Alleviation
Teardrops were streaking across the window, shadows landing on the bed next to it. The man lying on the bed is turned towards the skies, one fist balled up in the sheets, the other spread out, emerald eyes inscrutable; its crystal blankness perfectly encapsulated in each shiny bead on glass, reflecting tiny shards of a distorted reality. Shapes do their shadow dance languidly on pale, elegant digits.
Gojyo was at the bar as usual, cutting cards, getting heady on pheromones and reeking of fermented yeast.
The rain had started late, he'd been woken up by droplets landing on his face. He closed the windows morosely, knowing he'd been equally shut off from any possible peaceful slumber for the rest of the night.
The last time there was a heavy downpour a few weeks ago, he retired to bed straight after dinner and had stared at falling crystals for a long time. That night, Gojyo was excessive in his attempts to project cheerfulness and volume to mask the silence hanging like a net over the table, concern evident in his eyes and he hadn't gone out as usual, but sought him out in the bedroom after an eternity of trance-like silence.
He sighed deeply. "Gojyo, I would like to be alone if you please."
Gojyo hadn't replied. Instead, he walked over to the bed, climbed into it and sat next to him.
"Please…"
A shake of head, crimson strands flying, and then tanned, callous hands reached for and wrapped around pale, smooth ones, holding them firmly.
Emerald widened, pale hands tried to pull back but stopped when he heard, "No."
It was a command, one filled with tenderness though.
Crimson locked onto emerald, murmuring, "Just for the times when it rains."
They sat there looking at overlapping hands, the soft drumming of rain their backdrop for the wordless scene playing out, feeling warmth radiating from each other and being aware of every single gentle rise and fall of breaths.
He didn't know why, but the night did seem to pass easier. Not having to look at raindrops or his blood covered hands. The only crimson there not taunting for once, but almost…comforting.
He thought of that night, and much as he wouldn't even allow himself to accept or admit it, there was a longing for someone to distract him and make the rain less painful.
Of course not. He didn't have such fancies.
Fingers tightened around bed sheets.
Gojyo was having a good time with a hopeless amateur who had too much confidence in his own skill. The beer was flowing, and there was a new perky, pretty blonde at the next table, lips pouting and eyes winking. He'll probably go home with a heavy pocket, deliciously drunk, an inviting chick on his hip, and it probably wouldn't even be his own home. It was a good night.
Until someone walked into the bar all soaking wet, and the bartender shouted at him not to track water all over the floor. The drenched guy cursed, "It's pouring like hell out there."
Gojyo tried, but found it increasing hard to focus on the game at hand subsequently. After the umpteenth time he had to leash his wandering mind and drag it back, he gave up. He stood up, pocketed his winnings to the protest of his opponent, took a last swig of beer and strode out of the bar, determinedly ignoring the come-hither looks the blonde was throwing his way. He was for once very grateful for the umbrella a certain roommate had insisted he carry along with him.
The rain pounded relentlessly, such that he didn't hear the front door opening. Neither did he notice the bedroom door opening and someone walking over to him till the mattress suddenly creaked and sank under additional weight. He turned around, startled and disoriented.
A yearning he didn't know existed gave a little start.
No words needed this time. Gojyo simply maneuvered himself so he was between him and the window, and they were both facing away from the depressing fall of tears. Then Gojyo shifted so that they were lying right next to each other on their sides, back warm against chest, arms and thighs lightly touching.
He was being encircled; strong tanned arms snaked around either side of him and hugged him close, wrapping around him firmly. Muscles relaxing, torso automatically molding itself to the smooth contours of sinewy forearms. He could feel light breath gently brushing his hair, longer crimson strands that he knew rather than saw tickling his nape. Slight adjustment of legs so that their legs were entangled. Entire length of bodies melting into each other.
Sighing softly, he found his fingers curling around the stronghold across his chest keeping him safe. Granted, it couldn't protect him from himself, or from the memories, but it gave him something to hang onto, an anchor so he wouldn't get swept away.
With sensations heightened by the sudden sensory overload, he could feel everything under the pad of each fingertip, feel muscles and flesh under the layers of their clothing. Eyes closed, he drew in a deep breath unhurriedly, breathing in cigarettes, smoke, perfume and cologne, the tinge of various alcoholic brews. Underneath all of that, a musky, sweaty scent that reminded him of burnt coffee and earthly soil. A familiar, amiable tantalization of olfactory senses. It was amazing what else he took in when he couldn't see.
Gojyo coaxed, "Sleep."
That which wasn't voiced out but he had heard clearly all the same: I'm here for you now.
He opened his eyes and a stray strand of crimson caught his eye. He trailed it in the corner of his eye, lingering on it for a while, before lowering his lids again and settling against Gojyo.
He pondered, maybe with time, crimson would come to be a symbol of something soothing and comforting, instead of sorrow and grief.
He might even grow to love the colour, and the one who embodied it.
And it would have the power to bring a genuine smile to his lips.