Ships in the Night

The heat was almost overwhelming. Kicking his only cover - a thin, white cotton sheet - to the floor, Taichi reached for the water that was on his bedside table, and took a long drink. Replacing the glass, he stared at the clock and frowned. Did it say a quarter to ten, or was it ten minutes before nine? He shrugged. Digital displays were so much easier to make sense of than the old-fashioned timepiece with hands that Yamato had insisted on buying.

Taichi sighed and knocked the thought from his head. Running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair he swung his feet to the floor, stood shakily, and then stretched. It didn't really matter what the time was; it wasn't as though he had any plans for the day. Not any more….

Glancing at his naked body in the full-length mirror that hung crookedly on the back of the bedroom door, he absently patted his stomach as he passed, making his way to the bathroom. Perhaps a cooling shower was in order, he thought. Perhaps when he was cooler - in body and in mind - he might be able to think of a way of rectifying the disaster of an evening that he'd had the night before.

Surely there was some way of patching things up with Yamato?

Rivulets of foamy water ran from his hair and the end of his nose, streamed down his body, and then swirled around his feet before disappearing forever down the drain.

If only last night could disappear as easily….

Taichi scrubbed vigorously at his head. Shampoo found its way into his eyes, and then it was impossible to tell whether it was that which made the tears come or the images that refused to leave his mind: the blood-streaked face, the pained blue eyes, the….

Taichi turned off the hot water and shivered as the shower ran instantly cold, almost freezing. Ignoring the last of the shampoo bubbles that still clung stubbornly to his hair he grabbed the towel from the rail and began to dry himself off.

He had to find Yamato. And he had to find him now!

He'd not intended for the evening to end the way it had. In fact, he'd not intended for the evening to be anything like the way it had been; it had all gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

Pushing aside his blond hair, the sole occupant of the room inspected the darkening bruise that stretched from his left eye, across his nose, and terminated in a small, scabbed-over gash near his chin.

Some guys might wear such things with a kind of twisted pride, he thought - the mark of a real man; but to his eyes… well, his one good eye… it didn't look good. It didn't look good at all.

In time, however, his face would eventually heal. But, what about Taichi?

Could what had happened ever be fixed?

Taichi gave up with the bell and resorted, instead, to using his fist, hammering repeatedly on the door for several minutes.

There was no answer.

Sighing, he stopped, turned around and leaned against the wall. If Yamato wasn't at his father's house, then where was he?

The key to Taichi's apartment….

He'd planned on it being their apartment last night….

The key slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Stooping, he picked it up and then tossed it into the bin.

It had been a stupid idea, anyway.

Taichi walked quickly, but the scenes in his head moved with painful slowness, over and over, gaining in clarity with every repetition.

He vaguely remembered arriving home from the bar, a little worse for wear, and he remembered snippets of seemingly unconnected images after: the darkness; the unexpected extra warmth down the length of his body; the sudden burst of light…. But he could clearly remember the shocked pain in Yamato's eyes; the disbelieving shrieks that filled the room; and then the spine-tingling howl as blood spattered the carpet.

He saw tousled blond hair streaked with red, and heard the wall-shaking slam of the bedroom door, and then the slam of the outer door as Yamato stormed out of the apartment.

He remembered the bottle of beer that had stood on the bedside table crashing to the floor as he got up and stumbled unsteadily into it. And, as he'd collapsed again onto the bed, the unexpected softness against his cheek of a discarded silk shirt….

He remembered the rapid oblivion; the almost instant blackness that had overtaken him as his eyes had involuntarily closed. He'd slept untroubled for hours before nature had awoken him, and then he'd cut his foot on the broken glass by his bed as he'd tried to get to the bathroom….

He'd cleared the debris away then and fitfully slept off the last of the drink, until the heat in the apartment had proved too much to bear.

Now, out in the scorching summer sunshine, he squinted against the intense brightness, as he hurriedly turned the corner.

It was a long shot, but perhaps Yamato was at his mother's place….

It should all have been so different….

Lying on the bed, the curtains closed against the morning's heat, he thought about the night before - about the amount of planning he'd put into it, and how, really, it should all have been so perfect.

But the best-laid plans and all that…. and it had been far from perfect.

It had been a disaster.

Shaking his head, he sat up and pushed the hair away from his discoloured and swollen eye. A trailing finger lightly brushed against the bridge of his nose and he winced in pain.

But he deserved it, he thought.

After all, the whole incident had been his fault.

If he hadn't made the plans he'd made… if he hadn't drunk so much beer… if he hadn't got so carried away… if he hadn't have been so mistaken….

But… "if" meant nothing; it was too late to change things now, wasn't it?. It had all happened. It was done.

Now, he had to live with the consequences.

Hearing a gentle rapping at the front door, he left his room to answer it.

"Yamato, I'm sorry."

The words hung between them for a moment, and then Yamato shook his head. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "Not really. I jumped to conclusions. I shouldn't have done. It's me who's sorry. Me."

"But, my plans…"

"…went awry," Yamato finished. "As you just finished telling me, none of that should have happened last night. It was all a mistake."

"A mistake, yes, but…."

Again, Yamato shook his head. "No buts," he instructed. "It wasn't just your plans that went awry, was it? All our plans changed last night. That's why what happened actually happened."

"Well…"

"Accept it. It's fact." Yamato placed his hand gently on the other's shoulder. "And, please, accept my apology, too. Not that it's enough, but…"

"You're not mad at me?"

"Not really. Not any more. Not now I know. I'm just mad at myself for…."

There was a loud knock at the door and Yamato fell silent.

"So, let me get this straight," Taichi said, "You're saying that you're definitely okay with everything now. Is that right?"

Yamato nodded. "It was all a misunderstanding," he reiterated. "None of it should ever have happened."

"You're right there," Taichi muttered, glancing towards the third person in the room. "If he hadn't taken my key and made a copy without asking…"

"We've been through all that," Yamato stated calmly. "It's all been explained. He just wanted somewhere where he and his boyfriend could be alone. He didn't mean any harm."

"I understand that," Taichi said. "And I understand that things didn't work out as planned: I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and neither were you; none of us were, except for him... And things weren't as they first seemed.…" He shrugged. "It was an unfortunate chain of events, I guess."

"Exactly," Yamato agreed. "And that's why I'm okay with it now. Well, almost okay with it."

"Yeah," Taichi said sympathetically. "I know what's bothering you. You'll never forgive yourself for hitting him, will you? I know you're not okay with that."

"No, I'll never be okay with that. But I just acted out of jealous rage. I never meant…"

"I know," Taichi said comfortingly. "And Takeru knows that, too. Don't you, Takeru?" he asked the person in question.

"Of course I do," Takeru said, moving to join them. "I understand completely. I was sprawled all over you, Taichi, so…" he shrugged, "hitting me was an understandable reaction on my brother's part; he really loves you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Taichi said smugly. "He loves me lots."

Yamato looked from Taichi's now grinning face to the other's bruised, but also grinning face. "So…" he began, "apart from me feeling incredibly guilty and angry at myself, and apart from you, Takeru, being in pain, is everything else all okay between us now?"

Taichi nodded, but then cocked his head to one side and frowned. "There's just one thing I don't understand," he said, looking again at Takeru. "I know you'd been drinking my beer - quite a few of them, I'm guessing - and I know it was dark in the bedroom with the lights off and the curtains drawn, but…" He scratched his head in confusion. "Why?" he queried. "How? How the hell did you manage to mistake me for Daisuke? I just don't understand it."

Takeru didn't answer; he just shrugged, put his arm around his brother, and, with the incident now being pushed rapidly behind them, laughed.

Keiji

2006-07-31

03:03