Author's note: At the request of some readers, I've also included the last drabble in this story in the fic, "A Full Life." Because FFN has no way to collate related stories, some readers were interested in including the drabble in the same place. Please note, this fic was published first.
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1.
It has been three days since she noticed the flaking around her wrist, and since that time she has felt a vague sense of unease. She is grateful for Decim's presence, though. He is a touchstone, something warm and tangible she can anchor her uncertainties to, and even though he doesn't understand much about human emotions, talking with him always seems to make her feel at ease.
She can't sleep. Switching on the lamp, she rubs her shoulders and pads barefoot to the bar to get a glass of water.
It's dark in Quindecim when she walks down the long hallway. Still in her nightgown, she carefully negotiates the winding turn and quietly makes her way behind the counter. Decim isn't there, but she knows exactly where he keeps the clean glasses.
There is a light from another section of hallway she hadn't yet before noticed. Frowning, she picks up the little cup and pads barefoot to where the light is. The door is slightly ajar, and carefully she touches her fingers to the smooth wood; it opens further. Quietly she tiptoes inside.
It is the hallway leading to Decim's living quarters. It makes sense: she has a bedroom and a shower, and they share a communal kitchen. It would make sense that Decim has a similar arrangement. His apartment is dark when she walks inside, and carefully she makes her way in, looking around. It is surprisingly normal. There is a seating area and a bookshelf and like her quarters, a set of stairs. She holds the bannister as she walks up, the stairs creaking slightly with each step.
The light is coming from what she guesses is Decim's bedroom, and she holds her breath a moment, wondering if he could hear. She has not ventured outside of the bar or her side of the floor in the few weeks she's been here, he could not blame her being curious. She's about to turn around and walk back down the stairs when she hears the door open behind her.
"Miss?"
She turns. Her eyes widen.
Decim is not in uniform.
It takes a moment for her to process it. He is wearing only the white shirt and black pants, but his shirt is unbuttoned. He is barefoot and his undershirt fits snug around his torso, the lean comma of his body backlit by the light of the room.
"Sorry to wake you," she says, and she shows him the cup. "I just wanted to get something to drink."
"I see," he says, and she's suddenly aware of how much taller than her he is. She swallows quietly, staring at the line of his collarbone. If she wanted to, she could step close to him and press the palms of her hands flat against his chest, rising up on her tiptoes to rub her mouth against the hollow of his neck. She would slide her hand against the side of his flank or the ridges of his ribs, kiss the muscle of his shoulder and his neck and his jaw.
But she doesn't. She grins up at him, because Decim out of uniform is quite possibly the best thing she's ever seen, and as he walks barefoot to the sink to get her a glass of water, she thinks that she's comfortable in this unnamed space between them, something like friendship or maybe something more.
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2.
They do not have any guests today, so Decim takes it as an opportunity to work on his mannequins at the back of the storeroom.
"If you're going to work with your mannequins, I'll sweep up over here, then," his guest is saying. "There's still some glass from when that last guy broke the window."
"Please do not trouble yourself," he says. "We do not have work today. Please use this time for your leisure or rest."
"I'm fine," she says, and she grins and waves the broom at him.
She has always been fascinating to him - without her memories, she is a cipher, and he only has her reactions to things to gauge her personality. She must have been a fine young woman, Decim thinks, and he sits down on a bench in his workspace, laying out the parts of the mannequin on the table.
At the bar front, his guest is humming a little. Decim lifts his eyes and watches silently as she sweeps with the broom and twirls a little, a graceful, swaying sort of movement.
She has beautiful form. She sweeps, and he sees the long curve of her back underneath her uniform. Her hair falls like a dark curtain, and he can see how the black fabric just barely brushes against pale skin.
Their last two guests had been a couple, a husband and wife who lived a full but sadly shortened life. He had already finished the man's mannequin, but as he starts to work on the woman's, his mind snaps back to his guest, the shape and size of her body, and for a moment it's as if he's laying her out on the table.
He holds his breath. His hands crest around the mannequin's torso, and it's as if he's touching her ribs, her side and flank. He fastens the legs to the pelvis and he has an image of his hands skimming up along her thighs to that curving apex where her legs join her body. He thinks of her smile and how she looks at him sometimes, fresh and full of life, and he has to check himself. This is not his guest, he thinks. This was another guest. This was a woman named Akiko who died in a car accident.
He still has Akiko's memories, and her husband's, in fact. Happy memories, first dates and first kisses, holding hands and having sex. Despite having no firsthand experience, Decim is familiar with sex, having seen enough memories of it to know the general mechanics. Sometimes it is rough and terrible and deeply scarring; other times it is gentle and tender and very loving. Sometimes it is both rough and loving and he wonders what sex with his dear guest would be like, to kiss her mouth and slip himself inside her.
It is merely a passing thought. His guest is still sweeping, but she looks up and sees him watching her. She smiles and waves at him, gesturing with her broom.
There are other times when he thinks of things like this, that he lets his thoughts wander further. Sometimes, he would like to lay her out on the table and trace over the map of her body with his hands. He knows from the handful of times that he's touched her that she would feel warm. That her skin would feel soft. And he can extrapolate from their interactions together that she would probably smile while she kisses him. Would likely smile and laugh while he moves inside her.
He finishes the doll, hangs it up smartly against the wall. When he is done, he is surprised to find that his guest made him sandwiches. She smiles as she hands him a plate, and when their fingers brush he feels his heart beat a little bit faster.
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3.
They sit on the steps outside the makeshift skating rink, the floor of the bar glistening under a thick coat of ice. Quietly, Chiyuki presses her knees together and stares at her hands, waiting a long moment for Decim to say something, anything, to follow up on what he had just said.
He told her he was glad to have met her, and something about his voice makes her think that maybe this is more than polite conversation. That maybe she means more to him than just being another treasured guest. She searches his eyes for some hidden meaning, but finds nothing. There is only that space between them on the cold concrete steps, the vague feeling of emptiness and the jumble of her memories, a cold, familiar ache.
If she could, she would rest her head on the side of his knee.
She wonders what it would be like, if Decim had any warmth in him. Not the conciliatory gestures and awkward hugs he gave the other guests. She would rest her head on his knee before rising and touching his chest with her hands.
And maybe she would tilt her head upwards, lips parted softly for a small kiss.
Would he know what to do with her? Would he startle a little at the contact, eyes widening a little, not knowing how to react? She would kiss the side of his mouth and the center of his lips, hands on his waist, coaxing him to along with her. She's sad and she's lonely and she feels safe in the space next to him, she can only imagine how much safer she'd feel, crushed up against his chest and wrapped up in his arms.
They would make love in the darkness of her bedroom. She would run her hands up and down the sides of his face, kiss his jaw and his neck, kiss him open-mouthed as she hooks a leg against his waist, rocking with his movements. Thought would escape her then, and there would be nothing of her heartache. Just sweat and skin and shadowed moonlight, the press of their bodies moving together in the darkness, clinging to him like a swimmer drowning.
But she doesn't kiss him. She unlaces her skates and smiles at him, following him quietly back to the bar.
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4.
No one has ever touched him like this.
They cry together for what seems like hours as she brushes his eyes and touches his face. Her skin is warm and her small body fits perfectly against his, and when she looks up at him he notices just how close their faces are, just a finger's breadth away from touching. He watches her silently, tears slipping down the sides of her face.
He moves as if to kiss her, and she tilts her head a little as if to meet him. Her lips are parted and so are his, and it would just take one small tilt of his chin for their lips to touch and kiss her. He cups the side of her face and he feels her hand clasp over on top of his.
"Decim," she says, and she lifts her eyes, red and tear-stained, searching his. "What do we do now?"
He swallows. He wants to kiss her. He wants to keep holding her. He doesn't want to let her go.
"I suppose we should go back," he says, quietly, and Chiyuki nods, breaking contact between their bodies. They stand awkwardly a moment, then walk together towards the elevator.
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5.
She comes home late from work, and when she unlocks the door the apartment is dark except for the light of the television flickering softly in the livingroom.
"I'm home," Chiyuki says. She slips out of her shoes and sets down her purse. "Decim?"
She finds him sitting on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and his knees tucked up against his chin. His eyes are red and swollen, and tissues are scattered all over the couch on the floor.
"Oh," Decim says, and there are tears in his voice. "Welcome back."
Oh no, she thinks and she rushes toward the couch. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. "What's going on?"
He doesn't answer right away, just sniffs miserably against her shirt. She kisses his forehead and rubs his back, soothingly. "Is everything okay?"
"I am sad," Decim says, and she notices the movie playing on the TV. "There was a little girl that died. Her brother could not save her."
"What is this?" Chiyuki says, and she picks up the DVD case: Grave of the Fireflies. She frowns.
"You really shouldn't be watching this stuff by yourself," Chiyuki says.
"I'm terribly sorry."
"No, it's okay, I should have warned you." She gives him a little squeeze, then fluffs his hair, fondly. "You know, you look worse than you did that time in the void," Chiyuki says, and Decim lifts his eyes.
She kisses him gently, open-mouthed and tender, as she brushes away his tears with her thumbs. His eyes close, and she feels his hands rest against her waist. Carefully she climbs up on his lap and takes his face in her hands.
The kiss deepens. She feels him sigh into her mouth, and when she kisses him again she feels the tip of his tongue gently probe her mouth.
The blanket falls. She pulls off her shirt with one smooth motion before leaning forward, lets him unhook the clasp of her bra and slide his hands up against her ribs and around her breasts. They kiss harder and she feels his thumbs rolling her nipples.
She leans forward and grinds against him, the cupped friction of his hardness against her clit making her muscles clench. Quickly she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his back and grinding up against his body. Her pants are still on and he's still wearing clothes.
They're at an awkward angle on the couch. Her head bumps against the armrest and she hears Decim murmur a quiet, "I'm sorry," before he pulls her down against the cushion. Balls of damp tissues fall on the floor.
"Decim." She's wet and needy and she arches her pelvis up against him. "Let's go to bed."
"Okay."
He's mouthing the side of her neck. She groans.
"C'mon, let's go. The couch is uncomfortable."
"I'm terribly sorry."
"It's okay."
They kiss again. He presses into her and her hand knocks into the box of tissues.
"Decim," she says, but he's licking her nipple now, and twiddling the other one with his index finger and thumb. "Mm. C'mon, let's move."
"Can we not just do it here?"
"On the couch?" Chiyuki cranes her neck up to look at him.
"On the floor," he says, and she groans a little as he slips a hand between her legs, the pads of his fingers stroking her.
She makes a snap decision: "Pants," she says. She lifts her hips and he tugs her pants down, one pant leg catching around her ankle. She moves and helps him pull at his shirt, then his pants. Her eyes widen a little at the sight of him, because he's not just erect. He's standing straight up, stiff and leaking, and without a beat he reaches a hand to position himself at her entrance.
"...I thought we were going to do this on the floor?" she says, but he slides up inside her with one smooth stroke, their bodies half off the couch.
"I'm terribly sorry." He's already moving, panting softly. "I wanted to feel you."
"That's okay," she smiles at him, "Just help me up, I'm sliding down.
Oh," she says, because the new position has the full weight of his body against her clit. "Is this okay for you?" she asks, breathless. Her body jerks, a sudden jolt of pleasure. He hoists her tighter.
"...Yes."
"Okay," she says.
She wraps her arms around his back, one leg pushing up against the floor, trying to keep their bodies from sliding down.
And then they hear it: a long, slow, agonized wail.
"The movie is still playing," she says, and they both look up at the TV and the little boy crying over his sister's dead body. "Where's the remote?"
But Decim is staring. Chiyuki wriggles out from under him - he's lying between her legs and she's pinned down against the couch by his pelvis - and she tries not to laugh at him when she sees his eyes fill with more tears.
"Decim!" she says, and she swats at his shoulder.
"I'm terribly sorry," Decim says. A tear rolls down his cheek.
"Oh no, oh no, don't do this." Chiyuki groans and bangs her head against his shoulder.
"We can still keep going," Decim says, but there are tears in his voice and he's openly crying now. He looks so lost and so sad, Chiyuki feels a little bit bad for yelling at him.
"I'm not going make you have sex with me when you're crying like that," Chiyuki says. She pulls the blanket over the both of them before giving him a hug and then a chaste little kiss. "You owe me later, though. I'd say you owe me big time."
"I'm terribly sorry," he says.
"That's okay," she says, and she hoists him up against her chest and kisses the top of his head.