London is lonely, Makishima thinks sometimes, staring obliviously at the papers spread out before him, pen tapping on the desk and cheek in hand. The golden light of his desk lamp throws everything into soft shadow and umber tones; there's something bitterly nostalgic about this scene.
It's painfully quiet.
He feels like he's getting a lot of living crammed in the past few weeks, days of pouring rain and thunder gray. The feeling of scurrying out of classes with umbrellas held over his head is familiar now, clasping textbooks to his chest and feeling the spiny edges poke his ribs as wet grass and mud splatters unrepentantly all over his jeans on the way to building B.
Makishima's apartment is a utter mess, papers and clothes scattered everywhere; washes of jubilant colors draped on his couch, his desk, his bathroom-bereft promises of cleaning have never been fulfilled; it's always the last thing on his mind as he drags himself up the stairs.
Makishima's Skype flickers every Tuesday night, Toudou's boisterous face waving frantically to him, such a wide smile on his face that Makshima can't do anything but grin back in response. His caustic responses to Toudou's questions do nothing to deter other boy, who wanders on and on about his life, the Hakogaku cycling club, the inn. He talks about Manami, and how he and Onoda are both improving, and oh my, do you think they might be dating?
Toudou's eyes recklessly search Makishima's, and he is fixated.
Toudou is so achingly tangible through the computer screen, brilliant smile brought halfway around the world in trillions of red green yellow pixels. His charisma is no less through a scratchy laptop microphone, eloquence by no way limited through speech, and in those few, sparse moments, Makishima wants nothing less than to just touch him once, twice, countless times until he never forgets the thin curve of Toudou's mouth again.
He doesn't know how to say I miss you. He hopes Toudou understands.
For now, he'll just watch the blue dancing in his eyes.
There was one night, late after interhigh, where Toudou came into his tent, face eager. Come on Maki-chan, let's go watch the stars!
They ran down the hill and past the trees to a clearing shimmering with fireflies, the soft light clear and delicate. Toudou tugged him down beside him, hand cool and firm.
Look Maki-chan, that can be our star. Toudou pointed to a brilliant speck in the sky, turning his head to grin at Makishima. Toudou, I think that's a planet. Makishima said, exasperated.
Then that can be our planet, Maki-chan. Toudou grinned, unpersuaded. Think of us when you see it, okay?
Makishima could do nothing but catch his breath, feeling the cool grass against his back, fireflies spinning around them, Toudou's fingers entwined in his, the translucent sky spilled with stars and shining with light. Okay.
Sometimes he feels like he's teetering, between his school, work, and cycling-he's continuing it here in London; his new teammates are nothing short of stunning, and the exhilaration he feels here in London is a almost an equal to what he had in Japan. School is nothing short of demanding, and sometimes he's so preoccupied with his work that he wakes up early in the morning without a memory of falling asleep, sun a sliver of gold on the horizon, pieces of paper stuck to his cheek and ink smeared on his fingers.
(Sometimes, when he opens the door of his apartment to go out, he wishes there's someone there who can take him away from all of this.)
He tries to talk to Toudou about it.
Come back to Japan. Toudou says, fingers reaching out towards him, flat and two-dimensional. Come back to me.
Toudou is unrepentant, staring at him with dark eyes that remind Makishima painfully of one sunset months ago, when Toudou looked at him the exact same way.
I know I'm quixotic, Maki-chan. But that doesn't mean that I can't hope.
Toudou takes his laptop and points it out the window, showing Makishima the light rainfall that Japan is having today, the leaves of the garden glistening with humid mist and clear dew; everything is sparkling, just like Toudou's eyes.
It's pretty. Makishima mutters, a twist in his chest as Toudou offers him a placid smile.
Gossamer Queen Anne Lace is entwined in Toudou's hair, twisted in place for a headband, threading through his dark layers, a necklace around his neck made of the flowers. It stands out predominately against the blue-black of his hair, a candid swath of non-color, mosaics of white.
It's so achingly pure.
Do you like it, Maki-chan? I went to volunteer at a pre-school today and they made it for me.
Makishima closes his phone, not replying to Toudou's message.
It's pretty. He wants to say. But I would've given you stargazer lilies instead.
Their first adversity came three months after Makishima had moved in London. Maki-chan, Toudou starts casually, twining his hair around his fingers. By the way, I just came home from sending a junior girl home. I think she's interested in me.
Makishima feels a sharp twinge, then swiftly responds, voice smooth and reposed, contrived. Oh, that must've been hard on you.
The way you laugh, people will think there's an ulterior motive, so if there's a next chance, please be careful.
Oh yes, by the way, today I had love confessed to me.
It takes Makishima ten minutes to placate Toudou's frantic wails.
Toudou starts asking Makishima about his school, the name, what it looks like, is it next to anything? Makishima becomes suspicious.
Would it be an encumbrance if I moved in with you? Toudou murmurs one night, eyes half closed, eyelashes silver in lamplight.
...Of course it would. Makishima curtly replies, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket a bit tighter.
Toudou looks absolutely stricken for a moment, but then starts laughing as he sees Makishima's expression. Whatever you say, Maki-chan.
Makishima attempted a sardonic smile. You're too reckless, Jinpachi.
I've been writing too much makitou lately but gahhhhhhhh
I'm officially in bicycle hell ORZ
Makishima moving to London is sad. Sad Toudou makes me sad. Makitou makes me sad.
K.K