A/N: Another angsty story. Sorry, I couldn't help it. Anyways, happy birthday Akutagawa Jirou! I'm only late by 50 minutes. So yeah. Belated happy bday.
Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloid.
Pretend
1. not really what it is represented as being; used in a game or deception
Mikuo stared at the figure currently laid beside him, taking in the sight of the redhead that slept peacefully. He often found himself wondering why someone popular would even be interested at him. He was often stuck on the background, behind his sister's bright light. He was supposed to be undetected, invisible and plain. But somehow, the redhead took notice of him.
(Hey, the name's Akaito. Wanna have coffee with me?)
He had accepted of course. Grateful that at least someone had asked him. Nobody asked him, it was mostly his sister that got the invitations. He would often tag along as a chaperone. So once the opportunity presented itself, Mikuo immediately reached for it.
(Here's my number. Just call me, 'kay? I hope I can talk to you again. You're a pretty interesting person.)
He had called of course. He had also thought that Akaito was pretty interesting. He learned that the redhead loved spicy food and the color red. He also had a brother, which was dating his sister. Kai-something. He was too enamored by the vivid red eyes of Akaito to notice. Having someone say that you were interesting made him happy. So when Akaito said it, Mikuo immediately found himself liking the man.
(Your hair is so beautiful. Can I touch it?)
He had allowed him of course. The feel of someone else's fingers running through the threads of his hair made him feel safe. Made him feel wanted, desired and needed. He never felt like that. Nobody made him felt like that. Nobody even looked at him with so much desire in his eyes. Mikuo often found himself dreaming of red eyes that seemed to be filled with affection and need. So when Akaito would look at him, he found himself shaken. He wanted to be with the man more.
(Can I kiss you?)
He had allowed him of course. Mikuo never accepted the fact that Akaito would even want to kiss him. He wasn't attractive, charming, good-looking and social. He wasn't Miku. The feel of someone's lips against his own made his heart jump. But to finally have found someone as nice and handsome interested at him made him feel happy. Happier than he had been all through his life just because of one man. So, when Akaito asked him of something he didn't dare refuse him in fear that the redhead would leave him.
(Want to go to my place? We can talk more there.)
He had gone of course. However, their mouths didn't exactly talked. No, instead they kissed and kissed until both of them were panting. Their faces flushed and lust overpowering the room. That made Mikuo scared. But in fear that Akaito would leave him for being a coward he allowed himself to be lowered into the bed.
(Can I? Will you give yourself to me?)
He had given himself up of course. The pain and pleasure was ecstatic; pain for Mikuo and pleasure for Akaito. Mikuo never thought to see Akaito so sensual, so beautiful. To have made the redhead so happy made his stomach churn. Akaito looked so happy that he asked Mikuo for a favor. And Mikuo found himself trapped by the redhead. Unable to tell refuse the redhead that he actually agreed even before the redhead finished his inquiry.
(You're beautiful, you know. I-I want you, so much. Can I--?)
He had agreed with everything that Akaito asked of him of course. So when Akaito knocked through his window when the whole household was lured to sleep, Mikuo found himself being ravished by the redhead. Restraining himself of letting out moans and pants as two bodies connected into one. As morning fell, he found himself all alone. Any traces of Akaito spending the night were gone except for a note that was written in a neat penmanship.
(Can I knock again later?)
He had left the window's lock open of course. And so every night the redhead would return to his awaiting arms. The redhead would mutter things that made Mikuo happy. He was glad, contented and satisfied even if he woke alone. Stolen moments were enough. However, in between heated waves of passion and lust, love had somehow made its way towards Mikuo's heart. That made him happier to know that he felt that Akaito would accept his towering affections. He was finally happy.
But not for long.
(Hey, are you awake yet?)
It never bothered him before why the redhead would often close his eyes when kissing him. It never bothered him when Akaito would often stare at his hair rather than his eyes when talking to him. It never bothered him that Akaito would often stare at his sister more rather than him. It never bothered him before that Akaito would close his eyes shut in the bliss of climax. So why did Mikuo felt a sinking feeling inside his heart as he watched Akaito enter his room via the window tonight? Why was tonight different?
(I-I can't ho-hold much longer…)
He had gotten his answer during the most blissful and passionate climax they had together. Joined as one through the most sacred arrangement. It was the most beautiful but painful irony of their relationship.
Akaito called out the wrong name.
(Mi-Mi-Miku…!)
He had heard of course. His own heart fleeting painfully as the redhead above him gave out. Akaito didn't notice his slip out, however. If he did, he had feigned ignorance to it. Once, everything was settled again with the redhead clutching him possessively, asleep as the night activities had taken its toll. Mikuo only stared blankly at the satisfied face of the man he loved.
He slowly reached forward, his fingers slightly brushing the strands of hair that fell on the man's peaceful face. He slowly moved forward, memorizing all the contours of the man who took his innocence; the man who held false promises; the man who always left him in the morning; the man that he had planned to confess to tonight; the man who broke his heart. Yet, Mikuo can't help but smile sadly at the thought of his love being unrequited. He should've expected it from the first place.
I love you
Mikuo slowly closed his eyes as he curled against the redhead. His figure molding perfectly against the well-built body beside him, his arms wrapping themselves at the back of the redhead until there as no space between them. Mikuo bit the inside of his lips as tears slowly leaked through. He could at least pretend. Pretend that Akaito belonged to him. Just tonight.
When he awoke he found himself alone and miserable again. The usual understanding that reassured the teal-haired man was nowhere to be found but replaced with a cold emotion of loneliness. He reached out slowly to a note that laid innocently at his side of the bed.
(Can I knock again later?)
He had laughed of course. Bitter laughter erupted from Mikuo as tears poured out. Betrayal and sadness filled Mikuo's heart. Was this a sick joke? A game of pretend, perhaps?
Later that night he walked up to his window, making sure to leave it open. He then posted a note by the window before he made his way towards the bed. He then laid down, his eyes drooping as he restored his strength for tonight. He felt so tired. But he would continue to pretend. Two can play this game.
The wind slowly picked up, making the note flutter as a hand grabbed the windowsill. The redhead read the note as it made itself aware because of its fluttering. A feral chuckle was heard as the man made his way towards the figure that rested on the bed. His hand slowly letting go of the note as he climbed above Mikuo, straddling him; the note rested on the floor and on it, written in a neat penmanship was:
You don't have to knock
(Hey, are you awake yet?)
Mikuo would always let him in if that was the only way to make the redhead his.
If only for a moment, he would pretend that everything was all right.
A/N: This was supposed to be a multi-chaptered fic but I can't bring myself to let Mikuo suffer to much. He deserves love! Oh yeah, don't hate Akaito because of this.
Reviews are highly appreciated as always. :))