Given the shape of the light on the wall, it could have been the spine of some divine book. Akihiko contemplated it, considered what it would be like to reach out, hold it, open it -
The sunlight faded and the book of light was no more - a pity, really: he had fancied a light read. Anything to distract him from the spiral he had started to mentally descend.
He was sat in bed, pillows propping him up and a tray table set up over his lap. His arse was numb from sitting too long and his body conflicted with wanting to move, to stretch, to run, but equally hating the idea.
The apartment was quiet. No sounds of Misaki pottering downstairs. The television wasn't on. No one was on the phone. Akihiko couldn't even hear his own breath.
He had nothing to do but be sick. For the first time in a decade, there was no novel to be obsessed over. For the first time in a decade, there was no angst in his relationship: it was sweet, it was comfortable, it was peaceful, it was joyful. Even his family were amiable.
He had nothing to do but be content.
This was not an emotion Akihiko Usami was familiar with. He thrived off intensity. Much as he was a martyr to being misunderstood, it felt uncomfortable to be without that charged cord inside him, forcing him to do something, anything, to assert himself.
But he'd done it: he was an achievement in every sense that had mattered to him. He was happy, proud -
But not content.
What bothered him was that he felt so strange and - more - he didn't feel inclined to talk to Misaki about it. He didn't want to send a message to Misaki. He wasn't reluctant to interrupt Misaki's work day. He knew Misaki wouldn't mind. Misaki would probably say something surprisingly profound, refreshingly and unintentionally philosophical and Akihiko would wonder why he felt so mysteriously morose in the first place.
But he wanted to feel this way. And he wanted to communicate it to someone. Someone he knew it was inappropriate to communicate to...
Hiroki.
He would be lying to himself if he hadn't always harboured a secret pride at being the focus of Hiroki's unrequited love. Feigning ignorance to it and being in the presence of such adoration had made Akihiko feel like a giant. It had been nearly a year since they'd been in the same room.
He hadn't felt like a giant in a long time. The longer he was with Misaki, the less he felt he had to aspire to myth, to morph into a supra-human. And he did love it, it was his air, his atmosphere; to be in this microcosm with his beloved was bliss.
But today, today he wanted to be a giant. Not that that would be unique for Hiroki anymore. The professor had found himself a doctor of such ridiculous proportions for a human being, he may as well have been one of those cardboard cutouts of a character you see in the cinema; one of the heroes of the show.
Why did Akihiko feel like he was generally the villain of the piece, who'd found redemption with the student...
When he could have found something else with the teacher.
Akihiko couldn't control the fantasies glowing and receding in his mind: Hiroki would never have rejected him; they would have made fireworks together with their conversations; no doubt Hiroki would have taught him a thing or two...
Akihiko knew this was silly, he knew he never would have chosen Hiroki, not when he had been and still was so struck by the being that was his other half. He was simply fascinated by Misaki.
What would have happened if he had indulged Hiroki, served him with his darkest kisses? How would Hiroki have worshipped his body?
Akihiko's body was starting to react to this fantasies; a voice in his mind was closer to convincing him to pick up his mobile and invite Hiroki over.
For an innocent cup of tea.
For company.
To flash his most lethal look, tuck Hiroki's hair behind his ear as he always had ("as a friend"), but this time gently stroke behind the shell of his ear, stroke his thumb down Hiroki's neck...
"A-Akihiko, what are you-"
"What am I doing? Don't you like it?"
Hiroki would blush and push Akihiko away.
"I think I should go. I'm going to-"
"Did I make a mistake? All those years ago... we could have... if I hadn't been such an egotistical fool-"
Hiroki would be lost for words, offended and flattered that Akihiko was raising this subject.
"Akihiko, what-"
Akihiko shook his head out of the fantasy. Nope. It simply didn't feel right or sexy at all. Not when Hiroki was in love, was so well looked after. Not when he was in love, was so well looked after.
Akihiko reached for Misaki's ribbed polo-neck on his side of the bed. It was rough to the touch but Misaki insisted it was comfortable. Akihiko felt the inside of it: softer than he imagined.