protential | we are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe.

If you're telling me it's shit then

It's better than

Whatever you're

It's NOT shit, I'm trying to TELL YOU something

i don't need you to tell me anything

Well I need to tell you

Won't you do me the courtesy of answering when I call

why the hell should i do that

you're just going to yell at me like you always do

[...Well.]

If you called me and asked me not to yell at you right now

I wouldn't yell

I'd speak quietly

that's what you're saying now

but i'd say something else and that'd set you off and i

don't want to hear it

i just don't want to hear it

you'd have to promise me first and then promise not to break that promise

then maybe i'll call you

If you promise to call me after I promise you, then I promise you. Not maybe

Not maybe from either of us.

[...]

i'll promise to call you if you promise not to yell at me

you have to promise you won't raise your voice at all

i mean it akira

Edited 2018-05-11 08:05 (UTC)

I promise you, I'll be very quiet.

I'll be so quiet that you'll forget why you had to ask.

I promise. I mean it, too.

[Hikaru could drag this out for a while longer, maybe scoring additional concessions, additional reassurances, but...

He's fulfilling his promise.

So he calls, and he waits, and he's actually a little startled by how quickly Akira picks up. He releases a short breath of air, then, before taking in another, this one more deliberate than the first.]

Akira.

[It's a little too rough, a little too wet, but it's a name that fits well inside his mouth.]

[Akira snaps up his phone like a crocodile might—all that pressure, all that weighted force. There's a split-second where his anxiety deludes him, and he's terrified he might have rejected Hikaru's call by accident. But there is Hikaru's breathing, his lungs in working order. There is, at last, Hikaru's voice, meaning his mouth is still available. At least a little bit, his mouth is an accessible thing within Akira's world.

Akira has to wait a moment before he says anything back. He won't yell. He's not even going to raise his voice. Most immediately, he wants to exclaim, You idiot. But he won't do that. He can't. He promised he would not.]

...Hello, [he says, after too long. Hikaru will hear either static, or the strain of stress on Akira's throat. One of the two is causing a crackle.] Hikaru. [He's testing himself. If he can work through a few syllables, he should be all right...

When he takes a breath, it's like half a little gasp. Something done manually, maybe. Demanding of his own chest and everything tucked into there.]

I've been needing to ask you something.

[Hikaru--

He is an idiot.

He didn't expect to have such a strong visceral reaction to hearing Akira's stupid-ass voice. There's the static, and the strain, and the crackle that comes with it--he's the biggest idiot on the planet. Hearing all of that makes him want to start crying again. He just got done with crying, and now there's something else stuck in his throat, threatening to smother him from the inside on out. His sinuses feel like they're clogged to all hell. The next time he exhales, it's a lot less deliberate; he's struggling, here. He's really trying his hardest to breathe evenly.]

If you need to-- [He swallows up his first approach, then starts again.] If there's something you need to ask me, then you can just ask. You told me to call you, right, and I called you, so that means you can ask me... [There's real terror in knowing a question exists, but not knowing exactly what it is yet. It could be anything. Literally anything. For all he knows, Akira needs to ask him if they've made a huge mistake with this lease, and if Hikaru should just go on back to his parents' place. For all he knows, Akira needs to ask him if he's okay with calling it quits.

More desperate than anything else:]

Just ask me already.

Edited 2018-05-11 08:49 (UTC)

[Akira clears his throat, which is remarkably painful—he doesn't need to remark on it, because it must be clear in how it sounds, like a man resisting an attacker, like a man's defense against being strangled. He clears his throat, exhales to follow the pain, and then breathes back in, more slowly. Hikaru is an idiot. If one thing is true here, it's that... Akira pictures what his face must look like. When Hikaru cries like this, the skin around his eyes gets red, and he squints through the soreness, and his eyelashes stick together, and his irises glisten in this too-bright palette that looks too close to the afterlife. There's something spiritual about it. Akira imagines that Hikaru needs to wash his entire face. His cheeks and his chin and his stress-dampened forehead... Really? All this? Akira got all this to happen again?

When Akira sighs, it shakes with the force of being soft. He will be quiet. He will be so quiet. And he is, when he asks his terrifying question.] Do you want the 8,500 yen for same day delivery? They'll waive the fee if we get it delivered after the weekend.

[It would be a small price to pay if having a bed in the house tonight would mean Hikaru would come home to sleep in it. But it might have been helpful for him to explain far enough to say that, too.]

[In the time it takes Akira to clear his throat, and to sigh so softly, Hikaru has worked himself up into a lather of fear and accusation. He's expecting to hear everything from finding a way out of their lease to breaking up with each other to going their separate ways in a professional context. After all, if they can't even see eye to eye when it comes to one's choice of bedding, what hope could they possibly have for anything else? Why would Akira want to deal with an immature moron who can't handle the idea of sleeping on a futon? He just--you know, Hikaru just wanted something familiar to lean on in all the upheaval. That's what he wanted more than anything in the world. He's stupid, and an idiot, as Akira likes to tell him, but that's what he wanted and now it's causing all these awful problems. Akira himself is a familiar thing, of course he's familiar, but everything else about this couldn't be more different, and...

Hikaru squints through the soreness, as expected.]

Same-day delivery? What? For what?

[Even though he can read to the end of a sequence in less than five seconds, he can't seem to wrap his mind around Akira's question. His nerves, twisted into knots, then twisted into knots again, only twine tighter when he doesn't understand.]

What the hell are you talking about?

[If the low keen out of Akira's throat is any indication, he's grimacing hard. He's biting down on his words or his voice or something like that, so his jaw is clenched tight and strong. This sound is like a rumble but it's too thin for that. If someone tightened the strings of a cello too far, maybe... All that potential for something that sounds rich, but instead it might start screeching.

But, remember, Akira promised not to raise his voice. He's tired, that's all. He's thoroughly exhausted, and it would help him to yell about that. And yet he promised not to, so he won't. He just digs the heel of his palm harsh against his forehead until he has enough focus to say what he's been wanting to yell.]

The bed, Hikaru. The bed you wanted. Before I pay for it, please tell me whether you want it delivered today or after the weekend.

[It might not be so bad. Well, Akira has enough of a headache that lying down on anything wouldn't be bad.]

[Somehow, and for some reason, that's the last thing Hikaru expected to hear from Akira's mouth. The bed is a lot less important than what it represents, and why Hikaru got so angry about it in the first place. But Akira treats everything so logically, like a moment of life and death on the board, where there's only one way to save his stones from extinction. It must seem clear and clear-cut to him: Hikaru was upset about not having a bed, so Hikaru should be given a bed to make up for it. Such a simple solution, right?

Never mind squinting through the soreness. Hikaru is squeezing his eyes shut, mostly so he can feel the painful sting of it.]

I didn't tell you to order a bed, [he says, with a sort of helpless irritation.] I didn't tell you to do anything like that, Akira. Just forget it. [For a second, it seems like he has nothing else to say, and then he bursts out with--] Besides, if you cared about what I wanted, you would've asked me before, like before just now, but you didn't, so you don't, and I get that and it's whatever. If you want to sleep on a futon, then you can sleep on a damn futon. It's whatever to me.

Edited 2018-05-11 09:50 (UTC)

[He doesn't yell. Akira doesn't yell. He doesn't yell, because he promised that he wouldn't; he promised he wouldn't even raise his voice. He promised that because Hikaru promised to call him. Akira doesn't yell, when Hikaru says whatever.

But he does gasp a little, like he might start yelling. The gasp stops sort. Akira holds that breath, and his teeth are a gate, and his heart is trying so hard to be a gate, a stopper, a sturdy cork. His heart is trying so hard, even when Hikaru says whatever.

Akira's forehead thuds hard against the wall. Unseen, his shoulders are tight and tense to the point of trembling, but Hikaru probably doesn't have to see that to know it. Akira has too much in common with fraying power lines. There's that crackle; there's that urgent warning from people who know better. The danger heightens in stormy weather, and with Akira pushing his voice lower and lower through his throat, back into the most hidden parts of his lungs, it all has to come out in different ways. He can feel the stress coming out as tears, because there's no other way for it to leave him. It seeps. Don't say that, he's thinking, don't say that it's whatever to you, because it's not, and you care; I've seen you care.

Don't tell me you've stopped caring.

Akira's next gasps come twice, quickly, and they're very short. More like panting, before he bites that back too. When he can speak, his voice doesn't feel much better than asphalt.] I want to sleep with you, so doesn't that mean we're getting a bed? [He swallows, then swallows again. Then, his voice comes a little less raw. Tender in the way of pain, but not so scuffed.] If it's whatever, then tell me what's not whatever. Tell me already, so I can do it.

[This is the real reason why Hikaru didn't want to speak with Akira on the phone. This is the realest of real shit right here. When he can hear Akira's voice, when he can't run walk away from it, avoiding what he's done to it... When he can't get away from how badly he's hurting Akira... Unseen himself, Hikaru smiles in this self-aware way he does when he suddenly realizes what a huge bastard he's been. He realizes, not for the first time, that Akira deserves to be with somebody way better than him. Akira deserves somebody who won't make him sound like he's going to snap apart like so many tree branches in a nasty storm. This is a Category 4 hurricane, at the very least. Maybe it's worse than that. Maybe he's the worst thing to ever happen to Touya Akira.]

Akira. [Hikaru can be so soft and so sweet when he wants to be, and he wants to be the softest and the sweetest thing right now. He wants to be like cotton candy--not the best thing for your health, but delicious all the same. He's wheedling, really.] Hey, Akira, don't worry about it. You don't have to worry about it. I'd sleep with you if the only thing we had was a cardboard box, so you don't have to get all worked up about it. Listen, uh... [Compromise. Consciously, he tells himself to find a good compromise, a way for both White and Black to survive this encounter. He bites at his bottom lip with renewed resolve.] You can't just order a mattress for me without letting me test it out first, anyway. There are firmer ones, and softer ones, and that'll really affect things... [Akira tends to think things through in the extreme, but sometimes he doesn't think things through at all. It's annoying and it's endearing all at once.]

So, after the weekend, after we're all settled in otherwise, we can go and hit up the mattress store together. Together. Not just you freestyling like a crazy person. That way, we can both try them out, and if we don't find something we both like, well, your futon's gonna work just fine, but if we do find something we like...

[He laughs a little, then. A gentle, disbelieving laugh.]

I wasn't expecting you to keep your promise, you know. It's all right.

Edited 2018-05-12 02:17 (UTC)

[In Hikaru's sweetness, Akira is the one melting like sugar. Bubbling, a bit, boiling out of himself, but the steam rises out of him and he's really melting. He sighs and sighs again, each time into a shudder, and each time deeper than the last. Finally his breathing is slow and almost smooth. His eyelashes are fluttering. The last of those tears are glittering out of the way. His relief is as tangible through a phone line as it can be across a goban. He did exactly as he needed to; of course he did, since he promised... He did promise...] Wh...

[Weirdly, it's that, of all things, that sets him off. His eyes fly back open, and his voice starts to peak high—just a bit higher—] When haven't I kept my promises to you? [And then he gasps again, and bites down swiftly on his bottom lip. It doesn't cross his mind that putting a hole into the wall will get him banned from the store and fined and maybe arrested. All that keeps him from doing it is the white-static head rush of anger, like a tide of solid sea foam, pushing into his lungs.

He wasn't supposed to yell.]

Of course I... of course I kept... What would I do if I didn't! What else would I do! I can't promise you something if I won't do it, I just can't! Why would I! [And a frantic idea flies into his head: if Hikaru expects that kind of thing, will he be fine with breaking promises of his own? Akira pushes his hand against his forehead and twists his fingers into his bangs. He's in the middle of realizing he fucked up, without being able to do much about it.] If it means getting to sleep together, or getting you to call me, why wouldn't I keep any promise? Hikaru! Who do you think I am?

Edited 2018-05-12 03:53 (UTC)

[Hikaru sighs to himself. Maybe he's just too tired for it, too tired of bile and rancor, but Akira's yelling isn't setting him off like it usually does. In the midst of it, he thinks he'd much rather be at home right now--at home, in the house they bought together--where he could do something about all that caterwauling. He could hold Akira's ridiculous face in his hands, his fingertips stretching into dark hair, carefully curving and stroking behind ears. He could press kisses into him until he got the idea that he should shut up already.] I think... [Of course Akira took that remark as seriously as he does a tournament match. Of course he did.] I think you're my boyfriend, and my best friend, and my eternal rival, and a total idiot. Not necessarily in that order. I think you shouldn't let me yank your chain like this all the time. I think you're going to feel better if you look out the front window of the store, too.

[Kind of predictable, in all honesty. Akira made a beeline for the store nearest to their house, and it just so happened that Hikaru was nearby, shopping for a few things even as he cried about injustice and whatever. He's standing out there on the sidewalk, watching Akira have his mental breakdown, the phone held up to his ear. He's carrying a plastic grocery bag in his other hand, which undoubtedly contains sweet treats meant for an apology. That's just how it's worked for a long time now: after they get into a fight, and whether or not it's Hikaru's fault, he'll go and buy them something to snack on together. It's a cleansing ritual. A sort of reset.]

And I think you're scaring that poor sales associate over there. Come on. Let's go home, Akira. I don't want the ice cream to melt before we can eat it.

Edited 2018-05-12 05:13 (UTC)

[Akira's chest heaves way too easily; Hikaru is utterly in control of Akira's breathing. He can pitch him fast or slow, shallow or gasping deep, basically at a whim. Too often, without even realizing. In the moments before Hikaru replies, Akira is kind of panting, shallow and needy from exertion. From ongoing exertion. Hikaru reminds Akira of what they are—boyfriends, best friends—and Akira feels the recession of tides like blood leaving his face. Like standing up too quickly. Like it's going to be...

He really feels like he could collapse, when Hikaru repeats the truest state of them: eternal rivals. Akira presses his cheek to the wall for a moment, uncaring of his position and where he is. His eyes are closed, and Hikaru will be able to hear his sigh. It's a breath with too much weight, an unclogging of the heart, and some of Akira's voice comes with it. Not enough to be a word, but enough to say something. Ah, or whatever it is, means relief without measure.

The suggestion to look outside doesn't register right away, since Akira is still getting his bearings, re-learning how to breathe, all that. When he finally pulls himself away from the wall, he feels bleary, and he has to flutter his eyes and squint out through the window. The colors of Hikaru are unmistakable, though. That palette couldn't be anyone else. His silhouette is clear enough through any blur.] Hikaru, [Akira murmurs into his phone, softer than that cotton candy, less sturdy than it, and wispier, too. He pulls the phone away from his face, then, and is strong enough to leave the wall. Ideally, he would pause to bow to the sales associate, who has been fretting, wondering why her manager hasn't come to help her, but he leaves her wide-eyed in his wake, only giving her a tight, breathless thanks with as much formality as he can muster. The language is at odds with his flight.

He doesn't stop marching until he marches directly into Hikaru. His momentum would push the both of them onto the ground, except Akira has hooked himself around Hikaru to keep them both upright. His hands are grasping at the undersides of Hikaru's sleeves, a desperate anchor that has become routine.]

You're so stupid it's breathtaking, [he whispers, and he might mean it literally.]

[Hikaru hangs up and pockets his phone just as Akira barges out of the store, and Akira's on another one of his warpaths, it looks like. There's a couple seconds during Akira's approach where Hikaru can't be sure if Akira is going to hug him, or take a swing at him, finally. Either way, he waits for Akira to arrive with more of a casual, easygoing air than he's feeling on the inside. A small smile has snuck onto his face, though, because he can't help but be glad to see Akira after time away from him. He can't help it. Akira might be getting ready to scream at him some more, but he can't help himself here. From now on, he thinks, living together...

Well, it's terrifying. It's very scary to think they're going to spend more time together, because that means he has more to lose if and when Akira changes his mind about this. It's scary to move out of his parents' house, of the place he grew up in, trading all this familiarity for one uncertainty after another. He kept wondering if Akira was feeling anxious about it, too, but Akira didn't seem to hesitate at all, not at all, and that made Hikaru feel really, really stupid. Stupid, and immature, and sensitive about petty things, and stupid all over again. Breathtakingly stupid, even.

Now Akira is holding him so close, and so tightly, that breathing isn't the easiest thing for him, either. His free hand finds Akira's shoulder, then the hair that's long enough to take fistfuls of at night, and then the smoothest back of his head. He doesn't want to think about how fragile Akira might be, how close he is to imploding completely, even when Akira has a spine made of steel and his hands are like vises. He doesn't want to think about either of them being afraid.]

Seems to me like you've got a serious thing for stupidity.

[Hikaru tilts their foreheads back together, in spite of their difference, their distance, in height and stature. It doesn't take all that much to align their faces the way they should be, and for him to kiss Akira in that soft, sweet sense he's trying to embody. They were both crying not that long ago. They both taste like the salt and the bitterness of the ocean. As often as they're no good for each other, they're even worse off when they're apart. He doesn't know how he ever managed to do anything before meeting Touya Akira.]

Feeling better? [he murmurs, just between the two of them.]

Edited 2018-05-12 09:14 (UTC)

[There's a knot between Akira's shoulders. Knots in his shoulders, too. His lower back, and up into his neck. And his eyebrows are a knot, tight together in a terrible tangle, looking like something that couldn't ever be picked apart. Hikaru can pick them apart, of course. Hikaru knows to touch them, now, and how to touch them, to guide them smoother and help spread away the headache. His fingertips have the same familiar rounding; his fingerprints are just right. The exact shape of him is a key that slips securely into all Akira's locks. And he doesn't even need to touch Akira's brow with his hands, anymore, to bring their crease to peace. When their foreheads guide together—it's magnetism, it's supposed to happen by cosmic law—Akira's brow begins to smooth. He takes in a slower breath, not so shaky, and his eyes fall shut further into relief.] Seriously, [he agrees, before Hikaru kisses him. Akira's hands go tenser than before, tense enough that it has to hurt him—but then they're relaxing. Then he's relaxing, leaning against Hikaru, and all his knots are easier to ignore.

He makes sure to open his eyes so he can see Hikaru, when they part just so. His eyelashes have stayed damp, and his eyes are light in the way of rainy dawn. He doesn't answer Hikaru, at first, and when he does answer, it's by kissing him again. He does this more intensely, as he does most things, as he always kisses Hikaru after they've had a fight. He's licking Hikaru's top lip right away, and when he says ah against Hikaru's mouth, it means all sorts of things. Stupid, idiot, among them, probably meant for them both, insistent and pleading together. His hand slips down to catch Hikaru's hand, the one holding the shopping back, and Akira feels like throwing the bag on the ground for getting between the two of them. It's all right, though. He manages to clutch Hikaru's fingers even against the bag's handle.

He's quick to leave Hikaru's mouth with a glisten when he pulls back this time.] I was pretty quiet. Right? [Maybe he sounds humbled.]

Edited 2018-05-13 06:36 (UTC)

[Hikaru does know to touch Akira's knotted places, and how to touch them, yeah. It took some patience on his part, some careful observation, like dealing with a life and death problem of his own. When Akira resembles a statue in his arms, it's important to stroke the back of his head like this, first, just to begin with. He drags his fingers down afterward, delving into that dark hair, until he finds the back of Akira's neck and where it's gone damp with anxiety-riddled sweat. He thumbs a certain muscle there, one that's stubborn and stiff; it seems like it's petrified over a million years. Little by little, and with the help of another kiss, he can feel it loosening and relaxing and letting an epoch unwind from it. He'll need more of a chance to unravel this one in its entirety, not to mention all the others. Something to get started on as soon as they've gone home and had a couple scoops of ice cream.

...Unless it's gone and melted by then, anyway. Hikaru isn't expecting the kiss to be a heat wave, to be a one-on-one with the surface of the sun, but then Akira makes that sound--that sound, with all that pent-up anger and relief. It's the sound that never fails to encase Hikaru in heat. His mouth is wet, too, so wet, making his lips all slippery when Akira pulls away from him--not too far, but still going away--and they're tingling all over. Eyes half-closed, Hikaru has all the colors of a field of grain stretching out to the horizon. He could keep Akira fed with this summer harvest. He thinks, Really. He thinks, Right here on the sidewalk. But that doesn't mean he's moving anywhere else.

He exhales into something too light to be laughter.] You were pretty quiet, [he says in complete agreement.] Really quiet. Quiet enough that I forgot why I asked you to be quiet in the first place. [His lips quirk a little.] I mean, I didn't know you had it in you to be that quiet. But now I know, so... [For a long time, Hikaru thought of Akira as somebody who didn't need praise, who provided his own validation--an unstoppable force regardless of the circumstances. But the truth of it is a lot more mundane, and a lot more compelling. All along, Akira has craved every scrap of a compliment from the people he cares about. They aren't so different from each other in that respect.]

Feeling better?

[He's asking it again because he wants to know, to hear it for himself, and he'll keep asking until Akira confirms as much, or at least stops looking so windblown and rainswept.]

Edited 2018-05-14 15:26 (UTC)

[Hikaru's hair is so soft, smoother than fresh grain, a better whisper than the sway of summer grasses. It's nourishing. It keeps Akira fed. Akira rests his cheek against Hikaru's hair, and he's holding onto Hikaru—his hands are hooked up over the back of Hikaru's shoulders. Little by little, with Hikaru stroking him in the way he's learned to, Akira's fingertips press less harshly. Eventually, he's just holding Hikaru, mostly gentle about it.] I'm feeling better, [he confirms quietly. Sometimes it amazes him that Hikaru wants to ask that. Hikaru makes him so angry sometimes, and it used to be even worse, with all the outrageous, disrespectful things Hikaru would say and do... Akira wanted to scream at him. Sometimes he did scream. And he still screams, but...

But he's thinking about something Hikaru said over the phone, earlier. If you cared about what I wanted, he said, if you cared...]

Are you feeling better, too?

[He's not so good about being forthright in his care. His love, maybe, for all the passion and the intensity of it, but not his care... In fact, he's poor enough that maybe he hasn't realized it wholly until now. He turns his head, nosing into Hikaru's hair, speaking against him.] I want you to be, so tell me. Tell me so I know. [If you're not, he means. Maybe he can be better enough that Hikaru will forget why Akira ever needed to be better in the first place.]

[It isn't often that Hikaru regrets any of the fights they've had, but he's starting to feel a twinge of regret about this one. If he hadn't flown off the handle... If he hadn't splashed the paperwork in Akira's face, and if he hadn't stormed out after that, cursing loudly...] That's good. Really good. [If he hadn't done those dumb, dramatic things, they could have had this much so much sooner: holding each other, murmuring to each other, making sure they're both fed. There's nothing nicer than being this close to Akira when his entire body is relaxing like fresh honey from the comb. Eventually, Hikaru's hand slips downward, chasing stress away, away, away, until he settles near the small of Akira's back with tender intention. They're standing on a sidewalk in the busy afternoon, but they might as well be sprawled in a field of clover together.

He can't forget just how lucky he is to have what he has. He can't take it for granted. Even when their circumstances aren't the greatest, they're so much better than what they could be. They're so much better. Incomparable, really.]

Mm, well... [Hikaru tilts his head in acknowledgment, but he's content to have Akira nuzzling against him, uncommonly docile. The ice cream is less important than letting Akira lean in to have his fill.] Not exactly, [he says, but his tone is too indulgent to be a bad thing. His throat isn't sore anymore from yelling or crying.] I'm not gonna feel all the way better until I get to go home, and I get to lie down with you. It's been a long day already, you know, with the move and everything, and... [A bed, a futon, a cardboard box, whatever. He was serious about being willing to sleep anywhere if it means sleeping with Akira.] We can finish unpacking tomorrow, I think.

[If he hadn't, if he hadn't. If Akira hadn't curtly said that Hikaru was complaining way too much. If he hadn't glittered with outrage at Hikaru's defiance, and if he hadn't followed that glitter with fire from his mouth. If he hadn't pressed the flat of his foot onto a packing box of books, sent it spinning on its side... But now, his docility. When he's in Hikaru's arms, Akira remembers what true docility is like. It isn't the proper language and softer pitch of professionalism, when he manages to strike that much. It's—he's breathing. It doesn't make his head rush. His throat isn't gripped in on itself; maybe, this way, he could speak closer to cotton. And it all affects his chest, too. Strange how he doesn't realize the way his chest hurts him until it doesn't. Until a time like this.

He is docile. He doesn't care that they're in the middle of the sidewalk at the mouth of a shopping center. All that matters in this moment is Hikaru's body and the things it offers: the solidity, the solace.] You know, my parents still sleep in their own futons. [It's the most traditional thing: two futons, side by side, a couple of inches between them. It's the first sort of marriage bed Akira ever saw.] So I think it's good I didn't get a bed just now, because I need you to show me what kind you like and how it works. [Of course he's slept in beds. Hotels and things. They've slept in hotel beds together, too. But it's different, isn't it, when you're choosing a marriage bed. He thinks Hikaru might be saying some of that.

He's reluctant to remove himself from this tight, solid hold, and to loosen his hold on Hikaru, but he does it. He's still close, though, leaning against Hikaru's arm, his shoulder up against Hikaru's. He's demanding of touch.] Well. Let's go make you feel all the way better. [It takes effort for him to be that soft, you know. To mend his hoarse throat at least a little of the way. Hikaru can be such honey, though, down his throat, tending to his belly. Even when Hikaru is otherwise vinegar, Akira will always come after the honey.

He seems further mollified by the ice cream, when he finally gets to eat it. Hikaru was considerate in his purchase of the little pistachio carton for Akira, and Akira seems to have been made tired by all his earlier anger, so his lashes are low while he idles with his spoon in his mouth. He's leaning heavy against Hikaru's shoulder, from a far angle, while they sit on the back porch. You know, their porch.

He breaks the quiet of his own breath with,] I'll sleep in a bit tomorrow. [That probably means by half an hour. It's his own sort of concession, though. A little lenience for Hikaru. Akira's morning alarms tend to be unforgiving. And they'll have that much more time to lie together.]

[The grass in the backyard--you know, their backyard--feels so good on Hikaru's bare feet. He opens his eyes and looks down at them, at his toes curling and meshing with the vivid green, and he wonders why he was so worried about his future here. There's really no better place they could have found for living together. To be honest, he still doesn't know how they were ever able to afford it... The house itself is more traditional than not, without too many modern upgrades, but it's still functional and comfortable. The backyard is just incredible--totally unlike the uninspiring, sardine-packed neighborhood he had to grow up in. Here, the backyard is a sprawling dream with its own large pond and wildflowers in abundance. The smell of it is so good, so fresh; he can't help but breathe in deeper with each breath. He's careful, though, not to jostle Akira and Akira's warm perch on his shoulder. He's being careful not to do anything to upset Akira again, not after what he did earlier, not after all the stupid things he did and said...

Hikaru exhales into a quiet laugh, and he licks the evidence of cookies-and-cream from his own lips.] If I ask you nicely, [he murmurs, because he knows how to be nice when he wants to be,] can you make it so it's longer than a bit? Maybe you could let it happen on its own? [They do have an official function to attend in the mid-morning, but it isn't mandatory, technically speaking, when it's compared to most other things. He isn't aiming for the extra sleep so much as the chance to ease Akira awake without the help of a blaring alarm clock.] Then we can really take our time, and... you know, enjoy our first morning together. Our first real morning together.

[No vinegar to speak of. This is honey all the way down, every last drop.]

That sounds good, right? You can't tell me it doesn't sound good...

Edited 2018-06-16 21:23 (UTC)

we are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject