Work Text:
**
Bruises.
Purple, violet and yellowish on a ghastly skin; a silent testimony to the strength of his desire.
It is smooth to the touch, but dead to the feel. They are telling a story as he is staring at them into the mirror. It is his story: falling down to get up through pain, gritted teeth and jaw clenched stubbornly, his sweat-slicked hair clinging to the forehead.
He traces the outlines of the blooming vicious flowers with his fingertips, wincing. The sensation is all too familiar. Pain has been his only lover for as long as he remembers, for as long as he dares to care.
Waking up in the morning, rushing to the bathroom to stand in front of a mirror, cold fluorescent light pouring down from above onto his reflection: eyes of a wise man on the pale face of a child; his cheekbones got sharper, features becoming more pronounced, the skin still remains unblemished and perfect like the finest marble, but he is fully aware of what is hidden beneath its surface. He runs his long fingers through his raven hair, pulling firmly, nails digging into the tender skin of his skull, unshed tears glistening in his dazed eyes, his reflection in the mirror shifting, moving and ever changing. It distorts his delicate features and sometimes it seems to him that he is staring at a total stranger.
They want me. They love me. They need more.
To be blinded by my light, to be carried away by their own fantasies of me.
I make them desperate and needy. I like them watching me with hungry eyes and empty souls.
He blinks: once, twice; his sensual lips twitching into a bitter grimace. The abyss inside his black eyes is looking back at him and the sparkle ignited in the depth of his irises burns with a covetous desire.
He will be mine. I’ll subdue him, I’ll conquer him and he’ll crawl to me on his hands and knees. He leaves traces on my body: the thighs, the knees, the ribs and elbows. I am his canvas to paint on. He needs me as much as I need him – to the point of obsession, bordering on insanity, but this is the way we are – codependent and immersed into mutual symbiosis.
Meant for each other.
He wakes up at night with his name on his lips. He is touch-starved and cold in his bed, shivering from the night breeze sweeping over his body. It aches. The loneliness doesn’t scary him, the void inside does.
I see you in my dreams. You look perfect and very, very real. You are near and I can feel you. We become one for a split of a second that seems to last for eternity. My body feels the harsh impact: my muscles, ligaments and bones. But you are not cruel to me in my recurring dreams, unlike when we are alone at the ice-rink at nights.
He slips to the floor, hands buried in his dark locks. He is quivering from agitation and despair. Doubts are assaulting his mind and a gnawing fear settles inside his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Are you the impossible dream? Are you the unattainable and unreachable goal? An utopia? A product of my own feverish imagination? You stare down at me, smiling condescendingly, not a glimpse of warmth reaching your shining eyes.
You have my face.
The bathroom floor tiles are white and cold and they make him think of ice. He squeezes his eyelids, transporting in his mind to the empty and eerily quiet ice-rink. He sees himself amidst the white expanse of the ice; a slim figure clad in all black with a chin held up high. He starts to gain speed with smooth, powerful strokes of his black skating blades.
You are calling me. I hear your insistent hoarse whispers in my ears so vividly. Your breath is ghosting over my dry lips as I am readying myself for a jump. The need to find a perfect balance between power and height, the ability to stand on the edge of the precipice without falling into it, the sensation of the axis stabilized in the air; I am operating on the instinctual level. One sharp inhale and the world is spinning around me, surroundings blurring.
With eyes shut, he visualizes the coveted jump from all angles, seeing it as a 3D model in his mind’s eye. It is exhilarating in its vividness, the vision that fills him to the brink with intoxicating elation and joy. There’s hope living inside his heart.
He flies…
“Are you all right in there, Yuzu?”
Yumi’s concerned voice yanks him out abruptly, returning back into reality.
…and crashes against the unforgiving surface of the hard ice.
“Yes, mom!” he snaps, voice raising, irritation momentarily sipping into it. Not a second passes before remorse washes over him in scorching waves.
“I am fine. Just give me a minute, please!”
He hears her quiet retreating steps behind the closed bathroom door. His limbs are numb from the pose he’s been staying in for too long, tiny sharp needles prickling at his toes and ankles, and then onward – up his straining calves. He lets out a heavy sigh.
I am sorry. I am so sorry. You were so close.
He gets up on his unsteady feet, his reflection in the mirror staring back, impenetrable eyes unblinking.
I am only yours. Don’t you ever dare to desert me! They won’t have me. Only you will, only you will…
He spreads his palm and fingers flat against the glassy surface, unconsciously moving closer, leaning in. He plants a single kiss, a barely there touch of lips, tender and chaste. It is an unspoken vow they exchange between them.
I promise.
He sees him smiling and he smiles back.
**