Chapter Text
05 | Until you're back
No closing door has ever hurt Mikey this much.
It wasn’t even a slam. Takemichi closed the door like he did everything else – with infinite care and softness and, Mikey likes to imagine, tenderness. It didn’t make the slightest sound. Just the discreet click when the mechanism engaged, and that’s all, he was gone. He was gone, but Mikey was still there, on the wrong side of the door, listening to his footsteps on the stairs until he doesn’t hear anything at all.
There. It’s over.
I’m alone.
Even once Takemichi is gone, he stays there, staring at the painted wood without moving a muscle, his mind blank. Empty. That’s how he feels, that’s how he is , an empty shell washed up onto the shore, the waves failing to bring it back to life. An abandoned puppet that can no longer move on his own, only able to watch the blood flow from his open wounds.
“Damn it…”
He rests his forehead against the door. It’s cold, contrasting with his heated skin, but it doesn’t ease the blaze consuming him from within. His body still burns everywhere Takemichi has touched it – his arm, his scalp, his cheek, and his hand, when it brushed against Takemichi’s own only a few minutes ago. He can still feel them, his fingers casually ghosting against the back of his hand, the shivers on his skin and the blood boiling in his veins underneath, ignited by the slightest contact. He can still smell his scent too, all around him, on his clothes, on his body, and in the air around him; but the more time passes the more it fades, the more Mikey struggles to even grasp a breath of it, and soon he can’t smell him at all. Even the memory of it slips through his fingers, evaporating into the void and crushing the air out of his lungs. It’s like watching him leave a second time, and he doesn’t have the strength for that.
He eventually turns away, leaving the door to head back to the living room where the movie is still playing, unbothered, as if Mikey didn’t just send the man he loves back to his fucking wife. How rude. How insensitive. It wasn’t even that good – without Takemichi, it doesn’t feel good at all. Everything looks tasteless, the movie, the rest of the cakes laying on the table, the remaining beers and the half-empty liquor bottle; they all feel dull, bland, devoid of any interest now that he’s alone.
His fingers smash the remote, making the annoying actors’ voices finally shut up, and he lets his body collapse on the couch where he’d been lying a few minutes earlier. What if we actually did it? Takemichi had said. We could still climb on a plane. Just you and me.
Just you and me.
Just you and me.
Just you and me
You and me
Youandme
He hates how good those words sound to him, so soft and perfectly melting together, so much so he has to refrain from the urge to say them out loud, just to feel them brush on the tip of his tongue. They would probably taste good, a mix of the sweetest kinds of honey with a spark of expensive wine. He regrets not having said them earlier.
But what if he did? What if he said yes, let’s do it Takemitchy, let’s leave it all behind and move somewhere, just you and I? Yeah, let’s not go home tonight. Let’s not be reasonable, Takemitchy, because I’m sick of having to be reasonable every time I’m with you. Let’s stay here for the night, and keep on drinking until it all disappears, until it’s just you and me. You and me. You and me.
What would have happened then?
Probably nothing. Takemichi is married. Takemichi is in love , in love with someone else, someone who’s not him; and he knew it from the start, didn’t he? He knew that nothing was gonna happen today. So why does it taste so bitter in his mouth?
Don’t play innocent , his mind laughs at him. You know exactly what you wished for .
Mikey clenches his jaw, his fingers digging into his skin. Here we go again. Oh, how he hates this sneaky voice crawling inside his head. It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake – anything it says, anything it implies, none of it is true.
Fake, really? Oh, come on. Even you don’t believe a word of it. We both know what you thought when you looked at him today, how you felt when he touched you, what you wanted when he−
Mikey’s fist crashes on the couch. “Shut up!”
He grabs the whisky bottle that still stood on the coffee table, already half empty, and refills his glass. A bit of it overflows on the stainless wood, but he doesn’t care. The whole apartment could overflow and he wouldn’t care either.
What now? Drinking to forget how shitty you feel? To forget that the man you’ve been in love with since forever will never love you back? To forget that instead of being a good friend like you pretend you are, you spend all day wanting to−
Mikey doesn’t listen. He doesn’t want to. He tips back his head, and brings the glass to his lips. The liquid flows down his throat, aching and burning and awfully sour, but he doesn’t care – or soon enough, at least, he’s no longer gonna care. He wants to drown the pain, anesthetize it until he can’t feel it anymore; he wants to burn those feelings, burn those thoughts, burn this suffocating longing that rots inside of him like a spoilt fruit he kept for too long.
Yes, that’s it. You’re rotten, Manjiro. You can’t escape it. Every single one of your fucking cells is rotten, poisoned by this twisted love you don’t even want to get rid of. No, don’t lie to me. I know you don’t. You wouldn’t want to get rid of it even if you could. It’s like a drug, just like those dangerous races or the disgusting stuff you’re drinking right now – yeah, this one. Even if it hurts you, even if it burns you, even if it’s gonna kill you one day, you still can’t stop going back to it. You like how it makes you feel, don’t you? You like the sparkles in your chest and the butterflies in your stomach, the bliss and the adrenaline, and most of all you love those ‘what ifs’; ‘what if he loved me back’, ‘what if he kissed me back’, ‘what if his body pressed against mine, bare skin on bare skin, how would it feel?’ No, don’t lie, I said. Face it.
Face it, Manjiro
You want him, you kept wanting him all day and you’ll keep wanting him forever, because if there’s even a one thousandth of a percentage chance that he’d ever love you back, when he’s old and wrinkled with his wife six feet under, then you’d take it. You’re so pathetically in love you’d eagerly take any crumb of him, and unless one of you dies, you’re never gonna stop hoping that one day you’ll have all of him.
Mikey clenches his teeth, looking away from the empty glass in his hands. “You’re wrong,” he lies. “I don’t…”
God, you’re so ridiculous, his mind mocks him, as his voice dies for lack of any more excuses. See how you keep looking at the door – yes, of course you do, don’t try to pretend otherwise. You keep looking at that fucking door because you still hope that he’s gonna come back, that he’s gonna come back for you; you still hope that he’ll suddenly realize that he actually loves you instead of the person he married – oh! What a horrible person you are. Wanting your best friend to give up on the happiness he’s rightfully earned just for your selfish little person. Wishing he would love you back, even if you can never make him as happy as she does.
Yes, that’s it. That’s the truth, Manjiro. Yes, fill this glass again if you want, empty it again if it makes you feel better about yourself. It won’t change anything. You’re rotten to the depth of your soul and you’re gonna die alone, craving someone that will never be yours until−
The doorbell rings, making his heart jolt.
Oh, come on , the voice laughs in his head. You know it’s not him, right?
“Shut up.” Mikey puts down the glass on the table, and attempts to get up. Immediately, the room starts swirling around him – the walls, the floor, the couch, the TV, everything looks distorted and it takes a few seconds until it starts to stabilize. Outside, the doorbell is ringing once again, this time followed by hurried knocks on the door.
“Yeah, yeah, coming,” Mikey shouts to the person on the other side of the door – a delivery man carrying something he forgot he even ordered, or a neighbor complaining about something he didn’t even do. Or Takemichi. Maybe. He shakes his head; no, it can’t be him. It’s just another faceless person, more background noise buzzing somewhere around him. Annoying, but not enough for him to care.
“So,” he sighs as he finally manages to open the door, “what do you−“
He stops. His heart drops and he forgets how to breathe.
Takemichi.
Takemichi is there, breathless, his hair messy and his hands on his knees as if he’s run all the way here. There’s a bit of sweat dripping down his temples too, despite the negative temperatures outside, which means he probably did.
“T−Takemi…”
Their eyes meet, and he stops again. He stares at Takemichi and Takemichi stares back at him, his breath still short despite his attempt to calm it and his eyes too blue compared to how they usually are. Like when he’s just been crying and attempts to hide it.
“Mikey…” he stammers. “I…I didn’t…”
He doesn’t end his sentence, and Mikey doesn’t either. He’s running out of words, his brain short-circuited by the thoughts spiraling in his head. You came back. You were supposed to leave, but still you’re here, right in front of me. Was it for me? Did you come back for me? Please, tell me you did. Tell me you came back for me. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you want to stay, this night and the next one and all the others after.
Tell me you want me as much as I want you.
“You…You okay?” he finally asks, his voice raw.
Takemichi keeps staring at him, not answering at all, and Mikey doesn’t know if he should take it as a yes or a no. It’s disturbing. Takemichi has always been easy to read, but right now Mikey can’t tell what’s happening in his mind, what lies behind those eyes he can’t stop looking into.
He was about to ask, when Takemichi suddenly steps forward. Not a word, not a warning signal. He just moves silently and the next second his arms are around Mikey’s shoulders, dragging him closer. Their bodies press against each other, painfully warm and tortuously soft, and Mikey instinctively hugs him back, circling his waist with his arms until there’s not a single inch of space between them. It feels good, so good it hurts, so right it almost seems wrong, so exhilarating he feels like he’s going to die. Yeah, this is it , he thinks, burying his face deeper in the crook of Takemichi’s neck. This is how I’m gonna die. Exploding from within for loving you too much. Takemichi is warm and his smell is whirling all around him, soaking into both his body and soul, and he really wouldn’t mind dying this way. He takes a deep breath, inhaling it until it impresses on his lungs, and his mind says you’re rotten Manjiro , but he doesn’t care, he couldn’t care less right now, he just breathes deeper until the voice disappears, until everything else disappears and it’s just the two of them. You and me. You and me.
You and me.
When they move apart, it doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real anymore – Takemichi, his hands still resting on his forearms, his warmth lingering on his body and the music of his breath he can still hear in the air; even the doorway of his apartment with the staircase he can see behind Takemichi, and himself too, more than anything else. Everything is so blurred he can’t tell if he’s still real or if he’s just too drunk, too dead, too delusional, or everything at once; if he’s just dreaming in the alcohol vapors and soon he’ll wake up in cold sheets, alone and struck with a headache and a hole in his chest.
Please, tell me you’re real , he wants to ask. Tell me you’re really there, tell me I didn’t just make you up.
His mouth remains shut. Paralyzed, like every inch of him.
Takemichi’s the first one to speak, breaking the silence with his hesitant voice. “I−I…I’m sorry…I just…I missed my train and I…I didn’t know where to go…”
Oh . It makes Mikey’s chest tighten, but he tries not to let it show.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re always welcome here, you know.”
Takemichi smiles. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Mikey smiles back, and suddenly nothing hurts anymore.
“C’mon, let’s get you settled in,” he says as he takes Takemichi’s hand to lead him into the apartment. “Do you wanna have a shower? Yeah, I bet you do, your hair is all wet with sweat as always. Are you really going to the gym, or are you just pretending so that I don’t come to drag you in myself?”
Takemichi pretends to be offended. “What? Of course I’m going, who do you think I am?”
“Well,” Mikey retorts, unimpressed, “the same person who used to skip PE in high school to lay in the grass with snacks.”
“You skipped with me, remember?”
Mikey can’t help but smile at the memory playing in his head. He and Takemichi, alone in the square next to their former high school, eating or chatting or simply napping next to each other while pretending there wasn’t somewhere else they should be.
“Well, looks like you needed it more than me,” he teases, and then immediately starts running as Takemichi dashes after him with a threatening cushion he’d grabbed from the sofa. “See?” he laughs. “You can’t even catch me.”
“You’re cheating!” Takemichi protests. “It’s your apartment and I have to be careful not to break any of this priceless…stuff.”
Mikey shrugs, eventually slowing down. “Well, it’s not that I really care about it, you know. The designer Kenchin hired for the apartment just happened to put this stuff here.”
Takemichi stays silent for a little while, like he’s considering what has just been said. “Makes sense,” he finally says. “I mean, it’s very chic and all, it’s just…It’s not you .”
Mikey doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even react to the fact that Takemichi actually implied that he isn’t chic. He’s right, after all. This tidy place, this perfect life, all these new people that gather around him like moths attracted by light…None of this is him. When did he start losing himself this way?
“Say…” Takemichi continued, slowly, as he moves closer to him. “How would you like it to be? If you were to throw everything away and rearrange it your way…How would it be?”
Mikey doesn’t even think twice, and says the first thing coming to his mind. “There would be a blanket fort. A giant one, instead of this stupid office at the end of the hallway I don’t even use.”
It’s almost strange, the way he doesn’t feel embarrassed at all, even after admitting this kind of thing. Takemichi never makes him feel stupid, childish or maladjusted when he’s being himself, unlike most of the people he’s surrounded himself with in recent years.
“Okay,” Takemichi simply says, encircling his hand with his own and squeezing it softly. “Let’s do it then.”
Mikey blinks. “What?”
“The blanket fort,” Takemichi explains. There is a cryptic smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Mikey can guess there’s something running through his mind like if I’m short on muscle then you’re definitely short on brains . “Let’s do it tonight. You know, instead of this stupid office like you call it.”
“Tonight,” Mikey repeats in disbelief.
“Yeah. Tonight.” There’s a short silence, before Takemichi backtracks, less assured by Mikey’s hesitance. “I mean…If you want to, of course…”
Mikey chuckles. God, he’s really so cute. “Of course, I do. But have a shower first. I don’t want your stinky ass in my fort.”
“Fine, fine,” Takemichi surrenders as he heads to the bathroom. “But I’ll need some pajamas because, you know, I didn’t expect to spend the night here in the first place.”
Mikey nods, and immediately goes to his room to find some clean pajamas for Takemichi to wear. This too, doesn’t feel real at all, but at this point he doesn’t even care. It’s like none of it ever happened, those years apart, and whatever happened before Takemichi left; like they’re 15 again and they still belong together.
You know it’s fake , the voice argues. Takemichi doesn’t belong with you. He never did, and never will. Stop deluding yourself, or it will end up killing you .
Mikey doesn’t listen. Takemichi is here, he thinks, the thought pulsating in his head like a heroin boost as the dopamine keeps running and running through his veins. Takemichi is here. Takemichi is with me so you don’t matter anymore .