Chapter Fifteen
The familiar scent of tobacco and cheap perfume mingled with sweat and spilled alcohol pushed firmly into his lungs as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit pub. Lights of every colour bounced off the walls and tasteless loud music blared from the low quality speakers, no more than rhythmic noise, yet sufficient to set the countless young bodies on the dance floor moving along.
It had been six years. Yet, some things remained unchanged.
Atobe made his way to the counter, his steps sure and rapid, settling himself on a seat at the corner of the bar. Signalling to the bartender, he decided rapidly upon his order, the dose of cheap alcohol that he had came for.
His drink soon came in an unwashed mug cracked at the rims.
Picking up the heavy glass mug, he brought it carefully to his sleeps, sniffing at it for a moment, taking in the strong bitter perfume that pricked at his eyes. Tilting the mug slowly, he emptied it contents down his throat, enjoying the familiar burning sensation that it brought, allowing the hateful taste of the bittersweet liquid to fill his mouth.
The mug was empty when he put it down. He signalled for another.
He took no pleasure in the once intoxicating mixture, the shimmering gold appeared false and unreal to him, failing to fascinate him the way it once did. The cigarette smoke and music gave him a headache; he hated the odour of stale perfume that attached itself his suit. Yet, he continued to down the liquid, forcing it into his system, seeking the half-conscious state that he longed for, ignoring the burning pain in his mouth and throat.
It was not long before a row of emptied glasses stood neatly before him, lined up carefully on the tabletop, as if bearing testimony to his efforts.
He was slumped heavily against the counter, his body having lose all the strength to support itself, the effects of alcohol clouding his physical mind and making his head hurt.
Yet, Atobe remained conscious.
The knowledge that he had sought to forget remained stubbornly entrenched in his head, refusing to go away despite the clouding numbness that the alcohol brought. The burning stream of cold alcohol down his throat provided only temporary respite for as soon as the glass was emptied, the dull despair in his heart returned to haunt him.
The only effect of alcohol was to compound his pain.
"Syusuke."
He muttered softly to himself, his lips pressed against the rim of a new glass, his senses now numbed to the bitter odour.
He understood too well the fact that their relationship was changing, that Fuji was slowly moving away from him and returning to the life he had led before the accident and he knew that it was inevitable, he knew he couldn't blame the other man, he had no right to.
He looked forward to going home everyday, yet he hated it at the same time. He wanted to meet Fuji, to see him as much as he could, to treasure the precious time they still had left. Yet, he hated the careful play that was put up whenever they were together, the false laughter and cheeriness, the fear that scented their relationship, the fear of loss that made them forget to enjoy each other's company, the fear that brought about insecurity and secrets in their relationship.
He knew that Fuji was looking for job; he saw the neat marks that the other had made on the recruitment sections when Fuji had accidentally left the paper beside the telephone. He understood too, the reason that Fuji had hidden it from him, and continued to pretend that he was ignorant, deliberately buying newspapers with more substantial recruitment sections and leaving them discreetly around the house.
He longed to take the other in his arms, to tell him that things will not change, to beg him to accept the situation as it was and treasure the time they had left together rather than torture them both by trying to slow down the process. Yet, he knew he had no right to that, to ask Fuji to enjoy their state of togetherness would merely by tricking them both into living a lie, his lie, the lie that he could ever make Fuji happy.
He buried his head in his hands, trying his best to ignore the increasingly violent ache in his head. A group of young dancers walked past chatting noisily, their perfume strong and overpowering, lingering heavily behind them.
He felt nauseous suddenly, he coughed and a wave of disgust overwhelmed him as the alcohol threatened to spill out of his throat. Standing up slowly with all the strength and balance that he could muster, he pulled his wallet out and threw a note on the counter before dragging himself out of the bar and into the cold night.
It was nearly midnight when he turned the lock to enter the apartment, having spent an hour resting in the car before regaining enough strength for the short drive home. The house was dark when he entered and he made his way to his room without turning on the lights. He cast a glance at Fuji's room on his way, noticing that it was dark and the door wide open.
"Fuji was not back yet."
Pushing aside the painful mental image of the Fuji family sitting around the dining table, talking and laughing, and the silent reminder that Fuji no longer needed him, he stumbled into his own bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.
Once inside the room, he fell backwards onto his bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes, making up his mind that everything else could wait till the next morning. Yet, even as his back made contact with something soft and warm beneath him, he jumped up suddenly, realising that he was not the only person on the bed.
He turned around in alarm.
Fuji Syusuke was fast asleep on his bed, curled up on top of the covers, his arm wrapped protectively around himself, his head half buried against the pillows. He slept peacefully, his skin paler than ever other the cold moonlight, his lips were nearly a translucent white and a gentle frown crossed his features and his arms tightened around his thin frame, as if trying to shield himself from the cold night.
Staring at the man before him for a moment. Atobe sighed softly as he gently picked up a blanket and placed it gently over the other, tucking it carefully around him to keep him warm. He sat down to adjust the pillows next, lifting the other man's head gently to position the pillow under his hair.
With a start, he realised that the pillow was wet.
Gently shifting his hand towards Fuji's face, he touched the flawless skin gently, running his fingers over the well-carved cheekbones and feeling the damp stickiness against his skin, the telltale remnants of tears.
He felt a sudden ache in his heart as the vulnerability of the man before him suddenly became clearer, the guilt of being available when Fuji most needed him gnawed at his heart. The image of the thin frame lying alone on his bed, shaking with tears and pain tore at his heart and conscience.
Bending down slowly, he placed his lips upon the smooth cheekbones, pressing them upon the pale skin. Gently, he licked the tearstains away, tasting the salty bitterness upon his lips, the remnants of sorrow of helplessness. His lips travelled downwards slowly, warm and gentle against the cold skin, moving unconsciously towards the other man's lips.
Covering the cold, slight-parted lips with his own, he kissed the sleeping man gently, taking in the warm in the caverns of his mouth and filling his senses with Fuji's scent. The man beneath him grunted softly, warm breath escaped from his lips that parted further, exposing his teeth fully. The kiss deepened as Atobe became more daring, his tongue boldly exploring the depths that he had tasted once before and hungered after for so long, his actions became rougher and more urgent as his hands reached out to pull Fuji closer, reducing the narrow distance between their bodies, enjoying the soft warm feeling of the other man in his arms.
Finally, when he was out of breath and thoroughly exhausted, he released Fuji gently arranging him carefully under the covers before lying down beside him. Casting a final glance at the slender figure that remained peacefully asleep, it was barely seconds before Atobe fell into a deep slumber, no longer able to hold out against the effects of alcohol.
Soon, there was no more movement on the huge double bed; the only sound in the room was the rhythmic, even breathing of Atobe.
Fuji opened his eyes slowly and carefully, his vision was blurred and unclear when he turned his head to look at the man beside him. He held his breath as the warm tears coursed down his cheeks, careful not to make a sound as he wept quietly to himself; the taste of Atobe still fresh in his mouth.