Title: every day is like a prayer
Fandom: Uta no Prince-sama
Characters: Natsuki/Shou/Satsuki
step back, reset
S T A R T
There is a name you think of, before you go to sleep. How it starts, you forget, but you trace -atsuki into your palm and swallow it, for luck.
Are you sure this is your name?
Yes.
No.
Your name is Kurusu Shou. You are sixteen years old and you are a member of a boy band that will most likely disband sometime before the decade is up. You are sixteen years old and you go to Saotome academy and you are in love with the most beautiful boy in the world.
(No, that isn't quite right. It's too early to know for sure.)
You are roommates with the most beautiful boy in the world and you may or may not be thinking about being in love with this boy; but the most beautiful boy in the world is also the most complicated boy in the world and you are more of a boy than he is.
There are other beautiful boys in this elitist academy, but you do not spend your time with them. You believe in nurturing friendships and creating a productive environment for work, but you do not believe in planting false hopes, in sowing the seeds of inevitable regret and giving up halfway to turn your attentions to another. You are also aware that you have the tactlessness of a four year old and the temper of a wild boar, but that is alright; the most beautiful boy in the world likes you that way.
He calls you adorable and gathers you in his arms, and it takes you a second to marvel at how natural this comes to him. How coy; how cruel. It takes you longer before you remember that you have to react appropriately before you can move forward.
You think of leaning closer, of sliding your lips past his cheek, of straying to the edge of his mouth. But your mouth is dry and your body is unmoving and you curse yourself for your cowardice, of your inability to be more forward. So you pretend you are embarrassed and you are angry, and he does not look too hurt by your inevitable retreat.
"Goodnight, Shou-chan," he says, warmly, and if only this were a game, then you could reset it without having to feel the guilt demons haunting you for the rest of the night.
Natsuki is moaning in his sleep. Will you wake up?
Yes.
... too... fucking... tired.
You sit up in bed and cast a wary look at the bed across the room. You know without having to check what the matter is because this has been happening for a very long time, but you stand and make your way to Natsuki, anyway, because you are a good friend and you love him, damn it.
You come to a stop, barely a foot away from the edge of the bed. You wonder what you are supposed to do now, or if it is too late to quietly slink back to your bed. This is a dangerous territory, you know, because there is only one way this ends and it does not lead you to Natsuki.
You take a deep breath. You turn on your heel. A hand wraps around your fist and pulls you down. Natsuki opens his eyes and looks at you.
"Off to a hasty retreat, huh?" Natsuki - no, Satsuki scoffs, tightening his grip around your wrist. You wince and pray to god he does not break your bones, but there are more worrying things to face than the prospect of more bruises.
You ask if Natsuki is alright. You think you may have sounded a little too heated, if Satsuki's smirk is an indication of that, and you feel a little ashamed that Satsuki manages to get a rise out of you without doing much.
When you are with Satsuki, your heart burns from the stress. You want to pound your fist against a wall or muffle your frustrated yells into a pillow, but the truth of the matter is that it is not as simple as that.
Satsuki does not tell you about Natsuki's nightmare, but he does pull you closer to his chest. He waits for you to relax into his hold and lets you touch his cheek, and for all his seeming cruelty, he is much kinder and softer to the touch than Natsuki is.
With Satsuki, there is no pretense. You do not love Satsuki with the same intensity that you invest in Natsuki. You do not even love him at all. It is not hard for you to accept his kisses, gentle and harsh and unyielding at different turns, because he gives you an opportunity to imagine what it would be like, with Natsuki.
It is a sobering thought, to remember that he is at turns Natsuki and yet not him at all, but it is easy to forget, in between his fingers leaving bruises on your hips, your hands twisting into the sheets as you stifle a shout when you come.
"You're cleaning this up," Natsuki breathes against the back of your bare neck, and you can only whimper.
Natsuki is writing a song. What will you do?
Hum along while he writes.
Scold him for not paying attention to you.
Nothing.
It is not often that Natsuki is struck with inspiration, and it is seldom that he has the courage to suit the word to the action. When Natsuki is absorbed in his music, you feel a little lost, a little disassociated with his genius. The moments when you feel that Natsuki is beyond you are few and far in between, but they tend to linger in your mind.
If you were lovers, you could fancy that you are his muse, but you are not lovers and this is a discomfiting fact. You want to be closer to him each day, and this scares you, because no other person has ever consumed you with so much feeling.
As Natsuki ponders his sheet music, your mind fills with nothings, the kind of awful lines that Satsuki would cringe at, if he knew:
Natsuki's cheek is a dangerous curve of bone and muscle, his jaw a slope that you cannot define.
Natsuki's lashes are short and his eyes are a pair of fruits you wish to pluck.
Natsuki tastes like this morning's breakfast of cranberries and toast, like yesterday's stolen candy and tonight's unripe longing in the form of your choked gasps, your stuttering moans, the broken repetitions of his name as Satsuki plunders your mouth.
Natsuki's nails are clipped but come up sharp rather than blunted, the proof of it resting on the scratches across your back, the sting of raw marks on your thighs, the liquid heat pooling in your belly.
Natsuki would be gentle with you.
Natsuki would be kind.
Natsuki would - he would -
"Shou-chan?" Natsuki inquires idly, looking at you from under his fringe, "are you alright?"
You tell him you are alright, and concern is etched on his face. You pretend you are ignorant of how he falters, how he trembles at some slight fear. You must look a sight, and you almost laugh at how similar suppressed lust and near death must look on you.
Really, you're fine.
You just want him to love you enough to want you.
You feel very tired. What will you do?
Go to the clinic.
Take a break.
Call your brother.
Kaoru takes you home a little before the end of the school year. 【ST RISH】 still has a long string of performances until the end of the month, but the explanation, while kept polite and sensitive enough, is that you are indisposed until further notice.
The truth is that you nearly collapse halfway through dance practice and the rest of the band had near heart attacks at the sight (ha, ha). You remember Otoya's horror, Tokiya's alarm, Masato's shaky fingers, Ren's clammy touch. Most of all, you remember how Natsuki covers his face with his hands and curls into himself. You remember this, because you relish in it.
How strange, that your one weakness is what makes you so important to him, and that you should find humor in something that would break Kaoru's heart, if he knew.
Your room is adjacent to the staircase, beside your brother's. When you were younger, Kaoru stayed in your room, huddled against your form, and he was so quiet and stiff that you wondered if he dared to breathe in your presence. You know that if you had not expressed your dissatisfaction for it, Kaoru would be hovering far more than he does now. Some days it is a curse. Others, it is a minor blessing, and you thank whatever god there is for small mercies, because Kaoru never presses you.
It takes you a few minutes to reacquiant yourself with a room you have not used in months, a bed you have not slept in. It feels strange, now, especially without a warm body to cover the length of your back. Satsuki may be a bastard, but he is useful, in some ways.
You only miss him for this. Only for this.
You go to the porch when your room begins to feel vaguely claustrophobic, and you look at the stretch of the manicured lawn, the messy sprawl of vines across the neighbor's fence. You used to play with Natsuki, here, when you were younger. When he was Satsuki, you would sulk and moan about how much you wanted Natsuki back. It is a little unsettling to realize that you do not remember a past wherein Satsuki never existed.
You must be getting soft.
It is hours before Kaoru brings you a cup of hot milk; no coffee, now that you've given him another scare. "You sure you'll be okay out here?" Kaoru asks, touching your arm.
You'll be fine, you tell him. You aren't going to die from boredom, after all.
No, not that, and Kaoru's expression darkens. You would take it back, if you did not feel so cross with yourself.
You tell him you are tired, that you want to sleep off a headache. His eyes soften in understanding and not a little pity, and you feel a real migraine coming on at your frustration. When you get back to your room, you dig out your phone from your bag and call Natsuki.
It is Satsuki who answers. You shuffle through a minute of awkward silence, because you barely have civil conversations with Satsuki, much less when he fucks you into the mattress without so much as a proper date or flowers or whatever it is girls really like. You can feel the sadistic pleasure he takes from this excruciating exchange; the tension is palpable even through the phone line, or maybe it is just your imagination.
You grit his teeth, as he recounts the many ways his right hand is entertaining him, for the moment. The thought should not shoot a thrill of desire through your spine, but it does, and you sink into your mattress, trying to either rut against it or wallow in mortification.
"He's worried about you," says Satsuki, even as he knows your thoughts have taken a turn down the indecent path. "I wonder how he'd react if he knew you were getting off from hearing my voice - or is it his voice?"
You groan and ask him to have mercy on you and please shut up.
"You asked for it," says Satsuki, and it is the only warning you have before you hear Natsuki's tentative greeting.
You pull your hand away from your crotch, as if burned.
"Are you okay?" Natsuki asks, and his voice sounds so broken that you have to turn your face into your pillow to hide your eyes.
Yeah, you tell him, after a moment. You want to see him so badly you can feel the physical ache of it. You even want to see Satsuki, but that is probably your libido talking.
Of course it is.
You take your medicine and go to sleep, the fitful kind that keeps you restless and awake long after the climax of it.
Will you go to sleep?
Yes.
No.
You have this dream.
You are standing on the stage of the largest concert hall you have ever been to. In your hand, there is a microphone. In the other, there is your heart. It beats and quakes with every second that you feel the loneliness keenly. It begins to settle only when you find, in the back row of the audience, the one person that you have always looked at.
"Do you see me?" Natsuki asks, and even with the distance, his voice comes out clear and lilting.
Yes, you tell him. When have you never looked at him?
The smile Natsuki offers is a sad one that makes your heart tremble. You want to tear it apart for being so quick to react, for being so weak to Natsuki.
"You're not looking at me," says Natsuki. "You never look at me."
That is not true at all, you try to say, but something in the sharpness of his gaze, the bitter downturn of his lips - all of these tell you that it is not Natsuki that speaks.
"You're so selfish," says Satsuki, even as Natsuki says, helplessly, "Shou-chan."
When you open your eyes, you touch the side of your face. In the dimness of your room, you think that the ceiling must be blurred by the lighting. It is only a beat later that you realize you are crying.
There is a bottle of pills on your desk drawer. Will you take one?
Yes
No
Your friends and what looks like a welcoming committee prepare a party for you when you come back. You get a cake in your face even if it is not your birthday, and you sneak a look at Natsuki with frosting sticking to your skin and a decorative flower perched awkwardly on your bangs. He smiles and calls you cute, but you think you saw something calculating in his eyes.
That is impossible. It is Natsuki, after all.
When curfew comes and your friends have said their farewells, you sigh at the impending task of cleaning up. You are mentally wondering how long it will take you to get the confetti out of the carpet when strong arms wrap around your chest, tugging you to the direction of your bed.
What are you doing, you yell as you attempt to pull away. Satsuki - it looks like - is already working at your belt, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying them past your thighs.
"Trying to fuck the stress out of you," says Satsuki as he mouths at the juncture between your hip and pelvis, teeth sharp against the softness of your skin. "Didn't you know? I'm a lot better for your health than some whack job party."
You highly doubt that that is true, but he does have a way with his hands and in the space of less than half an hour he has you melting like a puddle of satisfied goo into the sheets. "Welcome back, brat," says Satsuki, his mouth twisting into a half-smile as he brushes the hair out of your eyes.
I'm home, you tell him, still catching your breath, but when you turn to look at him, something in Satsuki's expression changes.
He looks almost... fond.
No, you think to yourself, no, no, no, no, no.
It takes you half a pill more than your usual dosage before you can calm your heart. Kaoru sometimes wonders if you are overly dependent, but... it works more than anything else does. Better than Natsuki. Better than getting it out of your system with Satsuki's fists curling around your hair, your thigh, your ankle, fuck.
The bastard is going to be the end of you.
Natsuki asks you out on a date. What will you say?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
You are playing with the leftover vegetables on your plate when Natsuki finally opens his mouth. "Shou-chan," says Natsuki, very slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, "are you and Satsuki together now?"
You spit out the contents of your glass. Natsuki looks a little dismayed, but mostly unruffled. You splutter in between patting your shirt dry with a tissue, and you ask him where in the world he got that idea from.
"Oh," says Natsuki, "it's just that, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm with you and..." He makes vague gestures with his right hand. "It's not that I'm mad about it."
You slouch in your seat, feeling your cheeks heat up unnecessarily. You cannot think of anything to say, but Natsuki saves you the trouble as he continues on, as if you did not just experience a moment of hysteria coupled with the sudden urge to stab yourself with the available cutlery.
"I mean, you're both very important to me," says Natsuki, "and I love both of you very much. But I have to know if you need him more than I do, if you love him enough for it not to matter."
You look up from your staring match with your fork. What could he mean by that, you wonder aloud. He shakes his head, looking unsure, but he presses on.
"I was talking to Kaoru," says Natsuki, "and he told me that Satsuki wasn't a very good influence to you. And it made me think that maybe the reason why you're so worried all the time is because you're too busy keeping track of me. And I don't want that, Shou-chan, because I want to look after you. I've decided; I want to be strong for myself, without having to hide behind Satsuki all the time."
Na-chan, you croak out, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. Don't be such a dork.
"You called me Na-chan," says Natsuki, almost shyly. "You haven't called me that in years."
You give him a small, tremulous smile, and Natsuki gives you an equally shaky one, touching the rim of his glasses.
Will you return to your room?
Yes.
Not yet.
Satsuki does not take the news well.
A better part of your shared room has already been destroyed in the process, and he is steadily working his way through your things. You engage in a screaming match with him, Satsuki angry about assisted suicide or whatever the fuck he is on, and with you livid about the careless regard for your possessions. You could take it when he ripped the pages of your books or stuffed your magazines in the garbage can, but when he grabbed your medication and upended it into the toilet, you just... blanked out.
Maybe it is dependence, you think, even as you attempt to scratch a long, raw line across his arms, his head too high up for you to reach. Maybe you have been too obsessed with the idea of healing that it makes you crazy.
You're fucking crazy, you tell him instead. What the hell is your problem, asshole?
Satsuki fends off your sudden impulse to mutilate his being far too easily that it leaves a burn of dissatisfaction and dread in your lungs. "Fucking killing me off, as if I don't have a say in anything, what the fuck, you keep telling me I'm not real when I'm more real than your fucking imaginary illnesses-"
Calm down, you tell yourself even as you shout the words at Satsuki. Calm the fuck down!
"This isn't just some road to fucking self-discovery, dipshit," Satsuki says in between kicking his desk over and throwing your clothes to the far end of the room. "I'm not your pet project and I won't give in to your psychological bullshit if you can't even see what the hell is wrong with yourselves!"
Your heart clenches; something in your stomach tightens into a coil. Your breaths come out quicker, induced by the adrenaline and the anxiety coursing through your system. You reach out to Satsuki, but it is only a moment later that you realize that what is in your hand is not Satsuki's arm, but your medication. You unscrew the cap, and even the action serves as a soothing balm to your nervousness. When you shake the bottle to reach for the last dosage, Satsuki's eyes darken and he smacks the back of your hand.
Your medicine, you stutter out. You have to - you need -
"You never needed it, idiot," says Satsuki, through clenched teeth. When he looks at you, there is no revulsion, no anger. There is only...
Defeat, and a nagging sense of futility.
He gives up in his rampage and awkwardly strips off the rest of his clothes as he joins you in bed. You stay perfectly still, hunched into yourself, and he molds his body to the tension of your spine; it is the most intimate you have ever been with him, beyond sex and kissing. Your hand clutching the empty bottle, your heart thumping against your chest, his cheek resting against the nape of your neck, both of you stewing in silence and not a little misery.
"We're so fucked up," Satsuki says, sighing into the top of your head, and you hide your anxiety into the sharp edge of his shoulder, the bony outline of his clavicle. Satsuki is more careful with you now, when all of the spite and hurt has dwindled down into fatigue, and the two of you are too young to feel like you are barely holding on and overcoming a hurdle. You are only waiting for one of you to teeter to close to the edge.
There are moments few and far in between when you feel like you are not the weakest person in the world. When you were younger, you used to feel like Satsuki was that far off, indomitable challenge, and Natsuki needed to be saved. Now that you are older, you wonder if it is Natsuki who is so unreachable, if Satsuki is the only indelible thing in your life.
Even through your anger and your clouded mind, you realize: you are in love with Satsuki. God damn it, you really are.
Who will you talk to?
Satsuki
Natsuki
Someone else.
Sometime after, Satsuki retreats into a corner of Natsuki's mind. Natsuki does not ask, and you do not tell him. There are some things you have made a grudging sort of peace with, and Satsuki is one of them.
You wonder if Satsuki will ever realize this.
Will you accompany Natsuki?
Yes.
No.
Therapy is doing Natsuki better, to some extent, although there are times that Satsuki takes over and acts belligerently for the sake of pissing you off. Satsuki does not necessarily agree that counseling will magically remove all traces of trauma left behind by a childhood memory, but Satsuki is a cynic and you think it is doing Natsuki good, to talk to someone, even if it is not with you.
He is making progress, at least - the both of you are. Natsuki does not revert to Satsuki immediately whenever he takes off his glasses, and you have (involuntarily) taken up meditation classes to wean yourself off of your medication. You feel healthier, some days, more rejuvenated, more assured that you are alive, and it makes Natsuki happy, to see you happy.
Kaoru is unsure of how to approach you now; it has never occurred to both of you that your illness may be psychosomatic, and he blames himself for not noticing. You would like to offer him empty words of assurance, but you are still unsure of how to do so without indirectly addressing the complexities of your relationship with each other. He is family and you will always love him but he just makes you feel so suffocated.
You think that everything is going great and that nothing in the world will stop you, but as the weeks drone on, you find yourself seeing less of Satsuki as Natsuki takes on a more assertive role. It is like he melds with Natsuki's vibrant energy, violence tempered by Natsuki's affability, and it makes you almost... almost...
Nothing. You are just feeling wistful, that is all.
Sensei is giving you the evil eye. What will you do?
Go back to your dorm.
Stay in the room.
You are rummaging through your desk for a misplaced assignment when Natsuki pops into your room and grabs you by the arm.
"We're skipping class," he says, and you narrow your eyes at he mischievous inflection, but you cannot be sure because it is Natsuki and he has never -
You gape at him. Natsuki offers you a smirk.
In between your shock and your blustering, you ask him how on earth he can do that, to simply take over even when Natsuki has not taken off his glasses.
"I'm borrowing you," says Satsuki, simply, and he leads you out of the school gates, his hand clutching yours, tightly. When he touches you, again, you feel as if something in him has changed, and, by extension, something in you has adapted. He takes you to lunch at a nearby cafe and the both of you must look like a pair of love struck idiots, staring at each other over plates of crepe and marzipan and pesto, as if you did not hit rock bottom with this boy just a few days ago. He is either a great actor or something entirely different, and you marvel at the way he strokes the soft skin between your palm and index finger.
You think of a future stretching into infinity with this wonderful, wonderful man; this person who is both yours and not yours, who is two different characters, flesh of one flesh, bone of one bone, and it does not seem like a grim prospect.
It feels a little like forgiveness. Forgiveness, and forgetting.
You take a detour to the park before you go back to the dorms, and he curls an arm around your waist and dances with you to the tune of a man practicing on his violin. You squawk and offer your token protests but inside your stomach is aflutter, your nerves lit on edge. It is not peace, not exactly, but it is the closest you have ever come to it. Even as the music comes to a stop, you continue to shuffle awkwardly in his arms. When he releases you, it is almost a reprieve.
He presses a kiss to your cheek; it feels like a promise, and he leaves goosebumps on your skin as he traces your arm. It is a miracle you go home without stumbling into anything like a clumsy fool drunk on love and happiness.
At the doorway of your room, as you toe off your shoes and flush at his expectant gaze, he takes a step forward and brings his hand up to touch your brow.
You don't put out on your first date, you tell him. He looks like he wants to say something snide at that, but his eyes remain affectionate. Like he has never seen you before.
"I'll tell you a secret," says Satsuki. "But you have to promise not to cry, if I do."
Will you agree?
You're not a girl, what the hell, Satsuki.
No.
Don't make any promises.
"The truth is, I was only ever around for you."
And now that you are getting a little better - now that you are more focused and less prone to anxiety -
Your heart. It almost stutters to a stop.
What will you do?
What will you do, Kurusu Shou, what will you do?
Don't go, you tell him, and you clutch at the back of his collar and tighten your grip like you'll never let him go. Don't leave me alone.
Satsuki almost looks dismayed; you think you must look like a sight, crying like a little child deprived of his wants, and he presses his forehead against yours, nuzzling the side of your cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness.
You have changed him, or at least he has changed you. He makes you want to be stronger for the sake of someone else, and even when he makes you crazy with his mocking words or his adroit fingers or his damnable, wonderful mouth, you want to come home to him at the end of the day, to breathe him in and consume the very essence of his being with the inquiry of your own touch. You want to stop worrying about what others think of you and you want to stop feeling so helpless in the face of everyone else's quiet platitudes. You want, you want, you want, and he looks as miserable as you feel.
"Don't cry," Satsuki says. "It'll get better, I promise."
You sob harder, at that. It gets harder to breathe through the clogging of your nose, the discomfort of your eyes. He brushes his lips past your brow.
"This was always going to happen," says Satsuki. "If not now, then someday. I can't stay here to fuck your problems away." He laughs, sharply, at that.
You don't know what to do, you confess. He can't expect you to be strong enough for this.
"I know you," says Satsuki. "Natsuki - he'll be here for you, when I can't. God damn it, don't make this any harder for me."
You don't want that. You don't want anything without him. It must show, because Satsuki takes a deep breath, honestly surprised, and when he looks at you, your heart breaks at the sight.
"I love you," says Satsuki, in wonder; it is a litany of regrets and hopes for a future that will never come to be, and when you kiss him you wonder if this will be the last time, the very last time, and it aches.
You want everything - everything, and nothing.
What will you do now?
...
There is a name you think of, before you go to sleep. How it starts, you remember, and you try to move your mouth to say it but what comes out is only -suki. When you try to trace it into your palm, you stop short, because all you remember is Kaoru's tired smile, Natsuki's eyes, bright and wet and understanding. Satsuki's crumpled frown. You swallow the name when you feel your heart shudder. When you touch the edge of a curved pill. When Natsuki holds you. When Kaoru sticks out his tongue. When Satsuki laughs glares mouths your name worships the back of your thigh touches the small of you back looks at you, really looks at you, and you are in love with this beautiful boy, you are, you are -
You open your eyes and call out his name.
T H E E N D
You regret nothing.