For those of you who asked about the resolution to the conversation started in the "Pasts" chapter.
Also, f*ck word limits. Because I no longer have the time to devote to condensing my (admittedly verbose) stories, I'm just going to promise to keep them as short as possible without detracting from the narrative. I want to do justice to your great requests. Please don't think I mean to deceive my readers by not delivering what I promise. Believe me; that's not it at all. It's that I lack the skill to write with both depth and brevity.
Oh, and happy start-of-term for all my university warriors out there. Consider this your welcome back present.
It's always well past midnight when Hirato and Akari return from Tsukitachi's. Generally, they're careful to tread lightly so they don't wake any of the second ship's slumbering occupants. If Hirato's feeling playful, these efforts fail spectacularly and sheep must usher them to the captain's quarters before any crew are jarred out of their dreams by Akari's hissed rebukes. Some nights, the researcher is practically carried home by a supremely amused and frustratingly sober brunet. Whether by will or by necessity, the two fall immediately into bed on such occasions, exhausted from an overabundance of drink and sociality.
Tonight, however, tension clings to them, thick like mephitis and as suffocating too.
Akari steps out of his shoes and pads across the darkened living room, eventually coming to rest before Airship Two's sparkling floor-to-ceiling windows. He silently admires the view from aloft while awaiting his inquisitor. Mirrored glass feels smooth and refreshingly cool under his palm. Small, steamy halos form around his fingertips as he stares at velvety sky dotted with faraway foxfires. It's so peaceful up here, he thinks, nothing like below. This idle contemplation is broken by the subtle pressure of Hirato's hands bracketing his hips.
"You've always been captivated by heights, haven't you?" the pilot inquires, inching his arms around Akari more securely.
He leans back into the embrace—a conditioned response to the other's reassuring warmth and metronymic heartbeat. Akari wonders briefly if Hirato's show of affection is meant to disarm him before the interrogation begins in earnest. Even so, it's of no consequence. He'd relish their proximity regardless of its precipitating motivations. My, how things have changed, he muses, recalling the days when he craved nothing but distance. "Those tethered often long to fly," he finally replies.
"Do you always feel so trapped, Akari?" Sometimes, the commander can be incredibly sincere. It's rare, to be sure, but each instance is exquisite for that very fact.
"Not with you."
Unsurprisingly, Hirato doesn't melt like others might, nor does he acknowledge the sentiment lingering beyond the assertion. He's focused on a singular order of business. "And before me? With him?"
Ah, so we arrive at last. Akari is grateful for directness; he lacks the wherewithal to play games. Not now. Not with stakes this high—stakes inclusive of vulnerabilities and uncertainties and all manner of dangerous and unfamiliar risks. Peach orbs appraise their hazy, phantom-like reflections in the glass. Hirato's expression is soft and attentive, but his grip is forceful, as though he's wrapped around the doctor's insubstantial doppelgänger rather than the man himself. "I certainly believed as much at the time. In the beginning, that is. Kirei was exceedingly charismatic, magnetic even," he confesses, addressing the shades in front of him. "He possessed a mind like quicksilver and a wit to rival it. It was an intoxicating combination, as you can imagine." A thoughtful gaze flickers to the scenery beyond and Akari continues. "I was naïve and gullible, incapable of discerning genuine emotion from superficial infatuation."
"Was he your..."
"First love or first lover?" He sighs tiredly. "Do you really need to ask?"
"No." Hirato's head rests against the back of his own, steady exhale ghosting across the exposed skin of his neck. It's astonishing how the man so easily puts him off his guard. Akari had conceived of this conversation in its full range of iterations on the way home, but he never imagined a subdued captain treating him so reverently—as if Hirato's the one owing an explanation and Akari's the one who could hurt. "What happened?"
"Many things. Awful things, mostly. In short, I couldn't maintain his interest as effortlessly as he monopolized mine."
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not," Akari scoffs.
"You mistake my meaning," Hirato corrects, nudging an ear. "It's my gain, true, but I am sorry."
The brunet need not explain further. Akari apprehends what's unsaid: I'm sorry he hurt you. And because it's Hirato: I'll rip him apart. In that suspended moment, he has no doubt of Hirato's readiness to wage war against mere memories for his sake. Perhaps he ought to feel indignant or at least alarmed by such firm claims of ownership, but he can't bring himself to protest in the slightest. If anything, he's relieved his self-assured bastard of a mate isn't given to insecurity. "Don't be sorry. If not for him, I'd never have discovered my preference for amoebic fools."
Hirato laughs quietly and settles a palm atop Akari's, interlacing their fingers against the window. "Well, we do have our charms."
"Anyway, what's this about? You've had your share of lovers. A shamefully long list of them, if I recall. A veritable harem, in fact."
"Are you jealous, doctor? It's cute, but misplaced I'm afraid. This isn't about conquest or possession." Gentle teeth worry a patch of skin just below Akari's ear, but the distractive strategy is ineffectual. The researcher's incarnadine irises narrow in disbelief. Hirato, though, is entirely too preoccupied with marking his lover to notice. Still, he registers the wordless charge levied against him and chuckles. Apparently, even amoebic fools can have impressive perceptive faculties from time to time. "Well, not only possession."
"No? Then what?"
"You can be staggeringly obtuse for a genius." Elegant fingers slip through Akari's tie knot, loosening it in one graceful movement before the same hands alight upon his buttons. "My price is much higher than this Kirei's, you know. I'll never be satisfied with having you." The captain interrupts his disrobing to lean forward and steal a kiss. It's unlike any they've shared—reserved, almost hesitating, and perhaps too tame. But it suits the mood, and remarkably, it suits Hirato as he murmurs against Akari's lips. "I aim to keep you."
Several long minutes are filled solely with the rustle of fabric as the blond's clothes are stripped off with extraordinary care. The other's touch is slowly scattering his wits. Before they're rent completely asunder, he manages to whisper a fervent plea: "Take me then."
Pretentious author's NB, part II: It's true that in my head!canon Hirato is the insanely possessive type. Yet he doesn't strike me as the insecure and jealous type. Or if he is, it's a fleeting feeling that's gone in a few seconds. He'd never truly be jealous of Akari's ex-lover. Hirato's not worried about someone stealing Akari from him. He just doesn't like to share, not even with phantasms from the doctor's past. He said it himself in this chapter: He wants to keep Akari—all of him, including his history and whatever emotions and/or secrets lie buried therein.
Consider the gravity, then, of what Akari's offering when he says, "Take me." Particularly since we know Hirato is incapable of reciprocating.
I generally don't like to spoon feed my readership, but this chapter's themes seemed less obvious to me on second go-around. I wanted to keep some of the intentional ambiguity of the words they use yet still get my larger point across. I couldn't think of a way to be clearer without losing the polyvalence of the dialogue. Anyway, I hope I've clarified any confusion with this note. More importantly, I hope you like this chapter. ;)