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

[protential]

--
i don't know why you think spamming me with shit is going to help anything

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[ashlar]

[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.]

[protential]

[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.

[ashlar]

[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.]

[protential]

[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...