Spirit

One: Beautiful

[A/N] This is for Dash-san. Sorry it's later than I said it would be… you can consider it a gift for New Year's! :3 Hope you enjoy~

(Also. If any of you catch the line that I kinda-sorta whacked from The Dark Knight Rises, I will love you forever. xD)

oOo

The leaves swirl lazily around them. Occasionally one will blow into Akihiko's face and he will brush it away with a long-suffering sigh; it will continue on its path, unperturbed, while he struggles to remember what he wants to write and fails. As he's been doing all day. He hasn't written a sensible word since the sun went up.

The sun now hangs in the sky, heavy and ripe and low behind the trees, casting a languid light into their clearing that produces no discernible shadows to be seen. Only a diffused sort of glow that seems to permeate everything in sight, dancing over the leaves, cloaking the warm brown eyes that gaze up at him.

This place is beautiful. I love this place because it is beautiful.

Hiroki's eyes are wide and unabashedly curious. His gold-stroked hair waves about his face as he continues to observe Akihiko, lying flat on his back with face turned upwards in a way that can't possibly be comfortable. Akihiko has no clue why his friend is watching him, but he knows that if asks, the cheeks will flare up in a splash of color and the soft, pink-rimmed mouth will deny it immediately. He also knows Hiroki's lips are soft because he felt them for himself once, years ago, pressed against his own lips—his impatient, uncontrollably greedy lips—and knows exactly what shade of red the boy's face is wont to turn when embarrassed. Over the last year, he hasn't needed to watch as much as confirm; he knows Hiroki by heart.

I love beautiful things.

Do you think I can't feel your eyes on me?

He's not at all prepared for the rough-edged voice and jerks visibly when Hiroki mumbles, "Hey, Akihiko?"

"Yeah?" Akihiko says, voice higher by several scales. Despite his still shaking body, he's thankful for the interruption; the very thought of tolerating that gaze in silence for another minute is near intolerable.

"I'm going to sleep", his friend says. A large-mouthed yawn follows—it's long and lazy and just a little too sincere to be true. You hate yawning. You hate anything that keeps you from concentrating. "Wake me up in a bit."

"Don't!"

Hiroki's response is swift. It's past his lips before Akihiko can gather his wits about himself, before he can wonder why he needs the boy to stay awake: "Then stop writing."

He doesn't want to ask why, too relieved at having a reason to give up for a while, but asks anyway.

"I'm bored. You get to write all you want; I need to wait 'til I have a new story." Amuse me, Akihiko hears in the petulance underlining his voice. He smiles gently and snaps his notebook shut, unable to resist some banter. "If I write now, you get your story sooner, right?"

"Eh, shut up", Hiroki mumbles. His eyes finally leave the taller boy's face, searching for unseen things in the treetops above, and Akihiko is surprised by the warmth they take with them. It's like opening a door to taste the wind… despite his earlier discomfort, he's not sure how he likes this new nakedness.

He almost wishes Hiroki would look at him again.

Beautiful things are loved.

He lets his own eyes rest on his friend's face for a burningly brief moment before sighing and looking away.

I want you. The words hurt just to think them, and yet…

I want you.

Want…

"Talk", Hiroki says presently, still not looking at him. Still gazing at the brown-green-gold leaves with the same disinterested fascination that he offered Akihiko. "No point in not writing if you're gonna stay quiet, you know. You're too quiet these days anyway."

Am I? He isn't surprised.

Want… what is this "want"? What kind of want is it that causes this overwhelming ache in his chest? Beautiful things are loved.

What is wanting?

What kind of want pushes his heart into beating, his lungs into breathing?

Beautiful things are loved.

He wants to give this up, too. But because he can't, he gives his notebook one last unhappy glance before saying, "You're really weird today, Hiroki."

"I'm not", says Hiroki with a new sharpness to his voice. "You're the weird one." The leaves continue to spin; some recklessly, some gracefully, some with both heady recklessness and grace. Akihiko envies them all. They're beautiful, too. I wish you'd look at me again.

"No, you are", he laughs. There's no real mirth there, but he's still surprised by an undercurrent of playfulness that he hadn't put in by himself. "You're really, really weird today." He has the faintest suspicion that he's going to begin babbling in a moment. "You're—"

"You're an idiot."

Is this some sort of game? Hiroki's eyes are back on him now, regarding him with total and utter amusement. At least… I think it's amusement. I don't know. I thought I knew you by heart.

Still need work.

Of course he does, he thinks miserably. Beautiful things are loved…

"Well, you're stupid", he says.

Hiroki lets loose a grudging, gravelly laugh. "No one's ever accused me of being stupid."

"And you're the only one I know who seems to think I'm an idiot", Akihiko replies dryly. "We're even." But that doesn't change the fact that you're really weird today.

You're really beautiful today, Hiroki.

"I don't think you're an idiot, I know it."

Want.

"If you know it, prove it", Akihiko smiles. He doesn't know why he's smiling. It's probably because Hiroki's right, but it's probably because he's crossed his stumbling block at last.

Hiroki shrugs, "You'll prove it to yourself someday."

I know it already, Akihiko doesn't say. He doesn't even think it. He's far too occupied with thinking, You're beautiful.

"Hiroki", he says softly. Don't hear me. Please don't hear me.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." It isn't the first time he's hated himself, so what the hell.

"And you say I'm weird", Hiroki mutters after a minute of silence. "What's with you today?"

What's with me? What's with you? What's with the want that tugs so insistently at his chest, like an ache, like a dream waiting to be seen?

His smile's faded already, he realizes, as though from a great distance. And you say I'm the idiot.

"You are." Did I just say that aloud? "But you're weird, too. Is everything okay, Akihiko?"

"What's your take on beautiful things?" he hears himself say. His eyes widen not long after, but he already knows it's okay. He had to say something, anything to prevent the concern in Hiroki's voice from growing, and there were far worse things he could have let slip.

"Beautiful… things?" Hiroki's voice is odd. "That's what's got you so crazy?"

He's still looking at Akihiko, eyes big and brown like Akihiko had never known the meaning of the word before. Never known just what could be embodied by the word beautiful. By the brown of Hiroki's unrelenting, unshakeable stare. By this want that's going to kill him, consume him, or both.

How beautiful can something be before it can no longer be called beautiful?

How deep can a want be before it can be called love?

"Yeah", Akihiko says hoarsely. "What's your opinion on beautiful things?"

"What's your opinion?" Hiroki asks, flipping onto his stomach in one lithe motion and sending up little dust clouds in the process. For no good reason, Akihiko waits until the air clears before speaking again. He wants Hiroki to be looking at him forever. "I think beautiful things are loved", he says at last.

"Really…" and just like that, Hiroki's gaze shifts to the long, soft grass below him. "Never thought of it that way, myself."

Akihiko is unable to sound anything but surprised. "There's another way to think of it?"

His friend's raised eyebrows say if there hadn't been, why did you ask me? but his eyes, even when resting so on something as maddeningly inconsequential as grass, are gentle. "Yeah. I've always thought that things are beautiful because they're loved."

Things are beautiful because they're loved…

Because they're loved?

How beautiful can something be before it can no longer be called beautiful?

"I see", he whispers, giving up at last. "You're beautiful."

Even the leaves stop moving.

Everything is silent; everything is still. Everything except for the beating of his own heart and the awestruck ramblings of his own mind. You're beautiful. You're beautiful because I…

Beautiful things are loved….

Want…

Want.

Want—

"Akihiko?"

Please be looking at me. Please.

He can't take it anymore. He can't wait. He's only aware of the soft roughness of Hiroki's collar beneath his clutching hands—rough, rough like his voice, soft like his lips—and then it's gone. It's melted into the feel of those lips against his. It may be only the second time he's done this, but like last time, it's all he can do now; everything he's ever wanted, everything he's ever found beautiful seems to be right here in his arms.

It's not just want.

He can never remember just when the kiss breaks, but the next thing he's aware of is his own words, choked out against Hiroki's limp, trembling shoulder. "You're beautiful. Damn it. Please don't look at anything else."

Things are beautiful because they're loved, after all.

His eyes sting with unashamed relief as he feels a second pair of hands rest on his back. They're unsteady, just like him. They're warm, unlike him. He can't see them right now—he can't see anything through the clenched darkness of his eyelids—but he knows they're beautiful. "Promise me", he whispers.

With the sudden sweetness of Hiroki's face against his, he knows that giving up was the only way he would win.

"Yes. I promise."