This is for my anonymous requester (or perhaps two of you?) who wanted an introspective Akari dying in Hirato's arms. That is exactly what happens in this story. It's sad. So sad, in fact, that I started crying halfway through writing it. (That probably says more about my emotional fragility than it does my skill as a writer.) Anyway, you've been warned.
What's the measure of a life? It's a question the searingly brilliant researcher has pondered myriad times, with myriad answers.
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It's not that surprising, not really, when the Varuga rips through him, slicing a gaping gash into his chest and felling him immediately. Pain lances and he staggers backwards, the world suspended in a sort of slow-motion freefall.
Almost like being in a vacuum, he muses detachedly.
He hits the ground, feeling neither the frigidness of the snow beneath his palms nor the warmth of his own blood spilling over his chest and painting his white lab coat glittering scarlet.
Akari's eyes flutter closed, and when they open, he can barely make out the blurry outlines of tall, shadowy figures growing larger, flying overhead and pursuing his attackers. Circus.
His heart stops beating for what seems like an eternity. Hirato.
Somewhere in his periphery, desperate voices call his name…
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"Akari-sensei."
Entranced by the earth-shattering events taking place underneath his microscope, the researcher doesn't notice that he's received a visitor.
"Akari-sensei, I have the materials you requested."
"Hmmm?" He looks up, momentarily irritated at being interrupted. But then his expression softens as the young man steps tentatively into the room, carrying a box of tissue samples and a clipboard. "Oh, Azana. How are you faring in the Life Room?" he queries, hoping that his protégé is finding his footing.
"Very well," Azana says sheepishly. "Working with animals is my calling."
"Calling you say?" sensei asks, retrieving the samples and signing the attendant paperwork.
The younger man nods. "Yes. I think I've finally found a new home." He cants his head thoughtfully and regards his superior. "What do you think is your calling, sensei?"
Turning back to his microscope, the newly SSS-promoted scientist sighs heavily. My calling. He considers his latest breakthrough—a pharmaceutical cocktail that can arrest Varuga transformation. It will save innumerable lives. He also recalls the scores of students that once filled his lecture hall at Kuronomei. Doubtless they learned many things, not the least of which was the difficulty of attaining high marks in Akari-sensei's class. Finally, he thinks of the youth before him, the one he extracted from the demolished remains of his family home, the one he rehabilitated and very much saved. His ward, his protégé. My legacy.
Akari smiles—a rare, genuine smile reserved only for a select few. "I'll inform you when I happen upon it."
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My legacy, Akari thinks as the shadows loom. He cannot bring himself to feel betrayed by Azana. Not now, not at the end. Nor does he feel sadness. No, more than anything, the researcher feels pity—pity for the young man who stared too long at the sun only to lose sight of his own radiance.
Perhaps, if he weren't dying, he might try to find his ward and deter him from his dangerous path. But he knows from the tingling in his extremities that he's already lost too much blood, is already too far gone.
I'm sorry I failed you, Azana.
"Akari," Hirato says urgently, kneeling and carefully cradling him. The captain's distinctive scent of amber and cloves floods his senses, prompting him to again close his eyes and inhale deeply. If he believed in an afterlife, he might lament how much he would long for that heady fragrance beyond the veil.
"Hirato. It's selfish, but I'm happy you're here."
The captain works silently and swiftly, applying pressure to his wound. Akari gasps in pain. "I'm sorry," he says. "Please bear with it. Help will arrive soon."
The blond's fingers circle his paramour's wrist. "It's too late for that."
"Hush," Hirato rebukes sharply. "Stop talking."
"It's fine my love," he replies weakly. "It'll be fine."
It's the term of endearment that obliges the brunet's attention. Amethyst appraises coral. Hirato's eyes widen in understanding, and in that moment, their light ceases its dance, its luster stolen away by loss.
It breaks Akari's heart.
"Don't." When he speaks, the commander's voice is a fervent plea. "Please don't go, Akari."
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"Please don't go, Akari."
Akari huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose. I can't believe they made this puerile idiot a commanding officer. "Unlike you, Tokitatsu, I have work to do. Real work."
"Work will be there in a few hours too," the other man whines. "One game! Pleeeease!"
Honestly, sometimes the researcher prefers the company of the younger brother to the elder. At least Hirato doesn't waste his time with diversions best suited to teenagers.
He calculates the benefits and costs associated with forfeiting another hour of his precious time. Deciding that Tokitatsu would find novel, more troublesome ways of waylaying him should he leave, he sinks into the couch, one leg crossed over the other, foot tapping impatiently against the coffee table.
Tokitatsu beams and brings over two video game controllers, tossing one at his guest.
"What am I to do with this?" Akari inquires, picking the device up by its wire and glaring at it as though it had done him a grievous injury.
"You've never played video games before?" the bureaucrat asks incredulously. "What kind of childhood did you have?"
The doctor tuts. "An exceptional one. Obviously."
"Exceptionally boring, you mean," Tokitatsu counters. "I suppose Tetris is a good game for beginners. We'll move on to first-person shooters once you've sharpened your skills with the controls."
"First-person shooters?"
The look on his friend's face suggests that Akari is in for an inordinately long afternoon.
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I'm glad I stayed. He smiles the memory, dizziness overwhelming and causing him to swoon. Hirato's gloved hand cups his cheek, thumb brushing back and forth across pale skin that grows ever paler.
Despite the endless ways his paramour frustrates him, he loves Hirato for this—for his stoic reserve in the face of heartache, for his nonpareil courage, for the calm he effects on the blond even on the most tedious of days, and for the way he looks at Akari now. Like he's committing to memory every fine line of his lover's face.
"I'm so sorry, Akari. I didn't protect you." Hirato draws him closer, holding him tight against a broad chest. The captain's heartbeat filters through the din, and Akari remembers how he relished falling asleep to that reassuring sound. It reassures still, lulling him to sleep once more.
A great deal of effort is expended in the act, but the physician manages to shake his head roughly. He must convey this truth, no matter the cost. "On the contrary; it is you who have saved me."
"I don't want to lose you," the brunet says tremulously. "Stay with me."
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"Stay with me."
It's not a clever ploy, Akari knows; it's a sincere request. The very realization makes his breath catch.
This is uncharacteristic of Hirato—the averted eyes, the slightly bowed head, the way he looks insecure, as though all his endeavors hinge upon the doctor's answer. He steps forward and gently tugs Akari by his wrist. Strong arms wrap about his waist, closing the remaining distance between them. A reserved hand tangles in his hair as Hirato awaits permission.
Akari's not fooled by such bold advances.
Should he command it, the brunet would release him without so much as a whit of protest. If he wishes, Hirato will never dare to touch him like this ever again.
"Spend the night, Akari." The words are a solicitous murmur against his lips.
He nods, and when his lover's mouth slants over his, he recognizes the delicate shattering of defenses that had stood in place for years.
Nothing will ever be the same, he thinks as Hirato's skilled hands reach for his shirt.
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"Things will change now," Akari breathes, "but you mustn't."
Darkness rims his vision, creeping closer and closer to its center. He ignores the encroaching black and trains his gaze on Hirato. I want you to be the last thing I see.
Hirato takes his hand, bringing it to his mouth. The doctor's fingers are numb, but he can still recognize the gentle pressure of the other man's lips. He knows their feel. Even now, a small tingle trills through him at the sensation of those lips against his skin.
It's a relief that the commander does not cry or lose composure. Maybe he intuits that Akari would not want to see him in pain. For this small mercy, the researcher is grateful.
"Please, just stay with me," Hirato repeats. His eyes are clamped shut, thin brows furrowed, and mouth a tight line.
Akari lifts his free hand to the brunet's cheek. Those incredible irises meet his. They're glassy now, and not as alive, but they're as mesmerizing as they've ever been. "I'm always with you." This promise is carried on a soft exhale.
Before his vision fades, he registers Hirato's broken whisper. "I'm going to miss you, Akari. So much."
This, he resolves, sampling his lover's lips as the world is distilled to oblivion. This is the measure of a life.