Miharu opened his bright green eyes and looked around the particularly empty room, the slight blurriness fading away gradually as he lifted one hand to run it through his black hair. He winced at the sharp pain that surged through his shoulder with the movement and quickly let the appendage fall back to the hard floor beside him. He sat up slowly, cautiously, and took his time to assess his surroundings and discover whatever situation he was currently in. A single lightbulb hung in the middle of the ceiling and it let off a disturbingly sickening dim glow. Looking to his left, Miharu could see a pair of wooden sliding doors along with a ragged piece of cloth sitting untouched on the floor. Averting his eyes from that scene, he looked on ahead and could see a worn futon with several tears and stains of some kind. A single white sheet hung limp and un-tucked against the uncomfortable-looking mattress. Looking to his right, however, he could see what looked like a small kitchen with a single table that would seat only two. Any more than that, and it would be crowded. Eyes scanned the pale walls around him. Not one single picture adorned them. No pictures of the family that he had never known. None of birthdays passed or festive holidays where he opened presents, none of first drawings from school or the friends he would have made. Nothing. Miharu closed his eyes and cried; sad, lonely, quiet tears that nobody would hear or see. This lowly excuse for a building was where he called home.
Miharu never knew his parents. They had died when he was very young, so he had been sent to live here with his grandparents. Sadly, they both had passed away when he was nine, and Miharu had been left alone to fend for himself, and any pictures kept around the house were now stuffed into boxes and those boxes sat on the top shelf of the small closet in the bedroom that Miharu never stepped foot in again. He had no other family, no friends, nobody. He had nobody but himself to keep him company. Aside from the skinny white cat that had appeared at his door one rainy night. The then fifteen year old boy had taken the cat in without a second thought in an attempt to cure his loneliness, and had named her Shiratama. Now, Miharu was seventeen and still lonely as ever.
The young man had given up on school a while back, but had managed to land a job at the local grocery store. Working at such a young age (he started at fourteen) had been scary, but he pushed through it and held on the best he could in such dire consequences. He always put on a fake smile, completely uncaring and as apathetic as he could be, in order to not make friends. As much as he hated, no, loathed, being alone...Miharu preferred it overall. Being a loner kept him from getting too close to anyone that may end up leaving him altogether. Sighing away the feeling of solitude, he stood up from the floor, his body protesting the movement as loud cracks reverberated off the thin walls. He needed a shower. So he traveled the seemingly short distance through the kitchen and to the right, stepping into the small bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Miharu stopped in front of the mirror and stared at his pitiful reflection. The figure staring back at him looked emaciated, frail. Even though Miharu ate regularly, he was pretty thin for his age. He didn't care. Dull, lifeless green eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes stared into his soul, searching for something. Anything that would make his life seem worth-while. But all he saw was an empty shell of what he wished he could be. He quickly turned away from the already shattered mirror and stripped off his clothing before stepping into the shower. Turning the water on cold, Miharu stood under the steady stream, face up and eyes closed, and let the water rinse away the filth from the day before. When he felt shivers race through his body, he turned the water to hot and grabbed the soap, scrubbing robotically. After rinsing away the soapy grime, he reached for the Japanese Cherry Blossom scented shampoo and lathered up his hair. He knew it smelled girly, but for some reason, the way the scent wrapped around him made him feel...protected. Not to mention the fact that he smelled cherry blossoms in the dream he had been having for the past few weeks. In the dream, he's always wandering about aimlessly, searching for the hauntingly chilling voice of some stranger that he never managed to find. Every time the voice caressed him, calling his name, the scent of cherry blossoms surrounded him lovingly. And each time he called out to the mystery person, he was greeted by silence. Then when he began to feel the dream slipping away, he would scream into the blackness, asking for a name. As the light began to fill his vision and the darkness started to subside, he would hear a single word. A single name that Miharu played repeatedly in his head, even when he was awake.
Yoite.
Miharu rinsed the shampoo from his hair and stood under the hot stream of water, his thoughts taking the same familiar turn ever since he started having the same dream every night. The voice made him feel things he had never felt before. It was sinfully arousing. Not very deep, but soft and calm. Innocent, almost. For some reason, Miharu just couldn't get enough of it. Slowly, languidly, he allowed his right hand to travel the length of his wet body, sliding it lower until it came to rest on his growing erection. Wrapping his deft fingers around it, Miharu sucked in a deep breath and began to stroke himself, the sensual feeling coursing through him like wildfire. "Ah!" He yelped quietly and moved his hand faster, the unique pulling sensation pooling low in his belly with each harsh, erratic tug. "Mmm...ahh, that feels..." Throwing his head back, he opened his mouth and jerked himself harder, his toes curling into the water at his feet. The voice came rushing back instantly, calling his name, and even though it was only one word, Miharu couldn't contain the loud, sultry moan that escaped his throat, and with one last tug on his aching length, he came. Long, drawn out waves of intense pleasure rolled off his body as he released himself onto the gray and white marbled tile wall, and although he had done this countless times, his legs gave out beneath him and he slumped onto his knees, the hot water cascading down upon him gently massaging his tense muscles. He lifted his left arm and covered his closed eyes, a single tear rolling down his flushed face. "Yoite..."
xxx
"Thanks, have a nice day." Miharu watched as another customer quickly made their way out of the store and into the busy street. He just wanted to be done for the day, since he was finding it hard to concentrate on his work. Every chance he had a moment too long to think to himself, his thoughts always drifted to that amazing voice from his dreams. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. It was a little... okay, more than a little, distracting. He busied himself with yet another customer, and inside his mind, drifted off to that dark, lonely place, searching for that voice.
Several hours later, Miharu could finally leave. The sun was low in the evening sky, but he had decided that he didn't want to return to his depressing, empty home just yet. So he made his way slowly to the nearby park and sat down on one of the swings. Using his thin legs, he pushed himself off the ground, swinging back and forth for what seemed like forever. His brows furrowed, he stared at the ground as he swung himself higher. He then slid his eyes shut, to keep from crying, as he slowly came to a stop. There would be nobody waiting for him at home. Nobody there that he could talk to about what was going on inside his lonely mind. Nobody to laugh and play games with. Why couldn't it have been me? Why shouldn't I be dead? And not them. If anyone deserved death...it should have been me. Miharu had been so lost in his own self-loathing that he never noticed the tall, thin figure standing beside him. Not looking in the others' direction, Miharu spoke, voice soft but clipped. "Something I can help you with?"
"You're Rokujo, right? Miharu Rokujo?"
Miharu sighed and turned his eyes upward, landing on the face of the person invading his safe bubble. The guy looked maybe a few years older than himself, and he had dark red eyes framed by silver-rimmed glasses, and a head full of short, pure white hair that seemed to spike outward like feathers. He was wearing the standard high school uniform, consisting of a dark green jacket over a white button-up shirt with a red tie around his neck, light gray pants and dark brown shoes. He seemed vaguely familiar somehow...only Miharu couldn't place the face. "Yes, why?"
The taller man smiled and ran a hand through his hair, eyes closing briefly as he held out his other hand. "You don't recognize me, do you? Kouichi Aizawa, we went to school together. Though I haven't seen you there lately- HEY! Where'd you go?!" Kouichi turned his head in all directions quickly before spotting Miharu, now several feet away. He called out again and ran after Miharu, closing the gap between them as they walked in silence.
xoxo
After about fifteen minutes of being followed, Miharu broke the silence with his uncaring, apathetic voice. "Is there a reason you're following me home?"
Kouichi laughed uneasily. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to come to a party I'm having tonight. Just to be friendly, I guess."
Miharu was silent for a moment longer as he continued his journey home. He had never been to a party, but as tempting as it sounded, just wanted to be alone behind closed doors. "Thanks, but I'm not really into parties. Maybe some other time?" Miharu noticed how Kouichi's frame sagged a bit in, what- defeat maybe? He just couldn't bring himself to stay out any longer; Shiratama would be hungry by now. He really just wanted to sleep...and see if the voice would come and tantalize his senses again. Stopping on the top of the stairs that led to his home, Miharu watched as the other man fidgeted a bit before smiling again.
"Yeah, another time then. It was good talking to you again, Miharu, and I hope we can hang out sometime." Kouichi grabbed the smaller man's hand and grasped it firmly before turning and running down the stairs. "See ya!" he yelled, tossing a wave to the younger man.
"Hmm...interesting." Miharu turned to his right and made his way home. Shiratama greeted him with a soft mewl before jumping onto his shoulder. For some reason, Miharu could feel something odd settling inside him, something just didn't feel right. Fear, tension, apprehension...familiarity? Caution... He moved his legs faster, and as he came around the corner, gasped in shock.
Someone was passed out on his front step.
XXX
Miharu stood there with bated breath, green eyes wide with shock and confusion, thin body shaking slightly under the baggy blue hoodie he wore, and the wind that had been rustling through his shoulder-length black hair only moments ago suddenly ceased. What is going on? Is someone messing with me? He stared intently at the figure's back, noticing the faint rise and fall signaling that the person was still breathing. Good...not dead. Though I can't tell the gender from here- Shit! Don't just stand here, idiot! Do something. Miharu's inner self cried out bossily, and he quickly stepped forward and fell to one knee, using his left hand to place the person's arm around his shoulder as he carefully eased his right arm around the figure's super thin waist, lifting the other, who was surprisingly light, then stepped inside the dingy comfort of his home. Once inside, Miharu ambled his way on shaky legs over to the worn futon and eased the stranger down on it, then moved to the door to slide it shut and kicked off his shoes. Shuffling back to the person in need, who, upon closer inspection, Miharu realized was a young man that couldn't have been more than one or two years older than himself at seventeen, and carefully studied the face before him. Inky black hair, short in the back with long bangs that framed his young looking face and fell over his closed eyes, pale skin marred only by the thick, dark bags under each eye, delicate lips slightly parted, small nose... this man was exquisitely handsome. Miharu couldn't hold back his curiosity, so he carefully lifted one hand, placing the tips of his dainty fingers against the stranger's cheek, sucking in a breath at how soft the skin was. Feeling a bit brave, Miharu allowed his fingers to slide slowly down to the man's mouth, letting his middle finger trail along the others' bottom lip. It was smooth, and Miharu groaned deep in his throat. He needed to stop. Rising from his kneeling position beside the futon, Miharu walked briskly into the kitchen to get some water. He pulled a large bowl from the cabinet then moved to the small sink, turned on the tap and filled the bowl with lukewarm water. Sliding a drawer open, he then grabbed a small wash rag, closed the drawer, and shuffled back into the living area. Kneeling back beside the stranger, Miharu set the bowl of water down on the floor between his legs, dipped in the rag and squeezed the excess out, then lifted the rag to place it against the man's forehead and held it in place for a few moments before retracting his hand and standing up. He could hear Shiratama scratching at the door to be fed.
xoxo
It was already ten o'clock in the evening, and Miharu had been sitting in the same spot for hours. Back against the wall, knees bent in front of him and arms wrapped around them as he dutifully watched over the young man asleep on his futon across the room. He had tried to wake the man up several times, to get him into more comfortable clothes and to see if he could get the poor guy to eat something. Looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks, he was so thin. So Miharu left the man in the clothes he found him in, beige colored turtleneck sweater underneath a long black trench coat tied around the waist, black pants that seemed to cling to his long legs, and black shoes. He also wore light brown gloves on his hands. Surely the guy had to be hot wearing all that black clothing.
Miharu sighed. He really wanted to know the guy's name...mainly because, deep down inside him, an odd feeling of familiarity surged through him. There was just something about the man he had brought so willingly into his small home that, well... Miharu just couldn't figure it out. So he watched like a hawk to see if the man would move, or make a sound, or wake up. Yes, Miharu would have to be up early for work the next day, but since he never got much sleep anyway, it wouldn't be a problem. He would stay awake all night, waiting, watching...if he had to. Although, he got to thinking: Maybe I shouldn't leave him here alone. I need to be here if he wakes up, so I can take care of him. Wow, I sound like a concerned parent... A tear ran down his cheek and he buried his face into his raised knees, sobbing softly into the fabric of his gray shorts. It was dark in the room. Miharu never turned on the light, but right now, he just didn't care. He wrapped around himself tighter, sobbing and sniffling, body shuddering from the force of his sobs. He felt alone; isolated. Like he would never be whole again. There was a hole in his heart, meant for the family he never knew. The family he would never have again. He knew he would die alone.
"Mi...ha...ru?"
Miharu gasped and his head shot up. Am I dreaming? No, I'm awake. That voice... This doesn't make sense... I can hear it so clearly. He's calling for me.
"Please...Miharu..."
Maybe I am dreaming... Oh, that voice...say something else. "Yoite..." Miharu closed his eyes, internally begging the voice to come closer. To say something besides his name. I guess I am dreaming. I'm looking for you, but you have to show yourself. As soon as his eyes closed, he was whisked away to that dark and cold place, blue eyes wide as they scanned the emptiness. He heard the voice again. The stranger was still calling his name. Miharu breathed in deep, the scent of cherry blossoms filling his lungs as he ambled forward, arms stretched out in front of himself. Reaching. Searching. There was darkness all around but he wasn't afraid. He was anxious, hoping that this would be different than the usual route this strange dream took. Please, Yoite? Come to me... Suddenly, he was bathed in warmth. A warmth he had never, in all his life, felt before. What's going on...? Surely I'm dreaming... Oh no! His eyes shot open. What if...?
"Miharu...I found you."
Oh...this person. Is Yoite?
xxx
Miharu was shocked. He sat in his place against the wall, eyes wide and staring at the stranger who, now, was struggling to maneuver on the make-shift bed Miharu placed him on. When the man had finally managed to sit upright, placing both feet down on the floor beside the futon, he held one hand out toward Miharu, and even though it was pretty dark in the room, he could clearly see the beckoning motion the stranger gave him. "Y-you...um...you're..." Miharu couldn't speak. His mouth was severely dry and his throat was scratchy, his head was pounding from the force of his eyes being held open for so long. He swallowed, but found no amount of saliva to coat his parched mouth. His lithe body started to shake, which was an accident waiting to happen since he hadn't eaten anything all day, and he could feel his insides clenching and tumbling around all over the place. This can't be happening. There is no way in hell that this man...who just so happens to know my name...is the same man from that dream. No matter what his inner self said, he couldn't shake the faint glimmer of hope that this man was indeed Yoite. He was beautiful. Miharu slowly stood up and raised his left arm, letting it slide up the wall until it came to a stop on the round light switch. Wrapping his long fingers around it, he turned it to the right and the room was bathed in light. He left the light dim, so he wouldn't hurt the other man's eyes, and his arm dropped away from the pale wall and fell against his side. He only now realized that he had been holding his breath, and he let it go with a soft woosh, green eyes roaming over the only other person that he ever brought into his empty home. "I-I..." Miharu felt a tear slide down his cheek. Though he wasn't afraid, he cried. He truly felt weak. "I don't understand... Who are you?"
The man opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words coming out, he coughed. Covering his mouth with his hand, he doubled over and clutched his heaving chest with his free hand. Miharu quietly stepped closer to the man and stopped when he was hovering over him. When the coughing fit subsided, the man moved his hand away from his lips, and Miharu could see that his palm was full of blood. Leaning down, Miharu grabbed the man's delicate hand and quickly removed the soiled glove, then kneeled down and dipped it into the water from earlier to get the blood off. He quickly got lost in the task, but when he felt a hand fall lightly on top of his head, he actually gasped. And when he looked up from his kneeling position on the floor, his eyes went wide again and he dropped the glove back into the red-stained water. His body shivered. He felt it everywhere. It started somewhere deep inside his chest, the traveled down into the pit of his fluttering stomach, still moving lower in his body. He felt slight tremors in his lower regions, and then stronger tingles moved down his legs. His mouth opened slightly but he couldn't form words of any kind. All that came out was a strange garbled sound.
His eyes... Deep blue orbs stared into Miharu's green ones. Thick eyelashes fanned out against his pale skin each time he blinked. Everything about this man was exquisite. "Miharu..."
"Y-Yoite?"
Miharu watched as the fascinating man sitting before him closed his blue eyes and sucked in a breath when his name was uttered. It seemed liked the other man enjoyed the way his name was spoken from Miharu's small lips, and for a minute they both sat in silence. Everything seemed to cease existance, time slowed to a stand-still, and Miharu couldn't stop trembling. He watched with heavy lidded eyes as Yoite slid his own open, and shivered at the lustful stare he was given in that moment. Wait...what is this? This feeling inside me...my heart won't slow down. I feel something warm deep inside me...
Yoite surprised the younger man by suddenly lifting him up under his arms and pulled him into his lap, leaning in to bury his face between Miharu's neck and shoulder, nuzzling affectionately. "Miharu."
The smaller man gasped audibly, his pelvis tightening immensely from the affection being shown to him. Never in his life had he ever experienced anything like this, and when he felt warm, dry lips sliding down his neck, Miharu actually let out a soft moan and slid his eyes shut. His hormones were raging and he just couldn't make himself pull away from the heat radiating off Yoite's slim body. He was lost in the moment, shivering at the feeling of lips on his skin, and he could clearly feel Yoite's right hand pressing on the middle of his back and his other hand gripping his slender thigh tightly. What are you doing, idiot?! Get away from him! Miharu's subconscious scolded him, begged him to stop, but he just couldn't. He had been alone all his life and what Yoite was doing to him...it just felt right. When he felt a hand slide under his blue hoodie and the shirt beneath it from behind and around to grip his left side, Miharu's eyes shot open and he squirmed in place on the taller man's thighs. The sensations he was feeling dwarfed anything he ever experienced before. He was damn near squealing from just the lightest touch. His breathing was labored as if he had just run a marathon, sweat started beading on his skin from the warmth of the body pressed tightly against him mixed with the heat of the room, and he never wanted it to end.
"Miharu. You taste good." With saying that, Yoite opened his mouth and flicked out his tongue, lapping at the spot just under Miharu's earlobe, thus drawing a breathy sigh from the smaller man. "You sound good, too."
"Y-Yoite...maybe we should t-talk about this..." When Miharu went to push himself away, Yoite's calm, seductive demeanor changed drastically. The hand that was grasping Miharu's thigh was now on his hip tightened into a death-lock, the appendage squeezing painfully. Yoite's right hand had moved to the back of Miharu's thin neck, grasping the smaller man's hair into a fist as he pulled harshly to angle his head back so that more of his enticing throat was bare. "Ah! You're h-hurting me..." But somewhere deep down inside him was actually enjoying the rough treatment, and as much as he struggled against the older man, every movement causing him to rub himself on Yoite's thighs only made his back arch slightly and his breathing grew shallow. Suddenly, lips were sliding down his neck, tongue lapping over his pulse point before sucking on the spot, and Miharu moaned.
"That's better." Yoite went back to his slow, sensual treatment, moving his lips up to slide over Miharu's jaw before covering the younger man's lips with his own. After about a minute, Yoite broke the kiss and let his forehead rest against Miharu's as the hand the was pulling his hair loosened and fell to his side. "I-I...don't have much time." Yoite pulled Miharu closer and held the smaller man firmly against his body, searching for the warmth the seeped from his pores and made him feel safe. Like he didn't have a care in the world. Tears welled in his eyes, and by now he was whispering, the words barely heard. "Not much time. I'm out of time..."
Miharu took his chance to ease himself off Yoite's lap and moved to sit down beside him on the worn futon, lifting his right hand to brush over Yoite's cheek. "What do you mean you're out of time?" he asked softly. Part of him didn't want to know the answer, but he couldn't help feeling like it was his right to know. Whatever was bothering the older man, Miharu wanted to know so he could try to help. But Yoite was silent. Five minutes passed. Then ten. And still, Yoite wouldn't speak. Miharu stood up to give the man some space, but was jerked back by a strong hand grasping his wrist. He turned wide eyes to see what was wrong, and saw that tears were sliding freely down Yoite's face. And he looked...worried? No, that's not right.
He looked terrified.
"NO! Please...don't leave me alone, Miharu. I don't wanna be alone."
So Miharu sat back down and watched the man beside him, waiting patiently for an answer to his question. But Yoite had just turned away from Miharu and cried silently. "Yoite, you need to answer my question. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."
Yoite sighed. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see Miharu's face when he told the younger man his secret. "I-I'm going to die." He closed his eyes and doubled over to bury his face between his knees. "Soon."