TW: alcohol abuse, drug abuse, suicide mention.
Bastard.
Cold morning light struggles past a blanket of grey clouds and through Shion's window as he lays awake in bed.
Such a damn sick bastard.
Shion hates living this way. He can't stand it. It's just... Too much. He runs his finger over his lips lightly, not knowing what to expect. But then, it's dry and thin, just like it has been for about a month. At least, he thinks it's been a month.
Eyes pinching shut as a sharp pain stabs at his chest, Shion wonders how much longer he can go on. He isn't even sure of how many times he's... How many times has Nezumi...? With a bitter sadness melting into anger, Shion suddenly shoots his arm out and gropes around for the nightstand drawer knob. Laying inside as the top of a stack, the most important and frequently referred to item, is an old scrap of notebook paper. Eight tally marks have been thrown onto it in permanent marker. It's all that's left of Shion's sanity.
With a hopelessly depressed groan, Shion drags himself to his feet and prepares to face another day.
"He came back again last night," he mutters, nearly ashamed of the truth.
A petite, middle aged woman with limp black hair sits beside Shion, taking notes as she assesses him. "Mm. Did he?"
The patient sighs. He hates this question. "No."
"How did the dream end?" Her voice is cold and calculating. She has given up hope on Shion long ago, and told him so, but he still comes anyway. He just doesn't have much going on in his life, so the therapist keeps taking his money, having stopped bothering to pay much real attention months ago, and Shion keeps showing up.
"He kissed me goodbye and we both went to work." Shion can still see the image now, so intoxicatingly beautiful and tempting and perfect.
"Where did you go to work?"
"Goverment building."
"Oh, really?"
"Yep," Shion says, his tone clipped.
"Did he ever really come while you worked there?"
"The first time he came, yeah."
"Mm-hm." There is no 'mm-hm' about it. Shion is a hopeless nutcase, and he knows it. "How did you feel when you woke up?"
"Sad, angry, depressed, lonely, worthless. The usual. I had to check the tally sheet." Shion rolls his eyes and countd on his fingers.
"Do you know when he'll be back next?"
"No idea."
"Do you miss him?"
When Shion returns home to his vast, empty apartment, he pops open a beer and falls back onto his lavish bed, one of the only pieces of furniture he bothers with. It's 2 in the afternoon, but he doesn't much care. Trapped in the gray box that is his apartment, Shion reads old classics and drinks the day away, as another couple bottles keep magically appearing next to the first. God he loves the Beer Fairy. At around 6 he looks longingly at this sleep medication his therapist has prescribed some time back -just about the only helpful thing she's ever done- but he knows it's too early. His stomach is nagging him like a ratty old nanny so he should choke something down before calling it a day. And anyway, there's always the possilibilty that tonight will be one of the good nights, the one he lives for. Wouldn't want to miss that.
At 10:27, Shion hears a knock at his window. He knows the exact time, because he's been engaged in his nightly game of If-He's-Not-Here-In-Five-Minutes-I'm-Blowing-Up-The-Earth for the past hour and a half. The Earth is lucky he's too damn lazy to see the game through. Someone tumbles through the window, a cold nighttime breeze carrying him in. They stare at each other blankly for a moment before Shion pulls a bottle of wine out, uncaring that he's practically tipsy as it is.
This whole damn thing, as much as it feels so damn good in so many different ways, as much as he wants it, needs it, needs another chance at this fantasy, it's awful and he hates it and himself, and Shion's never done anything quite so painful in all his life, and he's not thinking about the limping he'll be doing tomorrow.
Alcohol makes it easier. Always has. Shion's thoughts are clouded as he lies beneath Nezumi, blushing and panting, so he can concentrate on the pleasure and love, the real love he's always felt for this man since he was 16 and dumb, many years ago. He doesn't have to think about how little this means to Nezumi, and how little this guy even cares, and how much these facts stab Shion in the heart like hot, poisonous stakes when he's of a clear mind. With the sweet red wine running through his veins, Shion can lose himself in an incredible dream of happiness and consistency and hope, and a dream in which this man actually gives a damn.
When Shion awakens the next morning, there's either a bear punching him in the... everywhere, or he has a hell of a hangover. Maybe both. He braves the sun and open his eyes, even though it's bright as fuck, to make sure he's hearing what he thinks he's hearing, which he is. Nezumi's across the room, trying to pull on his pants and drink from a carton of OJ at the same time. Well, Shion's just a gentleman, so he hobbles over, whispers good morning, and helps his... Helps Nezumi with his pants. He fights to keep his lips an even line as Nezumi looks down on where he kneels. I hate this so much, he thinks, tempted to weep.
Is he actually... smiling? Shion's incredulous as Nezumi throws him a "Thanks, morning," and sets the juice down on the counter. Shion doesn't respond. He knows if he opens his mouth again, he'll either lash out in pain and anger or beg Nezumi to stay. He wants to do both, but figures he should at least have in mind which one he'll do before he parts his lips to do it, so he stays silent. Maybe some other day. Instead, he walks deftly over to his nightstand, as if on autopilot, only able to really comprehend that he's in pain, nothing else, and pulls out the notebook paper and a permanent black marker. He hands them both to Nezumi.
Nezumi's familiar with the drill by now and makes a ninth mark on the sheet. Shion vaguely wonders how they descended into this "relationship," when they used to really know each other, talk to each other. If he remembers correctly, and years of sitting alone, thinking, thinking, haven't distorted it all, they used to be something, and have something special.
Shion watches, feeling helpless, as Nezumi mutters, "Well, time to get back," and walks back toward the window. He's offered him the door before, but he refused. Shion can't even remember why.
"I'm only living for the next time," he whispers habitually, loud enough for Nezumi to hear. It's a sour tradition of his. Nezumi probably thinks him some sort of pervert because of it, but neither care. The apathy clouding their encounter is enough to choke an elephant. Hell, it's enough to fill Nezumi's big-ass head, and his thick-ass skull. There's even enough left over to be burned to heat that freezing heart of his.
And then Nezumi's gone, disappeared out of Shion's little hellish corner of the universe, and Shion's heartbroken and burned and depressed and relieved and satisfied and Goddamn it, where's my fucking liquor?
He can see his therapist choke down a laugh when she sees the shape he's in as he hobbles into her office, shades over his eyes and take-out coffee in his hand. He's ten minutes late because he had to walk ('cause of all the booze, not the fact that his car has been towed or anything. Whatever, he'll get it eventually) and couldn't imagine this morning without coffee. Though, perhaps spiking it is counterproductive. Eh, what the hell.
"Do I need to get you into AA?" The judgy bitch asks with raised eyebrows and a bemused chuckle, not even bothering to act professional anymore.
"He came back again last night."
"This again? Shion, I can't fix you. I've told you, you need someone more experienced. Repeating all this to me isn't going to solve anything."
"New tally."
"What?"
Shion pulls out his phone, squinting at the light even though the brightness is all the way down and the therapist has the decency to close the blinds. He pulls up a picture of the page with nine tallies. He's unwilling to let that paper out of the safety of his apartment. "He actually came."
"Do you feel better?"
"Do I look like I feel better?"
"Where is he now?"
"Hell if I know. Out somewhere, living up his life. Probably with someone hot and rich and shitty to him. Or maybe getting in a fist fight in an alleyway, trying to create anarchy, destroy this city I've spent a decade rebuilding."
Shion's sitting on the floor, playing another riveting game of If-He's-Not-Here-In-Five-Minutes-I'm-Blowing-Up-The-Earth, his sixth tonight, when he almost can't take the droop in his eyes anymore. He perks at the sound of something knocking against his window. He wasn't actually expecting Nezumi tonight; he has never come two nights in a row before. He usually left Shion alone, suffering, wondering what the hell he was doing, for weeks or months. He's only left nine tallies in the five years since he's first visited, after all.
Shion allows Nezumi in, clothes ruffled by a chilling wind, and notices something different in those eternally ashen eyes. Shion's known Nezumi most of his life, yet he has no idea what it is. Something along the lines of a sad twinkle, he muses. Damn mysterious bastard.
"Hello again, Shion."
"You're back early," Shion says, although he doesn't know why, dragging his eyes out of contact under the pretense of tracking down some cheap wine.
Nezumi's voice is quiet, and vaguely frightened, if the other's hearing right. "I was having trouble staying away." It scares Shion to the bone. This… this has never happened before. There's never this weird talking thing. Even as he turns back around, he avoids eye contact. He leans against the large, empty grey wall, taking a swig directly from the bottle like it's water, not quite knowing what to do with himself. It's bitter on his tongue, more so than usual.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
Shion doesn't lift his gaze from shoes, even when senses Nezumi nearing him. Suddenly there's no bottle in this hand, and fingers are pinching his chin, and there's not option to him but staring into those slate seas as they are wracked by a typhoon.
"You love me, don't you?" Nezumi asks, continuing to decrescendo, and it's really not a question at all.
Why am I so ashamed to admit this? "Yes. I do."
That look on Nezumi's face as it closes in on his own, almost totally indescribable, says that this is far too good to be true; it must be a dream. But this is better than a dream, because my dreams are hellish. And Shion believes it, too, until his eyes shoot open and he's sitting on the floor in his clothes, not in bed where Nezumi had left him.
There are nine marks on the page, and Shion is dying to die. Bastard! Five minutes later, Shion is wondering if he should tell that shitty therapist that he just punched a hole in the wall.
Shion wonders when his head started spinning out of control as Nezumi is crawling in his window yet again. Shion smirks. He doesn't know if he's awake or asleep, and he's too far gone to care. As that icy air sweeps into his room, Shion grabs Nezumi by the shoulders, slams him against wall, throws his thigh between Nezumi's, and begins his bitch fit.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Shion asks, loving the look on Nezumi's face. It's confused and a little apprehensive and everything Shion's needed to see for five years since this whole thing started.
He's lost track of the days since the last time Nezumi really made that ninth mark. "Cause if you're thinking anything other than a fucking bastard, you're wrong!"
Sometimes, he's jerked out of a fantasy, good or bad, drunken or sober, by a call from that good for nothing therapist. "You just show up when you feel like and fuck with my soul, and I'm just supposed to sit here?"
He grows thinner, not caring to eat much at all, and never able to remember when the last time he ate while awake was. "Well, I've got some news for you."
He threw his clocks out the window at some point. "I don't need you, and I don't care how much I love you! I hate you too much to care about anything anymore!"
He'd probably be broke and dead by now if not for interest he's getting from the fortune he made when he built and ruled the metropolis around him ten years ago. "Did you ever love me? Or was it all just some lie?"
And, god, he doesn't even want to think about what he would do if the store didn't deliver alcohol. "I don't want you to come back here unless you're coming to stay!"
When he's spending hours staring at the four walls of his grey box, he realizes that he kind of scares himself. "What am I to you? What am I?"
He's more of a ghost than a man. "Until you figure it out, I don't even want to look it you!"
He's shaking, and when he takes a step back, Nezumi slumps to the floor. Blood is streaming down his face, a few drops hitting grey tile, but Shion doesn't remember hitting him. Nezumi is silent, terrifyingly silent like he never was when they loved each other, so long ago Shion isn't sure that that wasn't a dream, too. Maybe that's where he went wrong…
Shion checks, and there's no sign of blood on the tile the next time he leaves for that useless therapist.
He's starting to feel like a different person. He's not sure what changed, or when, but he knows he's not who he used to be.
A game begins. Shion has stops caring about this line others preceive between reality and dreams, so he takes every opputunity he can to play out a thousand different fantasies. How would Nezumi respond if Shion, say, throws a beer bottle into his face? If he pushes him back out the window? During one eventuallity, Shion refuses to engage in anything adult. He just sits on his bed and kisses the man he loves until he falls asleep in his arms. When Shion awakens, Nezumi is gone, and Shion feels betrayed.
The rules change in accordance with Shion's whim. Sometimes, the goal is to get Nezumi to love him forever. His success varies. Other times, he tries to kill Nezumi, or get him to never come back. He usually wins that game within the dream, but realizes he's lost when Nezumi comes again the next time he dreams.
Sometimes, Shion does nothing. He let's the game run its course, and it all goes down ike it has every real visit in the past five years. It's after one of these that he finds a tenth mark. God damn bastard.
Other times, Shion reinvents himself for a night. He wonders if Nezumi could love the new him, but he knows that that will never happen. Nezumi will never bother with Shion as long as he has somewhere to be every morning after their nights together. Not real Nezumi, anyway.
Real Nezumi. Real Nezumi is the problem in all this, Shion thinks one day as he's hobbling to the only place he ever goes. Yes. Real Nezumi. The inspiring thought brings a twisted grin to his lips, and he turns around to sit at home and ignore the calls.
Real Nezumi is the only problem. He has to cut the real Nezumi out of his life, and live with the fake one. He's won the game before. If he could win, just once, and then find a way to sleep forever... Shion dreams of happily ever afters until he falls asleep that night.
Shion makes an art of getting Nezumi to love him. Night after night, drink after drink, he practices over and over. Sometimes, it works so well that after Shion's woken up and gone back to sleep, the dream continues where it left. At one point, it takes him three days to get a new dream. He doesn't know, that, though. Days don't concern him.
Without realizing it, Shion's completely lost track of when he's awake and when he's asleep. He is indifferent. As long as he knows when he needs to eventually, when his plot is in action, it doesn't matter. He doesn't care if the beer he's drinking is real or not.
As Shion practices, he begins to grow bored. Having similar conversations over and over grows tedious. He's ready to secure his future sooner than he expected.
Shion's sipping a glass of champagne, a gift he was given shortly after his mother's passing, the knowledge that he will not ever enjoy real wine again steadfast in his mind. He is not sad or poetic. He's just looking forward to dreaming.
The depressant grip of the alcohol is starting to make him drowsy when Nezumi finally shows up. Shion's been making that bottle last for weeks and he's more than ready.
Shion stands from his bed, gives Nezumi one kiss, looks into enchanting grey eyes. "A goodbye kiss?" Nezumi confirms.
"You don't need to come around anymore."
"Did you find someone steady?"
"Yeah."
"Do you love her?" This never did mean anything to Real Nezumi. Not even enough to know that Shion wasn't attracted to women at all.
"Love him with all my heart." Why does Nezumi look so damn taken a back?
"Good, Shion. I'm proud of you. Enjoy your life, okay?" Nezumi leaps carelessly out a window, and the 14 year love affair draws to a close, not with a bang, so to speak. Shion sits alone in his apartment, feeling oddly detached, as he watches the matches do wonders on the tally paper, leaving a beautiful little pile of ashes at his feet.
Real Nezumi is gone.
Smirking down at the remains, Shion's eyes glisten. Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!
Shion sits up in bed, eyes still closed. Ah, he must have fallen asleep staring at those ashes. At least he's awake now, he doesn't want to miss another second. The sooner he's asleep, the better. He breaks his eyes open.
"NEZUMI?"
But Nezumi's, Nezumi's gone... I don't want him back!
"Shion? Are you okay?"
"I don't want you back!"
"What? Just how drunk are you?"
"Huh?"
Shion's mind is chaotic. Hell.
"God, Shion, get a grip. You passed out as soon as I knocked on the window."
No, he's not ready yet. He has to take the pills so he can sleep forever... It's all too foggy to make sense. Slowly, he pieces it together.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
"What? No, of course not." No, I'm dreaming. I just overreacted, that's all. I just need to wake up, take the pills, and go back to sle-
"Shion. You're awake. Where's your fuckin'..." Nezumi grabs the entirely intact tally sheet and shows it to Shion. But of course, he can dream of a tally sheet. It means nothing.
Well, Shion decides, it was plenty fun the first time. Since I'm here, I might as well relive it.
"You're right, how stupid of me. Thank you, Nezumi."
"Don't mention it. I've come to expect it from an airhead like you." Nezumi walks over and straddles Shion, leaning down to kiss him. Shion takes it for a moment before flipping them over and sitting up. Quickly, having almost forgotten the best part, he gives Nezumi a quick peck farewell.
A remarkably unoriginal conversation follows.
"Goodbye kiss?"
Good thinking, Shion's mind. He hasn't heard that one before.
"You don't need to come around anymore."
"Did you find someone steady?"
"Yeah."
"Do you love him?" Huh.
"With all my heart."
A sad, peaceful smile never before known to Shion graces Nezumi's features. "Then you'll be all right, huh? We both will. Congratulations, Shion."
No other goodbye is said, and Nezumi climbs out a window.
Shion's ready for the dream to end.
The dream doesn't end.
It takes him three hours to realize this wasn't a dream.
I'm confused is all he can comprehend. I'm so confused. When did I wake up? From what? But he figures he's awake now, and he's told Nezumi never to return, and in five minutes, when he's asleep, none of this will matter. It will not have been a graceful final hour, but the end justifies the means.
Shion takes a final swig of champagne, lets the tally paper floating away on the biting breeze, and takes a handful of pills.
He smiles when he gets to the dream, but only for a moment. There's a pile of ashes at his feet.
This is a dream that has already begun.
This is a dream where Shion is alone.
This is a dream that will never end.