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ShadowLandQueen

Rahzel Kun

Love Me For Thirty Days

DAY TWENTY-SIX

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FOUR MORE DAYS

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Wednesday

"Three months ago, if you asked me, I would have told you that if you really loved someone, you'd let them go. But now I look at you, and I dreamed about Maggie, and I see that I've been wrong. If you really love someone, Allie, I think you have to take them back."
― Jodi Picoult, Mercy

There was a sensation that made him feel like he's in a rollercoaster. If this felt like the beginning of autumn and the end of ninth month, it doesn't certainly seems like it. Only sole proof that could live up for it was how the air was getting chiller to welcome a crisp October, windows rattling from invisible force — and how it would smell like Halloween in less than forty days.

That feeling of confusion, although familiar, was something that the blunette could never get accustom to. While there were medication and wires and a bandage to keep hold of his head damage (though, nothing much — not even a concussion — it was just something for safety, no biggie — at least that was what the doctor, what's his name, said), the whirl on his vision was telling him as if he had knocked his head in a speeding motion to concrete. Yesterday, he had awoke with the sterile smell; instantly, his mind clicked that there was something wrong. His diagnosis did not say anything with further reactions. Fortunately, he'd been rid of such things for now and was only told to rest for the day whilst the professionals went to check on the analysis and decide on his release. So, there wasn't any particular reason that he would end up bedridden. Unless — something, someone — a situation gone wrong indeed had happened. No — he needed to retrace his footsteps back. Taking note of the previous days, suddenly, all that Tetsuya could ever remembered were the words of offer coming straight from his husband — was it a husband? A friend?

What was it again? Something related, or actually pressing matters on — was it really about snapping threads that had been keeping the fragility from falling apart? Although, Tetsuya didn't really felt like that was the case; stirring from his position, his hands trying to recuperate from numbness for a span of what seemed like five minutes. Was there a clock in a ward, he wondered. What time was it, when the sun seemed so soft and the sound from an almost-closed windows seemed so distant? There wasn't any birds at all, not even a buzz of nature calling from outside. The silence was not in his comfort zone, so with dry throat, Tetsuya attempted to croak his voice open. Was there even anyone in his own ward — room, though with the foreign ceiling and drip pumping to his wrists, he really believed it was the former.

Soft, almost delicate movements, to erratic and quick motions alerted senses to what made out from the corner of the room. So, someone was here. There was a woman's voice, coming in whispers but a tone that signalled irritation than panic. Hoarse, dry and stressed like living in heat haze days, summer straight in isolated desert. Multiple coughs, dimming as a pound to the chest did the work, before came the shuffling of seemingly the sound of hospital slippers. Tetsuya waited for his visitor — current caretaker, perhaps — to approach his field of vision (raising up when he just woke up did no good job to anyone, really : too much headaches to handle). "Kami, you're awake again," another fit, "Finally." She sounded like she just woke up from a bad nap. The presence of pink hair should be common to him, but the azure eyes blacked out for a moment before everything about Satsuki came in pieces.

"Again?" was what he chose to prod. In the pit of his stomach, Tetsuya sensed the built-up of concern slowly churning into an entirely different form that was eating away his probably yesterday's lunch; that was if he had any from the start. The pink-haired friend witnessed fists balling the grey-ish covers, and she gave an understanding look — almost one of pity, but she held back.

"You went unconscious because of stress yesterday. . . After knowing what happened and all, it must have freaked you out."

Well, her response clearly does not help his dire condition apparently. The restlessness was pent, and waiting to crawl out from his chest. Tetsuya continued to press the matter, "This doesn't help at all. What happened yesterday?" After a brief look of conflict from her face, the blunette added, "Please, I'll try my best not to freak out, if that's what you meant by going unconscious."

"Oh, for the love of — Tetsu-chan. . ." Satsuki was close to the edge of her fury, but she was helpless against a bedridden, not that there wasn't anything physically wrong with Tetsuya but still; it sounded pretty wrong to actually whack his head. "I can tell you, but I need to know on how much can you remember? Like," she gestured her hand as if spreading butter on a long bread, in swift motion, "Please do tell me all the deets, everything — everything — you could ever remember since you were born, school, people you remembered. I could tell you my part but you know, with you. . . this current you, I'm so helpless."

The blunette could say okay and gave what she wanted, but the words were stuck like phlegm and he found himself speechless. Wondered, the memories that crossed as far as his life had brought him. Things he recalled from the past, from big happenings in his life, any arguments breaking hearts, mischiefs that led him all giggly — giddy sensations to adrenaline rushes and jumping pools akin to cliff diving — to small things that mattered, passing notes in classes and looking over the blue sky in rooftop lunches moments that reminded him of hope, to the piles of books under his bed, nagging from hahaue on fact that he never attempted a giveaway to crippling reads and childhood fables left untouched, to the high frivolity as he touched the tender abdomen of a teenage boy.

In mind, Tetsuya saw a flash of red.

Candy store; from they were elementary, glancing at each other from opposite corners — a flash of red had taken mint-flavoured hard candy, offering him one as he shook his head and took a chocolate bar instead.

A court extended beyond peripheral vision; a constant rhythm echoing loudly in his eardrums, and he vaguely felt his muscles stretched and the smile on his face wide. There were others within the space, gesturing him to come along and toss out a ball out of invitation.

Hands that seemed distantly warm, but was it really the warmth of a memory or how his hands have been tucked beneath sheets for so long?

Wedding bells; ding ding ding — pressed flowers on his adorned suit, one foot fidgety against the altar and the back of his neck slicked from the sheer shyness, looming gazes from the crowd and there were soft laughter in a close distance and then there were words against his ears and lips against his own. He closed his eyes to the sensation, humming along the chaste interchange. Rounds and rounds of applause and words of congratulations.

A lengthened business matter told on written notice, an air of concern to which led to a long depart. Airport crowds; pushing each other and walked with long strides, never sparring glances to others because there wasn't time but he saw eyes staring deeply into his own and a tightened grasp around his hips. He didn't want to let go either, but he heard a voice hovering over the area, formal tones and difficult to catch but an announcement nevertheless. Months felt like years since then.

Brief dinners; no exchanging glances and the cutlery spoke more words than them. Never in his life would meat felt the greasiest yet tasteless in his buds, and he felt like he could suffocate either from the choked-up silence or his own food. The latter spoke of nothing, conducted nothing. Simply, he wiped his own lips from the finished dinner and rose from the table. There wasn't anything else afterwards.

A request of divorce. Dead eyes despite brilliant colours. Solemnity that spoke of truth and determination, against defeated and despair.

Tetsuya grimaced against the memory; Afterwards. He couldn't remember anything after the request, after their awful banter. Currently, there wasn't even a vague image that could prove to him this situation didn't just so happened yesterday.

"I remembered you, and middle school," was what he chose to start with and smiled genuinely at the thought. It seemed appreciative, and if Satsuki hadn't grew up with this path of adulthood and her choice, she would have faltered, crestfallen. The blunette continued, "I remembered my wedding, I remembered attending yours too, you were a year after us and you looked amazing," he trailed off, and from the genuine joy transitioned to sorrow, "And I remembered how Seijuurou. . . He — We weren't getting along for quite some time, and," hiccups surfaced from his voice, and Satsuki realised his frail body trembling against the memories that he was suppressing for so long, "And then the divorce request, he was so dead set on doing it. . ."

"No, that's not true!" The pink-haired woman had to disrupt him at this stage, and pressed on despite the look of confusion he threw at him. "It's not true anymore," she said, much softer, "Things have changed over the past few weeks, Tetchan. . . Trust me, he've changed."

As much as the blunette wanted to hold on to that belief, as much as his heart throbbed upon the words she had spoken; Tetsuya still feigned a skeptical look. People would find it hard to believe when information does not register in their memory, after all, and this case included Tetsuya who could only provide none a solution but the helpless stare. He shrugged, if one wanted answers, one would have to deem from the source itself.

"Well, where is he?"

The question threw Satsuki off, as if a force had blasted through her face, and in a split second, she was a sputtering mess — a nervous wreck, panicked, scattered, sweating wreck. "You really want to see him?" she reconfirmed. The blunette almost flinched upon the question; if you want to prove me wrong, a fleeting voice in the midst of his other thoughts had spoken, but he didn't mutter a single word and just uncomfortably nodded toward her. Satsuki rose from her seat not long after, taking out her cellphone as she did and spoke whilst her eyes lingered upon the screen, a dim glow casting against her face. "Hold on, I'm telling him to come but it doesn't seem like he's seeing any of my texts at all," she pursed her lips, "I'll call home and see if they're there, oh. . . yeah, Sakura-chan's with Sei-chan, if you're wondering."

What happened to Seijuurou? The demeanour he portrayed in his memories clearly showed his distaste toward Tetsuya now, and a part of him could not believe about the fact that several days have passed and Seijuurou would have just changed into a better person. It didn't seem ever so simple. A part of him clawed to the fact that he just wanted to walk away from the situation. He could deal with himself, but his heart could not take one more pain from his husband, or ex-husband. Whoever Seijuurou may be in his life now.

"No, it's fine. . . I think I'll crash in Kagami's apartment," he spoke, "I'm considering to go back to my parents' house."

"But. . .? I thought you wanted to see Sei-chan," she trailed off, hesitantly. Her tone seemingly similar to walking on eggshells somewhat gave Tetsuya a feeling of slight discomfort, but he understood the way she acted — everyone wanted the best of them after all. Achieving that outcome, however, really relies upon how they act toward each other. Running away isn't the best option — but Tetsuya was scared to the core. He just wanted to hide from all the bullshit that was happening now, he thought.

"I'll ask the doctor for my discharge, I'm no longer sick right now."

"Are you sure?" Satsuki wasn't satisfied with his idea, "What if you have your headache again, Tetsu — w-where are you going?" The two of them stood in unison, albeit Tetsuya who was slightly shaken from his numb legs — how long was he in bed? His legs felt like they were abandoned for a year, standing felt like he was balancing on stilts — and the woman stood too close from the proximity of his comfort. Though, she was fully determined in stopping him from going any further, her eyes dead set.

Alas, he was not one to back down as well. Tetsuya stepped aside, and he brushed one hand against her shoulder. "Satsuki," his voice in low volume, but a firm tone, "You don't have to be worry about me, I have no intention to let myself be hurt once more."

"It's not just that. . ."

The blunette tilted his head, wanting to meet her wavering gaze. Her concern was pouring like water, through her eyes glossed like dripping rain upon window panes. "What do you mean?"

"It's just. . ." she breathed out a sigh, and she found herself slumped against the hospital bed. The hand that brushed off her shoulder was now held on loosely, and she found her thumb caressing his palms. "Tetsu-chan, you getting hurt is one thing. We all care about you, even if you seem so hard on hiding this from all of us, like you were just going to disappear slowly — like high school. But, you must know that you getting hurt. . . really hurts us too, especially," she gulped, "When you keep it from all of us."

"Why would you ever. . ." the blunette trailed off until clear words became unheard, nothing more but a jumble of muttering mess. All this while, had he been selfish too? His intention when Seijuurou announced their divorce was to have a final moment with the redhead, even if it meant unreal, and then slipped off to live a quiet life. Was that selfish? When Seijuurou, himself, took the choice to cheat on him — that was selfishness too. When he indulged himself in Seijuurou's guilt when he suggested the deal — was that selfish too?

If that was the case, then in the end, had they both been so wrong?

"Tetsu-chan, please," the hand gripping his tightened, but not too painfully, a sign of her pleading extruded from her actions. "Please, I beg you, talk to Sei-chan."

Perhaps, all of this was just so Satsuki could see the both of them happy. Perhaps, it was for his own good. The gnawing fear did not fade, however, and the blunette could feel his anxiety increasing in lieu of her pleas. He attempted to shrug off from her grasp, but in return he had to admit to her will somehow. "Satsuki, I-I'll try. . ."

A nurse entered the ward, and abruptly halted by the entrance as seeing the patient himself was standing all wobbly next to his own bed. She notified him about a permission to be discharged and quickly left just as swift as she entered before.

Gaze trailing to the window; billowing leaves dancing softly by the rhythm of autumn, despite the calming sense outside, it doesn't help the thumping in his chest, a growing confusion. Believe, a word that seemed so foreign and distant. Though, his gut feeling was sending thoughts to his mind saying that things did change and his memories was just repressing — but at what reason? A complicated pattern to his condition was that it took without choice, and sometimes the ones stolen from him was the dire moments in his life; and he was left an empty shell. If life could rewind itself, he'd took himself back onto one summer day, toward the day he rode the truck — was a day of tragedy that took the toll to his mind.

Now, he was left to accept the fate that wishful thinking could do nothing but giving a sense of false hope to his own self. He looked at the soft, teary cherry eyes of his friend, her lips trembled. The whole expression screamed not just concern, but a sense of betrayal, underlying pain and the sense of brooding of what could have I done back then to make this all better.

"No, I promise," he sighed, "I'll go home, okay?" He finally surrendered. Perhaps, a part of him was doing this for Satsuki, for her to not be a sad mess anymore; or Sakura, who he felt bad if she was ever involved in this. He pulled Satsuki into an embrace, one of warmth and gratitude. Truth be told, the fear was present — he knew that will never go away no matter how much he faced it, he ran from it or he fought with it. But Satsuki was there to give him a small ounce of strength. Whatever it was; he'll take the chances.

Deep inside his mind, he recalled the wedding bells, the vows close to his ears, and the butterflies fluttering as he felt the chaste and lingering kiss — it had been beautiful, and he missed that so much.

If life could rewind itself, take him to the day they were happy. That was all he ever wanted.

Home was dark. Home was a messy decorations of glass bottles splattered across the floor, and take-out boxes and more glass bottles. In the dim setting, gloom consumed the space with its obnoxious appearance and its foul stench, settling into his senses abruptly. Home was not home when the distress was clear in physical manifestation portraying the inner turmoil, however the expected character of its setting was nowhere to be seen — at least not in the living room.

How shit drunk had he been?

Though contrary to his thoughts, he found his answer in their own bedroom (although, he was a little hesitant to enter). Propped against the bed, a man adorning crimson shades — this time, not just the tousled bright tufts he was talking about, but rather, his cheeks and nose and even the tip of his ears were flushed with a clear sign of overly-drunk state. He was asleep, of course. Steady breathing rhythms and the occasional huff escaping his lips. The redhead looked serene if it wasn't for the furrowed eyebrows; Seijuurou was clearly in distress even if he was asleep.

Tetsuya wasn't sure to wake him. So the blunette joined on the bed, watching the hardened expression in the midst of his slumber. In the wake of dusk, the sun in a proximity of the horizon casts golden streaks of light. Illuminating gold peering through the curtains, pouring down like honey upon their bodies, colouring him in the mellow colours of clearness. What an ethereal sight, Tetsuya wondered with a small chuckle. For someone who was always so sharp, a calculative and controlling person, a man of power and prowess; a sleeping and drunk Seijuurou basking in the contrary symbol of sunlight portrayed a sense vulnerability, human.

There was an itch on his finger; how bad he wanted to caress his pale visage for now or simply just wanted to touch the redhead. He slowly brought his fingers toward the redhead's forehead, how tempting it was to smooth over the skin even with the sweat slicked upon the surface. At the very close vicinity, in what felt like years of doing so, a sudden ring came from out of nowhere before it registered to Tetsuya that it was his husband's ringtone, and he found himself thrown to the opposite side of the mattress out of sheer embarrassment. Fortunately, Seijuurou who abruptly cracked his eyes open to notice his phone first did not realise upon the situation he was in previously, nor did he recognise his lover's presence on the other corner. He answered the call, back straightened and his eyes forward — therefore, unfazed at the still undetected presence within the room. He was saying something about dinner, a meeting or something — perhaps, work related — then it took another minute for the blunette to realise the caller was Shintarou, when the redhead had slipped his name during their conversation. He stood up to fix his tie, and brushed the dirt out of his slacks and rotated his hips and arms to shrug off the weight of sleep from his body. Then, and only then, two pools of crimson and sienna landed upon the soft tuft of baby blue, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Kami," a string of curse followed by as he stumbled upon the edge of bed, out of surprise, and flinched at his hurt knee. Aching pains must have kicked in by now, for Seijuurou groaned longer than expected, and was in a state of nauseous pause for a brief time. The phone almost slipped from his grasp, and there was a confused remark by Shintarou. Though, the redhead's mind was somewhere else now, or rather the focus shifted to who was in front of him. Eyes unmoved, solid frozen to the person he had ever yearned for. "Shintarou, I'll call back later," — and the third party was gone.

Silence remained for a solid three minutes. Seijuurou found himself scratching the back of his head, finding the current mood awkward to even crack open a small conversation. He wanted so bad to wander his gaze away from the blunette, who seated himself comfortably against the soft surface and had his arms encircling his knees. Heavy and thick, the air surrounding the room was of no ventilation, as well as the mood dripping with intense emotions to and fro between two parties. How Tetsuya longed to creak open the window panes; it was hellishly suffocating.

"Um," the redhead rasped, his voice gritty from the nervous lump in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbed before he spoke again, "Are you, um, hungry?"

"What?"

His hand at the back of his head dropped in a slump, as he drew out a long sigh, "I'm hungry," the redhead shifted his eyes, perhaps embarrassed at his failing attempt to lighten the mood. Tetsuya, of course, had noticed this. A bubble of laughter rose from the pit of his stomach, and he could not help but found the notion somewhat. . . adorable. A pair of multi-coloured eyes glanced back, and his already flushed face painted a few shades darker.

"Should I make something?" Tetsuya responded, softly. But the redhead knew the former was still being cautious toward him. After all he'd been through, who wouldn't be careful? The one standing made an attempt to shorten the distance between them, at the same time watching as Tetsuya's body tensed for a moment upon the gap but loosened slightly after a moment. "S-Sei. . ." he whispered with a shaky voice, azure eyes squinting before he decided to stop the latter from stepping any further, "What do you want for dinner?"

The question meant to break the confrontation, and to stop the trance Seijuurou was in — Tetsuya could read the look full of deep thoughts, how clear the dazzling crimson and gold glazed in vulnerability and a yearn for closure; and whilst he understood, he wished for the opposite; he was still afraid, he was still someone who couldn't comprehend what had happened twenty days prior of his hospitalisation. Successfully, he did so; as Seijuurou halted his movements and gave him a startled look instead. Rather, he was similar to a lost puppy for a moment.

"Um," nervous silence in one-two, then,"Y-Yudoufu?"

"Tofu stew?"

"I'm kind of craving for it," Seijuurou found himself tousling his hair once more, as if it wasn't already unkempt from his sleep. The fact that his, em, husband pushed him away rendered him feeling a bit lost and just disappointed, proven by how slumped his shoulders as he stood awkwardly while showing pleading eyes to Tetsuya, but the blunette seemed firm about the distance, and so he pry no further. "I'll, uh. . ." he cleared his throat, was he even wide awake for now — like a trance, or a dream, the world in his blurry vision seemed surreal — "Clean up what's left downstairs," the blunette was left alone, though azure blue trailed along the slumped, defeated figure — magnetised, a heavy bloom of guilt anchoring his heart to the pit of his stomach. He didn't get to say what he wanted to say, but for the moment, his head was ringing with overwhelming confusion.

What sort of response was that? A sign of mistrust?

It took time for him to crawl out of the bedroom, from the corridor, the clinking of bottles from impact and further shuffling noises. It went by like a tedious rhythm, and just like that, they remained for an hour. Cleaned, cooked, a jumble of movements to the dinner table while avoiding each other gazes. The smell of food was the only astounding thing providing to their senses, as to the still-slight groggy and hungover Seijuurou by the other side of the table suffering from the aches on his temples with constant low grumbles pouring over his lips, and the meek and quiet Tetsuya who tried so hard to swallow his own portion.

"Is it not to your liking?" Tetsuya tried once more, bringing casualties to conversation, smoothing ripples from stormy ocean waves.

"No, it's not that — just. . ." he rasped, "Bad hangover," he winced at his own voice, the dryness as if he had been abandoned for weeks.

Tetsuya made a perturbed expression, one that showed signs of discomfort yet concern, "You drank all that alone?"

"Of course, not. The rest of the group were here," the redhead proceeded on taking a sip out of his own glass, greedily gulping the contents as if in desperation, "Shintarou decided it was best to take Sakura with him," he continued when he glanced to see at the burning gaze of bright cerulean, "He's the least drunk out of all. Sakura should be fine, I think Satsuki would pick her up soon so you shouldn't worry too much." That was her daughter, after all.

"W-Why would you —" the blunette sighed, and he scooped his own food to his mouth in the interim of his thoughts, then, "Then, what about you?"

A tinkle of the spoon placed abruptly against the surface of plate, indicating a brief pause as Seijuurou dared himself to gaze to his lover. A genuine surprise, Tetsuya had never seen such fiery eyes waver in a battle of holding the rivulets from dropping. His question might have struck the redhead a lot, too much. Upon this moment, it came to realisation that he wasn't the only one hurting from this ordeal. It brought him to Satsuki's words earlier today; "You getting hurt is one thing. We all care about you, even if you seem so hard on hiding this from all of us, like you were just going to disappear slowly. But, you must know that you getting hurt really hurts us too, especially when you keep it from all of us."

Anxiety caused anxiety.

Secrets upon secrets — like piercing a blade to a gushing wound. Nothing was healed when everyone ran in circles, and never colliding against each other and stop to take a breather. Now that they did take a breather, bandage replacing blade; life wasn't easy as to snap these emotions away.

He'd built up a wall so high, Seijuurou had taken every ounces of his energy to climb such barrier, to break down heavy bricks and just so he could close the distance between them. Strength would never come without a consequence, or a price; and so, silently, Seijuurou had been dragging himself to exhaustion. That was Tetsuya's part of the fault in this case — anxiety caused anxiety.

Exhaustion caused exhaustion.

And Seijuurou, with crimson and golden eyes with a dim blur, with fair skin parched and darkened in certain spots — that question was meant to be, for long. "In all honesty, love," the redhead took another sip, perhaps to calm his nerves and the blunette realised his left hand holding the glass was not of a steady grip, but shaken slightly with his fingers digging to surface to the point he could potentially shatter that to pieces. Seijuurou wasn't one to easily show his feelings, much similar to Tetsuya, even if he could be a rather straightforward person — rushing straight to things he wanted, seizing with the capabilities he had. He was a strong person, in Tetsuya's perception. "I know it's my fault, I've started this whole thing," he continued, back leaning to the dining chair in exasperation and hands covering his eyes, revealing his emotions from breaking down in front of his beloved, "I know I don't have the right to be forgiven, and if that so, I don't deserve to say this at all."

"No. . ." Tetsuya slowly rose from his chair, one step at a time to approach the taller man — who seemed rather small, right now — "Everyone deserves to speak up, Sei," was this even the man who demanded a divorce? If this was what makes him, the cause of his unconsciousness seemed impossible to fall onto the man's fault at all, "Look, I'm wrong too, I tried to hide everything from you and that was foolish of me to do so," he tried to coax the other when Seijuurou slipped off from his chair, head jerking in frantic disagreement. The blunette rushed closer, his hand touching the clammy cheeks, watching as the flush evened out from the usual colours, but instead smeared in sickly tinge.

"I just wanted to say that it wasn't me. I swear I wouldn't hurt you anymore."

"I know —"

He accepted the gesture, and it lit up the fire in his heart, bursting with tender heat of his love, "I know you couldn't remember, that day is the day I've ever regretted until now, but I promise you I would never hurt you, Tetsuya."

Hence, the redhead returned the gesture, thumbing the other man's cheek with sweaty palms, and his heart elevated at the sight and touch of Tetsuya leaning to his hand. "I believe you," Tetsuya responded.

"I'm still sorry, though."

"I'm sorry too," he choked back his smile, and pressed a tender kiss against the taller man's temples. "I still can't remember everything, but I must've hurt you bad."

A snort, "We both do, it's just. . ."

"It's human."

Seijuurou took a brief moment to stare into his own eyes, as if something clicked in his memory which left him stunned. The blunette pressed him on the matter but instead of a proper response, he was met with a soft chuckle rumbling in the man's chest and the thumb caressing his pallid skin smoothed to his eyes. He could feel the colours burning warmly into his own, the darkest of crimson and the jolliest shades of sun. Tetsuya continued, peeling away his hand from the face to place it against the redhead's chest, then he felt the thump-thump-thump dancing in an erratic beat.

"I'm scared," the red-haired man spoke even before the question was able to rise from Tetsuya's own curiosity. "Everyday, I'm thinking about you, and what's going to happen to you, and us. I'm still scared, even if I feel undeserving to this fear, this concern, but Tetsuya, I don't want parts of you to disappear," he held the hand pressed against his chest, "This greedy self fears of losing you," he half-laughed at his own words, "Aren't I such a bad person?"

The shorter male furrowed his brows against the rhetorical question, "How so?"

"Because I've done such —", he reconsidered his words, "I suppose you can ignore me."

"Seijuurou, if you can't shut up about that one thing, I might consider divorcing you," and with that, the former sealed his lips shut for real, biting his tongue in return, such karma, and just winced upon both the words and pain itself.

They fell into a comfortable silence, remaining in a space that seemed so spacious for the two of them. Yet, they felt the intensity of each other's heat, emanating, gnawing; All was forgiven, and so warm; the sweet sentiment of amour it was.

"Do you remember that deal of yours, though?" The question popped up when Tetsuya was coddled in his strong arms, the two of them slowly ascending to each of the steps of the staircase. The blunette nodded meekly, he was feeling rather embarrassed at the state he was in as well as the thought of his proposal about a month ago. Though, Seijuurou made on suggestion on teasing such idea at the moment, rather giving out a slow rumble in his chest with the soft laughter and he whispered closely to the shell of the blunette's ear; "We could do one of the deal now," on which, the idea was acknowledged with a smack.

That was one way Seijuuurou tried to elevate matters, as the blunette constantly pressed his ear against the chest to listen upon the rapid heartbeat. The anxiety remained, and when Seijuurou thought he wasn't looking, he'd saw dread and fear looming on his expression, eyes dim and mouth pulled into a taut line of a frown.

Anxiety caused anxiety.

Ringing in a distance, in the back of his thoughts, Tetsuya never felt the lurch of his stomach, butterflies growing in his insides when it dawned that; he had never thought of Seijuurou in a vulnerable light; How many times have he catch flaws of another? The thought made him sick.

He have caused this.

Cause all the kids are depressed

Nothing ever makes sense I'm not feeling alright

Staying up 'til sunrise

And hoping shit is okay

Pretending we know things

I don't know what happened

My natural reaction is that we're scared

TO BE CONTINUED

Mozu : Y'know. . . They said all who are brave is forgiven. . . Ehehehe.

I might get smacked. With a knife. Plunged to my chest. Yeah brilliant.

Hello! As you may see, ahahahaha, I'm back. After a long time of, uh. . . Being not fine at all, I'm back and all well and ready to end this story once and for all. With a chopping board and a sack of onions —

I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's full of imagery, different emotions and things that concludes and not concluded. It's complicated in a way that it is soft yet rough at certain edges. The first scene took a year to come up, because I've been learning to put myself in their shoes as well, I want to understand my characters as I write — it took a year to gather up the pen once more. And the second scene at home requires about two weeks?

Also, after this story ends, I'm releasing Version 2 which is a fixed and more thorough version. A slight changes here and there, but still same good angst :)

So, hello again, welcome to LMFTD! X for loves, O for hate!

-Mozu The Mochi (2020)