[Fic] Moments of Grace (for Lechaco) - part 2 of 2
[please read part one first]
He phones Niou again, horrified at himself, horrified at the things he's thinking that he can't quite deny. Genichirou, I'm so sorry, I don't deserve...
"Is it alright for me to visit?" he asks. "Or maybe you're sick of me by now."
"Yeah, right," Niou says. "You can come over whenever you like, yanno."
That wasn't what you were meant to say. But he shouldn't try to push the responsibility off onto Niou. His actions are his own.
Not that he has a really clear idea of what he wants, or what he'd do. Horrifying as they are, the ideas are only vague, skittering away when he focuses on them.
He doesn't go straight away, anyway. He doesn't even go that week. Instead he tries to be normal, stumbles through routines that should be second nature, feels his little rituals to bring calm slipping away. Something has to change. Something has to change soon.
Sanada seems to know something is wrong. He treats Yukimura more and more carefully, maybe thinking that he's in greater pain than usual, maybe just not knowing what to think. He doesn't say anything. Yukimura wishes he would, then wonders how he'd even answer.
Mostly he just wishes to be given a reason to stop himself.
The morning Yukimura caves is the morning that Sanada, packing hurriedly, tells him that he's got an unexpected business trip which will last the rest of the week.
"That's fine," Yukimura says when he's told, and that's true in itself.
But then Sanada, frowning, tells him, "don't work too hard while I'm gone."
And that isn't fine. It would have been alright if he could only have made it a joke.
"I'll do my best," Yukimura says, because Sanada is in too much of a hurry for an argument, and then he's alone, feeling very small and somewhat lost.
So he waits until late morning and then calls Niou again, just to be sure he's home.
He is.
"I thought I should bring something, since I'm inviting myself over," Yukimura tells Niou, standing in the doorway, smiling carefully. In the thin convenience store plastic bag there are cans of beer, a few bits and pieces of actual food.
Niou steps aside to let him in and takes the bag, peering into it. "Alcohol." He grins.
"I still don't really drink," Yukimura tells him. "But I thought you might be able to find a use for it."
"We'll see," Niou says, drawling the words.
Yukimura steps inside. The flat is as tidy as it was last time; if he hadn't rooted through the cupboards for clothes before he might not have believed someone like Niou really lived here, or maybe that anyone really lived here. But all Niou's stuff is here; he's just a neat person. The world is full of unexpected turns, apparently.
It's strange the things you think about when there's something you're trying to avoid.
He can't avoid looking at Niou. Even if he's not trying, the way the top buttons on his shirt are left open draws Yukimura's attention inevitably to the hollow of his throat and the lines of his collar-bones.
"Do you have to work later?" he asks.
"For you, I can take a night off. Special service." Niou is reading him, pulling thoughts from his mind. Yukimura feels half sure of this, if only for a moment.
"I thought we could do something." He pauses, catches the momentary shift in Niou's expression. "I don't know. It's been a while since I've been to--"
"Hey," Niou cuts in. "Yukimura. Whatcha doing here?"
"Being sociable," Yukimura says; a last-ditch attempt. The words don't convince even him.
"Running."
Yukimura takes a deliberately steady breath, takes a step forward, takes a moment to meet Niou's eyes. "Don't."
Takes a chance, pressing his mouth against Niou's.
Niou seems to respond on blind instinct, mouth opening and hands coming to rest on Yukimura's sides and body shifting to settle them against each other. It's dizzying; the exciting rush of something new, not the comfortable familiarity of something you've had for years. Yukimura makes a pleased noise into the kiss.
And then Niou pulls away, swallowing, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Fuck. At least let me have a damn drink first."
It takes Yukimura a moment to regain mental balance, by which time Niou is already making good on his demand. He accepts without thinking when Niou thrusts an open can of beer at him, and then it seems as though it'd be strange not to take a drink, so he does.
"I'm that unappealing?" he asks. Smile; it's a joke.
"Plausible deniability when Sanada comes to murder me," Niou mumbles. "I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Too drunk. Can't even remember what we did. Maybe we didn't do anything."
"You could just ask me to leave. You don't have to..."
"What? Don't have to fuck you out of pity? That ain't what this is."
"What, then?"
Niou takes a long drink, slouches himself down onto the sofa. "See if you can't figure it out, yeah? You're smart and all."
Yukimura puts his own can aside, barely touched, and moves to straddle Niou, kneeling over him, hands going to his shoulders for balance. "I don't want to think about it. I'll assume you're up to no good."
They kiss again. There's bitterness to it -- but perhaps that's just the taste of alcohol on Niou's tongue.
Once he starts to let things happen, it gets easier to just let them keep going, building up momentum, events rushing onwards all by themselves and dragging him along with them. He isn't sure he even knows how to stop.
"Fuck," Niou groans, licks his lips, dropping back to sit on the floor, staring up at Yukimura. His legs are parted, his erection obvious between them. "Fuck. Fuck, I'm hard. That was hot. You wanna...?"
Yukimura is on the sofa, panting, his body limp and wrung out, his cock softening. He can barely even think, but Niou's meaning still penetrates. "Sure," he says. "Or you could wait, and..."
He doesn't quite manage to say it, but Niou's eyes widen for a moment anyway. "Shit, don't say stuff like that. You don't wanna."
"You sure?"
Niou considers him for a second, two, three, four, five. "You're messed up."
"I'm offering to let you fuck me," Yukimura says, breathing still ragged. "Would you rather I ordered?"
"Never know," Niou says. "I might get off on that shit. Put on military uniform too and I'll come on the spot." He actually sounds unsteady now, and fumbles a little picking up his beer can from the table behind him.
Yukimura accepts it when it gets passed on, and drinks deeply this time, pulling a face at the taste. Never mind; he doesn't have to like it. It's just to stop him thinking too much.
He keeps drinking while Niou gets to his feet, searching around the flat; feels the buzz starting that he'd almost forgotten, hasn't experienced since he was maybe twenty and nothing had settled into routine yet.
By the time Niou comes back his body is feeling less painfully sensitive, and Niou's hand snaking its way between his legs again actually feels good. He moves himself awkwardly, stretching the pins and needles out of his limbs as well as he can, and Niou shifts with him, helps him out of what few clothes he has left, runs hands over his skin, slides slick fingers inside him. Has sex with him, right there on the sofa, the two of them slipping awkwardly on the cushions but in too much of a hurry to care.
Yukimura feels that he's watching from a bizarre detached standpoint again. Someone else is doing these things, and feeling them: a stranger pushes his hips back against Niou's, hands clawing for purchase on smooth fabric. Someone he doesn't know makes pleas that sound like orders, more, yes, there, like that, ah... that's good. Don't stop.
It's when his body starts to tremble and tense and spill into release that he can't hold himself apart, crashes back to the reality of the situation, lips forming unvoiced words as he closes his eyes tight against the world.
He takes himself off to the bathroom afterwards and then to bed on shaking legs, holding onto the soreness in his body; a reminder. Niou hasn't bitten him or marked him, and Yukimura almost wishes he had done -- that he'd left some evidence which couldn't just be washed away. Niou doesn't follow him through to bed, either. But then, it's only late afternoon.
The next time he opens his eyes it's dark, and he almost forgets where he is. He's naked between the sheets, almost chilly where they've partly slipped off him. Marks or no marks, the reality of what he's done is fresh in his mind.
He buries his face against the pillow, but that only means that the next breath he takes smells of Niou.
It takes a while, but he manages to coax his body into cooperating and pulls himself out of bed, tugging on clean clothes -- Niou must've left them there for him. He's not sure he'll ever grasp how Niou's mind works as well as he'd like; but isn't that half the appeal?
Niou is unfathomable, and also unmistakably free, at least in the senses that matter.
"Yo," Niou says when Yukimura emerges. "Figured it out yet?"
"What?"
"Why I'm doing this."
He's fully dressed, looking as though nothing happened, flicking between windows on the screen of his computer; probably work, Yukimura realises, but right now he doesn't have the curiosity to look.
"I told you I didn't want to think about it," Yukimura tells him. "You're not in love with me and you can't be after my money."
"Stubborn," Niou says. "I dunno why the fuck I bother."
All Yukimura can think about is that they've just had sex. They've just had sex and at the end of the week Sanada will be back and what is he going to do?
And is he going to end up running to Niou over and over again?
He just can't tell.
"Why are you doing this, Niou?" he murmurs.
The screen of the computer goes black, and Niou turns in his chair, staring right at Yukimura. "'Cause you're an idiot. 'Cause you ain't got a clue what you want."
"I want freedom," Yukimura says, harshness creeping into his voice. "A future."
"And you say it like I'm gonna be the one to give you all that? Get real."
"That doesn't tell me why."
"'Cause I ain't in love with you. 'Cause I know exactly what you are and I bet I know what you need better than you do." Niou turns away again, gets to his feet, one hand shoved in a pocket, shoulders hunched. "You feeling better after all that? Like maybe you got what you really wanted?"
Yukimura is silent. He can't think of an answer; everything inside his head is in too much turmoil.
Well, that's probably his answer right there. Not that he can voice it.
"I'm gonna go and get food," Niou says. "Curry good?"
"Okay," Yukimura murmurs.
Niou leaves him alone in the flat to wrestle with his own thoughts.
After a while something begins to take shape. It's just a sort of creeping suspicion; no form, little substance.
Niou feeds him and makes him stay the night and shares the bed with him despite his wavering and indecision.
In darkness, things are often easier.
"He's important," he says softly. "I can't pretend that's not true."
"I can't believe someone like me's gotta be the one to say this to you, when we just fucked a few hours ago... but yanno, if he's that important, bloody talk to him." Niou sounds mock-grumpy. Yukimura's eyes haven't adjusted enough to make out anything of his expression.
"You know how he can be. If he doesn't want to hear, he won't hear."
"Oh, fuck," Niou says, starting to laugh. "Irresistible forces and immovable objects. Bloody good luck to the pair of you."
Yukimura groans into his pillow. "I mean it."
"Sometimes I reckon you deserve each other," Niou mumbles, that edge of laughter still making itself known.
I doubt he'll feel the same if I tell him about today, Yukimura thinks, and feels something tightening uncomfortably inside his chest. "That's debatable."
Silence.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
Niou doesn't answer for long enough that Yukimura wonders if he really had anything to say in the first place. "I can't believe I'm the one who's gotta say this, but what the hell. Fix it or get out. Quit stalling."
"You're trying to give me relationship advice."
"Yeah. But don't rub my fucking nose in it. It's drunk relationship advice, if that helps any."
"You're trying to give me relationship advice a few hours after you had sex with me."
"Looks that way."
Yukimura rolls over onto his back, rubs a hand against his forehead, despairing of understanding. "My life is bizarre."
"We do our best," Niou mumbles. He sounds as though he's drifting, and it doesn't take much longer for his breathing to even out into what's probably real sleep.
Yukimura lies awake for a lot longer, thinking about Sanada, about his feelings, and about whether feelings are always enough to carry you through.
He hasn't reached any real conclusion by the time the clock is reading 03:00. He remembers thinking at that stage that he'll never manage to sleep, and then he opens his eyes to daylight.
The rest of the week is a struggle. He sends Renji increasingly stressed e-mails until Renji shows up at his door, unannounced and drags him to Tokyo for a change of scene, walking him around art galleries that have new or temporary exhibits which might be of interest. It's a slow, relaxed day, and nothing dramatic happens, but Yukimura feels a tiny bit better in himself.
It does nothing whatsoever to lessen the guilt he's fighting with, though.
"Are you planning to tell me what's wrong?" Renji asks eventually. They're sitting in the cafe of the Tokyo National Museum -- one chosen more for Renji's interests than Yukimura's, although it's certainly an interesting place.
Yukimura glances away. "It would make things awkward for you if I did."
"That's quite possible. It's also not what I asked."
In honesty Yukimura isn't even certain he can form the words to explain. Thinking about it seems to close off his throat, leaving him struggling to voice anything at all. He feels heavy, anxious. "Do you want to know?"
"If it'll help you to tell me. I'm still worried."
They're in public, but they're in public far from home. No-one knows them here. "I don't know if I should be with Genichirou anymore."
Renji watches him. Yukimura can't meet his eyes. "Why?"
"I don't deserve him. And he doesn't deserve to have to deal with..." Yukimura gestures vaguely at his own body "...all this."
"That isn't how it works."
"I slept with someone else."
Silence.
"I told you I don't deserve him."
"This is something recent, isn't it?" Renji asks. There's no real discernible expression on his face. He could be thinking anything. Yukimura's mind fills in the blank space with all sorts of damning possibilities.
"Yes."
"Seiichi. Are you that dissatisfied?"
Yukimura stares into his tea, watching the reflected light shifting on its surface. "I don't know what I am. I'm fed up. I'm confused. I made a mistake."
"Well--"
"Don't say it. It doesn't matter if I know it was a mistake. He's under no obligation to forgive me. I wouldn't expect him to."
"Do you want him to? Or have you just decided that you're beyond forgiveness? Are you going to lock yourself in your room for a week this time, or did you have something more drastic in mind?"
Yukimura frowns. "Of course you remember that. I was fifteen. It's--"
"Everyone remembers. That was not my point. Stop deciding what other people think on their behalf." Renji smiles, though he looks a little tired. These days, everyone is tired. "You're not always right, you know."
"Of course I'm not always right," Yukimura says. "I think I've proved that quite well."
"You're still very good at avoiding taking meaning on board when it suits you. Some things don't change," Renji says, and gets up to pay. "I think I'd like to see the treasure house again before we leave, if you don't mind."
"You're not angry?"
Renji's eyes drift fully open for a moment. "I think you're being very foolish on several levels. I can try for angry if you would prefer." He smiles slightly again. "The entrance is over here, by the way."
Yukimura follows him around the treasure house silently, not trusting himself to be able to say the right thing.
The next day, mentally and physically exhausted, he just sleeps, then dozes; gets up to eat, and sleeps some more, until rest takes away the worst of the pain in his legs.
The day after that, Sanada is due home.
"I'll be later than expected," Sanada says over the phone. "Don't wait up for me. I'll see you in the morning."
Yukimura, already tightly-wound, wonders if he will survive the night.
He does hear Sanada come in, sometime in the small hours of the morning. Door opening; the scrape and thud of his case being pulled in over the step. Door closing. Keys dropped onto the table. Footsteps.
He can hear his own heartbeat, too.
Breathe slowly, he reminds himself. You don't want to deal with any of this in the middle of the night.
It's harder to pretend when he feels the mattress shift as Sanada lies down; he shifts a little, but keeps his eyes closed. The light flicks off.
When Sanada gets up Yukimura is already dressed and sitting around trying to read, eyes scanning the same line over and over again without seeing it.
He isn't certain what he's going to say, although he has to say something, or he won't be able to look anyone he knows in the eye. Not to mention being unable to live with himself, although he's doing fairly badly on that front anyway. How is he planning to take his life apart? Let's see.
"Did you have a good week?" Sanada asks. He's just come out of the bathroom; damp hair, towel around his neck.
"A confusing one, mostly," Yukimura tells him, and marks his page, putting the book aside. His hands do not shake. "I've had to think about a lot of things."
The look Sanada casts him is wary; I know something's wrong, Seiichi. "Really."
"Mm. I don't think I should keep depending on you for support." He's forcing even these words out, although as far as he can tell they sound perfectly calm. "This isn't the way I want to live."
"What on earth are you planning to do?" Sanada asks. There's a hint of a growl to the words, but not all-out anger. Not yet. Give it time. "You can't--"
"There are plenty of things I can do. I can't play at being a kept woman. I may not be healthy but that doesn't mean I'm useless."
"Who called you that? Any of that?"
"You implied it well enough," Yukimura manages, quietly. "I'm not trying to blame you, I know what you meant. But..."
The silence is full of sharpness, hidden traps. A wrong word here or there, and it will all be over.
Sanada is frowning.
It will all be over sooner or later anyway. Might as well find out how bad it can get now; there's no point in drawing this out. Yukimura looks up to meet Sanada's eyes, gets to his feet, bringing them almost level.
"I slept with someone else this week."
He expects to feel Sanada's anger, instant and savage. Instead he gets blank incomprehension.
"What?"
"You heard."
The room is too silent, but there's a feeling of shift; the sense of it prickles across Yukimura's skin, coils itself in his stomach, fascinating and horrifying. Is this how easy it is to take everything apart, break people, break himself? You only need words.
Tension. Sanada's hands curl into fists, maybe of their own accord. The line of his jaw is hard, muscles contracted. What will happen next -- will Sanada try to hit him, perhaps?
"Why are you telling me this? Do you want to make me angry?"
"You should be angry. I had sex with another man." Yukimura gives a shaky laugh, poised on the edge of a mental precipice. Just one more step. He knows the words that will push them both over that edge. "Unless you don't care, of course."
There.
A sense of freefall.
Sanada lunges for him, crowding him back against the wall. He can feel the plasterboard pressing hard against his shoulderblades, Sanada's arm across his chest putting the pressure on, trapping him.
"Yukimura," he growls, and that's when Yukimura knows he's pushed too far to go back. Yukimura. Not Seiichi. "Stop this--"
"Stop what?" Yukimura snarls back, because that force and that anger are his license to let go, to answer with the same. He can't be so angry at a Sanada who is always gentle. "If this is what I have to do to make you notice there's a problem then you're not discouraging me."
"You could have tried talking to me."
"And you'd have listened?"
Sanada is leaning against him with more and more force. Maybe he's not even aware he's doing it. Yukimura's shoulder aches where Sanada's elbow is digging into it.
"You didn't try to find out," Sanada tells him, savage, furious. Nothing cold about him now. His fingers curl hard into the fabric of Yukimura's shirt. "You just damn well assumed. Is that all you think of me? Someone who's stupid but useful, is that it?"
"I never asked for any of this," Yukimura hisses. "You're talking about assuming; who's fucking assuming? You just assumed it'd be alright for me to stay at home and work a few hours a week for the rest of my damn life, but I'm not allowed to assume you won't take me seriously if I try to say it's not." He drops his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, struggles to draw in a deep breath against all of Sanada's weight. Breathes out another laugh which has nothing at all to do with amusement, chokes on it, oh, shit.
There's a moment when he thinks he might not even be able to take another breath, and then Sanada's weight vanishes, lets him gasp air into his lungs as it rushes back into the space between them.
Sanada's hand slams against the wall beside Yukimura's head. Yukimura doesn't back down in the slightest; just pulls himself up a little straighter, stares at Sanada with defiance.
"You'd rather I pushed you harder and harder until you broke again? I tried that once before, if you remember. It was a mistake." Yukimura, we'll wait for you. Late nights doing exercises, trying to remember how to swing a racket, Sanada telling him he could do it. Pain, and lectures from doctors. Really admitting defeat for the first time. "I told myself I wouldn't do that again. Apparently I just can't fucking win."
"That's not the issue," Yukimura says. "Who asked you to push me like that again? I just don't want to feel like you're forcing me to hold back. Is that so hard?"
Another moment when he really thinks Sanada will hit him, and then Sanada turns away, hands falling to his sides. Perhaps he is shaking slightly with the effort of suppressing his anger, or perhaps Yukimura is just imagining things. He is hardly steady himself.
"I'm not talking about this now," Sanada says, voice rough. "Yukimura, there's no way you can solve any problem like this by cheating on me. Perhaps I've made mistakes but you haven't even given me a chance to understand them. Unless you're looking for an excuse to leave me, then..."
I know, Yukimura feels like screaming. I know it won't solve anything. Stop expecting everything to make sense.
Some things just aren't logical.
"I love you, you know," he says out loud, almost savage; feels a weird sense of disorientation trying to think when he must've last said that, and realising how different the words sounded back then. "But none of this is working."
"So you've given up." A pause. Sanada really is shaking, right on the edge of something worse, darker. "I think I need some space. Excuse me."
He goes to the bedroom, and comes back with his suitcase, still packed from the night before; pulls a shirt on as he goes, buttons it up standing by the door, refuses to look at Yukimura.
"I'll be with Renji."
The door slams.
Oh, hell.
Silence takes over again; blankets everything until it feels stifling.
He opens the windows to let in the world, and shivers in the warm air, sure that he should be feeling... something. Some extreme of emotion: anger or guilt or sadness. Maybe that will come later. For now it seems as though Sanada has taken everything with him, removing far more from the flat than a case full of work clothes.
After a while, his phone rings. He picks it up automatically, forgetting to check who is calling.
"Hi."
"Hello, Seiichi," Renji's voice says, a murmur into his ear. "I thought you might like to know that he's here. I don't recommend you visit. Are you doing anything much?"
Yukimura isn't even entirely sure what he has been doing. "Not much."
"Take care of yourself," Renji tells him. "And don't frown at me, you need telling."
Yukimura keeps frowning. There's another voice in the background, and Renji must cover the mouthpiece to respond because Yukimura can only hear faint noises.
"I'll talk to you later," Renji says when he's done.
"Mm. Alright."
Feelings do catch up with him in the middle of the night, tangled up together until he can't tell which is which any more. It's a sort of relief. Only sort of.
He wakes up in the morning feeling as though he's had no sleep at all, maybe for several days, and finds that his brain is still full of stray night-time thoughts. Late morning sunlight is flooding through the window.
On the windowsill plants that he'd forgotten are just beginning to open buds, showing petals that catch the light, bright and golden-yellow. The air is fresh. For a second, everything is alright.
Reality is always waiting, though: letters addressed to Sanada, a second toothbrush in the holder by the sink, a stack of work notes sitting abandoned on the table by the sofa.
It's eleven o'clock; no-one will be home at Renji's. Sanada will be sitting in an office he never really wanted to work at in the first place, showing his co-workers exactly the same face he shows them every day. Did he sleep last night?
Maybe there are darker circles under his eyes. No-one will dare ask why, anyway.
For a moment he considers calling Sanada at work and apologising, but he's done enough to make Sanada's life unpleasant -- he doesn't know what apology would be enough, anyway.
I'm sorry I'm an asshole who can't accept help and support?
Not even close.
Time drags. Yukimura spends more and more time turned in on himself, thinking. The girls comment on it in the shop; customers snap him out of a daze to make purchases.
The flat felt wrong before but it feels worse now, and he works longer hours to make up for it, making himself tired so he can sleep and dealing with the pain in his body by ignoring it.
Niou stops by the shop once, leaves food and a bottle of water; looks Yukimura up and down critically and rolls his eyes.
"Given up, then?"
Yukimura has been thinking about this, though. The question doesn't throw him or send him into a guilty panic. It might've, at one stage. "No. But I think he needs enough space to process things first."
"Still might decide you're no good."
"We'll see."
It's so easy to say it and sound sure of himself. But he's at least getting more sure, for all he's been struggling: things are piecing themselves together in his mind. He's become sick of self-pity. The person he used to be is trying to make himself known again; little hints of life in a dead garden. The determination to succeed that's been missing for so long, making the sickness and guilt and the whole mess of his life something to be overcome. So much of this he did to himself. If he can't fix it himself, then--
Niou laughs. "That's more like it."
There is no-one standing nearby; one girl, but she's walking away towards the back of the shop.
"Hey, Niou," Yukimura says, "Why'd you do it?"
He still can't quite understand that.
Niou runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his head. "You did a pretty fucking stupid thing, but it coulda been a stupider one. What if some chick didn't get it and thought she stood a chance? Or some guy. Whatever. Plus you're hot, and sorry -- my moral standing's always been pretty wonky."
"You think I've been so frustrated I might have slept with anyone who showed me the right sort of kindness?"
Niou hums, taps a finger to his lips. "Let's see... yeah? Pretty much."
It should be deeply, deeply insulting. Yukimura does bristle for a moment, until he catches the glint in Niou's expression.
Oh.
"One day you'll say something true," he tells Niou, "and no-one will believe you."
"Yup," Niou says, smirks. "Counting on it."
Yukimura shakes his head, trying not to think about whether he's just heard one of those true things or not. "Go on, get lost. Some of us have legitimate jobs."
"Gravedigging is a perfectly legitimate job," Niou says smoothly. "Disposing of bodies is just a side business."
There's nothing suitable on hand to throw at him, unfortunately. He's already half way out the door anyway.
It takes a long time to make himself dial Renji's phone number, and even longer to hit call. It's stupid; he's only talking to Renji, not Sanada, and Renji already knows exactly how foolish he's been.
"How's Genichirou doing?" he asks, when Renji has answered. He feels subdued, now he's actually dealing with the whole situation in a more direct way.
A pause. Renji sighs slightly, and then there's the sound of a door closing. "Are you asking because you really care, or because you feel obliged?"
Yukimura closes his eyes. "I care. You know I do."
"I just wanted to be sure. And to know you were sure."
"You haven't answered my question, anyway. That bad?"
"I think-- actually, wait a moment. If you hang up I may find a way to hurt you. Don't think it's beyond me."
He can hear the door opening again. Renji says something directed away from the phone; someone else answers. Sanada.
"It's for you," he can more or less make out Renji saying.
"Who?" Sanada asks, getting clearer, maybe taking the phone as he speaks.
Renji doesn't say anything.
"Hello?" Sanada says, talking into the phone now. "Who is it?"
Yukimura saw it coming, but he freezes for a moment anyway, briefly overwhelmed; I miss you. "Oh," he manages, grasps for words. "Hello. It's--"
"Ah."
Awkward silence.
Yukimura steadies himself, a hand pressed to the cool plaster of the wall in front of him.
"How are you?" he asks.
For a moment he wonders if Sanada is actually there, but then he realises he can hear him breathing. It crackles down the phoneline, white noise.
"I have to confess to having been better," Sanada says carefully. "But I will live."
"Have you--" he starts, and then thinks better of it. "No, no, never mind."
"What?"
"I miss you." The words come out slightly rushed, and just saying them stirs up more confusion inside him.
Sanada is silent again.
"I'm sorry," Yukimura adds. "I have no right-- but it's true. I hope you're alright."
"You too, Seiichi," Sanada says, a low rumble. Yukimura can't read much from it without seeing his expression.
Everything he can imagine is probably only a projection of his own feelings.
"I should go," Yukimura says, reluctant despite the awkwardness. "Thank you for talking to me."
"Mm."
Voices talking to each other on the other end of the phoneline.
Yukimura hangs up before Renji can take the phone back.
How long, he wonders, would he have to wait until he could realistically call again?
He refuses to be the tearful, needy one demanding to be taken back. But there are things he needs. Sanada really does seem to be one of them. It's not a need like I can't live without you, which he's always found to be more than a little concerning as an approach to relationships; blind obsession would do them both even more of a disservice than he's already managed. All the same, it's there, and he should have recognised it far sooner. It's a little pathetic to have to come to the point of losing something before...
No, he's not going down that line of thought.
Fully possessed of understanding of the way he feels, it's hard not to rush things, or to push too hard and cause more damage. He would like to avoid getting a reputation for that sort of thing on more levels than he already has.
He waits, carefully, driving himself to distraction. A day, two days.
He'd thought Day Three would probably be a good time to call, if only to chat to Renji, but as it turns out it doesn't come to that.
Sanada turns up at the flat, knocking on the door rather than just letting himself in, standing awkwardly on the mat.
Yukimura, expecting to open the door to an unexpected delivery or perhaps a friend who happened to be in the area, is temporarily shocked into silence. He can only stare.
"Can I come in?" Sanada asks, and Yukimura, working on automatic, steps aside for him. At least being spoken to prompts some part of his brain into waking up again.
"Are you here to--"
"I thought--"
They both stumble to a halt, watching each other expectantly.
Yukimura manages a very small smile. "You first."
"I'd like to talk to you a little more," Sanada says.
The rush of hope Yukimura feels is more than enough to tell him he's been right not to just accept that their relationship isn't going to work. "Shall I make tea?" he asks, and then feels faintly foolish; that's what he'd do for guests. This place is more Sanada's than his.
"No, please," Sanada mutters. "I think Renji has fed me enough tea to last me for at least the next year. I... look, Seiichi. I can't pretend I'm happy about anything you said before."
"I'd be worried if you were," Yukimura manages. "I'm not really asking you to forgive me."
"Oh?"
"I don't think it's that simple. Please, tell me if I'm wrong, and then we can run off into the sunset together and live happily ever after. I've been wrong about so many things lately that... well."
"You're not wrong."
"Mm. Thought not. But... you're here."
"Yes." Sanada's expression is hard to read, deliberately sealed off, but there's some hint of stubborn pride about it -- or so Yukimura thinks. "What you were saying over the phone... I... me too. I've missed you. Maybe that makes me a fool, but it's how I feel."
The space between them is so carefully maintained that it hurts; never less than a metre and a half at any moment.
There are a lot of questions he could ask.
"Do you think this is something we can work on?" he settles for, because on an instinctive level it just doesn't feel as though Sanada is saying goodbye, and he needs to know he isn't wrong on that point.
He can see how tired Sanada is, and he can feel the same sort of tiredness in himself. Always tiredness.
"If that's what you want," Sanada says.
"Yes."
"It might not work in the end."
A lot of things don't.
"I want to try. It might."
I'd rather have made the effort. Let's not leave it like this.
The space between them closes. He isn't aware of having moved, so Sanada must've. Warm lips press to his, cautious, and he slides his arms around Sanada's body, holds on tightly, dropping his head to rest against the crook of Sanada's neck as everything slides away, all at once, tension vanishing; you're staying.
Thank you.
Yukimura stretches, shifts against the sheets, feeling something suspiciously close to contentment. The bedroom is dark, and Sanada's breath is damp against his neck. He can't even bring himself to care that it's really too warm a night to be sleeping so close to someone.
Everything isn't alright, but it might be. One day.
He doesn't even realise Sanada is still awake until the hand resting on his stomach shifts, dragging across damp skin. He gives a quiet hum of pleasure.
"If we don't change things, this won't work," Sanada says. It's the first they've really said about the problems they're going to face since Sanada arrived that morning.
"I know."
"If you--"
"I've been thinking about university. Maybe I can actually graduate this time."
"No sports societies."
Yukimura groans. "Don't remind me. 'Oh, stop worrying, I'm sure I can just play casually.' I don't know what I was thinking."
"That you were secretly indestructible, I suspect."
"Probably."
They settle into silence, dozing, half there.
It's so easy, on a moment-by-moment level, to feel that they're normal again already; from the outside, would anyone be able to tell what's happened to them?
Thinking about tomorrow is harder.
But if they can keep the little moments when everything feels okay, maybe it'll work in the end.
He phones Niou again, horrified at himself, horrified at the things he's thinking that he can't quite deny. Genichirou, I'm so sorry, I don't deserve...
"Is it alright for me to visit?" he asks. "Or maybe you're sick of me by now."
"Yeah, right," Niou says. "You can come over whenever you like, yanno."
That wasn't what you were meant to say. But he shouldn't try to push the responsibility off onto Niou. His actions are his own.
Not that he has a really clear idea of what he wants, or what he'd do. Horrifying as they are, the ideas are only vague, skittering away when he focuses on them.
He doesn't go straight away, anyway. He doesn't even go that week. Instead he tries to be normal, stumbles through routines that should be second nature, feels his little rituals to bring calm slipping away. Something has to change. Something has to change soon.
Sanada seems to know something is wrong. He treats Yukimura more and more carefully, maybe thinking that he's in greater pain than usual, maybe just not knowing what to think. He doesn't say anything. Yukimura wishes he would, then wonders how he'd even answer.
Mostly he just wishes to be given a reason to stop himself.
The morning Yukimura caves is the morning that Sanada, packing hurriedly, tells him that he's got an unexpected business trip which will last the rest of the week.
"That's fine," Yukimura says when he's told, and that's true in itself.
But then Sanada, frowning, tells him, "don't work too hard while I'm gone."
And that isn't fine. It would have been alright if he could only have made it a joke.
"I'll do my best," Yukimura says, because Sanada is in too much of a hurry for an argument, and then he's alone, feeling very small and somewhat lost.
So he waits until late morning and then calls Niou again, just to be sure he's home.
He is.
"I thought I should bring something, since I'm inviting myself over," Yukimura tells Niou, standing in the doorway, smiling carefully. In the thin convenience store plastic bag there are cans of beer, a few bits and pieces of actual food.
Niou steps aside to let him in and takes the bag, peering into it. "Alcohol." He grins.
"I still don't really drink," Yukimura tells him. "But I thought you might be able to find a use for it."
"We'll see," Niou says, drawling the words.
Yukimura steps inside. The flat is as tidy as it was last time; if he hadn't rooted through the cupboards for clothes before he might not have believed someone like Niou really lived here, or maybe that anyone really lived here. But all Niou's stuff is here; he's just a neat person. The world is full of unexpected turns, apparently.
It's strange the things you think about when there's something you're trying to avoid.
He can't avoid looking at Niou. Even if he's not trying, the way the top buttons on his shirt are left open draws Yukimura's attention inevitably to the hollow of his throat and the lines of his collar-bones.
"Do you have to work later?" he asks.
"For you, I can take a night off. Special service." Niou is reading him, pulling thoughts from his mind. Yukimura feels half sure of this, if only for a moment.
"I thought we could do something." He pauses, catches the momentary shift in Niou's expression. "I don't know. It's been a while since I've been to--"
"Hey," Niou cuts in. "Yukimura. Whatcha doing here?"
"Being sociable," Yukimura says; a last-ditch attempt. The words don't convince even him.
"Running."
Yukimura takes a deliberately steady breath, takes a step forward, takes a moment to meet Niou's eyes. "Don't."
Takes a chance, pressing his mouth against Niou's.
Niou seems to respond on blind instinct, mouth opening and hands coming to rest on Yukimura's sides and body shifting to settle them against each other. It's dizzying; the exciting rush of something new, not the comfortable familiarity of something you've had for years. Yukimura makes a pleased noise into the kiss.
And then Niou pulls away, swallowing, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Fuck. At least let me have a damn drink first."
It takes Yukimura a moment to regain mental balance, by which time Niou is already making good on his demand. He accepts without thinking when Niou thrusts an open can of beer at him, and then it seems as though it'd be strange not to take a drink, so he does.
"I'm that unappealing?" he asks. Smile; it's a joke.
"Plausible deniability when Sanada comes to murder me," Niou mumbles. "I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Too drunk. Can't even remember what we did. Maybe we didn't do anything."
"You could just ask me to leave. You don't have to..."
"What? Don't have to fuck you out of pity? That ain't what this is."
"What, then?"
Niou takes a long drink, slouches himself down onto the sofa. "See if you can't figure it out, yeah? You're smart and all."
Yukimura puts his own can aside, barely touched, and moves to straddle Niou, kneeling over him, hands going to his shoulders for balance. "I don't want to think about it. I'll assume you're up to no good."
They kiss again. There's bitterness to it -- but perhaps that's just the taste of alcohol on Niou's tongue.
Once he starts to let things happen, it gets easier to just let them keep going, building up momentum, events rushing onwards all by themselves and dragging him along with them. He isn't sure he even knows how to stop.
"Fuck," Niou groans, licks his lips, dropping back to sit on the floor, staring up at Yukimura. His legs are parted, his erection obvious between them. "Fuck. Fuck, I'm hard. That was hot. You wanna...?"
Yukimura is on the sofa, panting, his body limp and wrung out, his cock softening. He can barely even think, but Niou's meaning still penetrates. "Sure," he says. "Or you could wait, and..."
He doesn't quite manage to say it, but Niou's eyes widen for a moment anyway. "Shit, don't say stuff like that. You don't wanna."
"You sure?"
Niou considers him for a second, two, three, four, five. "You're messed up."
"I'm offering to let you fuck me," Yukimura says, breathing still ragged. "Would you rather I ordered?"
"Never know," Niou says. "I might get off on that shit. Put on military uniform too and I'll come on the spot." He actually sounds unsteady now, and fumbles a little picking up his beer can from the table behind him.
Yukimura accepts it when it gets passed on, and drinks deeply this time, pulling a face at the taste. Never mind; he doesn't have to like it. It's just to stop him thinking too much.
He keeps drinking while Niou gets to his feet, searching around the flat; feels the buzz starting that he'd almost forgotten, hasn't experienced since he was maybe twenty and nothing had settled into routine yet.
By the time Niou comes back his body is feeling less painfully sensitive, and Niou's hand snaking its way between his legs again actually feels good. He moves himself awkwardly, stretching the pins and needles out of his limbs as well as he can, and Niou shifts with him, helps him out of what few clothes he has left, runs hands over his skin, slides slick fingers inside him. Has sex with him, right there on the sofa, the two of them slipping awkwardly on the cushions but in too much of a hurry to care.
Yukimura feels that he's watching from a bizarre detached standpoint again. Someone else is doing these things, and feeling them: a stranger pushes his hips back against Niou's, hands clawing for purchase on smooth fabric. Someone he doesn't know makes pleas that sound like orders, more, yes, there, like that, ah... that's good. Don't stop.
It's when his body starts to tremble and tense and spill into release that he can't hold himself apart, crashes back to the reality of the situation, lips forming unvoiced words as he closes his eyes tight against the world.
He takes himself off to the bathroom afterwards and then to bed on shaking legs, holding onto the soreness in his body; a reminder. Niou hasn't bitten him or marked him, and Yukimura almost wishes he had done -- that he'd left some evidence which couldn't just be washed away. Niou doesn't follow him through to bed, either. But then, it's only late afternoon.
The next time he opens his eyes it's dark, and he almost forgets where he is. He's naked between the sheets, almost chilly where they've partly slipped off him. Marks or no marks, the reality of what he's done is fresh in his mind.
He buries his face against the pillow, but that only means that the next breath he takes smells of Niou.
It takes a while, but he manages to coax his body into cooperating and pulls himself out of bed, tugging on clean clothes -- Niou must've left them there for him. He's not sure he'll ever grasp how Niou's mind works as well as he'd like; but isn't that half the appeal?
Niou is unfathomable, and also unmistakably free, at least in the senses that matter.
"Yo," Niou says when Yukimura emerges. "Figured it out yet?"
"What?"
"Why I'm doing this."
He's fully dressed, looking as though nothing happened, flicking between windows on the screen of his computer; probably work, Yukimura realises, but right now he doesn't have the curiosity to look.
"I told you I didn't want to think about it," Yukimura tells him. "You're not in love with me and you can't be after my money."
"Stubborn," Niou says. "I dunno why the fuck I bother."
All Yukimura can think about is that they've just had sex. They've just had sex and at the end of the week Sanada will be back and what is he going to do?
And is he going to end up running to Niou over and over again?
He just can't tell.
"Why are you doing this, Niou?" he murmurs.
The screen of the computer goes black, and Niou turns in his chair, staring right at Yukimura. "'Cause you're an idiot. 'Cause you ain't got a clue what you want."
"I want freedom," Yukimura says, harshness creeping into his voice. "A future."
"And you say it like I'm gonna be the one to give you all that? Get real."
"That doesn't tell me why."
"'Cause I ain't in love with you. 'Cause I know exactly what you are and I bet I know what you need better than you do." Niou turns away again, gets to his feet, one hand shoved in a pocket, shoulders hunched. "You feeling better after all that? Like maybe you got what you really wanted?"
Yukimura is silent. He can't think of an answer; everything inside his head is in too much turmoil.
Well, that's probably his answer right there. Not that he can voice it.
"I'm gonna go and get food," Niou says. "Curry good?"
"Okay," Yukimura murmurs.
Niou leaves him alone in the flat to wrestle with his own thoughts.
After a while something begins to take shape. It's just a sort of creeping suspicion; no form, little substance.
Niou feeds him and makes him stay the night and shares the bed with him despite his wavering and indecision.
In darkness, things are often easier.
"He's important," he says softly. "I can't pretend that's not true."
"I can't believe someone like me's gotta be the one to say this to you, when we just fucked a few hours ago... but yanno, if he's that important, bloody talk to him." Niou sounds mock-grumpy. Yukimura's eyes haven't adjusted enough to make out anything of his expression.
"You know how he can be. If he doesn't want to hear, he won't hear."
"Oh, fuck," Niou says, starting to laugh. "Irresistible forces and immovable objects. Bloody good luck to the pair of you."
Yukimura groans into his pillow. "I mean it."
"Sometimes I reckon you deserve each other," Niou mumbles, that edge of laughter still making itself known.
I doubt he'll feel the same if I tell him about today, Yukimura thinks, and feels something tightening uncomfortably inside his chest. "That's debatable."
Silence.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
Niou doesn't answer for long enough that Yukimura wonders if he really had anything to say in the first place. "I can't believe I'm the one who's gotta say this, but what the hell. Fix it or get out. Quit stalling."
"You're trying to give me relationship advice."
"Yeah. But don't rub my fucking nose in it. It's drunk relationship advice, if that helps any."
"You're trying to give me relationship advice a few hours after you had sex with me."
"Looks that way."
Yukimura rolls over onto his back, rubs a hand against his forehead, despairing of understanding. "My life is bizarre."
"We do our best," Niou mumbles. He sounds as though he's drifting, and it doesn't take much longer for his breathing to even out into what's probably real sleep.
Yukimura lies awake for a lot longer, thinking about Sanada, about his feelings, and about whether feelings are always enough to carry you through.
He hasn't reached any real conclusion by the time the clock is reading 03:00. He remembers thinking at that stage that he'll never manage to sleep, and then he opens his eyes to daylight.
The rest of the week is a struggle. He sends Renji increasingly stressed e-mails until Renji shows up at his door, unannounced and drags him to Tokyo for a change of scene, walking him around art galleries that have new or temporary exhibits which might be of interest. It's a slow, relaxed day, and nothing dramatic happens, but Yukimura feels a tiny bit better in himself.
It does nothing whatsoever to lessen the guilt he's fighting with, though.
"Are you planning to tell me what's wrong?" Renji asks eventually. They're sitting in the cafe of the Tokyo National Museum -- one chosen more for Renji's interests than Yukimura's, although it's certainly an interesting place.
Yukimura glances away. "It would make things awkward for you if I did."
"That's quite possible. It's also not what I asked."
In honesty Yukimura isn't even certain he can form the words to explain. Thinking about it seems to close off his throat, leaving him struggling to voice anything at all. He feels heavy, anxious. "Do you want to know?"
"If it'll help you to tell me. I'm still worried."
They're in public, but they're in public far from home. No-one knows them here. "I don't know if I should be with Genichirou anymore."
Renji watches him. Yukimura can't meet his eyes. "Why?"
"I don't deserve him. And he doesn't deserve to have to deal with..." Yukimura gestures vaguely at his own body "...all this."
"That isn't how it works."
"I slept with someone else."
Silence.
"I told you I don't deserve him."
"This is something recent, isn't it?" Renji asks. There's no real discernible expression on his face. He could be thinking anything. Yukimura's mind fills in the blank space with all sorts of damning possibilities.
"Yes."
"Seiichi. Are you that dissatisfied?"
Yukimura stares into his tea, watching the reflected light shifting on its surface. "I don't know what I am. I'm fed up. I'm confused. I made a mistake."
"Well--"
"Don't say it. It doesn't matter if I know it was a mistake. He's under no obligation to forgive me. I wouldn't expect him to."
"Do you want him to? Or have you just decided that you're beyond forgiveness? Are you going to lock yourself in your room for a week this time, or did you have something more drastic in mind?"
Yukimura frowns. "Of course you remember that. I was fifteen. It's--"
"Everyone remembers. That was not my point. Stop deciding what other people think on their behalf." Renji smiles, though he looks a little tired. These days, everyone is tired. "You're not always right, you know."
"Of course I'm not always right," Yukimura says. "I think I've proved that quite well."
"You're still very good at avoiding taking meaning on board when it suits you. Some things don't change," Renji says, and gets up to pay. "I think I'd like to see the treasure house again before we leave, if you don't mind."
"You're not angry?"
Renji's eyes drift fully open for a moment. "I think you're being very foolish on several levels. I can try for angry if you would prefer." He smiles slightly again. "The entrance is over here, by the way."
Yukimura follows him around the treasure house silently, not trusting himself to be able to say the right thing.
The next day, mentally and physically exhausted, he just sleeps, then dozes; gets up to eat, and sleeps some more, until rest takes away the worst of the pain in his legs.
The day after that, Sanada is due home.
"I'll be later than expected," Sanada says over the phone. "Don't wait up for me. I'll see you in the morning."
Yukimura, already tightly-wound, wonders if he will survive the night.
He does hear Sanada come in, sometime in the small hours of the morning. Door opening; the scrape and thud of his case being pulled in over the step. Door closing. Keys dropped onto the table. Footsteps.
He can hear his own heartbeat, too.
Breathe slowly, he reminds himself. You don't want to deal with any of this in the middle of the night.
It's harder to pretend when he feels the mattress shift as Sanada lies down; he shifts a little, but keeps his eyes closed. The light flicks off.
When Sanada gets up Yukimura is already dressed and sitting around trying to read, eyes scanning the same line over and over again without seeing it.
He isn't certain what he's going to say, although he has to say something, or he won't be able to look anyone he knows in the eye. Not to mention being unable to live with himself, although he's doing fairly badly on that front anyway. How is he planning to take his life apart? Let's see.
"Did you have a good week?" Sanada asks. He's just come out of the bathroom; damp hair, towel around his neck.
"A confusing one, mostly," Yukimura tells him, and marks his page, putting the book aside. His hands do not shake. "I've had to think about a lot of things."
The look Sanada casts him is wary; I know something's wrong, Seiichi. "Really."
"Mm. I don't think I should keep depending on you for support." He's forcing even these words out, although as far as he can tell they sound perfectly calm. "This isn't the way I want to live."
"What on earth are you planning to do?" Sanada asks. There's a hint of a growl to the words, but not all-out anger. Not yet. Give it time. "You can't--"
"There are plenty of things I can do. I can't play at being a kept woman. I may not be healthy but that doesn't mean I'm useless."
"Who called you that? Any of that?"
"You implied it well enough," Yukimura manages, quietly. "I'm not trying to blame you, I know what you meant. But..."
The silence is full of sharpness, hidden traps. A wrong word here or there, and it will all be over.
Sanada is frowning.
It will all be over sooner or later anyway. Might as well find out how bad it can get now; there's no point in drawing this out. Yukimura looks up to meet Sanada's eyes, gets to his feet, bringing them almost level.
"I slept with someone else this week."
He expects to feel Sanada's anger, instant and savage. Instead he gets blank incomprehension.
"What?"
"You heard."
The room is too silent, but there's a feeling of shift; the sense of it prickles across Yukimura's skin, coils itself in his stomach, fascinating and horrifying. Is this how easy it is to take everything apart, break people, break himself? You only need words.
Tension. Sanada's hands curl into fists, maybe of their own accord. The line of his jaw is hard, muscles contracted. What will happen next -- will Sanada try to hit him, perhaps?
"Why are you telling me this? Do you want to make me angry?"
"You should be angry. I had sex with another man." Yukimura gives a shaky laugh, poised on the edge of a mental precipice. Just one more step. He knows the words that will push them both over that edge. "Unless you don't care, of course."
There.
A sense of freefall.
Sanada lunges for him, crowding him back against the wall. He can feel the plasterboard pressing hard against his shoulderblades, Sanada's arm across his chest putting the pressure on, trapping him.
"Yukimura," he growls, and that's when Yukimura knows he's pushed too far to go back. Yukimura. Not Seiichi. "Stop this--"
"Stop what?" Yukimura snarls back, because that force and that anger are his license to let go, to answer with the same. He can't be so angry at a Sanada who is always gentle. "If this is what I have to do to make you notice there's a problem then you're not discouraging me."
"You could have tried talking to me."
"And you'd have listened?"
Sanada is leaning against him with more and more force. Maybe he's not even aware he's doing it. Yukimura's shoulder aches where Sanada's elbow is digging into it.
"You didn't try to find out," Sanada tells him, savage, furious. Nothing cold about him now. His fingers curl hard into the fabric of Yukimura's shirt. "You just damn well assumed. Is that all you think of me? Someone who's stupid but useful, is that it?"
"I never asked for any of this," Yukimura hisses. "You're talking about assuming; who's fucking assuming? You just assumed it'd be alright for me to stay at home and work a few hours a week for the rest of my damn life, but I'm not allowed to assume you won't take me seriously if I try to say it's not." He drops his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, struggles to draw in a deep breath against all of Sanada's weight. Breathes out another laugh which has nothing at all to do with amusement, chokes on it, oh, shit.
There's a moment when he thinks he might not even be able to take another breath, and then Sanada's weight vanishes, lets him gasp air into his lungs as it rushes back into the space between them.
Sanada's hand slams against the wall beside Yukimura's head. Yukimura doesn't back down in the slightest; just pulls himself up a little straighter, stares at Sanada with defiance.
"You'd rather I pushed you harder and harder until you broke again? I tried that once before, if you remember. It was a mistake." Yukimura, we'll wait for you. Late nights doing exercises, trying to remember how to swing a racket, Sanada telling him he could do it. Pain, and lectures from doctors. Really admitting defeat for the first time. "I told myself I wouldn't do that again. Apparently I just can't fucking win."
"That's not the issue," Yukimura says. "Who asked you to push me like that again? I just don't want to feel like you're forcing me to hold back. Is that so hard?"
Another moment when he really thinks Sanada will hit him, and then Sanada turns away, hands falling to his sides. Perhaps he is shaking slightly with the effort of suppressing his anger, or perhaps Yukimura is just imagining things. He is hardly steady himself.
"I'm not talking about this now," Sanada says, voice rough. "Yukimura, there's no way you can solve any problem like this by cheating on me. Perhaps I've made mistakes but you haven't even given me a chance to understand them. Unless you're looking for an excuse to leave me, then..."
I know, Yukimura feels like screaming. I know it won't solve anything. Stop expecting everything to make sense.
Some things just aren't logical.
"I love you, you know," he says out loud, almost savage; feels a weird sense of disorientation trying to think when he must've last said that, and realising how different the words sounded back then. "But none of this is working."
"So you've given up." A pause. Sanada really is shaking, right on the edge of something worse, darker. "I think I need some space. Excuse me."
He goes to the bedroom, and comes back with his suitcase, still packed from the night before; pulls a shirt on as he goes, buttons it up standing by the door, refuses to look at Yukimura.
"I'll be with Renji."
The door slams.
Oh, hell.
Silence takes over again; blankets everything until it feels stifling.
He opens the windows to let in the world, and shivers in the warm air, sure that he should be feeling... something. Some extreme of emotion: anger or guilt or sadness. Maybe that will come later. For now it seems as though Sanada has taken everything with him, removing far more from the flat than a case full of work clothes.
After a while, his phone rings. He picks it up automatically, forgetting to check who is calling.
"Hi."
"Hello, Seiichi," Renji's voice says, a murmur into his ear. "I thought you might like to know that he's here. I don't recommend you visit. Are you doing anything much?"
Yukimura isn't even entirely sure what he has been doing. "Not much."
"Take care of yourself," Renji tells him. "And don't frown at me, you need telling."
Yukimura keeps frowning. There's another voice in the background, and Renji must cover the mouthpiece to respond because Yukimura can only hear faint noises.
"I'll talk to you later," Renji says when he's done.
"Mm. Alright."
Feelings do catch up with him in the middle of the night, tangled up together until he can't tell which is which any more. It's a sort of relief. Only sort of.
He wakes up in the morning feeling as though he's had no sleep at all, maybe for several days, and finds that his brain is still full of stray night-time thoughts. Late morning sunlight is flooding through the window.
On the windowsill plants that he'd forgotten are just beginning to open buds, showing petals that catch the light, bright and golden-yellow. The air is fresh. For a second, everything is alright.
Reality is always waiting, though: letters addressed to Sanada, a second toothbrush in the holder by the sink, a stack of work notes sitting abandoned on the table by the sofa.
It's eleven o'clock; no-one will be home at Renji's. Sanada will be sitting in an office he never really wanted to work at in the first place, showing his co-workers exactly the same face he shows them every day. Did he sleep last night?
Maybe there are darker circles under his eyes. No-one will dare ask why, anyway.
For a moment he considers calling Sanada at work and apologising, but he's done enough to make Sanada's life unpleasant -- he doesn't know what apology would be enough, anyway.
I'm sorry I'm an asshole who can't accept help and support?
Not even close.
Time drags. Yukimura spends more and more time turned in on himself, thinking. The girls comment on it in the shop; customers snap him out of a daze to make purchases.
The flat felt wrong before but it feels worse now, and he works longer hours to make up for it, making himself tired so he can sleep and dealing with the pain in his body by ignoring it.
Niou stops by the shop once, leaves food and a bottle of water; looks Yukimura up and down critically and rolls his eyes.
"Given up, then?"
Yukimura has been thinking about this, though. The question doesn't throw him or send him into a guilty panic. It might've, at one stage. "No. But I think he needs enough space to process things first."
"Still might decide you're no good."
"We'll see."
It's so easy to say it and sound sure of himself. But he's at least getting more sure, for all he's been struggling: things are piecing themselves together in his mind. He's become sick of self-pity. The person he used to be is trying to make himself known again; little hints of life in a dead garden. The determination to succeed that's been missing for so long, making the sickness and guilt and the whole mess of his life something to be overcome. So much of this he did to himself. If he can't fix it himself, then--
Niou laughs. "That's more like it."
There is no-one standing nearby; one girl, but she's walking away towards the back of the shop.
"Hey, Niou," Yukimura says, "Why'd you do it?"
He still can't quite understand that.
Niou runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his head. "You did a pretty fucking stupid thing, but it coulda been a stupider one. What if some chick didn't get it and thought she stood a chance? Or some guy. Whatever. Plus you're hot, and sorry -- my moral standing's always been pretty wonky."
"You think I've been so frustrated I might have slept with anyone who showed me the right sort of kindness?"
Niou hums, taps a finger to his lips. "Let's see... yeah? Pretty much."
It should be deeply, deeply insulting. Yukimura does bristle for a moment, until he catches the glint in Niou's expression.
Oh.
"One day you'll say something true," he tells Niou, "and no-one will believe you."
"Yup," Niou says, smirks. "Counting on it."
Yukimura shakes his head, trying not to think about whether he's just heard one of those true things or not. "Go on, get lost. Some of us have legitimate jobs."
"Gravedigging is a perfectly legitimate job," Niou says smoothly. "Disposing of bodies is just a side business."
There's nothing suitable on hand to throw at him, unfortunately. He's already half way out the door anyway.
It takes a long time to make himself dial Renji's phone number, and even longer to hit call. It's stupid; he's only talking to Renji, not Sanada, and Renji already knows exactly how foolish he's been.
"How's Genichirou doing?" he asks, when Renji has answered. He feels subdued, now he's actually dealing with the whole situation in a more direct way.
A pause. Renji sighs slightly, and then there's the sound of a door closing. "Are you asking because you really care, or because you feel obliged?"
Yukimura closes his eyes. "I care. You know I do."
"I just wanted to be sure. And to know you were sure."
"You haven't answered my question, anyway. That bad?"
"I think-- actually, wait a moment. If you hang up I may find a way to hurt you. Don't think it's beyond me."
He can hear the door opening again. Renji says something directed away from the phone; someone else answers. Sanada.
"It's for you," he can more or less make out Renji saying.
"Who?" Sanada asks, getting clearer, maybe taking the phone as he speaks.
Renji doesn't say anything.
"Hello?" Sanada says, talking into the phone now. "Who is it?"
Yukimura saw it coming, but he freezes for a moment anyway, briefly overwhelmed; I miss you. "Oh," he manages, grasps for words. "Hello. It's--"
"Ah."
Awkward silence.
Yukimura steadies himself, a hand pressed to the cool plaster of the wall in front of him.
"How are you?" he asks.
For a moment he wonders if Sanada is actually there, but then he realises he can hear him breathing. It crackles down the phoneline, white noise.
"I have to confess to having been better," Sanada says carefully. "But I will live."
"Have you--" he starts, and then thinks better of it. "No, no, never mind."
"What?"
"I miss you." The words come out slightly rushed, and just saying them stirs up more confusion inside him.
Sanada is silent again.
"I'm sorry," Yukimura adds. "I have no right-- but it's true. I hope you're alright."
"You too, Seiichi," Sanada says, a low rumble. Yukimura can't read much from it without seeing his expression.
Everything he can imagine is probably only a projection of his own feelings.
"I should go," Yukimura says, reluctant despite the awkwardness. "Thank you for talking to me."
"Mm."
Voices talking to each other on the other end of the phoneline.
Yukimura hangs up before Renji can take the phone back.
How long, he wonders, would he have to wait until he could realistically call again?
He refuses to be the tearful, needy one demanding to be taken back. But there are things he needs. Sanada really does seem to be one of them. It's not a need like I can't live without you, which he's always found to be more than a little concerning as an approach to relationships; blind obsession would do them both even more of a disservice than he's already managed. All the same, it's there, and he should have recognised it far sooner. It's a little pathetic to have to come to the point of losing something before...
No, he's not going down that line of thought.
Fully possessed of understanding of the way he feels, it's hard not to rush things, or to push too hard and cause more damage. He would like to avoid getting a reputation for that sort of thing on more levels than he already has.
He waits, carefully, driving himself to distraction. A day, two days.
He'd thought Day Three would probably be a good time to call, if only to chat to Renji, but as it turns out it doesn't come to that.
Sanada turns up at the flat, knocking on the door rather than just letting himself in, standing awkwardly on the mat.
Yukimura, expecting to open the door to an unexpected delivery or perhaps a friend who happened to be in the area, is temporarily shocked into silence. He can only stare.
"Can I come in?" Sanada asks, and Yukimura, working on automatic, steps aside for him. At least being spoken to prompts some part of his brain into waking up again.
"Are you here to--"
"I thought--"
They both stumble to a halt, watching each other expectantly.
Yukimura manages a very small smile. "You first."
"I'd like to talk to you a little more," Sanada says.
The rush of hope Yukimura feels is more than enough to tell him he's been right not to just accept that their relationship isn't going to work. "Shall I make tea?" he asks, and then feels faintly foolish; that's what he'd do for guests. This place is more Sanada's than his.
"No, please," Sanada mutters. "I think Renji has fed me enough tea to last me for at least the next year. I... look, Seiichi. I can't pretend I'm happy about anything you said before."
"I'd be worried if you were," Yukimura manages. "I'm not really asking you to forgive me."
"Oh?"
"I don't think it's that simple. Please, tell me if I'm wrong, and then we can run off into the sunset together and live happily ever after. I've been wrong about so many things lately that... well."
"You're not wrong."
"Mm. Thought not. But... you're here."
"Yes." Sanada's expression is hard to read, deliberately sealed off, but there's some hint of stubborn pride about it -- or so Yukimura thinks. "What you were saying over the phone... I... me too. I've missed you. Maybe that makes me a fool, but it's how I feel."
The space between them is so carefully maintained that it hurts; never less than a metre and a half at any moment.
There are a lot of questions he could ask.
"Do you think this is something we can work on?" he settles for, because on an instinctive level it just doesn't feel as though Sanada is saying goodbye, and he needs to know he isn't wrong on that point.
He can see how tired Sanada is, and he can feel the same sort of tiredness in himself. Always tiredness.
"If that's what you want," Sanada says.
"Yes."
"It might not work in the end."
A lot of things don't.
"I want to try. It might."
I'd rather have made the effort. Let's not leave it like this.
The space between them closes. He isn't aware of having moved, so Sanada must've. Warm lips press to his, cautious, and he slides his arms around Sanada's body, holds on tightly, dropping his head to rest against the crook of Sanada's neck as everything slides away, all at once, tension vanishing; you're staying.
Thank you.
Yukimura stretches, shifts against the sheets, feeling something suspiciously close to contentment. The bedroom is dark, and Sanada's breath is damp against his neck. He can't even bring himself to care that it's really too warm a night to be sleeping so close to someone.
Everything isn't alright, but it might be. One day.
He doesn't even realise Sanada is still awake until the hand resting on his stomach shifts, dragging across damp skin. He gives a quiet hum of pleasure.
"If we don't change things, this won't work," Sanada says. It's the first they've really said about the problems they're going to face since Sanada arrived that morning.
"I know."
"If you--"
"I've been thinking about university. Maybe I can actually graduate this time."
"No sports societies."
Yukimura groans. "Don't remind me. 'Oh, stop worrying, I'm sure I can just play casually.' I don't know what I was thinking."
"That you were secretly indestructible, I suspect."
"Probably."
They settle into silence, dozing, half there.
It's so easy, on a moment-by-moment level, to feel that they're normal again already; from the outside, would anyone be able to tell what's happened to them?
Thinking about tomorrow is harder.
But if they can keep the little moments when everything feels okay, maybe it'll work in the end.