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When the sun begins to rise in the same shade of red as the hands worn by the dead men walking home—and the early hours of dawn drive out the night's shadows—Akashi is by your side without fail.
Akashi brushes the smooth contour of your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch so gentle it's easy to convince yourself that it's not real at all—which, until just recently, you didn't think it was. It was easier to believe his presence was a figment of your imagination rather than put your faith in trusting possibility. It was easier to pretend that he could hear you speak and that he just wasn't responding in the empty spaces where you used to talk. Some things were easier when you could still act as though it were all a dream.
You exhale past your lips, parted just enough to breathe comfortably despite the shelter of sleep still on your breath. You bend into Akashi's touch, your eyes still closed to filter out the narrow fragment of sunshine slipping through a crack in the blinds.
“You're so pretty when you sleep,” Akashi tells you, his tone as soft as the truth that's stretching over a gentle whisper. He brushes a stray section of hair off of your cheek, his fingertips light against your skin as he traces every curve of your face like an avid artist. “You're so still and silent and serene. You're like the trees on a windless day, untouched by wilderness but still so full of life.” His fingers shift to the shape of your mouth, his thumb catching on your bottom lip. “Watching you reminds me of the ancient proverb: Shin to bul ee—it means the body and soil are one. Watching you in such a vulnerable state brings me peace. No forest, ocean, or sky has ever made me feel the same way as I do when I look at you. I can't help but think that one day we might be joined in the earth ourselves, together, as one.”
You're not cognizant enough yet to fully register his words, but words like this used to frighten you. They used to drive a chill down to the marrow of your bones like the winter wind that whistled on through the eaves of your old house. Here and now, however, his disquieting diction has become commonplace, framed in acceptance and molded into the shape of Akashi's love for you. He doesn't know anything else, doesn't understand how to mask the ominous connotation that dresses his speech—if he's a wolf in sheep's clothing, then he's wearing the blood of the lamb on his hands and skin in his teeth. But there's something to be appreciated about Akashi in this regard—what you see is what you get, and no amount of sugar-coating who he really is could wash away the salt that he's put in you. Now that you've gotten a taste of his company, you can't deny what's right in front of you: your heart doesn't beat the way it used to and your blood doesn't flow the same anymore.
Akashi has changed you, he's put his lips on your scars and taught you how to love the monsters beneath your bed.
You stir softly but a quiet moan manages to bleed into sound as you stretch your legs out of the stiffness they've gotten too comfortable with. You crack open your eyes and unsurprisingly catch Akashi staring at you, his gaze like a touch that still speaks when words are too heavy to communicate. He's always there to watch you crawl out of the arms of slumber, and you want nothing more than to climb into his, but he's already fallen into the next hollow over and way ahead of you.
“Good morning, ____-san,” he says as if he didn't know that you were awake moments ago. You know that his delighted surprise is put-on, however; notwithstanding the scintilla of evidence burning behind his eyes, it's written in the smile taking over the shape of his lips. “I have quite a few things planned for us today” –he runs his hand down the start of a wrinkle threatening the luxury threads of his shirt– “so we need to get going soon if we're going to fit everything into our schedule.”
He pushes himself out of the chair that's been stationed by the side of your bed, but you're quick to curl your fingers around his wrist before he's entirely upright. He looks slightly alarmed by your sudden impulsivity, which is fair considering you lunged at him like a serpent that's eked out its night waiting for its prey to pass by.
“Is something wrong?” Akashi asks, his brow furrowed to match the expression of concern drawn across his sharp features. Though, it's safe to say that his face has softened since you started seeing each other. He twists his body just enough to bend over you, to press the back of his hand against your forehead. “Are you feeling sick?” His tone is steady but there's a shred of apprehension behind the question, tattering the edges of his voice like an accidental cut into paper.
You think about the benefits of a day in bed; Akashi by your side and tending to your every request, but you decide to tell him the truth. You're not sure that Akashi even has the ability to take care of someone, always having been looked after by house staff and substitute mothers. There's a lot you don't know about his home life but if one thing is for certain, it's that his father wasn't one for paternal affection, and being ill was frowned upon and considered a sign of weakness. He was a progenitor of contemporary grooming and nothing more.
Furthermore, you can't be sure if Akashi is more concerned about you or the fact that you might have thrown a wrench into his plans.
Akashi has the methodicalness of a surgeon and every day begins with the same routine—and now that you're a part of this systematic process things in your life have changed as well. He's particular about his schedule in the same meticulous way he does everything, and if perfectionism was a house built for strangers, Akashi would have interesting company. Needless to say, you can't run faster than fire and Akashi left your heart ablaze the day he entered your life. That fire raged and rose so high you couldn't see past the funeral pyre and you were blackened by the burn. But if caring is a season, you're in the month of June and the heat is only a small hindrance.
You smile politely and pull yourself back into the present with a small shake of your head. Your fingers are still tight around Akashi's wrist but he doesn't seem to mind. “I want you to stay with me for a while.”
It takes a moment for Akashi to process your words, not for lack of intelligence but sheer surprise. After all, it's not often you speak out against his plans. He's always by your side, save for the inkiest hours of night, when you've finally fallen into bed and the blissful caress of slumber. Though, you have fair reason to believe that there's been a night or two that's bent this so-called rule like the silhouette you've captured on your wall in the earliest hours of the morning. Nevertheless, Akashi had studied you and he knows you well, so well in fact, that it scares you at times.
The consideration that's spread across his features like wordless communication shifts into resolve and Akashi denies your request with a dissenting shake of his head. “No, it's time to get out of bed. If we laze about we'll get too late of a start.” He begins to pry your fingers from his wrist but something pulses like an ache in your chest. Whether your response is audacious or foolish doesn't matter because you don't think about consequences in the haste of your expression.
“No. I'm not going. We always do what you want and today, I want you to stay with me. I'm asking for one day.” You sound more petulant than you would have liked, more like a child throwing a tantrum than a self-assured partner who is issuing a fair request.
You're unsurprised to find tension in Akashi's shoulders when you look up at him. He narrows his eyes and presses his lip into a thin line, looking down on you in more ways than one. It makes you feel vulnerable and small and to be quite honest, you hate it. You don't have a chance to further voice your opinion, however, because Akashi is pinning your arm to the bed in an uncomfortable cross of limbs.
His fingers are biting, the smooth arcs of his nails leaving tiny indentations in your skin. He sweeps his tongue across the bottom line of his mouth before speaking, his expression is inscrutable but you don't have to be good at reading between the lines to see that he's unhappy. “Do I not give you everything you ask for?” His features are stony and there's the sharp edge of something in his tone—and while there may not be a visible weapon in his hand, you can feel the cold press of steel against your throat.
You open your mouth to offer up some kind of reply but before you can formulate the mess of thoughts sticking to your tongue, Akashi applies just enough pressure to your median nerve to cause you pain. “Choose your words wisely, ____. I may love you, but I'm not above hurting you.”
You swallow the bittersweet moisture that's cloying in your throat and note the slight shift in his eyes. It's during times like these when the familiar chill of obscurity curls around your spine and an unnamed, unwanted, slow-creeping fear wraps around your ankles in the embodiment of sinister development. You dig through the myriad of thoughts flashing behind your eyes but settle on a sigh of defeat in the place of words. You let go of the tension in your body and sag against the mattress.
“I just want you. Sometimes I don't want to be around other people. The streets and the shops are always busy, and sometimes it's hard to...”
Akashi interjects with a bruising kiss, his lips smooth and warmed by carnal desire. It's not something he does often, kissing, and you can't help but melt into the unusual affection. You slide your free hand up the side of his neck and dare to urge him closer.
To further your surprise, Akashi allows himself to be drawn in. He lifts his lithe frame onto the bed and straddles your legs, his hands slipping up the sides of your neck in perfect tandem. You part your lips and exhale a faltering sigh but Akashi is quick to steal it with the soft of his tongue. His every touch is direct and sure, controlled in the way he does everything. He searches for the perfect angle and calculates your every response, and you don't know how long he bestows you with kisses meant for soft summer nights but no amount of time would be enough. Akashi's lips against your mouth, the tender slide of skin on skin, the damp caress of his silky tongue . . . you could kiss him until all the breath in your lungs turned to flames and the space between you turned to smoke, and the moment would still be fleeting.
When Akashi draws back, you feel the loss lance through your heart like a hundred tiny splinters. A small sound like disappointment breaks in the dark of your throat and Akashi's lips quirk on an arrogant grin.
“Do you know how much I long to keep you all to myself? How much I want to lock you up in this room and keep you here forever?” Akashi sweeps his thumbs across the hollow of your throat. “It takes every grain of my self-discipline to keep from going after those who stare at you when we're out. They look at you like they want you, as if they could have you. But they don't understand you. They don't know you like I do. They think they're worthy of you.” He doesn't show it outwardly, but you can see anger and jealousy in the tightened angle of his jaw and the sudden twitch of his pulse. “Do you know how hard it is to control myself when I know exactly what they're thinking? When you belong to me?” His voice is even and calm but he's applying enough pressure to the base of your throat that your breath hitches.
You want to ask him to move when the weight of his touch becomes too much, but as with most things, Akashi reads the damage before you can vocalize your concern. He splays his fingers wider, warm digits digging in against the sides of your neck as he bends forward to plant a kiss on the line of your jaw.
“Tell me that you belong to me. Tell me that you're mine, ____,” Akashi whispers, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear in a way that makes you shiver. His irises shimmer in the brilliance of the brightest star, but light isn't the only thing making its way across his gaze. You try to parse the shadow blanketing his eyes but its meaning can't be read, perhaps because it's never crossed over his gaze before.
You realize that there's no use in trying to dissect Akashi, so you do the only thing you can and move forward. “I'm yours,” you whisper, voice shaking in the middle under the weight of resistance. “I belong to you.” You fit your hands beneath his chest and clutch at his shirt, knuckles dragging against the firmness hidden just beneath the soft weave of fabric. “So please stay with me, just for a little while.”
You know that this is a foreign concept to Akashi, you've always known this, but you still can't drive out the sadness that slithers through the low of your belly. You doubt that he's ever spent an entire day indoors or stopped to enjoy the scenery when he's traveling from point A to point B. For as long as you've known him, Akashi has run at full speed, never taking the time to enjoy life. He treats his existence like an assignment, an undertaking, an exercise of a strong will forged by the despotic hands of his overbearing father.
You shift your hand up to his cheek and hold it there for a brief moment, then you walk your fingertips up to the lines of hesitance and apprehension that crease his forehead. You brush your fingers across his furrowed brow in an attempt to smooth away the visible stress and smile.
“Only for a moment,” Akashi says, acquiescent. He cants his hips to better adjust his position but his body goes still when he sees a bruise on your neck, half-hidden beneath your hair, and faded to the ugly shade of a too-ripe banana. He grips your chin roughly and forcefully turns your head to the side to get a better look. He digs his fingers in against the contusion, his touch leaving a transitory imprint on the mark and making you draw in a hiss of breath simultaneously.
“I don't recall marking you here,” Akashi says, his timbre dropping into accusatory waters. He tugs on the collar of your shirt and begins to inspect your skin, his fingers catching in your hair and tearing at a knot. His touch is warm despite how cold he feels and you feel your limbs draw into tension for it.
You sweep your tongue across your lips, only to find them still dry and paper-like when you press them together. “It had to be you. You're the only one who–”
Akashi moves his hand to your mouth and slides two fingers into your aperture to silence you. The sudden intrusion is startling and you blink up at him in surprise as he stares down at you, his eyes boring a hole through you. “If I ever find out that...” Akashi swallows thickly as if he's choking on his words. It's unheard of, Akashi not finishing a sentence. His words are like dates on the docket, sketched out in precise order before they even leave his mouth. He's always composed, cognizant of his actions, and this is the most unbalanced that he's ever been in your company.
It's terrifying. Your breath feels shallow, the blood in your veins runs cold, and though it's impossible, you're wholly convinced that your heart has stopped beating. You clench your jaw and aim for some semblance of preparedness as you lie in the shadow of the unknown.
Akashi pins your arms to the bed and like the stars pinned in the night sky, he casts you down with weary eyes. His gaze roves over your face and you can almost make out the calculations behind his eyes. Akashi's silence feels like a chain around your neck and suddenly, your heart comes to life, racing like a hundred-yard dash. You press your lips together tightly and begin to count to ten, but it feels as if you've chewed up what's left of your love and swallowed it down with your last breath.
“Don't move,” Akashi threatens, weight shifting as he moves his body down your legs a fraction. “If you want me to postpone my activities for the day, you'll heed my orders without complaint. Do you understand?”
You nod reflexively as you try to ignore the rising hunger for his touch. This is perhaps the most frightening thing of all: even with Akashi in his current state, you would do anything just to have his hands on you. It's as dangerous as it is compelling and it shouldn't feel as comfortable as it does.
Akashi's deft fingers catch on the hem of your shirt, toying with a neat line of stitches before pushing the fabric into a rumpled mess on your chest. He runs his warms palms over your exposed flesh, his eyes filling up like lagoons after a rainstorm as he drinks in every detail of your complexion. He lowers his head and kisses the space just below your rib cage, his teeth gently scraping your skin while he gracefully moves further down your body.
He leaves a trail of sticky molasses and coarse sea salt down your stomach in the name of his love and the shape of his mouth, his lips and tongue and teeth exploring every square inch of your exposed skin.
Your breath hitches and too-warm air enters your lungs, and your stomach begins contracting at the lightest of touches. It's not sex, not really, but somehow it feels more intimate than the penetrative join of your bodies.
When Akashi finishes mapping out your flesh in trails of his poisoned honey, he pulls himself upright and presses his thumbs against the jut of your collarbone. His eyes are hazy with arousal and something that ramifies into possessiveness and adoration. He puts more pressure behind his touch, leans his weight into the resistance of your flesh and bone. A huff of breath escapes your mouth but you're far from the definition of pain and Akashi knows it.
He also knows that you'll fail this exercise, and in a few short moments, you do. He continues to push the boundaries of your flesh and what was a simple instruction gets lost in the shift of your limbs. As if you have any perception of the fact, you seem to slip out of the comforts of your thoughts and right into the recesses of his mind. It's haunting and intimidating, and like an outmoded railroad track conquered by time, it leads you into the deep but it doesn't lead you back. Being this close to Akashi is not something you can easily forget. The abstruse image is gone as soon as it comes but the truth stays in your heart, and it makes you realize just how profound your relationship really is.
“____-san, you're hopeless. I'm starting to think that keeping you here is our best option,” Akashi says with a sigh. It's not an insult but it stings all the same. However, the bones of his resistance soon melt into the blood of acceptance, and from your lips, Akashi manages to draw a broken apology. His mouth curves into a crooked smile and paired with the light in his eyes, he looks more beautiful than ever somehow, like the morning star himself when trapped between the roots of the woods and the clouds in the sky.
Life and love are ephemeral, and blood and tears will always spill, but you would rather lose your life to time with Akashi than have time to kill. If you're only given one heart to fill, then you want Akashi to be the very center of your existence. If that makes you a prisoner chained to the wings of a misguided angel, then you'll allow yourself to be held captive for the sake of this dangerous love.
You shiver under his touch and arch your back to meet his searching hands. His mouth takes to the shape of your hip, red strands tickling your skin as he dresses you in a new shade of purple. You card your fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping the line of his scalp. He hums in approval and nips at your skin, his teeth carving a half-moon into your flesh. He lifts his hand and tangles his fingers with yours, another intimate gesture that cuts through your heart like a dagger.
Akashi lifts his head and looks at you, his face cast in the same kind of dark where the demons are made. He wets his lips and you catch a glimmer of red on his teeth as a tear slips down your cheek. “I'll love you until the day I die, ____. I'll take this love to the grave,” he tells you.
It's true that love has no end, only a resting place, and there's a place in the black that's been waiting for you.