ends up drawing a few flowers and a stray cat who was sunbathing on the wall opposite his bench; he's got the form all wrong and the angles of its back aren't right at all, and he just wants to scrap it.
He comes back to the sounds of the piano, and everything feels right again. He sighs as he falls through his door, throwing his sketchbook onto his desk and himself onto the bed. He lies there and watches the sun play across the ragged ceiling, listening to the sounds of the piano-- Tatsuya's piano.
He's heard this tune before, but it's somehow different today. Massu closes his eyes and lets it all wash over him - that's why he likes the music. It lets him forget everything and allows him to remember who he is. The music whispers to him that he's not this downtrodden artist who has lost everything; he's not dirt poor and he hasn't lost the will to live.
But then the music stops and reality crashes down in one cruel wave.
Massu sits up and runs a hand through his hair, wondering whether he should go grab something for lunch or look over that sketch again, but then there's a note slipping under his door and he jumps in surprise. Without thinking - without even thinking - he leaps up off the bed and reaches for the door.
"Tatsuya!" he yelps, his voice sticking in his throat at the unfamiliar name. Tatsuya turns abruptly, his hand on his own doorknob.
"O-Oh," he says, and laughs. "Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be home."
Massu doesn't answer, but it doesn't look like Tatsuya's expecting him to. He can't tear his eyes away from Tatsuya's, so dark yet bright. After a while, Tatsuya breaks the strange silence.
"I should go," he says, and Massu merely nods. "Massu."
And then he's gone, the echo of his voice in Massu's ears as the door closes behind him. Massu retreats into his own room, leaning back against the door and sliding to the ground, his head spinning ever so slightly.
i want to meet you again, the note says, and Massu takes a deep breath.
Me too, he writes back. But I can't tell you why. It sounds horrible but that's how it is, Massu thinks. He's never been a liar. He's been a lot of things, but never a liar. He waits until he hears Tatsuya leave to push the paper under his door because he's not brave enough to do it otherwise.
He waits and waits and waits and wonders why. Why does he want to see Tatsuya again? Why does he want to see Massu? Massu isn't a very interesting person, he thinks. He's made of the same things as everyone else, just with a different face. There's nothing all that different or special about him. He honestly doesn't understand why the other would want to meet.
He really, really can't understand why he finds himself feeling a little lighter at the thought, either.
***
The next note comes days later, when Massu is chewing slowly at his toast and flipping through his sketchbook. His phone is heavy with an unread message from his mother and one from an old friend but he ignores them both because he already knows what they're going to say.
It's been two years. He hasn't forgotten. It's all he can fucking think about, yet he knows everyone thinks he's forgotten. Like it'd be easy to forget.
He traces an old sketch he'd done years and years ago of a small dog with his fingers. It's not the prettiest thing ever but it has life, and colour, and for a moment Massu can see his old self reflected in the sharp lines of the dog's face.
With a loud cry, Massu flings the book into the wall, shouting again as it bashes against the wall and then the floor with a loud crash. He slides from his seat onto the floor and throws his phone for good measure, making sure the corner catches the door and there's an incredibly satisfying snapping noise as something breaks inside. There are tears and he doesn't know where they've come from but they're not going away, and so he finds himself sobbing on the floor of his apartment, clutching onto his own shirt and his hair and his knees, trying to comfort himself somehow.
Someone bashes down his door but he doesn't look up until that someone speaks. "Massu?" and it's Tatsuya; Tatsuya with those eyes that are now shining with concern.
Massu doesn't dignify that with an answer and attempts to wipe away his tears, but Tatsuya gets there faster. "Hey," is all Tatsuya says, and places a hand on Massu's knee. There's another hand on his shoulder and Massu looks up, feeling like a truck's hit him. All this emotion seems to come from nowhere and he's fucking exhausted, and he collapses into Tatsuya's body without a second thought.
Tatsuya doesn't seem to mind. He smells like oak and lemon, and his arms around Massu are ridiculously comforting. He's running his arms up and down Massu's back, and Massu knows there are going to be questions and answers would need to... happen.
But the questions never come.
It's raining again so they're sitting on the stairs, watching the rain fall down, down, down. They're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Tatsuya leaning his head against the wall, and the warmth from his body is nice, Massu thinks. It looks like Tatsuya is daydreaming; his gaze is far away from the pouring rain and the downtrodden man next to him. Massu wonders where he is.
He surprises himself by asking.
Tatsuya seems to be taken aback too, but his face smooths out into a gentle smile. Massu likes that smile. "Nowhere really," he answers. "But it would be nice if this rain stops soon. I have to go out later."
That doesn't really answer Massu's question at all but he gets it. "I like the rain," he says. His voice is hoarse from crying and it's a little embarrassing but he pushes on. "Keeps me sane. Keeps me human."
"You're not a werewolf, are you?" Tatsuya asks suddenly, getting entirely too close and peering up at Massu through his bangs.
"What? No," Massu answers, batting at Tatsuya's knees because he's too far inside his personal bubble. "Why would you think that?" he huffs. Werewolves indeed.
"Just asking," Tatsuya says simply, and leans back against the wall. "No harm in asking."
Massu doesn't answer. He likes the fact that Tatsuya doesn't expect one.
He never does read that note. It gets lost in all the commotion, and slides under his bed to be lost to the dust bunnies and old socks that have accumulated under there over time. Tatsuya says he can't remember what's written on it when Massu asks him much later, and quickly changes the subject. Massu never pushes it.
***
Tatsuya becomes this... constant in Massu's life. They speak about all kinds of things; about food, about songs, about the little ladybird Tatsuya had seen yesterday. He was intrigued because it was orange and not red. Massu still hadn't been inside Tatsuya's apartment but he thinks that's okay, maybe Tatsuya needs his space as much as Massu does. And Tatsuya gets that Massu needs his space; he gets that Massu needs to go and be by himself, sometimes for days on end. He's always waiting there on the steps of the apartment block to welcome him back.
Massu doesn't really go anywhere on these little journeys. He wanders and wanders and hopes that maybe he'll find something to cling to, something to make him feel alive. He visits his sister, who fusses over him and cooks him gyoza - which is always appreciated - but the trip turns sour when his mother becomes involved. She's always been pushy, even more so now that Massu's living alone and barely ever calls her. Tatsuya's told him to ring her a few times. He doesn't know why.
Tatsuya still plays his music. Sometimes Massu catches himself staring at Tatsuya's hands, wondering how such simple things could make such beautiful music. He asks, once, and Tatsuya just shrugs.
"The piano asks me to play it," he says simply. "I have to answer it."
But Massu catches this funny little smile on Tatsuya's lips before he turns away, and he wonders if he did that. Was he able to make Tatsuya smile like that? That's... sort of a nice feeling.
***
Massu's been drawing too many ladybirds lately.
***
"She died."
Tatsuya's sitting on Massu's floor when he says it. He has a sketchbook open in his lap and hundreds of others piled up next to him because he's been asking for weeks about wanting to look through them; Massu had always thought he was pulling his leg. No-one had really ever wanted to look through Massu's work before; no-one had ever cared.
Massu is starting to think that maybe Tatsuya cares.
And that's when it spills out, moving too fast for Massu to be able to catch it again. Tatsuya looks up, surprised.
"I'm sorry, what...?"
Massu slides down from his place on the bed so he can sit next to Tatsuya, their arms touching and their knees knocking together. It's kind of comforting this way.
Well. He started it. Might as well finish it, too.
"My girlfriend," Massu answers, and hears Tatsuya's steady breathing beside him; takes strength from it. Tatsuya is silent and that's what Massu needs. "She died. Two years ago. She died from cancer, y'know? I... yeah. I loved her so much. Thought I was gonna marry her. I never even thought that something could-- yeah. I just-- That's all. Just-- thought I should tell you."
He can't look at Tatsuya because he knows what he'll find on his face. It'll be the same emotion that he's seen on everyone's faces whenever they find out, and he can't handle that on Tatsuya. Fake sympathy; those 'I'm sorry' glances. They would dirty Tatsuya's pretty face.
Tatsuya is quiet a while. He doesn't move, or make a sound. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tatsuya's fingers start moving on the pages of Massu's sketchbook. It starts off with a whisper of a forefinger on the thick paper - one, two, three - and then his pinky, and then the rest all follows like a wave, gently tapping out a rhythm onto the book. Massu watches, fascinated, as Tatsuya continues, his left hand following and forming soft shapes as the right keeps on dancing.
"Come with me," Tatsuya whispers softly, and Massu's sketchbook falls to the floor as he stands, his fingers ghosting across Massu's wrist as he pulls him up from the floor with his mere words.
"Okay."
Tatsuya's fingers continue to play invisible music as he unlocks his apartment door and walks in, tossing the keys to the ground. Massu closes the door behind him and picks Tatsuya's keys up before scanning the room - it has the same layout as Massu's own room, but instead of a desk there's a beautiful old wooden piano standing proudly against the wall. Massu's wall, he thinks to himself. The piano isn't all that big, but it commands so much attention that it makes the whole room feel so much smaller; it's like the room was built around it.
"It's not your fault," Tatsuya whispers ever so quietly, and Massu feels something give inside.
Tatsuya's fingers are skimming across the lid of the piano, waiting for something. As he looks up, Massu realises. He's waiting for him.
Massu perches himself down on Tatsuya's unmade bed and Tatsuya nods to himself, opening the lid with a creak and sighing. His fingers caress the keys once before he starts to play - and that's when Massu feels everything peel away.
The music catches him once more, like it has done for months and months, but this time it's different. Right now, something has changed - what it is, Massu doesn't know, but he'll find out. Something makes the music feel lighter, makes the notes feel softer. Makes everything feel... bright.
This time, Massu doesn't want the music to take him away. He doesn't want it to surround him completely and leave him feeling empty when it leaves again. He doesn't want it to disappear into nothingness; doesn't want himself to disappear into that nothingness again.
And then he looks up and Tatsuya's playing, his fingers meandering across the old keys like they belong there. Like they're made for this, and only this. Tatsuya has this look on his face that Massu can't describe; it's not that there aren't words for it, it's just that none of them seemed appropriate. Serene, almost. Content. Beautiful.
Tatsuya finishes the song but Massu can still hear it in the lilt of Tatsuya's voice when he next speaks. "Sorry, I had to--"
"Answer it," Massu finishes, and Tatsuya laughs.
"Yeah."
For the first time, Massu smiles. For the first time in many years, Massu feels.
--the end--
Pairing/Characters: Masuda Takahisa x Ueda Tatsuya
Rating/Warnings: PG
Prompt:#74. Massu lost his smiles and on a journey to find them
Summary: He's battered and broken; a mere shell of what he used to be. All he has left to cling to is the music played by the man next door.
It's a slow song.
It winds and curves, tinkers and soars; it rises and falls and echoes and fades. It wraps around Massu like a lullaby, only it's not a lullaby, not really. It's just a song, played because it just was, because it just is. It's a song, nothing more and nothing less. It doesn't need a fancy title to whatever it is; it's just a song. A slow song.
Massu rests his head against the wall and wraps his arms around his knees. He sighs and closes his eyes, allowing the song to take him away. If only a mere song could do that, he thinks, and sighs again.
The song finishes, and there's a lingering feeling of loss in the air as Massu lets the rest of the world collapse back around him heavily. He feels empty when the song ends but he knows it has to; it always does. He opens his eyes and stands back up, making sure his bed is as neat as it was in the first place and by the time he's done it's like he wasn't there to begin with. Time to go back, he supposes.
He doesn't know why. He doesn't actually do all that much. He just sits and draws horrible things that no longer make any sense to him. They used to, once upon a time. They used to be full of life, full of love - just like him. Massu used to smile and laugh and live, but now he just sits and tries to grasp at the talent that she took with her when she left. Still, Massu tucks a sketchbook under his arm and a pencil behind his ear and makes his way out of his rundown apartment.
The stairs shake as he makes his way down them, but that's normal. The apartment block is old and rickety, and everything is falling apart around them. None of the residents really give a shit though; the rent is cheap and everyone keeps to themselves. There are no prying neighbours asking about their pasts... and Massu needs that. He needs time to himself, now. He needs... silence.
But in the silence comes the tinkering melody that changes day by day, and it's the only thing that Massu can cling to.
He sits in the park and watches a group of children try to manouvre a large red kite that is very quickly overpowering them, and wonders what their lives will be like once they're older. They're shrieking and running and laughing, happiness etched into their very existence as they tear across the park. He starts drawing - loose shapes and outlines; brief flicks of pencil on coarse paper. It's still as hypnotic as always, but there's no feeling to it. He's drawing shapes and forms and it's all very mechanical, not like it used to be.
He draws until the wind picks up and it's too cold to sit there any longer. His fingers are shaking and he finds that he longs for the closed walls of his room, so he folds his sketchbook shut and heads back home.
It begins to rain just as Massu reaches the apartment block. Even so, he quickly hides his sketchbook under his jacket and quickens his pace, running the last few metres until he's under shelter. He watches the rain from under the overhang, watching as it pounds against the pavement outside. It has its own little melody, he thinks to himself, as he shivers and turns around to head up the stairs.
He's fumbling around for his keys when the door next to him opens and a small man stumbles out of the room. Massu watches, wide-eyed, as the man mutters to himself and pushes his short black hair out of his face, his eyebrows knitted crossly as he glares at the doorframe. He's a blur of blues and blacks, and Massu doesn't know what to do or say, because this is the man who lives in the apartment next to him; this is the man who makes that beautiful music.
Massu forgets all about unlocking his own door when the man turns to leave and sees him standing there. The man's eyes are so piercing and intense; Massu feels himself rooted to the spot, unable to move even if he wanted to.
The other man nods to him and he nods back hesitantly.
Those piercing eyes haunt his dreams that night.
***
Massu doesn't see the other man for weeks, but he still hears him playing his piano. It's a different song today, but it still curls around him like a blanket; he sighs and buries his head in his hands, letting the music take him away. He doesn't care where.
He gets a letter one day. Massu never gets letters. His hands shake with curiosity as he picks it up but there's not much to it, not even a stamp. It's a single piece of paper with a simple sentence written on it, but it's enough to make Massu even more curious.
i hope you're having a good day.
--tatsuya
Massu knows who it's from, even if he doesn't recognise the name. There are only two people who have dared to speak to him in the years he's been here - Tegoshi, the little blonde-haired boy with the fake smile, and Kato, who was all kinds of boring and spoke in a dull monotone. Neither of them spoke to him after the first month.
There are other people on Massu's floor but he still knows - somehow - that it's him. That it's the man from next door with the deep eyes.
Massu stores the letter away, not knowing how to reply to it. The next day, a similar one appears.
what's your name?
--tatsuya
Massu takes this one with him when he goes to the park. He fingers the edges of it; it's been ripped out of a music notebook. The writing is coarse and messy, and he aches to straighten the lines; to smooth them again. Massu doesn't really know quite what to do. He hasn't really spoken to anyone since she had left him. Maybe that was why Kato and Tegoshi no longer spoke to him.
Massu keeps the note tucked in his sketchbook, and every so often he flips the pages back so he can peer at it again. Make sure it's still there. He really doesn't know how to answer. A name is a very personal thing, he thinks. It's who he is. It's his identity.
It's three in the morning and Massu's lying in bed, his gaze fixed on the sketchbook as he traces the lines of Tatsuya's name on his leg with a finger. Over and over and over. It's a gentle sort of name, Massu thinks.
He slips the note back under Tatsuya's door at four fifteen, a tiny little Massu written underneath Tatsuya's name in an unsteady hand. Massu can't sleep that night.
***
There's another note on his doorstep when he finally wakes up - it's almost noon - and he practically leaps for it.
massu, huh? mine's tatsuya.
I know, is all Massu writes back, and runs his fingers over Tatsuya's handwriting. Tatsuya writes quickly and lightly; there are no indents in the page from where he's pressed his pen down too hard. Massu's own writing is slow and considered; each word is carefully thought out before he writes them. Even then, he makes sure he's made no mistakes. He can already feel the difference between he and Tatsuya.
He slips the note under Tatsuya's door before he leaves to go to the park.
Massu's mind is not on the sketchbook with him, it's back in the apartment block on a little slip of paper. Today, he only spends an hour at the park before heading back - there's no-one here anyway. He ends up drawing a few flowers and a stray cat who was sunbathing on the wall opposite his bench; he's got the form all wrong and the angles of its back aren't right at all, and he just wants to scrap it.
He comes back to the sounds of the piano, and everything feels right again. He sighs as he falls through his door, throwing his sketchbook onto his desk and himself onto the bed. He lies there and watches the sun play across the ragged ceiling, listening to the sounds of the piano-- Tatsuya's piano.
He's heard this tune before, but it's somehow different today. Massu closes his eyes and lets it all wash over him - that's why he likes the music. It lets him forget everything and allows him to remember who he is. The music whispers to him that he's not this downtrodden artist who has lost everything; he's not dirt poor and he hasn't lost the will to live.
But then the music stops and reality crashes down in one cruel wave.
Massu sits up and runs a hand through his hair, wondering whether he should go grab something for lunch or look over that sketch again, but then there's a note slipping under his door and he jumps in surprise. Without thinking - without even thinking - he leaps up off the bed and reaches for the door.
"Tatsuya!" he yelps, his voice sticking in his throat at the unfamiliar name. Tatsuya turns abruptly, his hand on his own doorknob.
"O-Oh," he says, and laughs. "Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be home."
Massu doesn't answer, but it doesn't look like Tatsuya's expecting him to. He can't tear his eyes away from Tatsuya's, so dark yet bright. After a while, Tatsuya breaks the strange silence.
"I should go," he says, and Massu merely nods. "Massu."
And then he's gone, the echo of his voice in Massu's ears as the door closes behind him. Massu retreats into his own room, leaning back against the door and sliding to the ground, his head spinning ever so slightly.
i want to meet you again, the note says, and Massu takes a deep breath.
Me too, he writes back. But I can't tell you why. It sounds horrible but that's how it is, Massu thinks. He's never been a liar. He's been a lot of things, but never a liar. He waits until he hears Tatsuya leave to push the paper under his door because he's not brave enough to do it otherwise.
He waits and waits and waits and wonders why. Why does he want to see Tatsuya again? Why does he want to see Massu? Massu isn't a very interesting person, he thinks. He's made of the same things as everyone else, just with a different face. There's nothing all that different or special about him. He honestly doesn't understand why the other would want to meet.
He really, really can't understand why he finds himself feeling a little lighter at the thought, either.
***
The next note comes days later, when Massu is chewing slowly at his toast and flipping through his sketchbook. His phone is heavy with an unread message from his mother and one from an old friend but he ignores them both because he already knows what they're going to say.
It's been two years. He hasn't forgotten. It's all he can fucking think about, yet he knows everyone thinks he's forgotten. Like it'd be easy to forget.
He traces an old sketch he'd done years and years ago of a small dog with his fingers. It's not the prettiest thing ever but it has life, and colour, and for a moment Massu can see his old self reflected in the sharp lines of the dog's face.
With a loud cry, Massu flings the book into the wall, shouting again as it bashes against the wall and then the floor with a loud crash. He slides from his seat onto the floor and throws his phone for good measure, making sure the corner catches the door and there's an incredibly satisfying snapping noise as something breaks inside. There are tears and he doesn't know where they've come from but they're not going away, and so he finds himself sobbing on the floor of his apartment, clutching onto his own shirt and his hair and his knees, trying to comfort himself somehow.
Someone bashes down his door but he doesn't look up until that someone speaks. "Massu?" and it's Tatsuya; Tatsuya with those eyes that are now shining with concern.
Massu doesn't dignify that with an answer and attempts to wipe away his tears, but Tatsuya gets there faster. "Hey," is all Tatsuya says, and places a hand on Massu's knee. There's another hand on his shoulder and Massu looks up, feeling like a truck's hit him. All this emotion seems to come from nowhere and he's fucking exhausted, and he collapses into Tatsuya's body without a second thought.
Tatsuya doesn't seem to mind. He smells like oak and lemon, and his arms around Massu are ridiculously comforting. He's running his arms up and down Massu's back, and Massu knows there are going to be questions and answers would need to... happen.
But the questions never come.
It's raining again so they're sitting on the stairs, watching the rain fall down, down, down. They're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Tatsuya leaning his head against the wall, and the warmth from his body is nice, Massu thinks. It looks like Tatsuya is daydreaming; his gaze is far away from the pouring rain and the downtrodden man next to him. Massu wonders where he is.
He surprises himself by asking.
Tatsuya seems to be taken aback too, but his face smooths out into a gentle smile. Massu likes that smile. "Nowhere really," he answers. "But it would be nice if this rain stops soon. I have to go out later."
That doesn't really answer Massu's question at all but he gets it. "I like the rain," he says. His voice is hoarse from crying and it's a little embarrassing but he pushes on. "Keeps me sane. Keeps me human."
"You're not a werewolf, are you?" Tatsuya asks suddenly, getting entirely too close and peering up at Massu through his bangs.
"What? No," Massu answers, batting at Tatsuya's knees because he's too far inside his personal bubble. "Why would you think that?" he huffs. Werewolves indeed.
"Just asking," Tatsuya says simply, and leans back against the wall. "No harm in asking."
Massu doesn't answer. He likes the fact that Tatsuya doesn't expect one.
He never does read that note. It gets lost in all the commotion, and slides under his bed to be lost to the dust bunnies and old socks that have accumulated under there over time. Tatsuya says he can't remember what's written on it when Massu asks him much later, and quickly changes the subject. Massu never pushes it.
***
Tatsuya becomes this... constant in Massu's life. They speak about all kinds of things; about food, about songs, about the little ladybird Tatsuya had seen yesterday. He was intrigued because it was orange and not red. Massu still hadn't been inside Tatsuya's apartment but he thinks that's okay, maybe Tatsuya needs his space as much as Massu does. And Tatsuya gets that Massu needs his space; he gets that Massu needs to go and be by himself, sometimes for days on end. He's always waiting there on the steps of the apartment block to welcome him back.
Massu doesn't really go anywhere on these little journeys. He wanders and wanders and hopes that maybe he'll find something to cling to, something to make him feel alive. He visits his sister, who fusses over him and cooks him gyoza - which is always appreciated - but the trip turns sour when his mother becomes involved. She's always been pushy, even more so now that Massu's living alone and barely ever calls her. Tatsuya's told him to ring her a few times. He doesn't know why.
Tatsuya still plays his music. Sometimes Massu catches himself staring at Tatsuya's hands, wondering how such simple things could make such beautiful music. He asks, once, and Tatsuya just shrugs.
"The piano asks me to play it," he says simply. "I have to answer it."
But Massu catches this funny little smile on Tatsuya's lips before he turns away, and he wonders if he did that. Was he able to make Tatsuya smile like that? That's... sort of a nice feeling.
***
Massu's been drawing too many ladybirds lately.
***
"She died."
Tatsuya's sitting on Massu's floor when he says it. He has a sketchbook open in his lap and hundreds of others piled up next to him because he's been asking for weeks about wanting to look through them; Massu had always thought he was pulling his leg. No-one had really ever wanted to look through Massu's work before; no-one had ever cared.
Massu is starting to think that maybe Tatsuya cares.
And that's when it spills out, moving too fast for Massu to be able to catch it again. Tatsuya looks up, surprised.
"I'm sorry, what...?"
Massu slides down from his place on the bed so he can sit next to Tatsuya, their arms touching and their knees knocking together. It's kind of comforting this way.
Well. He started it. Might as well finish it, too.
"My girlfriend," Massu answers, and hears Tatsuya's steady breathing beside him; takes strength from it. Tatsuya is silent and that's what Massu needs. "She died. Two years ago. She died from cancer, y'know? I... yeah. I loved her so much. Thought I was gonna marry her. I never even thought that something could-- yeah. I just-- That's all. Just-- thought I should tell you."
He can't look at Tatsuya because he knows what he'll find on his face. It'll be the same emotion that he's seen on everyone's faces whenever they find out, and he can't handle that on Tatsuya. Fake sympathy; those 'I'm sorry' glances. They would dirty Tatsuya's pretty face.
Tatsuya is quiet a while. He doesn't move, or make a sound. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tatsuya's fingers start moving on the pages of Massu's sketchbook. It starts off with a whisper of a forefinger on the thick paper - one, two, three - and then his pinky, and then the rest all follows like a wave, gently tapping out a rhythm onto the book. Massu watches, fascinated, as Tatsuya continues, his left hand following and forming soft shapes as the right keeps on dancing.
"Come with me," Tatsuya whispers softly, and Massu's sketchbook falls to the floor as he stands, his fingers ghosting across Massu's wrist as he pulls him up from the floor with his mere words.
"Okay."
Tatsuya's fingers continue to play invisible music as he unlocks his apartment door and walks in, tossing the keys to the ground. Massu closes the door behind him and picks Tatsuya's keys up before scanning the room - it has the same layout as Massu's own room, but instead of a desk there's a beautiful old wooden piano standing proudly against the wall. Massu's wall, he thinks to himself. The piano isn't all that big, but it commands so much attention that it makes the whole room feel so much smaller; it's like the room was built around it.
"It's not your fault," Tatsuya whispers ever so quietly, and Massu feels something give inside.
Tatsuya's fingers are skimming across the lid of the piano, waiting for something. As he looks up, Massu realises. He's waiting for him.
Massu perches himself down on Tatsuya's unmade bed and Tatsuya nods to himself, opening the lid with a creak and sighing. His fingers caress the keys once before he starts to play - and that's when Massu feels everything peel away.
The music catches him once more, like it has done for months and months, but this time it's different. Right now, something has changed - what it is, Massu doesn't know, but he'll find out. Something makes the music feel lighter, makes the notes feel softer. Makes everything feel... bright.
This time, Massu doesn't want the music to take him away. He doesn't want it to surround him completely and leave him feeling empty when it leaves again. He doesn't want it to disappear into nothingness; doesn't want himself to disappear into that nothingness again.
And then he looks up and Tatsuya's playing, his fingers meandering across the old keys like they belong there. Like they're made for this, and only this. Tatsuya has this look on his face that Massu can't describe; it's not that there aren't words for it, it's just that none of them seemed appropriate. Serene, almost. Content. Beautiful.
Tatsuya finishes the song but Massu can still hear it in the lilt of Tatsuya's voice when he next speaks. "Sorry, I had to--"
"Answer it," Massu finishes, and Tatsuya laughs.
"Yeah."
For the first time, Massu smiles. For the first time in many years, Massu feels.
--the end--