I check the clock. It's after 1 am again. I'll have a time waking him tomorrow. He promised he'd be home early tonight.
Home.
Home is where the heart is. But I think only my heart is here now.
We moved in together a little over two years ago. It's a medium sized place with a bedroom large enough for our two single beds, a living room with space for a couch, TV table and a chair for me to read comfortably, and a smallish kitchen. What made us take it, even though we could afford a bigger place, is the large bay window with a cushioned seat in the bedroom. Matching smiles crossed our faces when we first saw it and we proceeded to spend hours lounging in it together.
Even in such a comfortable setting and finally able to spend all of our down time together, I still couldn't consummate our relationship, not in the slightest. Every time he tried to do more than just kiss me, I froze, or freaked out. And it wasn't always because of what happened with Muraki, at least not always directly. It was because of him; his desires were so strong that they scared me and I'd pull away. But he was patient with me. We spent many evenings just cuddling. I even managed to spend the night in his bed with him sometimes, but usually I'd sleep in my own.
I knew he was frustrated. I knew he was forced to pleasure himself because I couldn't handle his advances.
And I knew when his resolve started to wane.
He'd promised he would wait for me, but I knew the day he realized how difficult the wait would be and that he might not be able to keep his promise.
It was a Sunday. We'd just finished a very quiet dinner, which he'd spent most of just staring out the window, oblivious to what he ate. Even though I'd served chocolate cake and one of his favorite green teas, his mind obviously lay elsewhere.
"Hisoka," he'd begun, "what's happening with us?"
I knew what he meant, but I couldn't answer. We were stagnating, dying and it was all my fault.
"W-What do you mean," I'd stuttered.
Turning his head slowly from where it rested on his hands, his eyes settled onto mine.
"You know," he stated, eyes boring into me. Guiltily I'd looked away.
"I-I don't know," I'd confessed. He'd quickly gotten up from the table, showered and gone to bed.
For more than a week after that, we barely spoke. At work, he exuded professionalism; at least on the outside. At home, he practically avoided me. Frequently, he went out right after dinner, coming home very late, showering and going straight to bed without a word. The turmoil inside him battered me constantly, even when he slept.
Finally, he came to me to confess the root of his turmoil. He pulled me into his arms in the window seat on night and held me, a not-so-quiet desperation settling over him.
"I-I don't know anymore if I can wait for you," he'd forced.
I couldn't speak, terrified that the confession heralded his leaving me. But, as usual, his compassion surprised me.
"But I'll try," he'd finished. "Because I love you."
The tears came unbidden. When he kissed them away and began planting more insistent kisses on my face neck and lips, I didn't pull away. I thought I was ready.
Lifting me from the window, he lay me gently down in my bed. Planting soft kisses around my face and neck, then finally engulfing me in a passionate kiss, his tongue dueling lightly with mine, his hands traveling over my body. Slowly, he removed my shirt, undershirt and pants, all the while trailing kisses along my body. My body burned from his tongue in my mouth and his kisses lingering on my chest and stomach, the flick of his tongue at my navel causing an involuntary shudder and gasp. He'd paused then to remove his own clothing.
Closing my eyes to the moonlight, I remember clearly this first time actually seeing his beautiful body. I'd seen him unclothed many times, but not so aroused before me. In our years living together, he'd made it a point not to do anything that could upset me. Wandering around the hose nude or brandishing his arousal qualified, so he'd been very discreet.
But that night…I remember drinking in the sight of him.
His hands slowly removed my underwear, my own arousal throbbing at him. He touched my hip lightly, his other hand tracing light circles on my thigh. I needed him to stop, but I couldn't speak. His head was lowered to my other thigh where he planted light kisses, so he couldn't see the frantic look on my face. Then he grasped my hardness firmly, but tenderly and I lost it.
"Don't! Don't do that! Don't touch me!" I'd screamed, scrambling away from him.
The look in his eyes…
It still hurts to remember.
The night ended with him calming me and then comforting me as I cried my own tears of frustration, before he escaped to the bathroom to relieve himself once more. His escape upset me anew and my tears stretched through the night. I tried to be quiet, but I knew he heard me sniffling in the bed beside him once he left the bathroom and climbed into his bed. I knew because he left the room in the middle of the night and didn't come back, choosing instead to sleep in the living room.
The next morning, I called in sick. Tsuzuki left without me.
After that night, things got worse. My sick days increased and Tsuzuki started…I don't know…'shutting down'; at least around me. At work, he was obviously 'smiling through tears', even though he never shed any. I felt very guilty, but didn't know what to do about it. So I told him I loved him; all the time, over and over, but it didn't work.
After a few weeks, we barely spoke and he stopped touching me at all; not even a hug. And he stopped looking at me. If I came into his line of vision, he'd look away. Even at home. And every time my heart would break because I didn't know what to do or say to make things better.
We loved each other deeply; I still felt that from him. And I really wanted to give myself to him, but I just…I couldn't. I just couldn't.
Living together became a nightmare neither of us could escape. Tsuzuki rarely came straight home from work and had practically moved into the living room, as he never slept in his bed anymore. At least twice a week he'd stumble in around four in the morning, drunk and swearing about how much he 'hated this' and how much he loved me and then he'd cry himself to sleep on the living room floor.
When we went out on cases, we still worked well together, and sometimes almost broke through our barriers and pain, but once we got back to the 'real world', the office and our apartment, we reverted to our miserable selves.
After about a month of my sicknesses and Tsuzuki's fake happiness and our overall inability to cope with each other, the other shinigami began complaining to Tatsumi that our behavior was affecting all of them. We found out because Tatsumi told us on our way to the first of the twice a week therapy sessions he'd set up for us.
"You're going and that's final," he'd ordered at our protests.
Though I hated to admit it, he did the best thing by making us go into therapy. It didn't take Tsuzuki long to get back to some semblance of his normal self and he stopped going, though his demons were probably a lot scarier than mine could ever be. Tatsumi knew he couldn't press the issue of Tsuzuki's real problems, so he just let it slide once Tsuzuki started presenting genuine smiles again.
My situation warranted more extensive therapy, to which I wasn't happy submitting. But Tatsumi insisted and Tsuzuki was looking at me and touching me again, so I went along. After a few months, I started getting better. I'd even been able to let Tsuzuki touch me without freaking out.
The night it happened, I thought his eyes would pop out of his head when I guided his hand to my arousal, moaning in pleasure at his touch. We'd been holding each other and kissing passionately, our tongues thrusting and tasting our lips and mouths fiercely. Still fully clothed, we lay on his bed groping and caressing, though he'd been careful to stay above my waist and wouldn't press his arousal against me.
I knew that it was okay; knew that I could really handle it, so I grabbed his wrist, sliding his hand from beneath my shirt and into the unzipped waist band of my pants. Panting heavily, I locked eyes with his as I cupped his fingers around me. I swear he stopped breathing for a moment, then smiled, capturing my lips in a light kiss. It hadn't gone much farther than that, but I was sure I could have eventually. After another few weeks, I was sure I could allow Tsuzuki to cover my body with his and share a release, though I knew I wasn't anywhere near ready for intercourse yet.
I'd planned to tell him that night four weeks ago.
We'd had two back-to-back cases, which shook Tsuzuki to the core and all I could offer was a few good kisses and a warm body. His emotions had told me that he'd needed so much more than I could offer at the time. But he'd dealt with it, making sure that I felt loved and wanted even when he was suffering. So, when I finally knew what I could give him, I was excited.
I had treated him to a favorite restaurant on Chijou in Amakusa. The evening air had felt good, so we'd dined outside. We had been finishing up dessert and coffee after a great meal. Tsuzuki had been laughing heartily about my having missed my mouth with a spoonful of strawberry sundae, which had subsequently found its way down the side of my face and shirt before hitting the ground.
"Tsuzuki?"
A strikingly handsome, dark-haired man had suddenly addressed Tsuzuki.
"Yes," he'd replied guardedly. "Do I know you?"
The suddenly familiar face had smiled at him.
"Maybe if you'd kept coming to my concerts you wouldn't have forgotten me," he'd grinned.
Stunned, Tsuzuki had bolted upright.
"H-Hijiri??!!"
An even bigger smile had crossed the handsome features.
Tsuzuki had stood to embrace him and was instantly taken aback, as was I. Hijiri had filled out and acquired some height these past six years and now stood almost eye-to-eye with Tsuzuki. Suddenly, I'd found myself painfully aware of my 16-year-old prison. I'd come to accept it before seeing this mature Hijiri. A wave of jealousy had flattened me as they held each other for longer than I thought necessary. Tsuzuki's eyes had been glistening when they parted. Hijiri had greeted me amiably and then asked to join us. He and Tsuzuki had lapsed into a comfortable babble for hours. Only the managers' insistence that he needed to close the restaurant had silenced them.
"We should go," I'd interjected, trying not to sound as distressed as I felt. Not once in their conversations had Tsuzuki mentioned our relationship.
"You're right, Hisoka," Tsuzuki had reluctantly agreed.
"It was good to see you again Tsuzuki, Hisoka," Hijiri had smiled. I knew in my heart that he'd added me as a courtesy. They had exchanged numbers, though I doubted he'd be able to call us. Their hug good-bye had spoken volumes.
The distance between Tsuzuki and I as we'd headed home had been reminiscent of the months before our therapy.