Disclaimer: Nope, I own nothing.
Author's Notes: I'm not really a Tohma fan, but my brain insisted. This is heavily inspired by Ed Harcourt's song "Metaphorically Yours." I would love feedback on this piece (my first prose in a while) especially on my characterization and my tenses! Thank you for reading!
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1.
In Tohma's mind, love is more than a chemical reaction when it comes to Eiri. Perhaps because of this, he has mastered the skill of ignoring the angel on his shoulder (the one with terrible fashion sense) who insists that love, perhaps, isn't the right word.
Seguchi Tohma doesn't have a devil on his shoulder because he doesn't need one, or so the angel says. He has no illusions to flatter himself with when others call him a devil – the negative connotations are the only ones that ever come to mind, anyway. Besides, he's always thought of himself as an animal – a panther, or (more fittingly) a Cheshire Cat.
He has a smile that's been known to kill songbirds, but there's only one at the moment that he'd like to give that honor to.
Tohma has categorized his life carefully – work, Mika, Eiri – although the order has been known to change without warning. He's never known what the proper reaction to his situation is, and he isn't sure that he would want to feel it if he did.
Love, the angel whispers, is what Eiri has with Shuichi, not with Tohma. It's sickening in a way – one can tell it by just looking at them (or at least at Shuichi – Eiri is much more private about that sort of thing). Tohma hates emotions like that – uncontrolled, brutish. Love is an insidious thing, he notes, staring down at Bad Luck's tour schedule. It creeps up on people, sliding silently under doorways to rip out people's hearts and choke out the lives that it finds inside. The difference between Eiri's imminent death by Shuichi and his death by Tohma is that Tohma's is older and more carefully thought-out. When Shuichi threw himself in front of Eiri's car, Tohma had already been planning for so long that he can't quite remember when it started.
Sometimes, Tohma feels like he's always been plotting.
The line between actual love and obsession is more crossable than one might originally think, and he is no stranger to this theory. It's just a theory, he thinks as he sits alone in his office, thinking about how many days, hours, minutes he has left before Shuichi returns.
When he picks up the phone and dials his brother-in-law's number from memory, Tohma wonders if he should be feeling regret for this. He doesn't need any more guilt in his life – he is already unredeemable.
And, after all, isn't the devil already damned?
2.
At the restaurant, Eiri gazes boredly at him across the table, his fingers fumbling slightly as he attempts to light a cigarette. When the waitress protests, he signs a napkin for her and she is immediately silenced and slightly starry-eyed. Tohma watches with vague amusement and affection as Eiri finally succeeds and then inhales. The younger man's shoulders relax slightly with the first lungful, the golden eyes half-closing. He turns his face to the side as he exhales, then looks at his dining companion again.
Tohma has no doubt that Eiri would prefer to lean over the table, rest on his elbows, and blow a mouthful of smoke into his brother-in-law's face. Maybe he thinks that, if he were to do so, Tohma's facade will dissipate with the smoke and force him away forever.
The angel on his shoulder murmurs that he's flattering himself again, playing the devil's advocate for Eiri's character in order to indulge his masochistic tendencies. And, it proceeds, everyone knows that angels don't lie.
This is the love that he and Eiri share.
"Get to the point," Eiri says, playing with his burning cigarette. He's lost weight, Tohma observes, watching as the pale lips part to once again capture the stick between them. He loves that about the other man – not that he's a smoker, not even his lips exactly (although they aren't without their virtues), but that he's so upfront about his upcoming suicide. Sometimes Tohma feels like he's fighting not only Shuichi, but also the cigarettes for the permission to kill the man that he loves. He is convinced that he will win in the end.
Sometimes, he wonders how it all came down this strange excuse for a game.
Because he knows that Eiri won't do it, Tohma moves closer. "I just wanted to see how you were holding up, Eiri-san," he says and smiles. When Eiri takes a moment before responding, he can't keep his mind off of those lips and sweet smoke.
Hot air wafts across his face as Eiri exhales, despite his care to turn away. "You're not my sister," he says after a moment. Tohma can see that he's annoyed, and there's a kind of sadistic joy in knowing that he's the cause of such a strong emotion. "Did Mika ask you to talk to me?"
They both know that this question is just a formality, that Tohma is almost always quicker than Mika when it comes to things like this, but he replies anyway.
"Does it matter?" He keeps the smile in place all the while.
Eiri pauses and then, "... No."
Tohma isn't surprised by this response. He would be more surprised if Eiri had said something different. This has been the situation for years now, and although it took them a while to learn the rules, they have become experts at a game created in New York out of necessity and then continued because, somewhere along the way, it's become a lifestyle.
The angel tickles his neck when Eiri's free fist clenches. Tohma isn't afraid of Eiri; he's never been afraid of Eiri. The next question hangs physically in the air between them. Tohma knows that he doesn't have to ask it to get an answer (actions speak louder than words, after all) but he asks it anyway, torturing himself for the sake of conversation.
"Have you heard from Shindou-san recently?" Voicing it makes his toes curl inside the toes of his expensive leather boots, but the smile is plastered almost permanently on his face.
Eiri shifts in his seat as his cigarette burns down. He takes a final, quick puff before stubbing it out uncomfortably on the windowsill. "Yes," he admits. "Shuichi called me last night." He looks up and meets Tohma's eyes, his face hard to read. "Lost track of your own star already?" Almost anyone else would think that he didn't care.
"Of course not!" Tohma protests quickly. The comment about his work burns, although he would never admit it. Eiri does that to him quite a bit, and it's usually on purpose. Eiri's care for Shuichi is also painful, but for a much different reason. "I wanted to know how you were doing," he reiterates, resigned to repetition in order to get an actual answer.
Even that won't be enough, the angel supplies, but he squishes the thought. If he has to do this every day until they die, he will do it – if that is how long it takes to make Eiri his, it will be worth it. He will deal with the consequences at the very end of this game, and not a second before.
Sometimes Tohma wishes that that would happen soon, because playing is tiring and takes up a great deal of his time. However, he enjoys the game and he could never die without Eiri. That would be losing completely, and that's not an option. It's never been an option.
When the angel tells him that he's insane, he can't exactly disagree, although he still believes that his intentions towards Eiri are nothing but the best.
Almost immediately after he finishes speaking, the look on his companion's face becomes more annoyed. "I sometimes think – no, I know - that you keep better tabs on my life than I do," he says. Tohma can tell that his hands are trembling beneath the table, searching and wanting, although not for what Tohma wants them to desire.
He turns his head to see that it's started to rain outside, the water slowly pooling in the gutters. He gauges his friend's reaction from the corner of his eye. "And if I do?" he asks vaguely, trying to keep his tone light.
Eiri just shrugs. "It's none of my business if you want to be arrested for stalking."
Tohma can see the reflection of both their faces in the window, and he can feel the outline of the angel growing softer by the moment. He hopes that it will dissolve as the water continues to fall and take all of his guilt with it. When he realizes that its voice has taken up residence in his head, murmuring dully about how he has already gone too far, it is already too late. The angel believes that this is no longer a game, if it was ever really a game to start with.
It takes him another minute to realize that he's been quiet for too long to be considered polite. He turns back to Eiri, still smiling, but his heard twinges at the other man's continued silence. "Then I suppose that it's none of your business if I'm arrested for other crimes, either."
Neither the angel nor Eiri has to tell him that his other crimes cannot be proven, although he sometimes wishes that they could. Validation, Tohma sincerely believes, is the greatest form of flattery (next to pain). If he has these either of things, the game is not yet over for him.
"No," Eiri replies after a moment of consideration, "I guess not." He stands up and searches his pockets, eventually pulling out his wallet and half of a pack of cigarettes. Dropping some money onto the table, he puts his wallet back and pulls out a lighter. "Thanks for the invitation," he says, and Tohma tries to imagine that he's sincere. "Have a good afternoon, Tohma."
"You too, Eiri-san," he returns, his brightness hampered because the afterglow is quickly coming to an end. He remains seated as Eiri turns to go, but calls out to him before he reaches the door. "I'll see you at the airport when his flight arrives, won't I?" he asks, sounding as though he doesn't particularly care. "It will break Shindou-san's heart if you aren't there."
He knows what you're doing, the angel warns, and none of them are surprised when Eiri pauses by the door before lifting a hand in farewell – almost as though he had just been having no more than a casual luncheon with an old, dear friend.
"Knowing you, you'll find an excuse to see me sooner," Eiri says, and then the door clangs shut behind him. Tohma watches through the window as he lights up, breathes in deeply, and then unlocks his car. The rain taunts Tohma as it falls, acting like a convenient excuse to forget what has happened that afternoon.
Eiri doesn't look back before he drives away, and eventually Tohma leaves too.
3.
A few weeks later, when the tour is over and he's talking with K about new security measures while they wait at the baggage claim, Tohma has a sinking feeling. Eiri didn't show up at the airport and Shuichi is as inconsolably happy as ever. His lover must have warned him that he wasn't coming, Tohma realizes. Anger makes his gloved hands tense, but he forces them to stay still and smiles as he answers K's questions instead.
When everyone's bags have been collected and they're heading to the hired van, Tohma realizes that Shuichi has slipped away – how, he doesn't know, because the boy tends to be so loud – and that no one else appears to be surprised. A few quick questions reveal that they all knew that he was being picked up separately, and Tohma has to congratulate Eiri on his plan – in one quick, clean twist of the rules, he has attempted to sever one of their basest ties. Whether he has been successful or not has yet to be seen, they both know now. Winning cannot be that easy, or the game would have ended a long time ago.
As the band climbs into the van, Tohma is almost blinded by a flash of headlights and he hears another car purr to life. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision and then wishes that he could have remained blinded.
Eiri grips the wheel of the car in one hand as Shuichi kisses him, his other hand in the boy's hair. Tohma can't help but imagine that his lips are parted more sweetly than they have ever been for a cigarette, and although his eyes are half-closed, he knows one thing immediately – Yuki Eiri knows that he's watching.
He's staged it just for him.
When the kiss is over, Tohma holds back a rush of bile as Shuichi curls up against the other man's shoulder. Eiri doesn't acknowledge either of them as he puts the car in gear and then drives towards the exit, but he and Tohma both know.
As he enters the van, Tohma wonders if the score will ever be even again. He even wonders exactly how long he's been losing, but he can't find an answer and, for once, the angel stays mercifully silent.