#42 Theme 15: Every Second I’m in Romance - Sons of All Pussys; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Sink or Swim
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 015 Every Second I’m in Romance (Sons of All Pussys)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/ Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, angst
Comments: Thank you tingedwords for typing this up for me ;D
Sink or Swim
It felt strange, Tora decided.
Stooping over, he plopped an empty beer bottle into the wet sand and dropped down next to it. Beneath him the last waves of warm evening sea lapped at his feet and soaked into his jeans. It felt strange because no one was here; normally beaches were crowded this time of the year. But then he felt the coarse sand scraping at his feet, the jagged rocks and shells washing up beside him. It was dirty here, the sunshine not so bright even as the huge star sank beneath the horizon. It was the wrong side of the beach, abandoned for finer sand and bluer sea.
Looking around, elbows fitted casually on his knees, Tora wouldn't have it any other way.
He wanted to be alone. Cold beer unopened and eyes slipping shut to the rush of sea foam. He didn't want to think about home, didn't want to think about school, didn't want to think about whether or not his dad would notice the six-pack gone from the fridge. Instead he pulled off his shirt, throwing it uncaring to the sea and sand that soon weighed it down. He sat there soaking up the last of the sunset with pale skin that felt too thin, too sensitive, like he hadn't been outside in weeks. Struggling with the cap of his second beer, he finally got it open and took a deep swig, already starting to feel his thoughts hazing up on each other. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday.
One, two, three, four. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. The pounds piled up on each other and Tora wanted them gone. Ten this semester, twenty next. It was with a certain pride that he stepped on the scale and saw a different number, a smaller one, a headstrong determination with which he refused dinner and coughed up breakfast.
But he felt so tired.
He'd become obsessed, Tora knew, but he was doing what they wanted. Instead of yelling, chastising, forcing on him another bowl of rice, his parents quietly nodded and let him pass. His grades were average, future shaky at best, the least he could do was clean himself up, make himself attractive. Sinking down onto his back, Tora kicked off his shoes and wished their wet splash could drown out the thoughts in his head. But he knew they wouldn't, knew they couldn't.
It really was an obsession and every day a test. He couldn't stop thinking about his body when all around him, constantly, were better bodies, handsomer faces. In the changing rooms he eyed the other boys and wished he could be as naturally thin. Toned muscles, smooth legs. He wanted what he couldn't have. His genes were too fucked, Tora decided. Big here, bulky there, awkward in his own skin, stumbling on his own gait. Watching his classmates, lingering on the taut bellies and slender waistlines, his only redeeming feature he could think of were his eyes. Their color made him feel special, his features unique, even more so when he pierced his lip. Now he felt sick. Exhausted. Perfect limbs, perfect body parts. Face, eyes, hips, nose. Honey-skinned flashes whirled through his thoughts and he wanted it all to just stop. Glaring at the setting sun, he picked up one of his empty bottles and hurled it out to sea.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, feeling his eyes sting bitterly at the heavy splash and empty growl of his stomach. "Fuck you," he whispered in a much softer tone. "Fuck all of you, I don't care what you think..."
He was on his feet, bare toes sinking into sand now.
"I don't, I really don't..."
A lump caught in his throat, weakness he refused to acknowledge. With a frustrated sound he reached down to throw another bottle out to sea, too late realizing he'd picked up his own shoe as a second splash sounded. Swearing viciously, Tora kicked up the wet sand, not wanting to wade out to retrieve it, but knowing he would. They were a gift from his parents after all. A birthday gift, tiger-striped trainers he loved to hate, hated that he treasured them and still wore the weathered shoes even now when they didn't quite fit.
He couldn't help but care.
The salty water was cool on his skin, skin a little too heated from sun and alcohol, as he splashed away from shore. It had landed somewhere here, right? Before he knew it, Tora was standing chest-high in water, jeans completely soaked and heavy, ready to give up. The waves were harsh out here, violent and demanding and Tora found himself submerged in a tall wave more than once. He was drunk and out in the middle of the sea, alone. Tora knew he should know better but then his foot bumped something clunky on the sea floor and he didn't care anymore. This had to be it.
Gulping in a deep breath, he bent down to pick his shoe up and that's when it hit him. A wave of dizziness all but swallowed his vision, blanking it into spots of light and his knees wanted to give way.
So when another rough wave rolled his way, Tora fell.
He tipped over, sound muting, breath gasping. He couldn't tell where he was, whether sky was ocean or ocean was sky. All he knew was the exhaustion clinging to his limbs, telling him it would be alright to close his eyes and free himself to the ocean. The endless expanse of sea was simple. Deep, deep and blue-green. Here he wouldn't have to think of boys and their bodies and the ones that he wanted, the ones that kept him awake at night, the ones that assaulted his mornings, hips pressed to the mattress and fingers edging towards his pants. He was going nowhere in life and life was giving him nothing.
They were tired thoughts. Sick and tired like he'd felt every day for a long time.
But before his consciousness abandoned him completely, a hand hooked around his forearm, another twisting into the denim of his jeans, and he was being hauled back to the surface. Bare feet scraped up on the ocean floor as he was dragged, almost weightless in the water, back to shore.
---
Tora didn't know what he was supposed to say as he was tugged towards a gathering of wood and stone, left to his own devices while a sopping wet body started a fire in front of him. He was mostly certain a 'thank you' fell half-heartedly past his lips and into the silence but Tora couldn't be sure if that was just the crackling of burnt wood or not. In silence his eyes followed the meticulous movements of a tiny body. They were near a clump of forested trees he saw now, a short distance from the beach and hiding amongst them a tiny shed of sorts. It was of a decent size, maybe two rooms big Tora reckoned, with a door, a tin roof and a few windows. Attached to the front was even a makeshift porch salvaged and thatched together from planks and nails.
He stared.
An oversizes t-shirt was peeled off a lithe frame, squeezed of water, and hung on an arching porch beam to dry. Golden skin bared itself to hazel eyes, rippling with lean muscles, stretched across slim limbs that looked ready to drift away with the wind. Tora wondered how such a small body had been able to pull him out of the water. Then he looked down and realized for the first time just how sharp and angled his wrists had become, how his skin was papery thin, blue veins prominent underneath. He looked like he felt. Like he was dying from the inside out.
He glanced up from his thoughts and it was like the other boy could read them. Wide eyes stared back through thick, horn-rimmed glasses, frame held together by a stripe of fibered tape. They made his eyes look even larger. An almond shaped, solemn gaze. He said nothing, only crouched down opposite the fire, chin on his knees, slowly drying in the heat in much the same way Tora was doing with his legs sprawled out in front of him.
Tora saw an angel.
His eyes traveled up the soft ridges of rib and muscles and he wondered if he really was wasted. Drunk off two drinks on the emptiest of stomachs. It might have been the light, flickering and dancing in the night sky, playing tricks on him. Maybe he was dead. Whatever it was Tora swore he could see the fuzz of downy feathers, wet and matted to damp, shining skin. As it was, he marveled at the creature before him, delicate limbs and shining eyes beneath a mop of unruly hair. Petite and everything he was not. A golden angel with tawny wings.
It was his last coherent thought of the night. The smallest of revelations, the tiniest of discoveries. He was given nuts, fruits dried in the sun, and a cup of water carried over from the pitch dark shed and back into the firelight. Tora clutched the chipped mug and ate all he was given.
The nuts were stale, the dried fruit tough, but under watchful eyes they tasted fresh, sweet and renewing. He was given a sprig of mint to chew, newly broken leaves crushed by calloused fingers, and his mind felt cleansed under its magic. Smell and texture, taste and sound. He was watched until his jeans dried, given the time to watch until the searching gaze drifted away and he slipped into the shadows. Tora imagined he could hear the far away click of a tiny shed door closing before he was left alone with the dying fire and his thoughts.
---
In the space of three weeks Tora had skipped classes only twice. It was an improvement from his lunch, gym, and infirmary schedule he was used to bluffing his way through. Gravel and sand ground beneath a new pair of shoes as he stepped off the bus. Slinging his school bag over a shoulder, Tora headed off towards his favorite after-school hang out, his favorite part of the beach.
It wasn't so much that the area was abandoned, just desolate. As if the beach had lost a loved one, grieving to itself in the most hidden of corners so that no one else could see. So that everyone else could enjoy their time carefree. Slipping off his shoes and tucking his socks beneath the laces, Tora tracked barefoot to the small shed hidden in the trees.
He could tell when he was close now by the trail of pale shells he'd learned to pick out in the sand, shells he had helped gather and add to the pathway. Smooth ones fanned with lines and sometimes dotted with holes. His feet carried themselves to a pile of pebbles where he was barely greeted with a glance.
It was an unspoken agreement of sorts, the silent company of a bespectacled stranger. He never spoke, but to Tora that was comforting in its own nonjudgmental sort of way. He felt accepted by this angel - because Tora was certain he must be and angel, one with healing powers and warm hands that created anything from nothing and soft eyes that spoke everything Tora wanted to hear.
He had never asked his name. Tora wanted to know, some day, but for now he did all the talking, another unspoken agreement. He was eating again, healthy things he didn't spit down the drain later and he laughed more too. Tora told stories about the new friends he was making, the gossip and rumors, bad jokes, he even passed along the complaints about work his parents told him. It was strange, Tora decided, how different the world was when he paid attention. Before he couldn't hear the cheery 'good morning' and hollered 'okaeri' from his mother over the sound of the tiger in his belly growling, always hungry. Now he ate piled-high sandwiches, steamed mushrooms, and grilled pineapples handed over the fire on long sticks by his angel. Now he toted along a thermos of chilled tea as they headed to wherever the other boy wanted to journey to today.
Wandering, it was the simplest and most satisfying of joys and the other did quite a lot of it. He could have been scared, frightened away from the beach after nearly drowning in it, but Tora was unperturbed. Even though he hadn't seen the other shirtless in any sort of light since they first met, Tora felt he had his guardian angel with him here and that was enough.
Today seemed to be a sandcastle sort of day and so Tora helped in the almost ritualistic gathering of sand, filling a dirty plastic container full of water so the other could easily shape his towers of cavernous lumps, decorating the sides with faded candy wrappers and tricking a hermit crab into being king. It was when the tide came in and washed away their castles, Tora liked most. All the days stress seemed to be pulled back into the ocean, tumbled out to sea, and he could return home ready to begin another day brand new again. He never stayed past night fall.
Rubbing at the sand caked around his ankles, Tora watched his angel bend cautiously around the castle, gently carving in his own indentation and replacing the brown sand with a purple seashell. At some point their time together would end like all the days before it and they would part ways with the quietest 'goodnight' from between pierced lips. Tora was never allowed into the small shed, but he dreamed about it. Dreamed about a warm hand that fit so easily in his, pulling him up the porch and past the door. In his dreams Tora saw twine strings of nuts and shells hanging from the walls, a pile of blankets for a bed, a collection of feathers sewn and threaded amongst leaves on fallen branches set into the walls. In his dreams he saw the soft light of candles, flush skin and plump lips of his angel.
Resting his head on his knees, even for a moment, Tora wished for his name. Somehow it felt as if, if only he could hear the other speak, everything would be alright in the world. Complete. So many things had become better after he was saved by this angel. He felt better, healthier, happier each day. He even started to play guitar again, strapping it over his shoulders on the weekends and bringing it out here to play. He strummed melodies, old songs from his dad's records and things from the radio while the other watched, face tilted curiously much like he was doing now. Hovering over his sandcastle, the other peered over and into its walls at imagined patios and terraced gardens. His eyes were serious with concentration only broken by the hand that reached up to push his glasses back onto a sunburnt nose. And even as his eyes widened he tipped forward with the loss of balance.
Tora reached out instinctively, catching the tiny body draped in another over-sized t-shirt just before they both inevitably collapsed onto their latest sandy masterpiece. When Tora recovered from the shock, the other boy was half on top of him, glasses tumbled off somewhere revealing eyes that shone gorgeously in another setting sun. Without thinking Tora reached another hand out, this time to stroke his fingers down a pretty cheek.
His angel. His beautiful angel.
He didn't move a muscle when Tora's hand slid up his temple and buried itself into his hair. Didn't move an inch as Tora's lips melded against his, hands tugging closer, slow, soft and tender. But then he was pulling away, scrambling back and picking up his glasses while Tora tried to cling.
Today ended shorter, before the sun had even fully set, and Tora tromped past another shut door. Only this time he couldn't make out eyes peeking from behind threadbare curtains. This time Tora imagined a lock clicking firmly shut against him.
---
Tora didn't come back the next day. Or the next. Not even the weekend that came following that. In many ways he was scared, scared that he would be rejected and somehow told never to come back. Angels weren't for touching. You were only supposed to praise and watch them from afar. Part of Tora was afraid that if he went back he would be gone and somehow it hurt to think of that. It would be a loss either way, he was sure, and he didn't want to be the first to acknowledge that. The one good thing in his life and he had fucked it up too.
And it seemed that, without his angel, things relapsed into their old melancholy ways. It got hard to care again, difficult to pay attention. He was losing weight again. And finally, it rained. Thunder shook the window panes as his father threw down the magazines he'd hidden under the covers. They were pictures of pretty boys, men he wanted, men he wanted to be. None as pretty as his angel but...
But Tora didn't know what to say. Not to this man, his father, standing there with an unreadable expression on his face.
Tora ran.
When he finally realized where his feet were going he slipped. Slipped on the pearly while shells slick with rain that was only pounding them deep into the path. Stumbling, Tora managed to right his footing and make it all the way to a leaky porch, dripping wet as he knocked on the small shed door for the first time, terrified it would be empty, terrified he would be all alone again.
Tears of relief ached to fall from his eyes as the door was opened and he was just as easily let in, safe and dry from the storm outside. Familiar, warm hands helped him out of his clothes and under a threadbare blanket and it was then Tora let himself finally break down over all his incredibly human insecurities. Tears shook him. Expectations, stress, inadequacy. He hugged his angel close, felt all his years of pent up fear break him even more as golden arms wrapped over his shoulders and hugged his head to a steady, breathing chest.
In the sob-stuttered silence, rain pattered overhead.
"Tell me your name," Tora whispered, wishing his tears didn't make him feel so vulnerable even in the dark.
"Tell me your name." Make it all better.
"Hiroto," was his soft reply. A normal name, a human name. There was no magic to it and Tora finally saw it for the first time as he reached up for to touch, desperate kisses between flashes of lightning and booms of thunder that hurt deep in his chest.
He wasn't an angel. He was Hiroto, another boy like him, another runaway. He saw a run down shed and old can of nuts, tins of stolen food, fear, pain. There was bottled water, public showers. A new life, cheap frames with dirty lenses to blur the world and hide away the pain. And then there were wings. Gathered feathers, paper, plastic, glued to bony shoulders to hide old scars, to make believe he was something special. Tora felt the sorrow like the heavy thunder thrumming through him and connecting them both as he slid his hands under a too big shirt, grasped at the mangled skeletons of a contrived dream, a tainted fantasy. They fell apart in his hands, crumpled against a curved back slowly beading with sweat. and Tora didn't care anymore. He didn't care that his angel wasn't an angel and his hopes were all lies.
Somewhere between their slick limbs, as tongues tasted and fingers tugged and stretched, Tora told himself it was okay, he hadn't believed. He didn't believe in catching stars on treetops, the magic of sandcastles, or the beauty behind thick-set glasses. He didn't. He didn't.
But as the body moving against his fell apart and he sobbed out his own release, Tora knew he believed.
And he wondered what he was supposed to do now.
How was he supposed to live without his guardian angel?
"I'm sorry," Hiroto whispered as he pressed a kiss to Tora's sweaty forehead. "I'm not who you want me to be, I never was, but you are special."
Even if the time spent together was brief, the time apart blanketed in regret and doubt, they still understood each other. Understood the need to feel accepted, the fear of failure, of falling short of everyone's expectations.
Hiroto felt himself falling short all over again.
"You'll always be beautiful as you," he whispered, his own hurt dripping down in tears. And he wished the wings were real, the magic sparkling through his veins. He wished he were everything he knew Tora wanted him to be; a shining angel slipping down from his safe-haven in the sky just to help Tora be.
How did he know, Tora wondered. How could he say all these things when they were both so much alike. So broken and twisted by the people around them. It hurt. Tora didn't know what to think or say so he clung closer, buried his face into a sweet smelling neck and whispered back, "You're beautiful too, angel."
---
The next day the rain was gone and Hiroto with it.
The waves washing back and forth across the shore had cleaned up all the pelted remains of the storm, leaving smooth sand in its wake. Tora woke up alone, his clothes and blankets strewn on the floor of the shed, the soft hushing of the sea in his ear. In the light of day the small shelter was even less remarkable; cluttered with food wrappings, sand, and newspapers.
He went home because there was nothing else to do.
Like the calming of the storm, everything at home was fine. His father, in a rare display of understanding, chose to simply ignore the event. His mother worried over his whereabouts the previous night, but above all Tora was still their son.
Everything was back to being right again. But his angel was gone.
Tora didn't even know if he was real anymore. But then he recalled the small body stiffening as he called him angel - angel and not Hiroto - and Tora had to swallow the guilt as he held up broken wings between calloused fingers. Wings salvaged from a deserted shed and kept safe in his closet. Wings that reminded him to hope, to believe that one day he'd find him, bump into him on the street.
One day.
One day he'd be able to say, "You're more than beautiful, Hiroto."
A/N:
AHEM. It's been a while huh? And I disappeared too!
Sadly this was written a month or two ago… Here's to hoping for more?
You have tingedwords to thank for typing this up for me and making me post. There was a letter too that had a bit of this story in it, Pon dropping his glasses off at a diner to be trashed and Tora finding a little girl wearing them. Anyway... Comments = ♥
This was inspired by this interview about Tora's childhood.
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 015 Every Second I’m in Romance (Sons of All Pussys)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/ Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, angst
Comments: Thank you tingedwords for typing this up for me ;D
Sink or Swim
It felt strange, Tora decided.
Stooping over, he plopped an empty beer bottle into the wet sand and dropped down next to it. Beneath him the last waves of warm evening sea lapped at his feet and soaked into his jeans. It felt strange because no one was here; normally beaches were crowded this time of the year. But then he felt the coarse sand scraping at his feet, the jagged rocks and shells washing up beside him. It was dirty here, the sunshine not so bright even as the huge star sank beneath the horizon. It was the wrong side of the beach, abandoned for finer sand and bluer sea.
Looking around, elbows fitted casually on his knees, Tora wouldn't have it any other way.
He wanted to be alone. Cold beer unopened and eyes slipping shut to the rush of sea foam. He didn't want to think about home, didn't want to think about school, didn't want to think about whether or not his dad would notice the six-pack gone from the fridge. Instead he pulled off his shirt, throwing it uncaring to the sea and sand that soon weighed it down. He sat there soaking up the last of the sunset with pale skin that felt too thin, too sensitive, like he hadn't been outside in weeks. Struggling with the cap of his second beer, he finally got it open and took a deep swig, already starting to feel his thoughts hazing up on each other. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday.
One, two, three, four. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. The pounds piled up on each other and Tora wanted them gone. Ten this semester, twenty next. It was with a certain pride that he stepped on the scale and saw a different number, a smaller one, a headstrong determination with which he refused dinner and coughed up breakfast.
But he felt so tired.
He'd become obsessed, Tora knew, but he was doing what they wanted. Instead of yelling, chastising, forcing on him another bowl of rice, his parents quietly nodded and let him pass. His grades were average, future shaky at best, the least he could do was clean himself up, make himself attractive. Sinking down onto his back, Tora kicked off his shoes and wished their wet splash could drown out the thoughts in his head. But he knew they wouldn't, knew they couldn't.
It really was an obsession and every day a test. He couldn't stop thinking about his body when all around him, constantly, were better bodies, handsomer faces. In the changing rooms he eyed the other boys and wished he could be as naturally thin. Toned muscles, smooth legs. He wanted what he couldn't have. His genes were too fucked, Tora decided. Big here, bulky there, awkward in his own skin, stumbling on his own gait. Watching his classmates, lingering on the taut bellies and slender waistlines, his only redeeming feature he could think of were his eyes. Their color made him feel special, his features unique, even more so when he pierced his lip. Now he felt sick. Exhausted. Perfect limbs, perfect body parts. Face, eyes, hips, nose. Honey-skinned flashes whirled through his thoughts and he wanted it all to just stop. Glaring at the setting sun, he picked up one of his empty bottles and hurled it out to sea.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, feeling his eyes sting bitterly at the heavy splash and empty growl of his stomach. "Fuck you," he whispered in a much softer tone. "Fuck all of you, I don't care what you think..."
He was on his feet, bare toes sinking into sand now.
"I don't, I really don't..."
A lump caught in his throat, weakness he refused to acknowledge. With a frustrated sound he reached down to throw another bottle out to sea, too late realizing he'd picked up his own shoe as a second splash sounded. Swearing viciously, Tora kicked up the wet sand, not wanting to wade out to retrieve it, but knowing he would. They were a gift from his parents after all. A birthday gift, tiger-striped trainers he loved to hate, hated that he treasured them and still wore the weathered shoes even now when they didn't quite fit.
He couldn't help but care.
The salty water was cool on his skin, skin a little too heated from sun and alcohol, as he splashed away from shore. It had landed somewhere here, right? Before he knew it, Tora was standing chest-high in water, jeans completely soaked and heavy, ready to give up. The waves were harsh out here, violent and demanding and Tora found himself submerged in a tall wave more than once. He was drunk and out in the middle of the sea, alone. Tora knew he should know better but then his foot bumped something clunky on the sea floor and he didn't care anymore. This had to be it.
Gulping in a deep breath, he bent down to pick his shoe up and that's when it hit him. A wave of dizziness all but swallowed his vision, blanking it into spots of light and his knees wanted to give way.
So when another rough wave rolled his way, Tora fell.
He tipped over, sound muting, breath gasping. He couldn't tell where he was, whether sky was ocean or ocean was sky. All he knew was the exhaustion clinging to his limbs, telling him it would be alright to close his eyes and free himself to the ocean. The endless expanse of sea was simple. Deep, deep and blue-green. Here he wouldn't have to think of boys and their bodies and the ones that he wanted, the ones that kept him awake at night, the ones that assaulted his mornings, hips pressed to the mattress and fingers edging towards his pants. He was going nowhere in life and life was giving him nothing.
They were tired thoughts. Sick and tired like he'd felt every day for a long time.
But before his consciousness abandoned him completely, a hand hooked around his forearm, another twisting into the denim of his jeans, and he was being hauled back to the surface. Bare feet scraped up on the ocean floor as he was dragged, almost weightless in the water, back to shore.
---
Tora didn't know what he was supposed to say as he was tugged towards a gathering of wood and stone, left to his own devices while a sopping wet body started a fire in front of him. He was mostly certain a 'thank you' fell half-heartedly past his lips and into the silence but Tora couldn't be sure if that was just the crackling of burnt wood or not. In silence his eyes followed the meticulous movements of a tiny body. They were near a clump of forested trees he saw now, a short distance from the beach and hiding amongst them a tiny shed of sorts. It was of a decent size, maybe two rooms big Tora reckoned, with a door, a tin roof and a few windows. Attached to the front was even a makeshift porch salvaged and thatched together from planks and nails.
He stared.
An oversizes t-shirt was peeled off a lithe frame, squeezed of water, and hung on an arching porch beam to dry. Golden skin bared itself to hazel eyes, rippling with lean muscles, stretched across slim limbs that looked ready to drift away with the wind. Tora wondered how such a small body had been able to pull him out of the water. Then he looked down and realized for the first time just how sharp and angled his wrists had become, how his skin was papery thin, blue veins prominent underneath. He looked like he felt. Like he was dying from the inside out.
He glanced up from his thoughts and it was like the other boy could read them. Wide eyes stared back through thick, horn-rimmed glasses, frame held together by a stripe of fibered tape. They made his eyes look even larger. An almond shaped, solemn gaze. He said nothing, only crouched down opposite the fire, chin on his knees, slowly drying in the heat in much the same way Tora was doing with his legs sprawled out in front of him.
Tora saw an angel.
His eyes traveled up the soft ridges of rib and muscles and he wondered if he really was wasted. Drunk off two drinks on the emptiest of stomachs. It might have been the light, flickering and dancing in the night sky, playing tricks on him. Maybe he was dead. Whatever it was Tora swore he could see the fuzz of downy feathers, wet and matted to damp, shining skin. As it was, he marveled at the creature before him, delicate limbs and shining eyes beneath a mop of unruly hair. Petite and everything he was not. A golden angel with tawny wings.
It was his last coherent thought of the night. The smallest of revelations, the tiniest of discoveries. He was given nuts, fruits dried in the sun, and a cup of water carried over from the pitch dark shed and back into the firelight. Tora clutched the chipped mug and ate all he was given.
The nuts were stale, the dried fruit tough, but under watchful eyes they tasted fresh, sweet and renewing. He was given a sprig of mint to chew, newly broken leaves crushed by calloused fingers, and his mind felt cleansed under its magic. Smell and texture, taste and sound. He was watched until his jeans dried, given the time to watch until the searching gaze drifted away and he slipped into the shadows. Tora imagined he could hear the far away click of a tiny shed door closing before he was left alone with the dying fire and his thoughts.
---
In the space of three weeks Tora had skipped classes only twice. It was an improvement from his lunch, gym, and infirmary schedule he was used to bluffing his way through. Gravel and sand ground beneath a new pair of shoes as he stepped off the bus. Slinging his school bag over a shoulder, Tora headed off towards his favorite after-school hang out, his favorite part of the beach.
It wasn't so much that the area was abandoned, just desolate. As if the beach had lost a loved one, grieving to itself in the most hidden of corners so that no one else could see. So that everyone else could enjoy their time carefree. Slipping off his shoes and tucking his socks beneath the laces, Tora tracked barefoot to the small shed hidden in the trees.
He could tell when he was close now by the trail of pale shells he'd learned to pick out in the sand, shells he had helped gather and add to the pathway. Smooth ones fanned with lines and sometimes dotted with holes. His feet carried themselves to a pile of pebbles where he was barely greeted with a glance.
It was an unspoken agreement of sorts, the silent company of a bespectacled stranger. He never spoke, but to Tora that was comforting in its own nonjudgmental sort of way. He felt accepted by this angel - because Tora was certain he must be and angel, one with healing powers and warm hands that created anything from nothing and soft eyes that spoke everything Tora wanted to hear.
He had never asked his name. Tora wanted to know, some day, but for now he did all the talking, another unspoken agreement. He was eating again, healthy things he didn't spit down the drain later and he laughed more too. Tora told stories about the new friends he was making, the gossip and rumors, bad jokes, he even passed along the complaints about work his parents told him. It was strange, Tora decided, how different the world was when he paid attention. Before he couldn't hear the cheery 'good morning' and hollered 'okaeri' from his mother over the sound of the tiger in his belly growling, always hungry. Now he ate piled-high sandwiches, steamed mushrooms, and grilled pineapples handed over the fire on long sticks by his angel. Now he toted along a thermos of chilled tea as they headed to wherever the other boy wanted to journey to today.
Wandering, it was the simplest and most satisfying of joys and the other did quite a lot of it. He could have been scared, frightened away from the beach after nearly drowning in it, but Tora was unperturbed. Even though he hadn't seen the other shirtless in any sort of light since they first met, Tora felt he had his guardian angel with him here and that was enough.
Today seemed to be a sandcastle sort of day and so Tora helped in the almost ritualistic gathering of sand, filling a dirty plastic container full of water so the other could easily shape his towers of cavernous lumps, decorating the sides with faded candy wrappers and tricking a hermit crab into being king. It was when the tide came in and washed away their castles, Tora liked most. All the days stress seemed to be pulled back into the ocean, tumbled out to sea, and he could return home ready to begin another day brand new again. He never stayed past night fall.
Rubbing at the sand caked around his ankles, Tora watched his angel bend cautiously around the castle, gently carving in his own indentation and replacing the brown sand with a purple seashell. At some point their time together would end like all the days before it and they would part ways with the quietest 'goodnight' from between pierced lips. Tora was never allowed into the small shed, but he dreamed about it. Dreamed about a warm hand that fit so easily in his, pulling him up the porch and past the door. In his dreams Tora saw twine strings of nuts and shells hanging from the walls, a pile of blankets for a bed, a collection of feathers sewn and threaded amongst leaves on fallen branches set into the walls. In his dreams he saw the soft light of candles, flush skin and plump lips of his angel.
Resting his head on his knees, even for a moment, Tora wished for his name. Somehow it felt as if, if only he could hear the other speak, everything would be alright in the world. Complete. So many things had become better after he was saved by this angel. He felt better, healthier, happier each day. He even started to play guitar again, strapping it over his shoulders on the weekends and bringing it out here to play. He strummed melodies, old songs from his dad's records and things from the radio while the other watched, face tilted curiously much like he was doing now. Hovering over his sandcastle, the other peered over and into its walls at imagined patios and terraced gardens. His eyes were serious with concentration only broken by the hand that reached up to push his glasses back onto a sunburnt nose. And even as his eyes widened he tipped forward with the loss of balance.
Tora reached out instinctively, catching the tiny body draped in another over-sized t-shirt just before they both inevitably collapsed onto their latest sandy masterpiece. When Tora recovered from the shock, the other boy was half on top of him, glasses tumbled off somewhere revealing eyes that shone gorgeously in another setting sun. Without thinking Tora reached another hand out, this time to stroke his fingers down a pretty cheek.
His angel. His beautiful angel.
He didn't move a muscle when Tora's hand slid up his temple and buried itself into his hair. Didn't move an inch as Tora's lips melded against his, hands tugging closer, slow, soft and tender. But then he was pulling away, scrambling back and picking up his glasses while Tora tried to cling.
Today ended shorter, before the sun had even fully set, and Tora tromped past another shut door. Only this time he couldn't make out eyes peeking from behind threadbare curtains. This time Tora imagined a lock clicking firmly shut against him.
---
Tora didn't come back the next day. Or the next. Not even the weekend that came following that. In many ways he was scared, scared that he would be rejected and somehow told never to come back. Angels weren't for touching. You were only supposed to praise and watch them from afar. Part of Tora was afraid that if he went back he would be gone and somehow it hurt to think of that. It would be a loss either way, he was sure, and he didn't want to be the first to acknowledge that. The one good thing in his life and he had fucked it up too.
And it seemed that, without his angel, things relapsed into their old melancholy ways. It got hard to care again, difficult to pay attention. He was losing weight again. And finally, it rained. Thunder shook the window panes as his father threw down the magazines he'd hidden under the covers. They were pictures of pretty boys, men he wanted, men he wanted to be. None as pretty as his angel but...
But Tora didn't know what to say. Not to this man, his father, standing there with an unreadable expression on his face.
Tora ran.
When he finally realized where his feet were going he slipped. Slipped on the pearly while shells slick with rain that was only pounding them deep into the path. Stumbling, Tora managed to right his footing and make it all the way to a leaky porch, dripping wet as he knocked on the small shed door for the first time, terrified it would be empty, terrified he would be all alone again.
Tears of relief ached to fall from his eyes as the door was opened and he was just as easily let in, safe and dry from the storm outside. Familiar, warm hands helped him out of his clothes and under a threadbare blanket and it was then Tora let himself finally break down over all his incredibly human insecurities. Tears shook him. Expectations, stress, inadequacy. He hugged his angel close, felt all his years of pent up fear break him even more as golden arms wrapped over his shoulders and hugged his head to a steady, breathing chest.
In the sob-stuttered silence, rain pattered overhead.
"Tell me your name," Tora whispered, wishing his tears didn't make him feel so vulnerable even in the dark.
"Tell me your name." Make it all better.
"Hiroto," was his soft reply. A normal name, a human name. There was no magic to it and Tora finally saw it for the first time as he reached up for to touch, desperate kisses between flashes of lightning and booms of thunder that hurt deep in his chest.
He wasn't an angel. He was Hiroto, another boy like him, another runaway. He saw a run down shed and old can of nuts, tins of stolen food, fear, pain. There was bottled water, public showers. A new life, cheap frames with dirty lenses to blur the world and hide away the pain. And then there were wings. Gathered feathers, paper, plastic, glued to bony shoulders to hide old scars, to make believe he was something special. Tora felt the sorrow like the heavy thunder thrumming through him and connecting them both as he slid his hands under a too big shirt, grasped at the mangled skeletons of a contrived dream, a tainted fantasy. They fell apart in his hands, crumpled against a curved back slowly beading with sweat. and Tora didn't care anymore. He didn't care that his angel wasn't an angel and his hopes were all lies.
Somewhere between their slick limbs, as tongues tasted and fingers tugged and stretched, Tora told himself it was okay, he hadn't believed. He didn't believe in catching stars on treetops, the magic of sandcastles, or the beauty behind thick-set glasses. He didn't. He didn't.
But as the body moving against his fell apart and he sobbed out his own release, Tora knew he believed.
And he wondered what he was supposed to do now.
How was he supposed to live without his guardian angel?
"I'm sorry," Hiroto whispered as he pressed a kiss to Tora's sweaty forehead. "I'm not who you want me to be, I never was, but you are special."
Even if the time spent together was brief, the time apart blanketed in regret and doubt, they still understood each other. Understood the need to feel accepted, the fear of failure, of falling short of everyone's expectations.
Hiroto felt himself falling short all over again.
"You'll always be beautiful as you," he whispered, his own hurt dripping down in tears. And he wished the wings were real, the magic sparkling through his veins. He wished he were everything he knew Tora wanted him to be; a shining angel slipping down from his safe-haven in the sky just to help Tora be.
How did he know, Tora wondered. How could he say all these things when they were both so much alike. So broken and twisted by the people around them. It hurt. Tora didn't know what to think or say so he clung closer, buried his face into a sweet smelling neck and whispered back, "You're beautiful too, angel."
---
The next day the rain was gone and Hiroto with it.
The waves washing back and forth across the shore had cleaned up all the pelted remains of the storm, leaving smooth sand in its wake. Tora woke up alone, his clothes and blankets strewn on the floor of the shed, the soft hushing of the sea in his ear. In the light of day the small shelter was even less remarkable; cluttered with food wrappings, sand, and newspapers.
He went home because there was nothing else to do.
Like the calming of the storm, everything at home was fine. His father, in a rare display of understanding, chose to simply ignore the event. His mother worried over his whereabouts the previous night, but above all Tora was still their son.
Everything was back to being right again. But his angel was gone.
Tora didn't even know if he was real anymore. But then he recalled the small body stiffening as he called him angel - angel and not Hiroto - and Tora had to swallow the guilt as he held up broken wings between calloused fingers. Wings salvaged from a deserted shed and kept safe in his closet. Wings that reminded him to hope, to believe that one day he'd find him, bump into him on the street.
One day.
One day he'd be able to say, "You're more than beautiful, Hiroto."
A/N:
AHEM. It's been a while huh? And I disappeared too!
Sadly this was written a month or two ago… Here's to hoping for more?
You have tingedwords to thank for typing this up for me and making me post. There was a letter too that had a bit of this story in it, Pon dropping his glasses off at a diner to be trashed and Tora finding a little girl wearing them. Anyway... Comments = ♥
This was inspired by this interview about Tora's childhood.
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