Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.
Akihiko opened his eyes, his mind gradually returning to the present. Tiredly, he stepped out of his car and made his way up to his apartment.
In all honesty, the author felt deeply drained after the morning ordeal, and had desired an afternoon of peaceful solitude. Given his current living situation, however, that was next to impossible. So as he neared his suite, he only prayed that a certain dark-haired boy didn't get himself into trouble.
As he stepped inside, however, Akihiko could feel himself tense. Something wasn't right.
For all the hustle and bustle of the crowded city below, the entire apartment was eerily quiet. The living room looked almost exactly the same as it had been when he had left it a few hours earlier, the furniture untouched and tidy, save for one important detail.
The boy was gone.
The author swiftly strode across the room, his amethyst eyes sweeping every corner and nook, trying to ascertain whether the boy was engaged in a playful game of hide-and-seek. Upon finding nothing, he turned towards the kitchen, hoping to find the boy by the fridge, perhaps poking his nose in the cold machine in curiosity.
He didn't find the boy. What he did find was a kitchenware arrangement, a haphazard pile of cooking tools that stood on the counter. These instruments, which were deliberately brought out of their drawer, appeared to have been simply abandoned.
Akihiko drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the tabletop.
These were common, ordinary items - some plastic, some metal; some were large and bulky, others slender and long; some items dull, other items sharp-
Akihiko stiffened. His knuckles turned white. He could only stare dumbly for a few moments, his mind registering the implications of his train of thought.
No.
The author turned and started to run, panic starting to overwhelm his senses. He yanked open the first door. Nothing. He pushed onto the second door, the third, the fourth. His last chance stood on the only door left. His hand stilled on the doorknob, before he took one slow breath and entered his own bedroom.
He didn't pay any attention to the toys littered on the floor, or the stuffed animals that clung to the shelves. He only comprehended his own bed, where white covers had been drawn over a small, shivering ball.
"Misaki." He thought.
The ball, as if highly agitated, continued to squirm restlessly from side to side.
Slowly, Akihiko approached the bed, stopping at the side of it. He sat down, his hands reaching forward to touch the boy. As soon as his fingers made contact with the white blanket, the shaking completely stopped. Akihiko's fingers slowly extended, gently grasping the edge of the sheet. Inch by inch, he peeled back the soft cover. The thick white fabric slid down the bed, revealing the boy in his fragility.
The boy lay perfectly still - his body a tense, recoiled spring. Limbs were tucked in a fetal position, with both arms tucked close to the boy's chest, the left hand clutched around the right. His eyes were squeezed tightly, shielding himself from the outside world.
Soundlessly, Akihiko breached the distance between their fingertips. His hand lingered, above the boy's curved fists, before gracing the boy's skin with barest of touches. Upon feeling the boy's cool skin underneath his palm, Akihiko had covered the boy's small hands with his own. Placing his thumb on the back of the boy's left hand, he began to stroke in soothing motions along a barely visible vein. Beckoning, his fingers drew questions on the boy's skin.
Where? Where does it hurt?
He thought he had heard a silent intake of breath. The boy's fingers, which had been tightly interlocked, began to unravel. The left hand had fallen, dropping to the boy's side. Slowly, the boy had extended out his right hand, shivering as he did so.
Here.
Akihiko watched as the appendage slowly unfurled. On the second finger blossomed a dark red welt.
Amethyst eyes roved the flesh, as the man wordlessly brought the boy's hands to his lips. Closing his eyes, the author had tenderly blown. There was a quiet breath, and then a warm puff of air had enveloped the area of scarred skin.
A moment later, the tightly coiled-up spring within the boy was released. His limbs had unfrozen, shuddering and breaking free from the tension. The boy's eyes flew open. Those pools reflected the feelings of crashing, tumultuous waves. For a few silent seconds, those stormy green orbs were met and held fast by a firm, unwavering violet gaze.
Then, the cold current had died down, returning to a calm, green sea.
Blinking, the boy took in his surroundings. He was lying on a large mattress, in the dark. He was surrounded by stuffed animals, including one particular silver-haired one, who was staring at him with violet eyes.
Embarrassment inflamed his cheeks, as he realized what had happened. He remembered that he had been exploring the kitchen, quite normally, until he had stumbled across that strange instrument. Upon observing the metal contraption with many gaping mouths, he had wondered briefly what it would feel like to stick his finger into one. That was a mistake. Once his fingers had touched the sharp teeth, a swift jolt of electricity had caused him to yank away his hand. As he slowly stared at his fingers, he noticed that a darkened red line had formed on his skin.
But even more than that, he felt a sickening sensation suddenly churn in his stomach. His inner torso emitted a heavy throb, slowly spreading a feeling of thickness throughout his entire body. His head began to pound harshly, incessantly. It then that he had felt it - within he felt an aching sensation come from deep within his mind. The sensation had grown stronger and stronger, until he had felt his entire mind brutally submerged like a frozen iceberg. Underneath those cold drowning waters, he couldn't breathe. Within his mind, one particular thought was gasping, struggling to be pulled from the deep depths. A flicker of silver-hair. Musk. No. Stop. He wanted it to stop.
He needed to escape from that dangerous thing.
Instinctively, his legs had carried him towards the stairs. When he had reached the hallway, his eyes had zoomed in on one door, his refuge. He had grabbed the door, flung himself inside, and then had immersed himself in desperately sought relief. But while the softness of the bed was comforting towards his skin, his insides still were in a flurried frenzy, and he could only shiver as his thoughts struggled to keep afloat. But it was too late, he was already sinking. He was being pulled, he was being drowned into one memory.
The author turned to look at him.
Those eyes, which were normally a placid lavender, were now a scathing heliotrope.
The man's silent response had been louder than a thousand screams.
As the boy shivered underneath his covers, his mind was plagued. He could only squeeze more tightly into a ball, covering his head with his hands. But as he struggled some more, he had felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. It was such a gentle feeling, that the boy had immediately halted in his vice-like thoughts. It was then that Misaki had begun to experience a slow relief. His mind had slowly cleared, his chest had slowly lightened. Now here he was, in the author's personal place of sleeping, no less.
One of his first idle thoughts had floated out of his lips. "I'm hungry."
The silver-haired man looked down, an expression of relief displayed across his stern features. "I'll go down and order something."
Suddenly, the boy recalled the intimidating weapon that lay waiting downstairs. He sat up quickly, his hand grasping the man's arm. "No, don't!"
The author turned around, surprised.
"There's a," Misaki looked down, "...a monster down there."
The author raised his eyebrow. "Monster?"
"Although it doesn't look scary, it's all a trap! There are mouths covering all of its sides waiting to bite you, and once you get bitten, you'll definitely feel regret that you didn't listen to me!" The boy emphasized that last phrase, looking a bit fierce as he did so.
A flicker of amusement darted through the man's eyes. Oh, how was this boy so adorable? He opened his mouth. "That's not possible. I've been immune to monsters ever since I was born." The voice was low, deep and monotonous.
He felt the huge urge to laugh at the boy's gawking face.
He smirked. "But if you're really that afraid, why don't we go together?"
Out of all the chapters that I've published so far, this one is by far the most lyrical and poetic. I chose to orient this chapter in such a way that the reader would get a sensory overload of information, and feel the same emotions of fear and confusion upon his first encounter with pain. Because this chapter focuses immensely on the small details, it was rather limited plot movement. Please forgive me if this chapter seems, in any way, too repetitive or boring.
AMSwafford92 - Misaki's first kiss with Akihiko, although very pleasurable, was not an altogether happy memory because of Akihiko's sudden and cold departure. Hence, it is the first memory that Misaki recalls when he gets cut.
I'm so glad that you thought Ch. 9 made sense, this gives me faith in my writing. Also, thank you so much for commenting on my chapters on such a regular basis. Your constant feedback is great to read.
Rejean - Misaki is quite adorable. I hope this chapter was satisfying, on how things played out.
CarmieHimie - Haha. Now, he'll get some of his own personality later on, but for now, we get to see a very child-like and innocent version of him. I can't wait to see how Akihiko will react when he does grow a personality. XD
darkhuntressxir - Confusing, isn't it? I'm glad you got it after the second time. :D
MickeyandMouse - I didn't specifically think about AI while I was writing this fiction, but your comparison to the movie actually makes a lot of sense. Misaki is similar to the child in AI, in that he appears to be so childish and human.
dirtylittlefreak - Thank you. That you liked my writing has made me very happy.
Thank you everyone who commented and reviewed! Also, thank you to everyone who subscribed to my story. Please look forward to the next chapter!
-TokyoSuite