4.9 NINETEEN-YEAR-OLD GAMES
"Chuu-kun, can't the mall wait? I just really need to talk to someone right now."
The nineteen year old stops collecting his clothes with a smile in the paper-lantern-lighted room.
"Of course, Miya-sama…"
He slips back underneath the blanket, light-blue hair spreading against a white pillow face. His lithe body is comforting, attracting as it stretches next to Miyavi's.
"You seemed sad but I didn't want to pry," Chuu murmurs, drawing a line from Miyavi's eye to his jaw, across his cheek with his index finger. It imitates a tear. Miyavi doesn't blame him. "Daijoubu?"
Miyavi doesn't normally have Chuu-kun stay after their games, partly because Chuu is always busy. Has this place to visit, these people to hang out with… But tonight, the nineteen year old's translucent green eyes imploring him to speak--Miyavi is glad that he asked.
"No, I'm not okay, Chuu…"
They talk, until the soft light of the paper lanterns turns into the soft light of the sun. It shines through sheer draperies, lighting Chuu's hair into cotton candy blue. Miyavi's kissed a couple times, hugged a couple times. Mostly it's just them, talking and talking and talking. Purging everything while horizontal on the bed. Miyavi can't seem to feel anything but admiration to this other person, now seeing Chuu as not a simple nineteen-year-old, but someone extremely mature and wise. Outward appearances only hide the inside, distinguish one person from the next. Chuu wears his inside on the outside when he's speaking, hugging, kissing, fucking. Miyavi has to end with the first step before he realizes this.
"I love him, Chuu."
The words make the teen put on a peculiar face, not of jealousy or rage or disappointment, but rather acceptance of how things are. It's just the way they are.
"If you love him, why are you throwing it away like this?"