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It had been three nights since, without a word of warning, Shigeru Akagi had coalesced from the darkness and onto Nangou’s doorstep like a spirit from the gloom. Three nights, and hardly a moment’s sleep.
Occasionally the curtain rustled with a silent breath of air, stirring the stack of newspapers on the kotatsu so that the first few pages whistled conspiratorially amongst themselves. Beside him Akagi lay as still and cool as a doll, the rise and fall of his back the only indicator that he was in fact a human being. If he was human at all. Even now Nangou wasn’t always sure.
Maybe it was the smooth, seamless mask of the young man’s face that finally broke through the last of his resolve, but suddenly he couldn’t bear to spend a moment longer on his back. Slowly, carefully- there was no reason to wake Akagi, too, it wasn’t his fault- he peeled himself out of the futon and upright, and reached blindly through the dark for cigarettes and a lighter.
What Nangou really wanted was thunder and lightning, or the kind of sticky heat that leant itself to sitting wistfully on his little scrap of veranda and sweating out his worries with the cicadas. Tonight was too dry for serious thought, and much too quiet. At least then he’d have a good excuse for his insomnia. A few clicks, a flare of light- relief.
He inhaled, savouring the rush of heat and smoke. It was about the only thing that kept him grounded while Akagi was around, as if he were measuring out the hours in nicotine.
Involuntarily, Nangou glanced at his sleeping form, swallowing the gentle tug of relief that the sight of him always granted. The unpredictability of his arrival meant that his departure, too, would be unpredictable, and sometimes it seemed that if he took his eyes from him for a moment too long he would vanish.
Nangou’s eyes squeezed closed beneath his hand, clasped to his forehead as if it could somehow extract the knowledge from his brain. The farewell would cut him like a knife but at least he’d be able to savour their time together in ignorance.
The truth was that every time they reunited his life became a waiting game, because loving Akagi was like loving a rainstorm; it was the bliss of when he finally broke after months of dead air, a deluge to wash away the banality of Nangou’s waking life, stirring his senses, drowning his sense.
It was also the agony of knowing that Akagi would recede from him, as inexorably as any other law of nature. The storm would blow away as quickly as it had blown in, and Nangou would be left alone beneath a starless night, hands cupped to the sky as if he could hope to capture even a drop of that wild power that called Akagi its home. There would always be a part of the man he could not touch; he would simply trickle through his fingers like so much rain.
And yet, somehow, he was hopeful or blind or stupid enough to let him in every single time he came knocking. So much for never gambling again. If Akagi were around he would be betting his own happiness every single day of his life.
As the hand fell away from his face Nangou heaved a deep, soft sigh, as if it might for a second ease the hollow ache in his chest. It was only as he raised the cigarette to his lips again that he noticed the faintest glint in his peripheral vision and nearly dropped it in shock. Akagi was staring up at him from the futon, utterly expressionless.
“Akagi!” Nangou managed, just in time to narrowly rescue the blankets from cigarette ash. ”Did I wake you up?”
“I don’t know.” Akagi stretched languidly, eyes creasing with pleasure like a dozing cat’s as Nangou’s hand came to rest on his bare shoulder. Like this he always seemed half a second away from purring. “Maybe.”
“Sorry.”
The muscle beneath his hand flexed with a shrug, and between his fingers Nangou caught a glimpse of the ragged scar marring smooth white skin, still vivid red-pink. Part of him wanted to ask if it still hurt, though he knew that he’d never get a straight answer.
“Why are you apologising?” Akagi yawned, letting his head drop back onto the pillow. One dark eye watched him curiously, half-hidden beneath a fringe of white lashes; it was such a genuine question that Nangou couldn’t help but smile.
“Because I actually like to be considerate.” The smile became a small chuckle as, barely visible against the bedding, Akagi wrinkled his nose. “Go back to sleep.”
“I want to smoke, too.” Before Nangou could protest he’d already wriggled himself up next to him, molding himself into his larger form like a glove around a hand. Then, without breaking eye contact, he parted his lips.
Warmth, hopelessly fond, flooded Nangou’s body. “You’re impossible,” he sighed, as if he weren’t already thinking about the softness of Akagi’s mouth against his fingers. “Get your own.”
“I want yours.”
There it was again, that shameless honesty that never quite touched innocence- it never would, not with the spark in Akagi’s eyes and that wicked little ghost of a smile. For a second he considered resisting, just to make a point, just to make him ask, for once, like a regular person, for god’s sake-
Unthinkable.
Even as Nangou raised the cigarette to that fox-mouth he thought he saw something like contentment pass across his face, or trust, or... maybe it was just the glow from the cigarette reflected in those beautiful, inscrutable eyes. Or maybe he’d been a fool to think that he was the only one who, in some way, had wagered their life here.
Whitish smoke filled the hair’s breadth of space between them for a breath, and when it cleared he found Akagi smiling in earnest. He allowed the cigarette to be removed from between his lips and hummed. “Are you tired now?”
“I can’t help it,” Nangou chided, fluffing up his hair with one hand. “You’re exhausting, Shigeru.”
Nonetheless, when Akagi wound his arms around his neck and began to pull, he made no attempt to keep himself upright. They landed heavily in a tangle of arms and muffled snickering as Nangou scrabbled to stub out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray, knowing full well that, while Akagi’s luck might protect him, he most certainly would not be spared were the bedding to catch alight.
But then, he supposed, pinning Akagi flat with his weight and laughing into the tender crook of his neck, burning alive had never been in his stars. He’d already vowed to drown.