forever and ever and ever after
It had been like this for as long as he could remember, but Koichi wasn't the type who did an awful lot of soul searching and remembering of the past so it wasn't as if he was keeping track. He left all that hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo up to his other half, his better half, as his mother would affectionately joke.
It just felt right and better when Tsuyoshi was around and while not particularly scientific, it was more than reason enough.
See, Koichi kept things simple and organized in individualized, compartmentalized, labeled and categorized boxes. Tsuyoshi ripped open boxes to see what was inside, to take things out, arrange and rearrange them until the contents didn't fit anymore and what was left was a mess, a glorious something or another that was indelibly and undeniably Tsuyoshi.
It was like this with everything and everyone Tsuyoshi touched; he swept everyone up along with him, pulled them along with him until they couldn't breath, until they couldn't focus and until soon, they couldn't remember a time that existed before Tsuyoshi.
Koichi wasn't bitter about it and didn't question the arrangement much. He didn't mind. Long ago, he had packed his heart up carefully in a small, appropriately sized box, neatly labeled it c/o Domoto Tsuyoshi and sent it off.
Over the years, he never did manage to get around to finding out if the package had arrived safely.
And even though he dreaded that there may come a day when he would wake up without Tsuyoshi next to him, vanished with not so much as a cliched cheerful note tacked to the refrigerator - the only evidence of a life interrupted a jumble of boxes left carelessly in the corner of the room with his heart stashed away (maybe) somewhere in the bottom of the heap, ashen grey and abandoned, Koichi tried not to think about it.
Tsuyoshi was Tsuyoshi, not meant to live in, with, or around boxes. Koichi understood that.
And Koichi? Well, Koichi was Koichi.
He tried not to think about it (too much) because after all, things had been like this for as long as he could remember with Tsuyoshi holding tightly onto his hand, running full speed ahead and around and around and around. The laws of motion were rational, orderly and simple, even if Tsuyoshi wasn't, so given the facts, there was no logical reason why it shouldn't, why it wouldn't, why it couldn't stay this way forever and ever and ever after.
This is what Koichi chose to believe.
And so, when Tsuyoshi smiled at him, for him, Koichi smiled back and everything else, everyone else in the world didn't matter, if only for one brief, exhilarating second.
It just felt right and better when Tsuyoshi was around and while not particularly scientific, it was more than reason enough.
See, Koichi kept things simple and organized in individualized, compartmentalized, labeled and categorized boxes. Tsuyoshi ripped open boxes to see what was inside, to take things out, arrange and rearrange them until the contents didn't fit anymore and what was left was a mess, a glorious something or another that was indelibly and undeniably Tsuyoshi.
It was like this with everything and everyone Tsuyoshi touched; he swept everyone up along with him, pulled them along with him until they couldn't breath, until they couldn't focus and until soon, they couldn't remember a time that existed before Tsuyoshi.
Koichi wasn't bitter about it and didn't question the arrangement much. He didn't mind. Long ago, he had packed his heart up carefully in a small, appropriately sized box, neatly labeled it c/o Domoto Tsuyoshi and sent it off.
Over the years, he never did manage to get around to finding out if the package had arrived safely.
And even though he dreaded that there may come a day when he would wake up without Tsuyoshi next to him, vanished with not so much as a cliched cheerful note tacked to the refrigerator - the only evidence of a life interrupted a jumble of boxes left carelessly in the corner of the room with his heart stashed away (maybe) somewhere in the bottom of the heap, ashen grey and abandoned, Koichi tried not to think about it.
Tsuyoshi was Tsuyoshi, not meant to live in, with, or around boxes. Koichi understood that.
And Koichi? Well, Koichi was Koichi.
He tried not to think about it (too much) because after all, things had been like this for as long as he could remember with Tsuyoshi holding tightly onto his hand, running full speed ahead and around and around and around. The laws of motion were rational, orderly and simple, even if Tsuyoshi wasn't, so given the facts, there was no logical reason why it shouldn't, why it wouldn't, why it couldn't stay this way forever and ever and ever after.
This is what Koichi chose to believe.
And so, when Tsuyoshi smiled at him, for him, Koichi smiled back and everything else, everyone else in the world didn't matter, if only for one brief, exhilarating second.