what slips beneath the cracks
Title: what slips beneath the cracks
Pairing/Group: Koyama/Shige (platonic), Ryo/Massu, Tegoshi/Yamashita
Rating: PG-13
Words: 5,900
Warnings: AU, different social constructions
Summary: "It feels... normal. Which is a sobering thought, one that follows Koyama to bed as he lies awake. He wonders when he'll stop thinking that it's 'normal', and just take it for granted. He wonders if he ever will."
Notes: Team Glass Ceiling: Written for je-devilorangel 2011 with rockthecliche. Theme color: grey. It was a bit rocky after we lost our third, but we found our way to this and ended up with something to be proud of. Thanks, Joce. <3 Thanks as well to nanyakanya for being with us in the beginning, and in the end as well. :D
******
Koyama hates it, this tension between himself and Shige when they're out. It takes only a few minutes for Shige's Black nature to show starkly against Koyama's White, so they are always moving. These days there are no insults hurled, but the condescending, judging looks say plenty, and while Koyama can mostly overlook those, he's very in tune with how quickly they turn Shige's sensitive moods dark.
Not for the first time, he wishes he could take the younger man home with him, away from prying eyes where they could just relax and be themselves. Where they could talk a hundred miles a minute about everything under the sun, tease each other endlessly, and just be. But neighbors talk, and in the end Shige couldn't bear the disapproving looks every time they passed someone in Koyama's building's narrow halls, and, to be fair, Koyama didn't much like dealing with them even after Shige was gone.
Tonight they ride in silence, swaying side by side in the nearly empty train. Koyama thinks they probably both look Black right now, and that's fine with him. Their early lunch had gone all wrong, some Black making a snide remark about Shige's low standards under her breath, knocking hard into Koyama's shoulder as she passed by. Only Koyama's hand over Shige's had stopped the younger man from retorting in anger. It is always surprising to Koyama that the two of them have made it this far -- years of deep friendship under their belt even as they fight prejudice. But that's exactly why Koyama thinks it's worth fighting for. If they've managed to make it this far, it should be forever.
He'll do anything to keep it that way. That's why they're on the edges of the town, heading toward a place he's only heard of through word-of-mouth, Shige's mood finally rising enough for the man to start bitching.
"Where are you taking me? I don't know why we're wasting our time on a train to no where," he says, but his eyes flick around to the few passengers nervously.
Koyama's lips quirk up just the tiniest bit. "Don't worry, Shige. Just trust me."
The awkward tension is radiating from Shige’s frame in almost-palpable waves as they get off the train, coming face-to-face with a quiet, quaint town on the outskirts of the Tokyo suburbs. They keep moving to avoid bystanders’ eyes, walking briskly towards what Koyama assumes to be the town’s civic building. There’s a car waiting there, just like Koyama had been promised, but Shige is more than wary about getting into random cars in the middle of no where. He stares at Koyama as the taller of the two gestures at him to get in.
“Are you really sure about this?” Shige asks, shuffling awkwardly in place.
“Shige,” Koyama begins, opening the car door for him. “Trust me.”
And without another word, Shige climbs into the car. Koyama gets in after him, and the car takes off.
The scenery is a lot like what Koyama expected; lots of trees, a worn and bumpy road, the occasional farmhouse and, most important of all, a noticeable lack of people. Koyama had it on really good word that this inn would be perfect for what he was looking for in a place where he and Shige could just be; he knows he has to ease Shige into the idea, but it would be worth the effort.
The car pulls into the inn, fashioned from what seems to be the remnants of an old shinden-zukuri estate, fixed up and a little remodeled. They get out of the car and look around, taking in the details of the garden and the open space; there’s not much to see clearly in the onset of night, but Koyama can feel the serenity of the space calming him, making him smile. He turns and waits for Shige, who’s getting his overnight bag from the driver. Shige sheepishly thanks the driver when he’s wished a good stay and shuffles to Koyama’s side.
“I think the lobby is this way,” Koyama says, leading Shige in the direction the ‘lobby’ arrow is pointing towards.
Shige stays uncharacteristically quiet throughout check-in and the trek to their room, off in one of the corners of the inn. The elderly innkeeper talks their ear off, full of compliments on everything and anything -- Koyama’s hair, Shige’s tasteful vest, what nice boys they look like -- and finally, when they reach their room, the innkeeper smiles brightly, her White personality bubbly and warm, opening the door for them and ushering them in. She tells them -- both -- to ask if they need anything, anything at all, and leaves shortly after.
Koyama lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding once the door slides shut.
Shige tosses his bag onto one of the beds and sinks onto it, bouncing a little as the mattress offers resistance. “So,” he starts, fingers smoothing over the sheets. “What...do we do now?”
“Let’s go for a walk!” Koyama suggests. “We might not be able to see the garden all that well, but the air out here is fresh.” His stomach chooses that moment to growl. “...and we can find food, too.”
Shige offers a smile, however hesitant it looked, for the first time since their night began. “All right. If you get any skinnier, you’d disappear.”
The inn isn’t so big that they get lost, and they’re on their second lap around when they bump into the same inn-keeper from their check-in. She claps her hands in delight, beaming a smile bright enough to make up for Shige’s lack of enthusiasm. “I was just looking for you two!”
It’s hard not to be sucked in by the White’s cheeriness, and she joins them on their walk around the inn. She’s just like how a White should be -- full of cheer and optimism especially in the face of adversity. As they walk, Koyama notices Shige relaxing a little, probably due to the lady’s constant attention on him. She smiles at him with kind eyes, laughing at some of the off-kilter jokes Shige makes and Koyama wills himself to stay quiet. The last thing he wants to do is to distract either of them, not when Shige’s finally looking like he’s enjoying himself.
They eat dinner in their room. There’s a small dining hall open for the guests to use, but Koyama thinks it might be a little too much for the first time. He talks Shige’s ear off about anything and everything, though, like work and his nephews and random musings from the day. A lot of what Koyama goes on about is rather inconsequential, but, for whatever reason, it manages to lower Shige’s defenses just enough. Koyama can tell Shige’s still a little tense about the overall situation at hand, and that’s okay. Baby steps.
Koyama gets shushed a few times throughout the night for laughing too loud as they’re wrestling for control of the television remote. This time, he merely answers back with a shove, sending Shige off the bed and Koyama into a fresh wave of giggles anyway. It feels... normal. Which is a sobering thought, one that follows Koyama to bed as he lies awake, listening to the music coming from Shige's earphones, tinny notes he can't really make out. He wonders when he'll stop thinking that it's 'normal', and just take it for granted. He wonders if he ever will.
******
The train steadily chugs along, taking them to a place deep into the woods; Massu sneaks a glance at Ryo and, not for the first time, wonders what the other man is thinking. He wonders if Ryo will ever let himself relax when they’re seen together in public, even when they’re merely sitting together on a train, neither making any effort to talk. Heck, he wonders if Ryo will ever let himself relax even when they’re in the middle of no where. Massu thought by taking Ryo out of the crowded streets of Tokyo, they would be able to feel a little freer, but the two times they came before didn’t exactly go as Massu had planned. He should have seen it coming. Ryo loves the night and Tokyo’s nightlife -- how could he possibly enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside?
These years of friendship with Ryo didn’t go by without their rough moments, yet despite the nervousness, stress, and anxiety that come with people not approving, Massu keeps holding on.
He doesn’t think he’s at all unlike Ryo, really, even though Ryo is the living definition of a Black personality; in fact, Massu suspects the only thing that truly sets them apart from each other is merely his own sunny disposition and outlook on life. He couldn’t be sure, obviously, as he doesn’t really understand the workings of what makes people people, but he’s trying, at any rate. For what benefit...
He sneaks in a look at Ryo, head bouncing lightly against the window of the train as he sleeps. He’s not too sure what the benefit is yet -- or if there even is one -- but he’s willing to wait and see.
The question is whether or not he’s got much patience left.
“Why are we back here again?” Ryo asks as they get off the train. It’s getting dark now, and the station is lit up by lamp posts, one of them flickering ominously and looking like it’s in need of some basic maintenance. Ryo calls it creepy; Massu thinks it’s a little charming.
“Because,” Massu starts, taking off in the direction of the town square, trusting Ryo to follow. “You said if my team won their swim meet, I could decide what we do this weekend.”
“I never have would made that promise.” Ryo frowns.
“You did.” In truth, Ryo had been slightly inebriated at the time so it probably shouldn’t count, but Massu wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Couldn’t I have just taken you out to eat or something?” Ryo mutters, readjusting his hat.
Massu doesn’t say anything for a little bit; they simply walk side-by-side to the spot where the car will come and take them to the inn, and it isn’t until they’re there when Massu speaks up again.
“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to not have to worry about being seen with me?” He asks this softly, the thought turning in his head over and over.
Ryo doesn't answer for a while, so Massu thinks he either didn't hear or didn't want to, and he won't press him. But he's curious. He's been thinking about it since they met, but he doesn't know if bringing it up will make Ryo uncomfortable. He doesn't even know why he decided to bring it up now, of all times, but as much as he hates practically inviting confrontation, he hates sitting on his thoughts and opinions even more.
So they stay silent. In fact, they stay silent throughout the entire car ride to the inn, through check-in, and even for the first few minutes when they're safe in their room from potential prying eyes.
Massu places his bag on one of the beds, trying very hard not to anxiously glance over at Ryo. But he fails at this and looks, he has to, and Ryo's spread out on his bed, laying face down. The clunky case for his guitar lies next to him and he makes no effort to move.
"If you really don't want to be here, we can leave," Massu pipes up, fidgeting with the handle of his overnight bag.
It takes a few seconds, but Ryo lifts his head up and turns to look at Massu and for once he can't read his expression. "You already paid."
"I don't want to keep you here if you're staying because you feel obligated to," Massu says, defenses shackling into place.
Finally, Ryo sighs and pushes up off the bed, sitting cross-legged and facing Massu fully. "We made a deal, right?" He scratches at his stomach. "We can stay. There are worse things I can think of that you could put me through."
Massu's not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult, and he's even less sure now about the rest of the time they spend together, but for now, it'll suffice. "You hungry?"
Ryo nods. "Starving."
Which is of no surprise. Ryo's always hungry.
They decide to raid the closest convenience store instead of having dinner at the inn; Ryo's a picky eater and Massu just really, really wanted a particular brand of onigiri, and so, armed with directions from the clerk at the check-in desk, they take off. The roads are dark, peppered with the occasional streetlamp, but neither of them minds. They make small talk until Massu hits on the topic of a new song Ryo's in the midst of writing, and the rest of the relatively short walk is filled with Ryo going on about refrains and guitar chords. Massu doesn't really get it -- Ryo's music is impressive, but Massu admitted early on that he isn't all too knowledgeable about music, but he's willing to give the impromptu lecture a try.
The lecture is a long one, one that extends all the way back to their room at the inn, where they eat, Ryo talks, and then Massu is somehow persuaded into holding the other's guitar and, at Ryo's guidance, strumming an experimental chord. It's off and flat and Ryo laughs, calls him an idiot, and moves Massu's fingers on the neck to the right place.
"Try it now."
Massu does. Ryo tells him that it's supposed to sound like so-and-so chord, but Massu merely looks at him blankly. Ryo chuckles and takes the guitar from him then, placing it into his lap. He starts playing and Massu starts to clear all the trash from their dinner off the beds.
"I think hanging out like this would be how it'd be like if we didn't have to worry about being seen with each other," Ryo says suddenly.
Massu turns. "Huh?"
"You asked me earlier if I ever wondered what it'd be like to not worry about being seen with you," Ryo shrugs. "I don't think it'd be that different."
And somehow, this disappoints Massu a lot.
******
"You were pretty hot in that meeting, Yamashita," Tegoshi's voice calls out when Yamashita enters his office.
He's a little startled by the man's presence but not in the least unhappy. Shutting the door, he sees Tegoshi grinning at him, and steps close.
"I've never really seen you so... on fire about anything before. It was..." he runs a finger down Yamashita's chest, stopping to tug at the end of his tie before looking up and smirking, "attractive. You didn't get chastized, did you?"
"Mmmm, no not as such. They were a bit surprised, of course. I'm still not entirely sure why I did it," he finishes a bit sheepishly.
"I must be rubbing off on you," Tegoshi tells him, smirk still in place but wider.
Yamashita leers at him. "You wish." Yamashita knows better than to think that Tegoshi is simply using him as a leg-up, so to speak. His junior associate is more than confident in his own abilities and doesn't need anyone else to do him 'favors'. But Yamashita likes to tease him. "You're not doing this to get a promotion, right?" he asks, crowding Tegoshi until the shorter man is leaning against the wall, Yamashita's hands on the wall to either side of Tegoshi's head.
"If I thought you thought that, I'd have quit a long time ago," he replies haughtily, though the mischievous glimmer in his eyes tells Yamashita he isn't taking the question seriously. "No," he continues, voice low, eyes looking up through long lashes, hands traveling slowly up Yamashita's chest to clasp behind his neck, "I just like you," and pulls him down for a kiss.
He'd told himself that this was nothing but an office affair. No-strings-attached. They aren't compatible for so many reasons and on so many levels, Tegoshi's Black and his own White only being the largest of them. But still, there is just something that keeps him thinking just a little too long about him, a little too often. He presses Tegoshi back against the wall hard enough to elicit a grunt from him, feeling Tegoshi smile against his lips as he sucks Tegoshi's lower lip between his teeth and bites down gently.
They share a slow, wet kiss, tongues lazily sparring, hands roaming freely over starched shirts and the textured smoothness of slacks, and Yamashita pushes a knee between Tegoshi's legs, the other man casually accommodating him before grinding up against his thigh and pulling away to throw his head back and let out a low moan. Nuzzling Tegoshi's neck, he nips up the side, smirking as Tegoshi continues to move against him.
"Spend the weekend with me," he whispers into Tegoshi's ear, and they both still. One startled freeze frame. They've never had anything more than a night together, maybe not rushed, but certainly not prolonged. But he can't take it back. It's what he wants. So he straightens, cups Tegoshi's chin in one hand and tilts the younger man's face up to look him in the eyes. "Really."
Tegoshi's eyes are wide and he blinks twice before letting the corners of his lips lift into a small smile. "If you really want me that badly..." he says, grinning when Yamashita grimaces at him.
"Yeah," Yamashita finally says, "I guess I do." He forces himself to move away and smile speculatively at Tegoshi, the calculating pout on Tegoshi's face telling him it will be more than worth abstaining for now. His little firecracker will really put on a show later.
-
He thinks it should be strange, the way they lounge lazily together, the sun shining fully in on them and making Tegoshi's skin glow under Yamashita's playful fingers as he skips them across thin shoulders, feels the sinewy muscle and hard bone so close to the skin. It isn't. Tegoshi grunts a little at him, his eyes still closed and Yamashita can't help the laugh that bubbles out. Last night had been enough to wear even Tegoshi out -- that made him feel pretty amazing -- and finally the young man's eyes slit open, blinking rapidly in the light before focusing on him.
Smiling, Tegoshi rolls onto his back, stretching languidly and offering more skin to Yamashita's wandering fingers. "This is nice," he says, arching into his touches, eyes trained on Yamashita's.
Rising up on one elbow, Yamashita looks down on him fondly and he's trying to read the phrase, see what he means, before he even realizes he's doing it. He shakes his head and smiles ruefully, swoops down to give Tegoshi a quick kiss on the cheek and then climbs out of bed, his back to the bed, stretching himself to his very limits and knowing that Tegoshi is admiring the view. "Come on," he says. "I'm starving."
Tegoshi snickers and the sheets rustle as he slides out from between them and stands. "Got to replenish your energy, huh?"
"You were the one who wouldn't wake up," Yamashita teases back, as they both slip into their yukata and out the door.
They eat a quiet, leisurely breakfast in the dining area, something Yamashita would normally shy away from, but they are the only ones there today. It feels luxurious, sleeping in so late, having nothing on the agenda but each other, and Yamashita's eyes immediately snap back to his partner, thinking of all the things he could do with an extra night, this full day with no worries about protocol or prying eyes.
He'd been prepared for an extra feeling of romance, something they'd been silently avoiding thus far. What he isn't prepared for is the feeling of intimacy. Not the kind of intimacy brought on by knowing how your partner likes to touched when you're fooling around, or that physical sense of comfort from knowing what he looks like splayed naked under your fingers. But the kind of intimacy that tells Yamashita how Tegoshi likes to be touched when they're just walking along, craves touch, even; he leans into Yamashita's hand when it's on his lower back, ushering him through a door, hangs on Yamashita's arm when they're walking through the gardens, completely invades Yamashita's space like he could never do outside the complex. And by Sunday evening, Yamashita's thinking less about sex when Tegoshi is pressed face-first against his back, cheek nestled between his shoulder blades and thin arms wrapped around his middle as Yamashita gazes out the window, and more just how comfortable it feels like this.
And even though this feeling is sort of petrifying -- there's a reason neither has let themselves make more of this before -- he also finds that he craves it, that release that Tegoshi gives him that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with emotion. He feels carefree, loose, pleased when he doesn't have to worry about being respectable and polite, when Tegoshi laughs so loud and unrestrained and his eyes shine when Yamashita can't help but join in.
He likes to think that it's just addictive, this freedom. He worries that this might be love.
******
Ryo doesn’t know where the idea comes from, but when he gets a text from Massu asking what he wants to do for his birthday, “TGR” is the first thing he types and he sends it straight away. It’s not until he gets Massu’s puzzled pig face of an emoticon with the words, “Are you sure?” attached that he really starts to think about it.
Which ends up being a mistake because Ryo starts to think about Massu, and that’s a jumble of confused thoughts and conflicting emotions in and of itself.
Ryo’s not the type to delve into a lot of that emotional stuff; he much prefers to keep things to himself and divulge when necessary, and ‘when necessary’ moments are few and far between. And when it comes to what he thinks about people, he’s fairly straight-forward. It doesn’t take him long to observe someone, size them up, and come to a conclusion about them. It’s not the best way to make friends, but Ryo doesn’t mind having three or four really, really good friends as opposed to a slew of acquaintances only.
But Massu throws him for a loop, and Ryo doesn’t quite know what to do about it. It doesn’t help that Massu is the only White who has ever given Ryo the time of day, but Ryo has always counted on his own defenses to warn him whether one is genuine or not. And even though Ryo gets anxious in public with him, Massu’s still there. Massu shows up at most, if not all, of Ryo’s recent open mic gigs even though they’re at predominantly Black establishments. He varies from staying after to chat or leaving once Ryo’s done, but no matter what he’s there, and somehow, it means a lot to Ryo. But Ryo’s not sure about what it means to Massu. If it means anything at all. And what’s even more confusing is why Ryo is convincing himself it doesn’t mean anything to the other man when it should if he comes every time regardless of place, and when it does because when he’s there, Massu stares at him like he’s all that he sees.
Massu unnerves him. Ryo just can’t figure out if it’s in a good or a bad way yet.
And here they are again, back at The Grey Room. They’ve been back to the inn a couple of times and while Ryo was wary of the place at first, it has grown on him. The innkeepers are nice and, surprisingly, don’t judge. It’s quiet, being out in the distant suburb, and Ryo comes to like it a lot.
He leads the way to their room, opens the door and finds a single bed. Ryo stops and blanches. Then he turns, grabs Massu’s bag from him, and tosses it and his own bag into the room. He shuts the door despite Massu’s wide-eyed stare at his things just laying about everywhere, but Ryo takes hold of his arm and leads them away, offering a remark about needing food and beer on Massu’s dime.
They end up sitting in the courtyard for the next few hours after their traditional conbini run, even though it’s cold and dark out save for the lamplight filtering in from the surrounding rooms’ translucent windows. Ryo amuses himself some of the time by tossing popcorn at Massu, who tries to catch it with his mouth but fails more than he succeeds. Eventually, though, they run out of popcorn as well as things to talk about and catch up on. The crickets are falling silent and the stars are twinkling, and this is when Massu turns towards him and says, “We should probably go inside.”
Truthfully, Ryo has forgotten about the single bed until they open the door and both stare at the thing like it’s offending their sensibilities. Ryo makes the first move and brushes past Massu, stooping down to pick up the discarded bags from before. “Come on already,” Ryo says.
“Did they get our reservation mixed up?” Massu wonders. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that Massu is blatantly uncomfortable with this new turn of events. Ryo bristles a little. It’s not like he was expecting this, either, but he’s not going to be all offended about it.
“It barely matters, I’ll sleep on the floor or something,” Ryo calls out from within the confines of his shirt.
Massu’s neat hair is flying side to side when Ryo escapes from his shirt. “I can’t do that, this is supposed to be your birthday...thing.”
“Cut it out, will you? It’s just a bed. Besides,” Ryo counters, “It’s freezing out. You’re practically a furnace. It all works out for me in the end.”
He’s okay with this. He really is. Just because he twists and turns and tries to make himself as small as possible doesn’t mean anything. It’s a little hard to try and not touch Massu, though, merely because Massu weighs more than him and the mattress dips in his favor. It’s also hard to concentrate on actually sleeping when Massu’s breathing next to him. When he’s making tiny, endearing snuffling noises as he drifts off, much like a guinea pig. When the heat from his body feels like it’s burning past the fabric of his T-shirt and soaking into Ryo’s skin, warming him all over.
As Ryo finally drifts off, he realizes that simply going to ask for a room change would have solved everything, but maybe Ryo forgets about it and doesn’t request one because deep inside, he doesn’t mind, wouldn’t mind having this be a more frequent sleeping arrangement.
******
People often confuse Tegoshi for a White. He can't really blame them what with his bouncy personality, charm, and cheerful romanticism. But once anyone really gets to know him, it's easy to see why he was classified Black after all, though it had been admittedly a tough call by the identifiers; his darkly mischievous nature, innocent self-centeredness, and all-consuming passion mark him clearly. He knows that he causes confusion, fosters it, even, plastering on cheerful smiles and playing up his easygoing nature. He likes to keep people uncertain; he likes having the competitive edge.
Tonight is a special night. It's their 24th visit to The Grey Room, and Tegoshi's 24th birthday. That Yamashita remembers both these things, planned for it, strikes Tegoshi as charming, much like Yamashita had looked when he'd blushingly brought it up as he led Tegoshi into the room that evening. It's a side he doesn't see often from him, the shy sweetness that is characteristic of Whites but seldom shown by him in public, or even in private -- though much more often lately, he's noticed.
There are roses and candles and Tegoshi is astonished and delighted, determined not to think about whatifs and whatnexts because Yamashita had clearly intended this to be something special and not something to be contemplated, weighed, worried over. And anyway, he was never one to say no to being pampered.
They come together in the wavering light, glowing in the near-dark as light refracts off their skin, shimmers with their movement. It's quiet and intense, and in the end Yamashita curls up close, running a hand down Tegoshi's side. The pressure is firm, possessive, and it makes Tegoshi shiver.
In the morning, he sees Yamashita sitting in the sunlight, one of the porch doors opened wide. He sees him in that surreal sort of super-clarity that comes with the sun after a downpour, knows that he is brooding, thinking too hard about things, thing, them, 'us'. Slipping quietly out of bed, he slides a robe on and pads over to drop heavily into Yamashita's lap, earning a surprised, "Oh!" and a chagrined smile.
They sit together, basking in the morning sun, Tegoshi's head lolling sleepily against Yamashita's chest.
There's a rumble in Yamashita's chest, clearing his throat, preparing, and Tegoshi tenses, fingers tightening fractionally against Yamashita's. "Don't you worry?" he asks.
And there it is, in all its ugliness, the question neither of them want to hear. "Don't," Tegoshi warns and sits up to look him in the eye. Because if they talk about it, if they bring it out into this light, they'll make it real. A choice will have to be made, neither of them good -- stop what they're doing, because there's no way they can go back to just being in it for a quick fuck on the desktop, or move forward in one lightning-fast jump that will be much too much for Tegoshi. He'd feel trapped, forced into making it a relationship when all he knows he wants is more, not how much.
He runs his thumb over the crease in Yamashita's brow until it smoothes, traces down his jaw and places a finger against Yamashita's lips. Maybe it's a foreign concept to the man, not having things planned out, accepting things as they come and making the very best of them. He's not sure he can communicate it, doesn't think it translates.
Yamashita makes him uncertain, dulls his edge, imprints his own worries on Tegoshi's skin with a touch. He wants to switch it around, make his mark. So he kisses him. Speaks his thoughts with his tongue against Yamashita's, kisses him like there's no tomorrow, because that's how he wants them to be. Forever is only what you make of it.
******
The ladies running the inn make more of a fuss about it than even Koyama. Today marks the third year anniversary of their first night at The Grey Room, and it makes Shige blush the way the White bubbles and giggles at him and the Black gives him a knowing smirk. Fat lot she knows. Koyama may have ruined Shige for a majority of women, but not in the way the Black thinks. He practically drags Koyama down the hall to their room and shoves him inside, collapsing back against the door breathless and smiling before they both start giggling like school girls.
"Women," Koyama says, shaking his head, still smiling, and unloads his bag onto one of the beds.
Then they're both shedding their work clothes and rushing into their yukatas, a pointless race to the bath, because once they're there, the winner always has to wait for the loser to wash his back anyway.
Floating bonelessly in the water, they don't even bother talking, and Shige revels in the comfortable silence. A ritual cleansing, they slough off social conventions and weary weeks at work, bad days and the feeling for the need to hide. When they step out, skin flushed and water-sleek, fingers and toes a little wrinkled, it's a little bit like a fresh start.
As much as he'd hated their earlier attentions, Shige is rather appreciative of the complimentary tray the women have left in their room while they were out. Sliced fruits and light finger foods are prettily arrayed (though he could have lived without the tiny cupcakes with pink icing hearts... Koyama, however, coos over them.)
"You're sure your girlfriend doesn't resent you spending your precious days off out here with me?"
Koyama is chewing and doesn't stop flicking through the television channels.
"You are still with her," he asks, because for some reason Koyama doesn't hold on to girls for very long, not for lack of trying, and he has no idea why not. Koyama is pretty amazing. He always feels a little guilty, like he's one of the reasons, but he knows that isn't rational.
"What? Yeah, no I'm still with her." He grins at Shige. "She understands I have to have Shige-time, too." Turning the T.V. off he flops down next to Shige, the bed bouncing under them. "I think she might be the one," he whispers conspiratorially. "I'm thinking of introducing you."
It's like a bucket of cold water down his back, and he shivers. She's a White, of course she is. He doesn't think she'll ever accept that her future-husband's best friend is a Black. No one wants that sort of social burden.
There's a worried wrinkle between Koyama's eyes and he places a hand on Shige's arm. "Don't, Shige. She'll love you. Who couldn't love you?"
They're both tense. This conversation doesn't belong here, but where else could they have it? "What if she doesn't," he whispers. No man should have to choose between his girlfriend and his best friend. It's too much to ask.
Koyama's gaze hardens. "I'm not interested in marrying someone who can't at least accept that I love who I love, regardless of how socially unacceptable it might be."
Relief floods through him when he sees that Koyama is telling the truth. "You might be single forever," Shige says with a weak laugh, and Koyama's look softens and he smiles.
"I won't be," he exclaims, "but at least you'll be around if I am."
"Yeah."
The atmosphere never completely lightens for the rest of the night, but Shige knows there's just no escaping reality, no matter how hard they try. It's okay to be reminded sometimes, good, even. It makes him value what he does have even more. They're crammed together on the bed more than big enough for the both of them, but Shige can't bring himself to complain about Koyama's lack of respect for his personal space (not that he ever really means it, not usually) because tonight he needs it. Koyama's leaning all over him, jostling him when he laughs at the movie they're watching, but he's focusing more on the way it feels to just be there with him. He's feeling very introspective tonight, he decides, and laughs at himself, Koyama looking over at him quizzically.
"Nothing," he says. "Just thinking."
Grinning, Koyama pops a candy in his mouth before turning his eyes back to the screen. "Don't hurt yourself."
"Yeah, yeah." He smiles fondly.
Three years isn't a long time, not really. But it's a step in the right direction.
Pairing/Group: Koyama/Shige (platonic), Ryo/Massu, Tegoshi/Yamashita
Rating: PG-13
Words: 5,900
Warnings: AU, different social constructions
Summary: "It feels... normal. Which is a sobering thought, one that follows Koyama to bed as he lies awake. He wonders when he'll stop thinking that it's 'normal', and just take it for granted. He wonders if he ever will."
Notes: Team Glass Ceiling: Written for je-devilorangel 2011 with rockthecliche. Theme color: grey. It was a bit rocky after we lost our third, but we found our way to this and ended up with something to be proud of. Thanks, Joce. <3 Thanks as well to nanyakanya for being with us in the beginning, and in the end as well. :D
******
Koyama hates it, this tension between himself and Shige when they're out. It takes only a few minutes for Shige's Black nature to show starkly against Koyama's White, so they are always moving. These days there are no insults hurled, but the condescending, judging looks say plenty, and while Koyama can mostly overlook those, he's very in tune with how quickly they turn Shige's sensitive moods dark.
Not for the first time, he wishes he could take the younger man home with him, away from prying eyes where they could just relax and be themselves. Where they could talk a hundred miles a minute about everything under the sun, tease each other endlessly, and just be. But neighbors talk, and in the end Shige couldn't bear the disapproving looks every time they passed someone in Koyama's building's narrow halls, and, to be fair, Koyama didn't much like dealing with them even after Shige was gone.
Tonight they ride in silence, swaying side by side in the nearly empty train. Koyama thinks they probably both look Black right now, and that's fine with him. Their early lunch had gone all wrong, some Black making a snide remark about Shige's low standards under her breath, knocking hard into Koyama's shoulder as she passed by. Only Koyama's hand over Shige's had stopped the younger man from retorting in anger. It is always surprising to Koyama that the two of them have made it this far -- years of deep friendship under their belt even as they fight prejudice. But that's exactly why Koyama thinks it's worth fighting for. If they've managed to make it this far, it should be forever.
He'll do anything to keep it that way. That's why they're on the edges of the town, heading toward a place he's only heard of through word-of-mouth, Shige's mood finally rising enough for the man to start bitching.
"Where are you taking me? I don't know why we're wasting our time on a train to no where," he says, but his eyes flick around to the few passengers nervously.
Koyama's lips quirk up just the tiniest bit. "Don't worry, Shige. Just trust me."
The awkward tension is radiating from Shige’s frame in almost-palpable waves as they get off the train, coming face-to-face with a quiet, quaint town on the outskirts of the Tokyo suburbs. They keep moving to avoid bystanders’ eyes, walking briskly towards what Koyama assumes to be the town’s civic building. There’s a car waiting there, just like Koyama had been promised, but Shige is more than wary about getting into random cars in the middle of no where. He stares at Koyama as the taller of the two gestures at him to get in.
“Are you really sure about this?” Shige asks, shuffling awkwardly in place.
“Shige,” Koyama begins, opening the car door for him. “Trust me.”
And without another word, Shige climbs into the car. Koyama gets in after him, and the car takes off.
The scenery is a lot like what Koyama expected; lots of trees, a worn and bumpy road, the occasional farmhouse and, most important of all, a noticeable lack of people. Koyama had it on really good word that this inn would be perfect for what he was looking for in a place where he and Shige could just be; he knows he has to ease Shige into the idea, but it would be worth the effort.
The car pulls into the inn, fashioned from what seems to be the remnants of an old shinden-zukuri estate, fixed up and a little remodeled. They get out of the car and look around, taking in the details of the garden and the open space; there’s not much to see clearly in the onset of night, but Koyama can feel the serenity of the space calming him, making him smile. He turns and waits for Shige, who’s getting his overnight bag from the driver. Shige sheepishly thanks the driver when he’s wished a good stay and shuffles to Koyama’s side.
“I think the lobby is this way,” Koyama says, leading Shige in the direction the ‘lobby’ arrow is pointing towards.
Shige stays uncharacteristically quiet throughout check-in and the trek to their room, off in one of the corners of the inn. The elderly innkeeper talks their ear off, full of compliments on everything and anything -- Koyama’s hair, Shige’s tasteful vest, what nice boys they look like -- and finally, when they reach their room, the innkeeper smiles brightly, her White personality bubbly and warm, opening the door for them and ushering them in. She tells them -- both -- to ask if they need anything, anything at all, and leaves shortly after.
Koyama lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding once the door slides shut.
Shige tosses his bag onto one of the beds and sinks onto it, bouncing a little as the mattress offers resistance. “So,” he starts, fingers smoothing over the sheets. “What...do we do now?”
“Let’s go for a walk!” Koyama suggests. “We might not be able to see the garden all that well, but the air out here is fresh.” His stomach chooses that moment to growl. “...and we can find food, too.”
Shige offers a smile, however hesitant it looked, for the first time since their night began. “All right. If you get any skinnier, you’d disappear.”
The inn isn’t so big that they get lost, and they’re on their second lap around when they bump into the same inn-keeper from their check-in. She claps her hands in delight, beaming a smile bright enough to make up for Shige’s lack of enthusiasm. “I was just looking for you two!”
It’s hard not to be sucked in by the White’s cheeriness, and she joins them on their walk around the inn. She’s just like how a White should be -- full of cheer and optimism especially in the face of adversity. As they walk, Koyama notices Shige relaxing a little, probably due to the lady’s constant attention on him. She smiles at him with kind eyes, laughing at some of the off-kilter jokes Shige makes and Koyama wills himself to stay quiet. The last thing he wants to do is to distract either of them, not when Shige’s finally looking like he’s enjoying himself.
They eat dinner in their room. There’s a small dining hall open for the guests to use, but Koyama thinks it might be a little too much for the first time. He talks Shige’s ear off about anything and everything, though, like work and his nephews and random musings from the day. A lot of what Koyama goes on about is rather inconsequential, but, for whatever reason, it manages to lower Shige’s defenses just enough. Koyama can tell Shige’s still a little tense about the overall situation at hand, and that’s okay. Baby steps.
Koyama gets shushed a few times throughout the night for laughing too loud as they’re wrestling for control of the television remote. This time, he merely answers back with a shove, sending Shige off the bed and Koyama into a fresh wave of giggles anyway. It feels... normal. Which is a sobering thought, one that follows Koyama to bed as he lies awake, listening to the music coming from Shige's earphones, tinny notes he can't really make out. He wonders when he'll stop thinking that it's 'normal', and just take it for granted. He wonders if he ever will.
******
The train steadily chugs along, taking them to a place deep into the woods; Massu sneaks a glance at Ryo and, not for the first time, wonders what the other man is thinking. He wonders if Ryo will ever let himself relax when they’re seen together in public, even when they’re merely sitting together on a train, neither making any effort to talk. Heck, he wonders if Ryo will ever let himself relax even when they’re in the middle of no where. Massu thought by taking Ryo out of the crowded streets of Tokyo, they would be able to feel a little freer, but the two times they came before didn’t exactly go as Massu had planned. He should have seen it coming. Ryo loves the night and Tokyo’s nightlife -- how could he possibly enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside?
These years of friendship with Ryo didn’t go by without their rough moments, yet despite the nervousness, stress, and anxiety that come with people not approving, Massu keeps holding on.
He doesn’t think he’s at all unlike Ryo, really, even though Ryo is the living definition of a Black personality; in fact, Massu suspects the only thing that truly sets them apart from each other is merely his own sunny disposition and outlook on life. He couldn’t be sure, obviously, as he doesn’t really understand the workings of what makes people people, but he’s trying, at any rate. For what benefit...
He sneaks in a look at Ryo, head bouncing lightly against the window of the train as he sleeps. He’s not too sure what the benefit is yet -- or if there even is one -- but he’s willing to wait and see.
The question is whether or not he’s got much patience left.
“Why are we back here again?” Ryo asks as they get off the train. It’s getting dark now, and the station is lit up by lamp posts, one of them flickering ominously and looking like it’s in need of some basic maintenance. Ryo calls it creepy; Massu thinks it’s a little charming.
“Because,” Massu starts, taking off in the direction of the town square, trusting Ryo to follow. “You said if my team won their swim meet, I could decide what we do this weekend.”
“I never have would made that promise.” Ryo frowns.
“You did.” In truth, Ryo had been slightly inebriated at the time so it probably shouldn’t count, but Massu wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Couldn’t I have just taken you out to eat or something?” Ryo mutters, readjusting his hat.
Massu doesn’t say anything for a little bit; they simply walk side-by-side to the spot where the car will come and take them to the inn, and it isn’t until they’re there when Massu speaks up again.
“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to not have to worry about being seen with me?” He asks this softly, the thought turning in his head over and over.
Ryo doesn't answer for a while, so Massu thinks he either didn't hear or didn't want to, and he won't press him. But he's curious. He's been thinking about it since they met, but he doesn't know if bringing it up will make Ryo uncomfortable. He doesn't even know why he decided to bring it up now, of all times, but as much as he hates practically inviting confrontation, he hates sitting on his thoughts and opinions even more.
So they stay silent. In fact, they stay silent throughout the entire car ride to the inn, through check-in, and even for the first few minutes when they're safe in their room from potential prying eyes.
Massu places his bag on one of the beds, trying very hard not to anxiously glance over at Ryo. But he fails at this and looks, he has to, and Ryo's spread out on his bed, laying face down. The clunky case for his guitar lies next to him and he makes no effort to move.
"If you really don't want to be here, we can leave," Massu pipes up, fidgeting with the handle of his overnight bag.
It takes a few seconds, but Ryo lifts his head up and turns to look at Massu and for once he can't read his expression. "You already paid."
"I don't want to keep you here if you're staying because you feel obligated to," Massu says, defenses shackling into place.
Finally, Ryo sighs and pushes up off the bed, sitting cross-legged and facing Massu fully. "We made a deal, right?" He scratches at his stomach. "We can stay. There are worse things I can think of that you could put me through."
Massu's not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult, and he's even less sure now about the rest of the time they spend together, but for now, it'll suffice. "You hungry?"
Ryo nods. "Starving."
Which is of no surprise. Ryo's always hungry.
They decide to raid the closest convenience store instead of having dinner at the inn; Ryo's a picky eater and Massu just really, really wanted a particular brand of onigiri, and so, armed with directions from the clerk at the check-in desk, they take off. The roads are dark, peppered with the occasional streetlamp, but neither of them minds. They make small talk until Massu hits on the topic of a new song Ryo's in the midst of writing, and the rest of the relatively short walk is filled with Ryo going on about refrains and guitar chords. Massu doesn't really get it -- Ryo's music is impressive, but Massu admitted early on that he isn't all too knowledgeable about music, but he's willing to give the impromptu lecture a try.
The lecture is a long one, one that extends all the way back to their room at the inn, where they eat, Ryo talks, and then Massu is somehow persuaded into holding the other's guitar and, at Ryo's guidance, strumming an experimental chord. It's off and flat and Ryo laughs, calls him an idiot, and moves Massu's fingers on the neck to the right place.
"Try it now."
Massu does. Ryo tells him that it's supposed to sound like so-and-so chord, but Massu merely looks at him blankly. Ryo chuckles and takes the guitar from him then, placing it into his lap. He starts playing and Massu starts to clear all the trash from their dinner off the beds.
"I think hanging out like this would be how it'd be like if we didn't have to worry about being seen with each other," Ryo says suddenly.
Massu turns. "Huh?"
"You asked me earlier if I ever wondered what it'd be like to not worry about being seen with you," Ryo shrugs. "I don't think it'd be that different."
And somehow, this disappoints Massu a lot.
******
"You were pretty hot in that meeting, Yamashita," Tegoshi's voice calls out when Yamashita enters his office.
He's a little startled by the man's presence but not in the least unhappy. Shutting the door, he sees Tegoshi grinning at him, and steps close.
"I've never really seen you so... on fire about anything before. It was..." he runs a finger down Yamashita's chest, stopping to tug at the end of his tie before looking up and smirking, "attractive. You didn't get chastized, did you?"
"Mmmm, no not as such. They were a bit surprised, of course. I'm still not entirely sure why I did it," he finishes a bit sheepishly.
"I must be rubbing off on you," Tegoshi tells him, smirk still in place but wider.
Yamashita leers at him. "You wish." Yamashita knows better than to think that Tegoshi is simply using him as a leg-up, so to speak. His junior associate is more than confident in his own abilities and doesn't need anyone else to do him 'favors'. But Yamashita likes to tease him. "You're not doing this to get a promotion, right?" he asks, crowding Tegoshi until the shorter man is leaning against the wall, Yamashita's hands on the wall to either side of Tegoshi's head.
"If I thought you thought that, I'd have quit a long time ago," he replies haughtily, though the mischievous glimmer in his eyes tells Yamashita he isn't taking the question seriously. "No," he continues, voice low, eyes looking up through long lashes, hands traveling slowly up Yamashita's chest to clasp behind his neck, "I just like you," and pulls him down for a kiss.
He'd told himself that this was nothing but an office affair. No-strings-attached. They aren't compatible for so many reasons and on so many levels, Tegoshi's Black and his own White only being the largest of them. But still, there is just something that keeps him thinking just a little too long about him, a little too often. He presses Tegoshi back against the wall hard enough to elicit a grunt from him, feeling Tegoshi smile against his lips as he sucks Tegoshi's lower lip between his teeth and bites down gently.
They share a slow, wet kiss, tongues lazily sparring, hands roaming freely over starched shirts and the textured smoothness of slacks, and Yamashita pushes a knee between Tegoshi's legs, the other man casually accommodating him before grinding up against his thigh and pulling away to throw his head back and let out a low moan. Nuzzling Tegoshi's neck, he nips up the side, smirking as Tegoshi continues to move against him.
"Spend the weekend with me," he whispers into Tegoshi's ear, and they both still. One startled freeze frame. They've never had anything more than a night together, maybe not rushed, but certainly not prolonged. But he can't take it back. It's what he wants. So he straightens, cups Tegoshi's chin in one hand and tilts the younger man's face up to look him in the eyes. "Really."
Tegoshi's eyes are wide and he blinks twice before letting the corners of his lips lift into a small smile. "If you really want me that badly..." he says, grinning when Yamashita grimaces at him.
"Yeah," Yamashita finally says, "I guess I do." He forces himself to move away and smile speculatively at Tegoshi, the calculating pout on Tegoshi's face telling him it will be more than worth abstaining for now. His little firecracker will really put on a show later.
-
He thinks it should be strange, the way they lounge lazily together, the sun shining fully in on them and making Tegoshi's skin glow under Yamashita's playful fingers as he skips them across thin shoulders, feels the sinewy muscle and hard bone so close to the skin. It isn't. Tegoshi grunts a little at him, his eyes still closed and Yamashita can't help the laugh that bubbles out. Last night had been enough to wear even Tegoshi out -- that made him feel pretty amazing -- and finally the young man's eyes slit open, blinking rapidly in the light before focusing on him.
Smiling, Tegoshi rolls onto his back, stretching languidly and offering more skin to Yamashita's wandering fingers. "This is nice," he says, arching into his touches, eyes trained on Yamashita's.
Rising up on one elbow, Yamashita looks down on him fondly and he's trying to read the phrase, see what he means, before he even realizes he's doing it. He shakes his head and smiles ruefully, swoops down to give Tegoshi a quick kiss on the cheek and then climbs out of bed, his back to the bed, stretching himself to his very limits and knowing that Tegoshi is admiring the view. "Come on," he says. "I'm starving."
Tegoshi snickers and the sheets rustle as he slides out from between them and stands. "Got to replenish your energy, huh?"
"You were the one who wouldn't wake up," Yamashita teases back, as they both slip into their yukata and out the door.
They eat a quiet, leisurely breakfast in the dining area, something Yamashita would normally shy away from, but they are the only ones there today. It feels luxurious, sleeping in so late, having nothing on the agenda but each other, and Yamashita's eyes immediately snap back to his partner, thinking of all the things he could do with an extra night, this full day with no worries about protocol or prying eyes.
He'd been prepared for an extra feeling of romance, something they'd been silently avoiding thus far. What he isn't prepared for is the feeling of intimacy. Not the kind of intimacy brought on by knowing how your partner likes to touched when you're fooling around, or that physical sense of comfort from knowing what he looks like splayed naked under your fingers. But the kind of intimacy that tells Yamashita how Tegoshi likes to be touched when they're just walking along, craves touch, even; he leans into Yamashita's hand when it's on his lower back, ushering him through a door, hangs on Yamashita's arm when they're walking through the gardens, completely invades Yamashita's space like he could never do outside the complex. And by Sunday evening, Yamashita's thinking less about sex when Tegoshi is pressed face-first against his back, cheek nestled between his shoulder blades and thin arms wrapped around his middle as Yamashita gazes out the window, and more just how comfortable it feels like this.
And even though this feeling is sort of petrifying -- there's a reason neither has let themselves make more of this before -- he also finds that he craves it, that release that Tegoshi gives him that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with emotion. He feels carefree, loose, pleased when he doesn't have to worry about being respectable and polite, when Tegoshi laughs so loud and unrestrained and his eyes shine when Yamashita can't help but join in.
He likes to think that it's just addictive, this freedom. He worries that this might be love.
******
Ryo doesn’t know where the idea comes from, but when he gets a text from Massu asking what he wants to do for his birthday, “TGR” is the first thing he types and he sends it straight away. It’s not until he gets Massu’s puzzled pig face of an emoticon with the words, “Are you sure?” attached that he really starts to think about it.
Which ends up being a mistake because Ryo starts to think about Massu, and that’s a jumble of confused thoughts and conflicting emotions in and of itself.
Ryo’s not the type to delve into a lot of that emotional stuff; he much prefers to keep things to himself and divulge when necessary, and ‘when necessary’ moments are few and far between. And when it comes to what he thinks about people, he’s fairly straight-forward. It doesn’t take him long to observe someone, size them up, and come to a conclusion about them. It’s not the best way to make friends, but Ryo doesn’t mind having three or four really, really good friends as opposed to a slew of acquaintances only.
But Massu throws him for a loop, and Ryo doesn’t quite know what to do about it. It doesn’t help that Massu is the only White who has ever given Ryo the time of day, but Ryo has always counted on his own defenses to warn him whether one is genuine or not. And even though Ryo gets anxious in public with him, Massu’s still there. Massu shows up at most, if not all, of Ryo’s recent open mic gigs even though they’re at predominantly Black establishments. He varies from staying after to chat or leaving once Ryo’s done, but no matter what he’s there, and somehow, it means a lot to Ryo. But Ryo’s not sure about what it means to Massu. If it means anything at all. And what’s even more confusing is why Ryo is convincing himself it doesn’t mean anything to the other man when it should if he comes every time regardless of place, and when it does because when he’s there, Massu stares at him like he’s all that he sees.
Massu unnerves him. Ryo just can’t figure out if it’s in a good or a bad way yet.
And here they are again, back at The Grey Room. They’ve been back to the inn a couple of times and while Ryo was wary of the place at first, it has grown on him. The innkeepers are nice and, surprisingly, don’t judge. It’s quiet, being out in the distant suburb, and Ryo comes to like it a lot.
He leads the way to their room, opens the door and finds a single bed. Ryo stops and blanches. Then he turns, grabs Massu’s bag from him, and tosses it and his own bag into the room. He shuts the door despite Massu’s wide-eyed stare at his things just laying about everywhere, but Ryo takes hold of his arm and leads them away, offering a remark about needing food and beer on Massu’s dime.
They end up sitting in the courtyard for the next few hours after their traditional conbini run, even though it’s cold and dark out save for the lamplight filtering in from the surrounding rooms’ translucent windows. Ryo amuses himself some of the time by tossing popcorn at Massu, who tries to catch it with his mouth but fails more than he succeeds. Eventually, though, they run out of popcorn as well as things to talk about and catch up on. The crickets are falling silent and the stars are twinkling, and this is when Massu turns towards him and says, “We should probably go inside.”
Truthfully, Ryo has forgotten about the single bed until they open the door and both stare at the thing like it’s offending their sensibilities. Ryo makes the first move and brushes past Massu, stooping down to pick up the discarded bags from before. “Come on already,” Ryo says.
“Did they get our reservation mixed up?” Massu wonders. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that Massu is blatantly uncomfortable with this new turn of events. Ryo bristles a little. It’s not like he was expecting this, either, but he’s not going to be all offended about it.
“It barely matters, I’ll sleep on the floor or something,” Ryo calls out from within the confines of his shirt.
Massu’s neat hair is flying side to side when Ryo escapes from his shirt. “I can’t do that, this is supposed to be your birthday...thing.”
“Cut it out, will you? It’s just a bed. Besides,” Ryo counters, “It’s freezing out. You’re practically a furnace. It all works out for me in the end.”
He’s okay with this. He really is. Just because he twists and turns and tries to make himself as small as possible doesn’t mean anything. It’s a little hard to try and not touch Massu, though, merely because Massu weighs more than him and the mattress dips in his favor. It’s also hard to concentrate on actually sleeping when Massu’s breathing next to him. When he’s making tiny, endearing snuffling noises as he drifts off, much like a guinea pig. When the heat from his body feels like it’s burning past the fabric of his T-shirt and soaking into Ryo’s skin, warming him all over.
As Ryo finally drifts off, he realizes that simply going to ask for a room change would have solved everything, but maybe Ryo forgets about it and doesn’t request one because deep inside, he doesn’t mind, wouldn’t mind having this be a more frequent sleeping arrangement.
******
People often confuse Tegoshi for a White. He can't really blame them what with his bouncy personality, charm, and cheerful romanticism. But once anyone really gets to know him, it's easy to see why he was classified Black after all, though it had been admittedly a tough call by the identifiers; his darkly mischievous nature, innocent self-centeredness, and all-consuming passion mark him clearly. He knows that he causes confusion, fosters it, even, plastering on cheerful smiles and playing up his easygoing nature. He likes to keep people uncertain; he likes having the competitive edge.
Tonight is a special night. It's their 24th visit to The Grey Room, and Tegoshi's 24th birthday. That Yamashita remembers both these things, planned for it, strikes Tegoshi as charming, much like Yamashita had looked when he'd blushingly brought it up as he led Tegoshi into the room that evening. It's a side he doesn't see often from him, the shy sweetness that is characteristic of Whites but seldom shown by him in public, or even in private -- though much more often lately, he's noticed.
There are roses and candles and Tegoshi is astonished and delighted, determined not to think about whatifs and whatnexts because Yamashita had clearly intended this to be something special and not something to be contemplated, weighed, worried over. And anyway, he was never one to say no to being pampered.
They come together in the wavering light, glowing in the near-dark as light refracts off their skin, shimmers with their movement. It's quiet and intense, and in the end Yamashita curls up close, running a hand down Tegoshi's side. The pressure is firm, possessive, and it makes Tegoshi shiver.
In the morning, he sees Yamashita sitting in the sunlight, one of the porch doors opened wide. He sees him in that surreal sort of super-clarity that comes with the sun after a downpour, knows that he is brooding, thinking too hard about things, thing, them, 'us'. Slipping quietly out of bed, he slides a robe on and pads over to drop heavily into Yamashita's lap, earning a surprised, "Oh!" and a chagrined smile.
They sit together, basking in the morning sun, Tegoshi's head lolling sleepily against Yamashita's chest.
There's a rumble in Yamashita's chest, clearing his throat, preparing, and Tegoshi tenses, fingers tightening fractionally against Yamashita's. "Don't you worry?" he asks.
And there it is, in all its ugliness, the question neither of them want to hear. "Don't," Tegoshi warns and sits up to look him in the eye. Because if they talk about it, if they bring it out into this light, they'll make it real. A choice will have to be made, neither of them good -- stop what they're doing, because there's no way they can go back to just being in it for a quick fuck on the desktop, or move forward in one lightning-fast jump that will be much too much for Tegoshi. He'd feel trapped, forced into making it a relationship when all he knows he wants is more, not how much.
He runs his thumb over the crease in Yamashita's brow until it smoothes, traces down his jaw and places a finger against Yamashita's lips. Maybe it's a foreign concept to the man, not having things planned out, accepting things as they come and making the very best of them. He's not sure he can communicate it, doesn't think it translates.
Yamashita makes him uncertain, dulls his edge, imprints his own worries on Tegoshi's skin with a touch. He wants to switch it around, make his mark. So he kisses him. Speaks his thoughts with his tongue against Yamashita's, kisses him like there's no tomorrow, because that's how he wants them to be. Forever is only what you make of it.
******
The ladies running the inn make more of a fuss about it than even Koyama. Today marks the third year anniversary of their first night at The Grey Room, and it makes Shige blush the way the White bubbles and giggles at him and the Black gives him a knowing smirk. Fat lot she knows. Koyama may have ruined Shige for a majority of women, but not in the way the Black thinks. He practically drags Koyama down the hall to their room and shoves him inside, collapsing back against the door breathless and smiling before they both start giggling like school girls.
"Women," Koyama says, shaking his head, still smiling, and unloads his bag onto one of the beds.
Then they're both shedding their work clothes and rushing into their yukatas, a pointless race to the bath, because once they're there, the winner always has to wait for the loser to wash his back anyway.
Floating bonelessly in the water, they don't even bother talking, and Shige revels in the comfortable silence. A ritual cleansing, they slough off social conventions and weary weeks at work, bad days and the feeling for the need to hide. When they step out, skin flushed and water-sleek, fingers and toes a little wrinkled, it's a little bit like a fresh start.
As much as he'd hated their earlier attentions, Shige is rather appreciative of the complimentary tray the women have left in their room while they were out. Sliced fruits and light finger foods are prettily arrayed (though he could have lived without the tiny cupcakes with pink icing hearts... Koyama, however, coos over them.)
"You're sure your girlfriend doesn't resent you spending your precious days off out here with me?"
Koyama is chewing and doesn't stop flicking through the television channels.
"You are still with her," he asks, because for some reason Koyama doesn't hold on to girls for very long, not for lack of trying, and he has no idea why not. Koyama is pretty amazing. He always feels a little guilty, like he's one of the reasons, but he knows that isn't rational.
"What? Yeah, no I'm still with her." He grins at Shige. "She understands I have to have Shige-time, too." Turning the T.V. off he flops down next to Shige, the bed bouncing under them. "I think she might be the one," he whispers conspiratorially. "I'm thinking of introducing you."
It's like a bucket of cold water down his back, and he shivers. She's a White, of course she is. He doesn't think she'll ever accept that her future-husband's best friend is a Black. No one wants that sort of social burden.
There's a worried wrinkle between Koyama's eyes and he places a hand on Shige's arm. "Don't, Shige. She'll love you. Who couldn't love you?"
They're both tense. This conversation doesn't belong here, but where else could they have it? "What if she doesn't," he whispers. No man should have to choose between his girlfriend and his best friend. It's too much to ask.
Koyama's gaze hardens. "I'm not interested in marrying someone who can't at least accept that I love who I love, regardless of how socially unacceptable it might be."
Relief floods through him when he sees that Koyama is telling the truth. "You might be single forever," Shige says with a weak laugh, and Koyama's look softens and he smiles.
"I won't be," he exclaims, "but at least you'll be around if I am."
"Yeah."
The atmosphere never completely lightens for the rest of the night, but Shige knows there's just no escaping reality, no matter how hard they try. It's okay to be reminded sometimes, good, even. It makes him value what he does have even more. They're crammed together on the bed more than big enough for the both of them, but Shige can't bring himself to complain about Koyama's lack of respect for his personal space (not that he ever really means it, not usually) because tonight he needs it. Koyama's leaning all over him, jostling him when he laughs at the movie they're watching, but he's focusing more on the way it feels to just be there with him. He's feeling very introspective tonight, he decides, and laughs at himself, Koyama looking over at him quizzically.
"Nothing," he says. "Just thinking."
Grinning, Koyama pops a candy in his mouth before turning his eyes back to the screen. "Don't hurt yourself."
"Yeah, yeah." He smiles fondly.
Three years isn't a long time, not really. But it's a step in the right direction.