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Desperate hands latch on to the garments scattered on the floor, tears threatening to stain them at any given moment. He buries his face into the softness of the robes in his grasp, letting out quiet, choked sobs as he tries to ignore the voices screaming in his head.
His own thoughts, having turned against him to push him to the brink of despair, cease to silence themselves, relentlessly bombarding the novelist with his own guilt and doubts. The walls he worked so hard to build up around him come crashing down in one fell swoop; another person's hand on his shoulder emphasizing its downfall.
He doesn't turn to say anything to the presumed intruder, not having the energy to keep up a composed demeanor. Instead, he makes a failed attempt to push the hand away, making him look as if he was trying to hold it instead.
The room is silent for the most part, save for the occasional hiccup here and there, as his crying slowly comes to a halt when he's back to his senses. After a few moments, the voices are gone, having fled back to the depths of his mind, although he remains curled up into a ball, quivering with every noise that enters his ears.
He almost feels ashamed of himself, but that isn't the case—the man's fallen too far into insanity, with no light at the end of the tunnel, proving him to remain stuck there for the future to come. Despite having helped many others through their worst times, he can't do so for himself...
How weak he is, delving further into his own mind, only to find no solace in himself, the person who he should know the best.
"...Ah, I'm hopeless, aren't I?"
Eventually, the aftermath of his breakdown washes over him, restoring the lost strength to his body. The words escape his lips effortlessly, although somewhat slurred, with his mind in a dream-like haze.
Standing up, he haphazardly slips out of his sleeping garments to put on his tear-soaked robes, and shoves his way past the person beside him. His footing's unstable, almost tripping at some point on his way to the bedroom door.
There's a ringing in his ears, cutting out the world around him to leave him to his void of a mind, blindly leading himself to wherever he could think of first. He hears a muffled voice call out for him, with the feeling of fingers barely managing to brush against the fabric of his sleeve. Without hesitation, he pulls away, empty eyes glancing behind him only once.
"Please, just leave me be... I'm sorry, Daisu."
Without another word, he rushes out of the room, leaving the gambler to stare at his retreating figure until it fades into the darkness of the hallway. Frustration clouds his senses, and he wonders if he could've done anything to prevent this from happening.
Heck, he'd never seen Gentaro that torn up before. He looked like someone who'd experienced reality in a single moment in time, hitting him in the face all at once. But no, that couldn't be the case.
Dice knows he's too smart for that to ever happen. Rather, maybe it has something to do with what he said the day prior to all this. Could it be that he was telling the truth? Is Yumeno Gentaro really a lie, like he said?
Most importantly, did he manage to hurt the latter by dismissing that truth off as a lie? If he was really telling the truth, it'd be the one real truth that Gentaro ever revealed to him... and he made it all for naught, turning it down as a lie right after it was spoken.
Over his lifetime, he'd made a lot of questionable choices, some of them worse than others. But this one?
It hurts him more than it should.
The one thing he values over everything else is Fling Posse, and more specifically, Gentaro. The person who he cares for with all his heart, even though he regularly denies himself of that truth, sitting right before his very eyes.
Gentaro's a man of logic, even though it always seems like his head is stuck in the clouds, with fantasy and creativity leading him throughout his life. So as much as he wants to chase after the novelist... he'll place his trust in him for the time being.
With some hesitance, Dice takes a seat next to Gentaro's bed, after smoothing out the bedsheets and fluffing the single pillow that was tossed across the room. His eyebrows furrow together in concern for what might've happened an hour ago.
Gently, he rests his head against the wall, and while stuck in thoughts of where Gentaro could be, falls asleep without much effort.
It’s during his slumber that he fails to notice the sound of the front door creak not long after, followed by the quiet pitter-patter of steps. He’s sound asleep, and although he’s typically a heavy sleeper, he manages to awaken from the sensation of a soft blanket being wrapped around his shoulders, and his eyes groggily flutter open, only to meet a pair of dull, emerald green, tired from an evident lack of rest.
"Gen...? That you?"
Raising a hand to Gentaro's cheek, a weak grin forms on his features when the latter puts no effort to pull away from his touch. He snaps back to his senses and sits upright, placing both hands on his shoulders. His face is laden with concern for the man, knowing very well that he was, in every sense of the word, not so—but he decides to ask, anyways.
"Ya' okay?"
Gentaro’s eyes resemble that of Ramuda’s, lifeless marbles, with the faintest of light reflecting off of them. As for the rest of him, he’s not trembling like the night before, not having the energy to do so. It pained Dice to see the novelist like this, and the response he received only serves to make him feel worse.
"Why, who is this person you speak of?" Gentaro responds, a smile on his face. "And I'm perfectly fine, for your information-"
"Bullshit."
The gambler pulls Gentaro into a tight embrace, leaving him no room to protest, and rests his chin on a shoulder. His heart's pounding against his chest, threatening to burst from all the pressure he's feeling. Trembling arms wrap around the novelist's frame, pulling him even closer.
"Drop the act already. Ya' made me so worried, y'know? And I... I... I'm sorry, Gen. I really am. I should've taken your word for it, I didn't mean to hurt you at all-"
".I made you this worried…?” The novelist’s voice cracks a bit, and his shoulders stiffen. “...My apologies. And there is no need to say such things, it was never your fault to begin with, no?"
Dice shakes his head, dismissing every word that comes out of Gentaro’s mouth. He can’t accept it. It’s truly his own fault, so why is he being so kind about it? They’ve known each other for a while, but he can’t help but feel that the latter is still shrouded in mystery, just like when they first met.
“See, now you’re apologizing’ for no reason at all. None of this is your fault, okay? Everyone’s got their moments, and you just happened to have yours. But…”
Dice pauses, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
“I hate seein’ you all down like this. It hurts, y’know? It might sound stupid and all, but I really, really care for ya’. A lot. That being said, I know it’s my fault that you went through all that, and if you’re still mad, I get it...”
Dice feels a gentle push against his shoulders and he leans back, only to be met with a pair of lips, softly planted atop his own. He slowly, but surely, leans into the kiss, his arms wrapped around Gentaro's neck.
For both of them, it felt like time came to a halt in that single moment, the warmth shared between them making it almost impossible to break apart.
Hesitantly, Gentaro parts from the kiss, looking into the gambler's eyes with a fond look. His lilt disappears, replaced with his baritone voice. He pulls Dice down onto the bed with him, and embraces him once more.
"I already said it once, and I’ll say it again. It’s not your fault, okay?” He sighs, rubbing small circles on the small of Dice’s back. “And… I’d never be upset towards the person I love, even if I wanted to.”
The latter runs a hand through Gentaro’s hair, and withdraws from his arms with a wide grin, a warmth blazing in his heart as he speaks.
"I... I think I might love ya' too."
Gentaro chuckles in response and tucks a strand of hair behind Dice’s ear, twirling it around his finger as he does so.
"Oh? Well, I suspected as much. By the looks of it, you looked like you enjoyed that kiss very much. Your cheeks were red, with eyes squeezed shut, and- Oh! Did you see that look on your-"
This time, Dice is the one to initiate things, silencing the novelist with a single peck to the lips. A blush quickly forms on both parties’ faces, and the gambler couldn’t help but laugh. It proves to be contagious, with Gentaro doing the same shortly after.
"Now you're the one that looks like an idiot, Gentaro."
"...You got me there, I'll have to admit."
With that, the two remain silent for a while, laying next to each other in peaceful silence. listening to the soft lull of the wind fills the room, as it sings a lullaby in a language only known by nature itself. Dice wraps his hand around Gentaro’s, and opened his eyes to gaze into the other’s.
“You’ve been wearin’ that mask of yours for quite some time, huh.”
Gentaro picks up on the metaphor with ease, smiling as he takes no time to formulate his response. Memories of how his life used to be flashed before his eyes, and he muses about what could’ve happened if things were different, if he’d taken a different path. Without realizing it, his hand squeezes around Dice’s, but his face shows no signs of surprise when he does.
“Hm, I suppose so. Why, is there anything wrong?”
“Well… I think you’d look much better without it. Just be yourself, yeah?”
Dice can’t help but crack a wide grin when he sees a genuine smile slowly form on Gentaro’s features. It isn’t like that of which he’d seen before, those lazy smirks, accompanied with half-lidded eyes. No, this time, it’s much different. There’s a youthful sparkle in his expression, and relief is laden all over it. His smile shines like the sun, the ball of light that the gambler’s waited so long to see.
To him, Gentaro is the sun, and the moon is none other than himself. Although, it’s obvious that the poetic man believes the reverse. Regardless, they can’t think of a world without each other, for their existence would lack meaning if they weren’t together.
At least, that’s how they felt.
A breathless laugh leaves Gentaro, laying there with the dumbest-looking smile on his face, a sort of childish glee radiating off of him, like he discovered the obvious. His bashfulness slowly breaks past his crumbling façade, and he stops giving a care in the world, knowing that there was no one else to see it besides his beloved.
And Dice’s words, as plain as they are, still have an effect on Gentaro.
His words were like a cue to dim the spotlights, each of them powering down with a click. The stage buried deep within his conscience is now pitch-black, with the audience empty, all except one man, sitting in the front row.
The key to his freedom, happiness, all he could ever wish for—that is what the man, Arisugawa Dice, holds. And he knows, that at some point, things must come to an end, and the act he’d set up for so many years is no exception.
He would gladly do anything to ensure Dice’s happiness, and so...
“Well, if you insist…” Gentaro breathes out, that same awkward smile on his face. “I guess I have no choice, do I?”
...he pulls the mask from his face in one violent motion, and lets it fall to the ground in abandon, letting it shatter into pieces, never to be put together ever again.
He lets his feet blindly guide him off the stage and right into the arms of Dice.
And at that moment, he knew that he would never have it any other way.