This story is nothing like the others in 'Karnevalesque' and likely shouldn't have been written. But I found myself in such a sorrowful mood today. When I feel this lonely, I like to write, to reach out to you guys in hopes of feeling a bit more connected to the world.
So forgive me if this piece is unusual or unexpected. It begged to be told and I was too selfish to *not* write it.
"I've failed you so many times," Akari whispers unsteadily. He interlaces their fingers but takes no comfort from the gesture. Hirato is dying.
Blood glitters starkly against preternaturally pale skin. It seeps into the brunet's clothes, taking his warmth with it. Still, Hirato offers an exhausted laugh and a fading, sincere smile—doubtless his last. "You're losing your edge, doctor. Isn't your theory a bit too… romantic for a man of science?"
Plum-hued eyes flutter momentarily and close.
"Don't you dare," Akari chokes out. "Don't you dare leave me."
"If you're right, I'll see you again…" The words are carried on a soft exhale. Bereft of everything that matters, Akari feels neither the storm of the battlefield nor the sorrow that ought to overwhelm.
He merely leans forward and tastes his lover's lips for the final time.
Morning's harsh light streams through Research Tower's high windows, suffusing the room in a whitish glow that burns Akari's retinas. He groans in protest and burrows deeper into the bedding, only marginally cognizant of the lancing pain in his chest.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Hirato chirps, supreme amusement causing his words to curl. He's immensely pleased with the proper mess he made of the other man last night.
"Go away," the doctor growls. A breath's length passes before his nebulous thoughts coalesce into clarity. And then the implications register: He's alive.
The captain chuckles softly and saunters off to the kitchen, no doubt intending to brew some coffee for his intemperate bedmate. "So adorable…" he mutters happily, busying himself with the espresso machine.
Rising at last, Akari stares directly into the sunlight in hopes of dispelling any residual stupor. He has to be sure, after all. This isn't a dream. He's really here.
When the brunet returns, he's greeted with the sort of kiss reserved for soldiers come home from war. Instead of inquiring after the desperation and ravenousness in Akari's touch, he reaches for the blond's clothes, disrobing him and contributing further to the mementos from their latest tryst.
Had Akari known what awaited them, he'd never have permitted the commander to leave. But despite his nonpareil intellect, even he could not foresee the explosion that destroyed Circus' Second Ship and her entire crew.
It's not until Hirato's funeral that he feels it—something fleeting and intangible, tugging at his memory and convincing him that he's been here before.
He's buried Hirato before.
He's lost everything before.
Raindrops fall against the window in a steady percussion, their dull pattering serving as the ideal ambient backdrop for Akari's research.
His lover will arrive momentarily, and before he does, the doctor must conceal all evidence of his latest project. Seen from an uninitiated perspective, the data he's collected looks very much like he's plotting Hirato's assassination rather than aiming to preserve his life.
If his calculations are correct, the brunet is in mortal danger this evening… unless Akari can arrest the inexorable movement of fate.
I won't lose you this time, he vows wordlessly. He's a genius, after all. And he's determined that Hirato will be safe so long as he remains out of harm's way until midnight.
Even so, Akari makes love to him like it's their last night together.
When Tsukitachi's tremulous voice comes through the telephone the next afternoon, he realizes that his conclusions were erroneous.
Time is not the variable responsible for Hirato's death.
"A vacation?" Hirato inquires, brow arched in perplexity. "You?"
Akari's lost count of the number of times he's seen the other man's striking violet irises dull before being rendered lifeless. He wonders idly if he'll grow accustomed to the agony of loss.
He hopes not; sometimes, the pain is all he has to prove that Hirato ever existed.
"I want to see my work with fresh eyes," he evades smoothly, only mildly surprised at how quickly he acquired a facility with equivocation. Indeed, the manipulative bastard at his side would be impressed under other circumstances. "A vacation seemed an optimal solution."
The captain's mouth curves slyly, and instead of being infuriated at the conceit, Akari only smiles sadly, mentally enumerating how few of those trademark smirks he's seen in this iteration of their relationship. "Could it be that you want me to yourself, doctor?"
Amethyst orbs go slightly wide in bewilderment as Akari leans in and places a chaste kiss to the younger man's cheek. "I always want you to myself."
Being confronted with such forthright declarations of sentiment must be unsettling to the inky-haired airship commander, the physician suspects, but he no longer has the wherewithal to posture.
Nevertheless, he should have guessed that Hirato could apprehend the sorrowfulness in his tenor. "Akari?" he queries. "Is something wrong?"
The blond turns his back so his companion cannot see lies lingering in incarnadine eyes. "I'm tired, Hirato. I'd like to get away for a while."
"Your wish is my command." Hirato bows dutifully and commences planning.
The two are returning hand-in-hand from dinner on their third evening in Vantnam when a series of blasts rocks the city. When they regain their footing, the captain's gloved hand squeezes Akari's briefly. "Are you okay?" Hirato asks concernedly.
The doctor nods.
"Stay here," he orders before flying off in the direction of the disturbance. "I'll be back soon."
And Akari knows that no matter where he is, Hirato will never come home.
This time, I'll just tell him, the researcher resolves. Maybe the variable is knowledge. He omits nothing, not even the myriad tortures he's undergone at having to watch Hirato's life ebb away over and over again. When he finishes, the captain remains still, his dark, inscrutable eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Several moments pass in tense silence before Hirato speaks. "If what you're saying is true, then my dying is inevitable."
Akari pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, willing his interlocutor to understand. "That's why I'm telling you. To stop it. So you'll be mindful of your environment. I never know how it's going to happen, or when, or by what contrivance. Sometimes it happens exactly as a previous death; sometimes everything's different. Warning you is my best chance of preventing it."
"Everyone dies, Akari," the captain says gently. "You, above all, should know that."
What he knows with more certainty than ever before is that he's failed yet again.
Palnedo's attack on Vantnam was unexpected, but thankfully both of Circus' airships were nearby. So too was a Research Tower data-gathering expedition. Akari reaches the warzone precisely as Hirato's injuries began to leach his life.
"You shouldn't be here," the brunet says between increasingly difficult breaths.
"I've failed you so many times," Akari whispers unsteadily. He interlaces their fingers but takes no comfort from the gesture. Hirato is dying.
Blood glitters starkly against preternaturally pale skin. It seeps into the brunet's clothes, taking his warmth with it. Still, Hirato offers an exhausted laugh and a fleeting, sincere smile—doubtless his last. "You're losing your edge, doctor. Isn't your theory a bit too… romantic for a man of science?"
Plum-hued eyes flutter momentarily and close.
"Don't you dare," Akari chokes out. "Don't you dare leave me."
"If you're right, I'll see you again…" The words are carried on a soft exhale. Bereft of everything that matters, Akari feels neither the battle raging around him nor the sorrow that ought to overwhelm.
He merely leans forward and tastes his lover's lips for the final time.
"What are you doing here, you useless reprobate?" Akari grumbles in feigned displeasure. His performance is worthy of Hirato, if only the conniving imp could perceive that it is in fact a performance, a pantomime, a farce designed to obscure his true feelings.
After all this time, the doctor has finally figured it out.
"I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner, Akari-san," Hirato asks, not a whit of his characteristic smugness manifest. Remarkably, he appears rather hesitant. The realization causes the doctor's heart to squeeze in a manner not entirely unpleasant.
"Absolutely not," the blond spits, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure. "I can't bear to spend five minutes in your insufferable company, let alone an entire evening."
Hirato's eyes narrow in appraisal. Perhaps he feels the weight of the physician's deceit. Akari almost smiles. Apparently, his protozoan idiot has more perspicacity than he's credited with. Still, without direct confirmation, he can do nothing but concede defeat. "Forgive my presumption then, Akari-san." He bows low before turning on his heel and walking out.
Akari smothers the urge to give chase, to spin that crafty bastard around and kiss him so passionately that they've nowhere to go but bed.
He won't.
He knows he can't.
They were never meant to be.
PS: You can pretend this story doesn't exist if you hated it.