Rating: R
Author's Note: eprime-clone will handle all business for this chapter because eprime is hiding. :)
The day passed slowly for Akihito, despite the distractions allowed him now. He couldn't seem to settle down to anything and paced from room to room. The television didn't tempt him. He felt a strange, inexplicable reluctance to look out through that particular window to the outside world. He tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate enough to get past more than a few pages.
In the end, he took a long shower and then a long, hot bath, which probably hadn't been the best idea since a wave of light-headedness had swept over him when he stood up. He rested on the bed then until his lunch was delivered, which he ate slowly but dutifully, remembering Asami's words. It was actually very good, and if his appetite had been what it used to be, he would have wolfed the entire thing down in a handful of minutes. As it was, he killed half an hour that way and then went to the large windows in the main room and drank in the wide open view again. He'd always loved the view from Asami's penthouse, and he couldn't get enough of it now.
Eventually, he returned to his room. Asami hadn't changed anything. Now that the hospital equipment was gone, it looked just the same as it always had. His laptop still sat at his desk. His clothes still hung in the closet. Even his camera case still sat in the corner. Akihito's heart had leapt when he'd seen that, but he hadn't dared to touch them yet. Now, though, he approached the case and knelt down.
Trembling fingers unlatched the door and took out his beloved camera; the one his father had given him. He touched it lovingly, raising the viewfinder to his eye. A tiny smile curved his lips. He'd wondered about the fate of his cameras when he'd been taken away. A part of him had wondered if Asami might have gotten rid of them, even smashed them beyond repair. That he hadn't-holding the tangible proof of that his hands-lit a tiny ember of hope deep within him, but his stomach still turned anxiously, and he wished he knew exactly what Asami had meant that morning by having a long talk.
He wanted to believe that it meant something good, that Asami had finally come to his senses. Since waking up here, Asami hadn't touched him, had barely spoken to him, but the tiny, casual dignities and the evidence of care he was granted now marked some kind of change. Didn't it? Whether it was permanent or not or to the reasons behind it, Akihito didn't dare venture a guess. But what would he do if Asami did have a change of heart?
In his fantasies, Asami came to him full of regret and sorrow, but not crying because Asami never cried. At least Akihito had never seen it, couldn't imagine it. But Asami came nevertheless and begged Akihito to forgive him. Sometimes he imagined Asami on his knees before him in a full, supplicating bow, while he himself stood aloof and cold and unforgiving, but other times he would be emotional and needy, eager to span the abyss between them.
More than anything, Akihito wanted this nightmare to be over. He desperately wanted things back the way they were before. Even more, he wanted himself back. And, despite everything, he wanted Asami back. He missed unbearably the security he'd found in Asami's arms. But was that even possible? Would he ever be able to feel safe in them again?
He put the camera down gently and closed the case. Maybe now Asami would at least talk to him. Maybe he could get to the bottom of this unholy mess. He stood up and moved to his desk. His laptop came to life, and Akihito watched the slideshow of his favorite pictures his screensaver showcased: Kou and Takato with flushed faces on New Year's Eve, he and his mom and dad in matching Mickey Mouse T-shirts at Disneyland, and all his carefully collected, embarrassing shots of Asami that had never seemed to faze him at all.
His chin drifted down to rest on his hand. He knew that Asami had managed his family and friends, at least in the short term. They thought he was away on an assignment, and they must not have had any doubts or they would have made a fuss, Akihito knew that much. An ache grew in his chest as the pictures scrolled by one by one. He missed them all so much.
A short laugh slipped out as he blinked and rubbed his suddenly sniffly nose on his sleeve. Shit, at this point, he even missed Mitarai. He might even willingly share a scoop with him again. That is, if he ever got the chance. His smile faded slowly, but his chin lifted, the stubborn tilt recognizable to anyone who had ever spent any length of time with Akihito.
His fingers curled into tight balls, and he inhaled sharply. He wouldn't let himself sink so far down again, not into that terrible pit where he couldn't think properly, couldn't feel. The stark white of the bandages on his arms just barely showed at the ends of his long sleeves and his stomach turned.
Not that ever again. He wasn't so weak. He was a survivor. Even Asami said so.
Well, he would show him then. He wouldn't let this break him; not anything or anyone. Not even Asami. Some day, he would even kick Asami's ass for ever thinking so badly of him.
Some day.
Akihito exhaled, his brief flash of rebellion draining him. He would, he promised himself. He would change things for both of them. But first, he was going to eat some of the junk food he noticed when Kirishima had been cooking breakfast that morning, and then he was going to watch television until his eyes fell out. Fuck it if he was going to be the horse that was led to water but refused to drink. He would find out just how far Asami's new latitude went.
The Blu-ray player's clock glowed the time in red numerals: 10:20. The main menu screen of the movie Akihito had been watching played its short intro sequence again as Akihito blinked slowly. He must have fallen asleep before the end. A hazy memory (dream?) of fingers brushing through his hair made him frown. The sound seemed to be muted now too. Slowly, he pushed up on the sofa, his knees curling beneath him, and he gasped softly when his eyes fell on Asami sitting in the armchair that sat perpendicular to the sofa.
His pulse immediately began to race, but Asami did nothing but watch him with the typical impassive expression he presented most often to the world. He wasn't even smoking or drinking, his hands curled over the edge of the arms, and only his sharply intent eyes gave any hint that his equilibrium was less than perfect.
When Asami didn't say anything, Akihito found himself uncertain what to do. Now that he took a closer look, he could see that Asami looked tired, more than tired even; a subtle tightness to his eyes and mouth giving away his fatigue. Whatever he had done that day, it didn't appear to have made him happy.
Unaware of it, Akihito furrowed his brow and drew his lower lip in between his teeth, worrying over what had distressed Asami.
It was Asami who broke the silence first. "How do you feel?"
That was a loaded question. Akihito had no idea how to even answer it, but he had to say something. Perhaps it was the fact he was back in the penthouse, his comparative freedom, however fragile and confusing, finally beginning to sink in and dulling his survival instinct, which was never that reliable to begin with, or perhaps it was his still drowsy, foggy state that allowed the words to slip from his mouth, instead of some rote response. "I...I don't know." A line grew between Asami's eyes, but Akihito pressed on. "How should I feel after...after all this? Is that something you would normally ask of...of whatever I am to you now?"
A long moment passed, Asami's piercing eyes never leaving his. His heart leapt into his throat when Asami stood. Two strides brought him to the couch and he bent, pulling Akihito's face to his with urgent, but gentle hands. His mouth claimed Akihito's as he kissed him like he hadn't in three months; a driving urgent thing that left Akihito shaken, tremulous, his heart beating faster and faster until he thought it really would give out.
"I can't let you go."
Asami's words when he finally drew back just enough to meet Akihito's uncomprehending eyes didn't make any sense.
"Wh-what?"
"I can't let you go now. He would kill you."
Akihito's eyes flew wide. He stared at Asami as if trying to make sense of the words. "Kill me? I don't understand. Who would? What do you mean?"
Asami's hands dropped, and he sat next to Akihito on the sofa. "You don't believe me?"
"Don't believe?" Akihito's face scrunched up. "Asami, I don't understand. What the hell are you talking about?"
Never taking his eyes off Akihito, Asami slipped his hand into his jacket. The box of Dunhills he retrieved was empty, and he laughed shortly, tossing the cardboard container on the coffee table. Instead, he reached up to loosen his tie, dragging a hand through his once immaculate hair, and confirming for Akihito that Asami's seamless facade was unraveling quickly.
He stood up gingerly at first, but when Asami did nothing, Akihito quickly went to a side table where he knew Asami kept extra packs of cigarettes. He opened a box and brought it back, tentatively offering it to Asami. Asami took it without a word, shaking one out and placing it between his lips, sucking in a long inhale as his lighter flamed.
It clicked shut with a sharp snick and then it landed on the table too. The impact against the glass made Akihito flinch. He stood watching Asami uncertainly until he inclined his head toward the couch. "Sit down, Akihito."
Akihito did, staring at Asami all the while with bewildered anxiety. "Asami, what's going on? Did something happen?"
Asami drew on his cigarette again, tapping ash into the tray on the table. "Yes, you might say that. Homura left a message for me, but I don't think it's having the effect he was hoping for."
"Homura?"
A shiver raised the hairs on Akihito's body when Asami's eyes narrowed. The muscle in his jaw jumped and Akihito swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat, but Asami just stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and stood, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You don't need to bother with the pretense any longer."
"What pretense?" Akihito cried out in frustration. Asami walked a few steps away before turning back and leveling an even gaze on Akihito. He didn't look angry, just tired, but he didn't speak. "Can't you just talk to me? Asami..."
"No more games, Akihito."
"You're the one playing games! I've told you over and over, I didn't betray you! I don't know who this Homura guy is. Did he do something to hurt you or something? Or...or tell you that I did?" When Asami didn't answer, Akihito gave another low, anguished cry. "Is he the one from that picture you showed me? I swear, I swear, Asami, I've never seen him before."
"Enough." The word lashed out with cutting force, and Akihito winced. "Just admit it. I just want to hear you admit it, and then that will be enough."
"Enough for what?" Akihito jumped off the couch, crashing disappointment and horrible, creeping hopelessness overriding any other consideration. His voice rose to a loud, high pitch. "If you're so sure I'm guilty of...of...betraying you, then why don't you let me go and let that guy kill me if he wants to? Why don't you kill me, Asami! If you hate me so much, then just do it!"
The sight of Asami's contained expression made something snap inside Akihito, and a moment later he was pummeling Asami's broad chest, his fists drumming against him without impediment. "You should have just let me die in that hellhole you stuck me in!"
He didn't realize he was crying until Asami's arms came around and held him close, Akihito struggled, but Asami didn't let him go. His arms held him securely until Akihito gave up the struggle, sobbing out three months of repressed pain and desperation into Asami's chest. The front of Asami's shirt grew wet, and Akihito's sobs eventually reduced to great, hitching breaths that made his chest heave.
When he pushed away this time, Asami let him go, and he stared up with weary anger into Asami's stricken eyes. Akihito laughed hollowly, wiping at his red, blotchy cheeks. "You can't do it, can you? You think I betrayed you, but you didn't kill me." Asami's expression tightened, but he didn't look away, and Akihito continued. "It wasn't because you wanted to punish me either, was it? Even though you did a pretty good job of that." Asami's expression flickered, his lips parting on a harsh breath. Akihito barreled on. "It's because you can't."
That stern face, still so beautiful, looked down at him, the eyes alive with tumultuous emotion that Asami so rarely allowed to show. "That's right, I can't." Akihito's heart ached with raw, answering feeling, and Asami stepped closer again. "It doesn't matter what you did anymore."
"You won't kill me?" Akihito's hoarse voice breathed the question.
"No."
"You won't punish me any longer?"
"No."
Akihito looked directly in Asami's disturbed eyes, his own searching and wide. "Even if I do admit to being guilty. Even if I said I had betrayed you?"
Asami smiled, a slight curving of his lips that only emphasized the coldness of his chiseled beauty. "If you want to bring me down, do it. Do you want me to die? Here." From his holster, Asami drew his gun and offered it to Akihito.
Akihito paled, his stomach plunging low, but he ignored the weapon, staying focused on Asami's eyes, which were anything but distant and told their own bitter story. He offered his own sad smile. "'I crush those who stand in my way, and I retaliate against those who seek vengeance.'" Asami's eyes widened, visibly thrown off guard by Akihito's words. "'That is my way.'"
After a moment the lines of Asami's face softened, startling Akihito. "Those words don't apply to you. They never did. From the first, it was you who held me in your hand."
On the inside, Akihito reeled. His shocked gaze locked on Asami. "You would really forgive me betraying you?"
Asami bent, his lips hovering over Akihito's, and his fingertips brushed gently over the fragile bone of his cheek as he repeated the last bit of conversation from the long ago day. "I'll do whatever it takes to get a hold of what I desire."
"And..." Akihito shivered, his heart beating a hole through his ribs. "What do you desire?"
"Choose me. Stay with me. Love only me, my Akihito."
Their lips met, a supplication, a humbling that shocked Akihito to his core, but when his eyes fluttered open and met Asami's golden-brown stare, they welled up with unshed tears.
"Will you believe me?" Akihito's words were more than a question; they were a plea.
Troubled eyes searched his, and Akihito held his breath, all his being crying out for Asami to tell him what he wanted, needed, to hear. He could see the warring emotions, the conflicted desires that subtly contorted Asami's features. Asami's forehead dropped down to his; fingers a gentle, tender touch at his nape.
"Don't ask me for what I can't give. Anything else is yours."
Akihito's eyes closed, fighting to keep the wetness from leaking out his closed lids.
"Why?" His voice cracking, Akihito shook his head. "Why would you even still want me?"
"Because I love you."
Oh God. Akihito choked down a sob. Not now. Not that simple declaration after all that had passed. "So the past three months you didn't love me, but now you do?" His short laugh sounded more like a wounded cry.
Asami went rigid, though his fingers stayed gentle, his forehead slipping down to Akihito's shoulder. "I was wrong. No knows better than I do how Homura can twist and manipulate, or how charming he can be. And..." He drew in a deep breath, his fingers spreading to cup the base of Akihito's skull. "You had just cause to hate me...to want revenge. You have cause. Even more so now." His head raised, a heavy frown not hiding the vulnerability evident in the turned down lips and the shadowed eyes. "But...Akihito. Forgive me."
Forgive me. The words echoed in his mind. Reaching blindly, Akihito's hands fisted in Asami's shirt. He hung on for dear life, not trusting that his legs wouldn't buckle beneath him. His throat seemed to swell, he couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe, absolutely couldn't get a word past the huge lump that grew there.
It seemed like his whole chest cavity had been scooped out, scraped raw, filled instead with an increasing, throbbing ache that would never go away. Asami still thought him guilty of whatever horrible, nameless crimes that had brought them to this point. But even so...
"Akihito?"
The way Asami whispered his name made his eyes shut against the raw urgency it gave away. This was impossible. It was impossible. It had never happened, not in real life. This must be a waking dream, or he was simply sleepwalking through some insane landscape. But his name on Asami's lips, uttered with such breathtaking, brutal longing, made him yearn and ache for them both. And it had been a question, not a command, not an expectation; nothing less than true uncertainty; from Asami.
And still, he couldn't speak. Only when Asami's hand began to slide away from his nape and Akihito's eyes opened and he saw the stark bleakness in that golden gaze, did his own heart shatter to witness it. Akihito stopped thinking entirely. Nothing mattered in that moment but that he make that look go away forever.
His toes lifted and his mouth pressed against Asami's, and still he clung tight to his shirt as Asami lifted him in his arms. He wrapped his legs around Asami's waist, salt tears mixing with the taste of their kiss, tongues sliding and rolling, pushing deeper and deeper in needy rediscovery. He gasped into it, harshly sucking in air through his nose because he didn't want it ever to end.
Down on the bed he went, oh so gently, more gentle than Asami had ever been, and his tears slid down the sides of cheeks wetting the sheets. Asami kissed them away, again and again, until Akihito pulled him down, arms twining about his neck, their bodies flush and another deep kiss driving toward something primal and inevitable.
Asami bared them both, and then there was nothing but Asami's fingers, slick and cool, preparing the way. He was inside Akihito, rocking into him, all his usual control lost to the frantic, desperate pace they both moved to. Mouths locked together, they lost themselves in the slide and slap of flesh on flesh until their final shudders and cries faded into soft pants, and their bodies slid into a tangled dovetail.
Still, Asami's hands stroked him, worked through his hair with compulsive need, and his lips pressed again and again to his temple and crown. Akihito allowed himself the pleasure, the heady comfort of being in Asami's arms again. It felt so good, even if it was all kinds of fucked up. This, at least, had always been their perfect bridge.
Asami seemed to read his mind because he pulled Akihito closer, nestling Akihito's head against his chest, whispering into his hair. "This was never a lie, was it? This between us? Our bodies never lied."
No, they hadn't.
And that was enough for now, but, even as Akihito gave a murmur of assent and allowed his eyes to drift shut listening to the steady beat of Asami's heart, he promised himself: they were going to talk soon. Akihito would make Asami explain everything, every last bit, and then he would begin to rebuild what had been broken.
He fell asleep before Asami moved from the bed to answer the low hum of his phone in the next room. He didn't see those golden eyes harden, and he didn't awaken when Asami returned to him, watching him sleep until the room began to grow light and he began to stir again. He didn't feel it when Asami pressed the needle to his arm and watched him grow still again.
Akihito woke slowly, light streaming across his pillow making it difficult to open his eyes. He moved slightly, feeling the familiar ache in his body that only came with his sexual encounters with Asami. Asami. A surge of adrenaline seared his insides as the events of the night caught up with him, and his eyes shot open. He blinked away the sting of sun and sat up, looked around, his mouth falling open and a sinking feeling in his gut.
Where the fuck was he now?
The door to the room opened and Akihito's head jerked toward the sound. His eyes went round.
"Feilong?"
