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He held me in his arms like I was his entire world, and maybe I was. His steps were slow, strong and put together, everything that Sawamura Daichi was not. Well, not in the same way that most people would believe.
Soft notes of music carried him and I across the small space of his bedroom floor, rhythmically back and forth. A new song had started a short while ago, but I had been too focused on the dip of his eyes, waiting for them to look up and meet mine. It had been so long and he’d barely uttered a few words before I was in his arms and it felt like home again, a little bit broken, but warm and familiar. These past few months had been a mess of fluctuating emotions and obsessive fixations on things that weren’t at all important. I thought it best to leave, but it never was and it is so clear, so clear – in the empty alcohol bottles, the dark circles under his eyes and the frailness in Daichi’s usually steady body. I open my mouth to speak, just to hear his voice reply back, but he beats me to it and my legs seem to stutter as his voice comes out softly, hoarsely, but oh-so-beautiful as he sings along to the music we were slow dancing to,
“I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am,”
His eyes finally lock onto mine and a wave of regret, so much regret, hits me straight in the chest and I feel like I can’t breathe. He is so beautiful, in every way, but he is so incredibly broken and I will never be able to piece him together. Even though I can love him, do love him, with all his broken pieces, he will never be able to love himself and he needs that. Otherwise, he will never truly be happy, it will always be a put up front, an excuse to hide away.
He’s still singing along softly, his eyes have long since coasted back to our moving socked feet and I want to be his saviour, but at this point the only one who can help him is himself.
I’m ready to be there with him, through it all, to help him find himself and whatever it is he thinks he can never have, never be, never accomplish. He can do it all, I’ve seen it. When his eyes light up and the monsters are at bay, when nothing is chaining him down – he shines. I lift my hand from his shoulder and the tips of my fingers slide into the hair at his temples, it’s gotten longer; longer than I’ve ever seen it. Daichi’s cheek rests against my palm and he is so warm, so real and I love him so much.
“Daichi, I want you to show them to me,” I say softly while observing every movement that passes over his body and face. I’ve been preparing for this and it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was too. It still seems to catch him slightly off guard. He freezes and his eyes widen, all in a split second, before returning to normal. Always quick to cover everything up, no vulnerability, no means to let people in. He doesn’t say anything as he sways to the music and we make our way to the foot of his bed.
“Daichi,” I call again and his eyes meet mine – cold and dark, empty. I sigh and just before he plans to turn us away, back towards the door again, I shove him back onto the bed. He lands silently on the charcoal duvet cover and his hands curl into loose fists, “Daichi.”
Not a question, he knows this. I can see it in the way his shoulders hunch, almost unnoticeable. Daichi purses his lips, the first show of emotion after singing, only the second since they’ve met up again.
“Why?” he asks and his eyes raise to meet mine as he leans back, palms pressed into the softness of his bedding. He is the perfect look of indifference, with hooded blank eyes and my heart feels like it isn’t sure whether to plummet into hell or claw its way out of my throat. It all hurts.
“I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn’t there,” makes its way out of my mouth and my voice is steady and calm, even though I feel everything but.
This isn’t about me.
Daichi’s eyes flash with emotion and then skate away and the horrible feeling settled in my gut intensifies. It must have been bad. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and he leans forward before cracking the knuckles of his thumb and pointer fingers gently. Daichi’s face is angled toward the floor, but he tips his head up to peek at me through his hair.
“Which ones?”
A freight train to the chest, I want to cry. But..
“All of them.”
All of you, all of those damn demons. Even the invisible ones.
Daichi huffs out a mirthless laugh and runs a hand down his face before standing up silently.
He turns around and lifts the long sleeve navy shirt over his head and drops it on his desk chair slowly before he starts unbuttoning his jeans. I watch, trying to appease the nausea piling heavy in my stomach, in my heart and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for when he turns around again.
He finally turns and his eyes are everywhere but on me and it doesn’t really matter, because as soon as I get a glimpse of his body my heart stutters and I turn my head towards the ceiling slowly, closing my eyes. However, the image is burned into my mind, red jagged lines skating across his thighs, his hips, and the inside of his wrists. Various shades of red mar the smooth tan of his skin, creating a timeline of sorts filled with emotion and reasons no one will ever fully understand. I blink my eyes open and hot tears roll down my cheeks. Finding the courage to look back down is almost impossible, but somehow my eyes are on him again – his face this time.
Tired lines, dark circles, and bearded scruff, showing first – obvious – signs of neglect of self-care. His eyes full of carnage behind a smooth canvas of apathy, I look away, back to his body. It’s not any easier, I can feel my hands shaking uncontrollably. I want to yell, I want to understand why, but I won’t. Couldn't possibly.
I take slow and careful steps forward, his eyes widen the closer I get, but when my hands meet his exposed shoulders, his eyelids flutter closed. I kneel to the ground and his eyes shoot open just as my jean clad knees touch the carpet.
“Suga –“
“Shhh,” I murmur before gently pressing my lips against the lines on his left thigh. A sharp intake of breath forces me to look up and see his widened brown eyes once again, fists curled tightly. I move to the other thigh, harsher lines now, more recent. My lips tremble, but I refuse to cry right now.
The press of lips, slow and deliberate.
The right hip, the left hip. Stuttering breathes, eyes squeezed shut.
I rise to my feet and gently grasp his wrists and his hands fall out of fists reluctantly, I place his wrists parallel to one another, scattering gentle kisses against the self-caused rows. My rapid heartbeat is all I hear over the soft music until I move closer toward him and press my palm against his chest and it’s almost like it’s playing through earphones.
Hard and heavy. Alive.
I bend slowly, removing my hand and press feather light kisses against the smooth skin, feeling him exhale shakily. A tear falls down against my will, catching on my lips as I press gently against his heart once again.
Again and again, over his worst and most damaged wounds, until I no longer can, due to the sobs that I tried and failed at holding back.
Again and again, until one day, maybe it won’t hurt so badly. If only even a fraction of a fraction.
Again and again, until his arms wrap around me and I feel his sobs and his eyes are screaming ‘help’ and ‘I am so lost’.
Again and again, until it’s no longer kissing the pain and the wounds, but the healed scars that show exactly who and how strong Sawamura Daichi really is.