It tasted like hell. This chill around his feet..
Asami watched the deep sea foam, and felt the sand under his toes. Rough, so rough—it matched the state of his mind. Winds were cuts on his body. The afternoon sky slowly coiled into calm tones of pink and violet, and along with it; his eyes turned ruddy.
What the in the world was Kirishima doing?
Takaba ran around with his digital camera. Light flashes mimicked the sheen of his eyes. He felt his chest bubble up with ...what? Asami asked himself the question until his head pounded. This is unreasonable, he warned. Anger, war, and despair; it all lunged at his peace.
But this—this feels so fucking good.
Takaba goofed off in his remote view. Unaware and uncaring. Happy, healthy, back in his good spirits; (thankfully!) opposite of a few moments ago.
Asami's nape burnt. The sand under his toes were molten lava.
He felt to cage that goodness, carve his seal into the very senses. Maybe that would make him feel better.
Asami heard the screeches of seagulls—to him; they sounded as sonnets of fey itself. It gave him something to be anchored to. He stood-frozen beyond warmth. He was drowning, he was drowning, in deep-deep abyss.
Only the obstacle was Takaba. Naive Takaba, poor Takaba, sweet-sweet comfort.
He recalled those hollow blue eyes of his.
Deep in the hollows of his chest, there lived a wild animal. Waiting, silently salivating for the chance to devour the lights of the small beacon in his consciousness. It was Asami himself.
I want to kiss you. I want to kill you. I want to kill you for wanting to kiss you.
He couldn't isolate Takaba, he couldn't take away his consciousness. But-he can't let him live in the wilds while Asami bleeds from inside.
He glared into nothing.
But there lived another monster. Horrible, terrible and tyrant. Asami clenched his phone tighter. His hair wafted in the air, and his shirt stuck to his back. "—OI! Asami~!" Takaba pointed cheerfully at various objects. Shining sea shells, dolphin hunter ships; or perhaps conducting a mischief or two.
There lived a monster that refused to be put to rest.
Just when Asami thought to break the phone into diamonds, it rung across in a noisy rhythm. He picked it up. Asami, yet still, refused to acknowledge his damp palms as the phone almost slipped from him.
The ominous; dark tone. "Asami-sama.."
Kirishima had always been the punctual one, Asami grimaced.
.
.
Asami's eyes felt sore.
Morning light filtered through the blinds, and hitting (straight towards...) his face. He should move away. Definitely. It's not good to have sunlight hitting directly your eyes for prolonged periods. He scoffed. But the air was chilly, his heart was pounding and oh Takaba's lashes are so long.
He glanced at the table-clock. (Which he owned thanks to Takaba's need to have a annoyingly screechy machine right beside his ear.) It's five o'clock. Quite late for his daily schedule, actually.
'I should get up.'
He peered at Takaba's peaceful form.
Must be nice, Asami frowned, to not have to handle atrocious; stupid people daily and keep a straight face on. Asami tutted to himself. This kid has no idea—no absolute idea how reality works.
(Or maybe; he didn't want to have an idea. That, was a possibility.)
Asami took another glance at the clock.
Perhaps... it wouldn't be too faulty if he slept in for a bit longer. Just a bit longer, that's all. He shifted and moved in closer. Closer to Takaba's profile. So close, he could feel his warm breath fanning his face. But then—Asami groaned as his forehead gives a sudden jolt at the sudden shift, as if his head sloshed in his skull. As a result: he slowly turned his body away and moved on his back. So much for checking him out.
His took a deep breath, looking at the polished white roof. The sudden pains came all too often these days. They weren't bad. Not enough to hinder him from activity, but they felt meagre nuisance to have around. Perhaps—he was finally growing old. Asami snickered at a mental image of Takaba fucking a much older himself.
"Mm..." Takaba moved in his sleepy euphoria. "Pizza rolls... Don't leave me.." What happened next—not even the great Asami Ryuchi would've fathomed.
One moment Asami was taking sick-sick amusement from his mental paintings, the next-Takaba was groaning, and shifting himself to his side, his arm moving in mid-sleep manoeuvrings.
Then, his hand caught Asami's face square on the nose.
Asami didn't dare breathing for a second. Two seconds. Three.
On fourth mark, he slowly lifted Takaba's hand off his face with two fingers, as if it were a cursed object. His gold laded and sharp eyes narrowed in on Takaba.
A retaliatory lustre gleamed in his irises.
His hand reached for the (dreaded) alarm clock. He sported a sneer, as he slowly moved the dials.
.
Takaba rubbed his ears. His tee was in a mess, wrongly worn inside out as he had rushed to wear it. His hair, by now, resembled tangled earphones. Takaba shot a glare at Asami's posh disposition. Damn him.
Takaba grinded his teeth. "Oi! Don't smirk!" It got on his fucking nerves. "Why not? It was your fault that you smacked me."
"Unconsciously; unconsciously! Can't a person perform sleep-actions?" "You mean.." Asami held doubt in his eyes, "'RBD.'"
"All the same, all the same. But it was no reason to bust my ears with that damned clock!"
"And it was perfectly alright to try and bruise my cheek."
"No-not saying that at all-"
"You should be careful next time." Asami mocked. "I make money with this face, you know."
Takaba pursed his lips and grumbled. Something along the lines of 'a bastard a being a bastard,' and 'no one likes your face.' he pushed his hands into his jean pockets, looking around the stylish; chic store with awe in his eyes.
"By the way.." He remarked as he checked out a shirt. "Why are we here in the first place?" Bloody hell why are these so freaking expensive? Takaba backed away with a scowl. Even with a hundred years worth of his current-even if it wasn't stable-salary, he probably couldn't pay for these..
"Since you liked my shoes so much, last time" Asami sighed. A particular 'woe is me' expression that Takaba despised. "We're buying shoes for you." Because that always meant the ridicule of himself.
"E-eh? When did I.."
"It should be from the exact same line. Same brand. Same style." Asami sneered. "And exactly the same way I bought it." He mused of how he would interrogate the clark. It was especially delicious to see the ashen faces of them. He purred. It was like pleasure from rare pivots.
The bafflement on Akihito's face was priceless. Absolutely priceless.
It would've been handy if he had a camera nearby, Asami absentmindedly mused. It would've been nice to harass him with it in the future. Oh the decadent expressions 'the tsundere' would give.
Asami's breath hitched when Takaba hadn't come back for air. And he'd under sea for so long too-
started to morph into a doll of sorts. And Asami narrowed his eyes. (Was he finally going mad?) It was a doll with golden hair, shining eyes that had none but mischievous insanity in them. He chucked the cigarette onto the ground, and promptly crushed it with his foot.
And it was a doll he desired to destroy as easily like this.
Albeit, he had nothing much to be careful of now. Feilong was silenced, he would peacefully cloaked with his pitiable sorrows, and Asami had earned the throne. The underworld worshipped his suede boots, vying to survive, to please. At least to his associates, his clout had increased ten folds.
He skimming Akihito's rejoiced form, a form that beckoned him to join him in his childish madness. Glowing and bright in his view. And with the water stung skin and teasing lips, like a rose through fog.
.
Do you know, unblemished one?
I've already violated you manifolds, in my paracosm.
.
And none can dare to his what belongs to him.
.
'For they would be silenced.'
.
But the prime obstacle, to peace, were naive-naive outsiders.
.
"Speak, Kirishima."
"It seems Mikhail Arbatov is making... moves. Gathering allies, that is."
A silent exchange.
Kirishima's monotone continued. "We have Nitori investigating it. Thoroughly. Though for now.." He trailed. "It's not a big of a threat, yet." "Kirishima." "Yes. Your orders are...?"
Takaba scowled at Asami's blank faced refusal. "Let him be; for now. His plans appear, yet, ambiguous. Gather a list of his alliances. Names and details. And we'll proceed from there."
"Yes, Asami-sama."
So it should begin and end.
With a race of immorality.
The sun dressed blood and bloodily.
"Takaba."
Asami stood by his couch, with a neatly wrapped package. Takaba turned to him with his brows furrowed, curious at his abrupt interruption to his movie. "Welcome... home." He glanced. "What's that?"
He threw the package onto Takaba's lap.
"This is yours."
Takaba had his mouth in a straight line, stunned. Is it the new canon camera that I've wanted? his eyes shined Or it the latest lens? The guy had too much money. He should give away some to poor-innocent lads like him. Takaba grinned. Hah - When did Asami become so morally un-challenged? The sun must've rose in the west today~!
The ..thing he found in the box, was nothing he wished. Or would wish for.
There laid a heart necked apron. (A sheer one.) With shimmering frills on the bottom and top.
"..What is this?"
"You requested to wear one." Asami mocked. "Nude underneath... And with a sweet-"
"You fucking—when did I? HEY! Come back here!"
Asami's phone rang, as he left the warm atmosphere.
Can I preserve this? Always?
No shouts followed his trail a moment after. It seemed, Takaba had settled down with pointing out the flaws of the lingerie. Asami picked up his phone. The screen flashed in his face like the gleaming blade of knives in the darkness. It was Kirishima.
Yes. I can.
I believe that I can keep his smile. I can keep him alive.
.
He sneered.
You're one overconfident bastard, Asami.
.
(I've found you as I've lost you.)
Sometimes, when work and hunting rodents would've ransacked his mind, and the sun would set on Takaba's sun kissed hair-he would think. Think if he was a monster, or this is just what it's like to be human. This is what it's like to love; live.
Perhaps, if he never had met the boy, he wouldn't have felt the windy emotion of I'm losing him I'm losing him, seconds after painless seconds. He would've been satisfied. Not happy—but satisfied.
.
But then again...
He smelt Takaba's cooking in the air.
Isn't it all worth this?