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Golden hour. That's what he’d called it. A photography term- for when the sun was simmering dark and red, spilling through the windows in its warm morning haze. Just after dawn, when even New York city played docile and timid. Golden streams of sunlight kissed the walls through the gaps in the blinds, igniting the shared bedroom with an embering light.
He hadn't slept. He hadn't for a few days now. It was becoming routine; coming home as the sun took its place in the sky, as shadow men and monsters slinking back into the shadows until the bestial night came out to play again. When he’d bare his teeth and exercise keen claws; feel his humanity drain and be replaced with something soaked in malice and abhorrence. A grotesque portrait of humanity until the sun rose again.
Across from him, the other body stirred, as he lay on his back watching the resplendent beams of sun slice through the dark of the room. Crisp, cotton sheets shuffling in the quiet early morning. Absently, he watched the tufts of ebony hair press against the pillow, the steady rise and fall of the other’s chest- the way their face scrunched with discontent of being pulled from sleep. Licorice eyes blinking awake, slowly, a red line branded onto golden tan skin, courtesy of a crease in the pillow case.
Ash took some savourance in it. The peaceful, domesticity of it all. Eiji was truly nothing like him, and that gave him hope. And yet this crushing weight in his chest throbbed, a stinging, melancholy ache; was it jealousy? Envy? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was something entirely else. But it was there, and that dull ache was the only thing keeping him from completely forgetting he was human. A fragile being, just a mass of cells and tissue and genetic code; human.
As human as the man in the bed across the room, as the people walking the streets below him, human as the lives he’s taken… as human as the lives he’ll continue to take. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks after all, you can’t teach a monster to love.
He heard Eiji get up, and he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle footsteps and tired, groggy morning sighs. He was looking at him, he could feel it. Endearing dark eyes on his back- his gaze was warm like the sun, dancing along his shoulder blades, following the curve of his spine. No pity, no lust, just unadorned, tender, care.
He wondered if he still had freckles on his back. He knew the ones on his face were still there, lying dormant as they were. Once the sun comes back, maybe they’ll reappear. And Eiji would point and giggle, that Ash Lynx , the devil of downtown, had such ‘adorable’ freckles.
He’d use that word, ‘adorable’, in mockery yes, but it felt different. He remembered the woman, who called him adorable and pinched his cheek but was more interested in sex-ed than the biology she was meant to be teaching him. A lot of people complimented him,’compliment’ used in the loosest of terms. Ash knew all too well, people found him attractive, but Eiji didn't look at him like that- like a lion stalking its prey, like Ash was a piece of cake. His compliments were always sincere, despite being excruciatingly indirect (but Ash isn't one to comment on that). They always seemed to overwhelm Ash as well, making him deflect with a tactless and crude comment about kiddie porn or something else utterly just gross . It was obscenely off colour, but it shut down the emotion; before his stupid playground crush could grow into something more. He was trying to scare him off, he didn't know why sometimes, Eiji Okumura seemed to make him lose his entire train of thought and disregard all the danger he'd put them both in if he stayed.
Because he wanted Eiji close, he wanted to feel his eyes trace his skin (freckled or not). That's why Ash indulged his selfish side at times like this; faking sleep so he could allow his dark brown eyes to soak into his skin like he was worthy of such gentle actions. It was a simple luxury- some normality. Like listening to Eiji sing to himself as he made breakfast, or showered, or cleaning or anything and everything in between. Even if Eiji wasn’t a great singer, Ash found comfort in it. He had to cling to that: anything he could get.
Deep down, he knew he should feel some guilt; allowing himself to care so deeply about someone, dragging them into this cesspool of drugs, sex, and violence he called home. He disgusted himself, he made Eiji care about him. Care enough to ask how he slept and make sure he eats- enough to comfort him when he couldn't fight the bastard pigs invading his sleep. Ash was a part of Eiji’s life, and he was too selfish to let him go sooner- let him have a better fate than he does. Ash was aware the way he thought was damning, only rubbing more salt into his wounds (sometimes he thinks that's what he needs though. What he thinks he deserves.) He didn’t deserve happiness after everything he’d done, that’s what he tells himself.
Eiji never did though. He wouldn't- couldn’t. He was too polite to tell the truth, always fighting to see the good in people. It was something Ash had forgotten how to do, something he didn’t think he ever knew how to do in the first place. It felt impossible- to look at someone and see nothing but sin and violent intent. And then he saw Eiji, and the water seemed clear once more, stricken of the crimson that swirled dark like flower petals. I† was nice. Like Eiji was an angel, glowing bright as the pearly gates- how Ash ever got to have him so close was something he’d never know. And he was selfish enough to want him closer.
Eiji wasn’t singing this morning; instead his gentle (albeit off rhythm and out of tune) humming was gliding through the apartment. Floating on a white plane like a cloud in the sky. He seemed to have a routine; he’d start with singing the first lines, which slowly turned to mumbling, before dying down into humming. Or he'd just repeat what he remembered until it felt right. He was usually okay with the chorus- a couple words jumbling or just missing. And he repeated that pattern until something required his total concentration or he got a new song in his head. Ash should have found it annoying- insufferable. He did with Max, he did with Shorter and the gang. But he couldn't find himself to be mad at Eiji for it. Instead he would stare at the ceiling, hoping to stay awake long enough to see if he knew more than 10 words. Or if he figured out a consistent tune. Maybe he's better at singing in japanese? Eiji speaking in japanese was seldom, and then only to himself. Like a secret in his throat that would spill out from him like a pull-string doll. Ash admired the difference in his speech, he sounded more confident in his mother tongue, not dancing around each word like eggshells.
The only time he really spoke it was with Ibe, or at night, when he was comforting Ash from a nightmare. Mindless little phrases, completely foreign and spoken too fast for Ash to even have a chance of understanding. But Eiji's voice was always so welcoming, he honestly didn't care what he said, he always sounded so at home too. So peaceful.
That was another thing that made Ash feel guilty; feeling he had somehow deprived Eiji of a part of himself. Just another penny in his fountain of self-loathing. Eiji would be happier in Japan, happier having never met Ash Lynx- so why wouldn't he leave?
When staring at the ceiling didn't magically reveal the answer, Ash rolled over to face the empty bed. The humming had stopped. He could faintly recall the whistle of a kettle, so Eiji would be sitting with his morning tea, watching the orange glow of the world cast down through the window. Basking in the fairytale he had once seen in the skyscrapers of the city. It was a tender thought. Ash couldn’t help but smile to himself, submerging himself into the crystal clear waters of his own heedless greed once again. But could it really be so wrong to want to spend these cotton soft mornings with someone, feel the warmth of their skin as soft as the sunlight? Forget about reality, and become gluttonous with fantasy? For anyone else, no, it would be easy. Ash didn’t have these luxuries; but -maybe- if he asked, Eiji would let him. Make him his coffee, and they’d sit, comfortable in the silent humming. Ash would read the paper, glasses too low on his nose, and his hair a mess. Eiji would lean over his shoulder, a cup of jasmine tea clutched in his palms- a sleepy smile, dressed in those dorky pyjamas. They'd both be happy.
It was past an amusing thought, fantastical and obscenely unattainable. Yet, it filled ash with an electric sensation, feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton wadding- made him shiver and shake; but at its core only reinforced the loneliness that ate him up inside. Maybe…No. He has too much to do today- now's not the time to daydream. If he went soft he’d never survive. Being callous is the only thing that got him past 14.
He had to protect Eiji. He couldn’t save Skip or Shorter, couldn't Protect Sing from the life of boss. The least he could do was keep Eiji safe. Even if that meant saying goodbye, he could set aside his self-serving ways for once.
But...maybe if he asked politely, Eiji would hold him. Just a second. That's all he needed. Just one second. Is it so wrong to want comfort? Perhaps, he was allowed to be selfish, have Eiji close before the sun sets and he's back to being Ash Lynx, ruthless. With Eiji, he would be allowed to be human.
Eiji was always warm. God he was just so... nice. Home.
He heard the click of the apartment door, and Eiji had left. Golden hour seemed to be over now, a blue-gray cast coming through. He must be at the gym. He’d been going more often lately- and Ash (who felt like a creep for noticing) noticed. He was only a man, after all. Eiji’s arms looked bigger, and the slight soft padding of his stomachs had trimmed down. Ash missed the soft, teddy bear physique. But the big and strong Eiji, the kind he had only seen in photos, was appealing too.
Eiji could never fall for Ash, so daydreaming was redundant. The blonde accepted his pining as desperate,nevermind minacious to the object of his affection. And despite it all he refused to let go of his drabbles, catching himself deep in thought, cursed by those lovely chocolate eyes.
When he did leave his bed, he found the coffee pot full and still hot- not like that mattered much. For most of his life Ash was accustomed to two-day-old, stone cold coffee. Whatever did the trick. He quickly tore through two cups, watching the gun metal skyline in its stagnant waltz of pollution and crime. Tonight would be hell, he just knew. Like an old man’s hip with the weather, he could feel when something would go wrong. A miry notion, viscous and dripping like treacle.
The night would be abject, but the morning could be domineering.
There was a book on the coffee table, one he was meant to read but just didn’t have the time for. Slaughterhouse 5. It was a war piece, everything is a war piece. Even if it wasn’t meant to be. Those were the ones he liked better, the ones that weren’t about wars in a way you’d expect. The ones that made him think, and feel. Hemingway, despite being his favourite author since he was 13, had felt so stale lately. It didn’t help the man’s personal endeavours left a sour taste.
He settled into the couch, pushing his hair out of his face again. Maybe he should take a page from Shorter’s book and shave it clean off. He was missing Shorter more and more, but he barely had the time to feel guilty. It felt like all his emotions had blocked themselves off recently; just a whisper here and there of his teenage angst and his post traumatic headache-inducing bullshit. It floods in anger instead, leaving bullet holes in men he once considered family. The world was harsh, he had to be harsher.
When Eiji heard that he seemed torn between sadness and hysteria. As if the hardened steel exterior of Ash Lynx was just imaginary and, in reality, he was a child; wrapped in tinfoil, playing the knight in his own story. He smiled, but couldn't bring his eyes to meet green counterparts, the second he did it would tip the tears collecting in his lashes over their threshold. “The world is cruel, yes,” his english, splintered and bruised, had never sounded as soft as it did then, “but we do not have to choose to be cruel back, there is more to life than wrath,” it felt like the rain in summer, this drenching crush of reality, bringing solace from the never-ending heat.
And as the rain washed him clean, Ash wanted to laugh, as if he could ever be more than a wretch after what he went through. He felt his frustrations building, crawling to the surface of his skin. He was ready to yell, but Eiji wasn't done talking, “i know how it feels to have everything ripped away from you, you are angry and you want others to know that, you are hurt, but you will never heal if you keep fighting,”
Ash was only angry because Eiji was right.
He couldn't even drum up some sardonic drawl about how he sounded like some grotty, tinhorn motivational speaker, the kind they slap on the tv in juvie, trying to teach scorned kids the joy of painting. Because Eiji wasn't patronising Ash, that's where he went wrong. This wasn't pitious or pompous, he was just being nice . Ash hated it, this empathy, Eiji was divine. Not in some half-assed teenage crush's delusion, he really could tame the devil, make him love, make him cry. Why waste such atonements on someone like Ash. Ash’s anger wasn't anger at all. His strenuous ire was just a flimsy cover-up for fear. Eiji made him vulnerable, that was terrifying.
18 years, 18 damned years and he couldn't even cry while two fat pigs had their way with him, but in comes Okumura Eiji, and Ash is begging him to stay by his side. Because he's afraid of being alone again.
When Eiji got back Ash still hadn't turned the page. Instead, he was staring blankly at the wall- wide eyed like a deer in headlights. The sound of the door closing startling him back to reality.
“You're up early,” Eiji said, he knew Ash had not slept. It was painted plainly on the blonde's face. Purple bags weighing down his youthful complexion, hair dull and greasy, veins showing through pale skin like he was a ghost already. Sparing the formalities; he looked like utter shit.
Ash did not respond. ‘Sorry’ would only confirm what the other already knew, but no other response came to him. Instead, he blinked slowly, watching Eiji gently take the coffee cup from his hands and refill it for him. The simple action almost brought him to tears.
“Make sure you eat something,” he gave a solemn smile, disappearing for a shower. It felt incomplete, Ash felt that horrible feeling in his throat again. He wanted something, the comment was small but oh so soft and he still couldn't be happy with it. What did he want? A kiss? How juvenile...not even a kiss on lips, just a forehead kiss would tear him to shreds.
But that wouldn't happen, and it's for the best and he has to keep reminding himself of that. Because Eiji just walked away, there was no movie-worthy shock of electricity, no quiet moment where they were slightly too close for slightly too long. He just had to watch Eiji from his place, lonely and pathetic, on the couch.
The beads of sweat were evident on his skin. The time from the gym to the apartment wasn't enough for him to fully cool down. Ash realised, as he studied the retreating japanese man’s back, that he’d never seen Eiji pole vault. Not properly at least. He had seen pictures of him in red running shorts and sheathlike tank top, mid sprint, and that one time on the East wharf when they were running from Arthur and Marvin’s guys.
He had mulled over the idea of asking a thousand times, too afraid to bring up old wounds or simply overwhelmed by work. But the book in his hands was omitted to the back of his mind as he imagined Eiji flying again. The graceful twist of his body, and the moment of pure freedom up in the clouds. No wonder it hurt him so much when he couldn't jump anymore.
He had been discrediting Eiji, really he had, he's not just a clumsy, sloppy wannabe housewife. He was more ignis fatuus; will-o’-the-wisp.
Foolish fire.
Naive, but not someone to take lightly. Underestimating him would leave you burnt.
Ash was the biggest fool in all of New York. He would chase Eiji to the end of the world, he was certain. It would hurt, no, burn- incinerate. But he would be free, and how sweet it would taste. Sugary and fragrant, like he was persephone with the pomegranate. Dancing between life and death for a taste of love. Hopelessly devoted, spilling lines like some sap in an 80s movie. Foolish fire, it could kill him. It will, eventually. But Ash can indulge his selfish side at times like this. Taste honey on his tongue, soft and soothing, heavy; not in the way that suffocates, but in the way that embraces and holds. Close.
It was then, Ash realised just how foolish he really was; a man born- no, not born but created- from kiddie porn and mafia syndicates, he couldn't be free, couldn't experience that simple loving touch he craved.
More than once, he'd been compared to the sun. His blonde hair, and summer meadow eyes. Something else, drab and tasteless about gold...he couldn't quite remember. Ash agreed. He was like the sun, he was the sun in the way it would kill you when you got too close. He was the sun in the way it was just a dying star, burning, burning, burning. Incinerating. He was the sun in the fall of icarus. The boy who flew too close, too stupid, too naive to realise the sun would melt his wings. Ash was like the sun- destined to explode, taking everyone down with him.
Ash would be Eiji’s downfall, and Ash will be forced to watch as he plummets to the earth. He didn't deserve EIji Okumura.
He was ash, cinders , once great, once something, left now as only ruins and debris. Not Aslan, the brave lion, or the hopeful coming of a new day. But Ash- a lonely leopard on a mountain top somewhere in Tanzia, unable to turn back.
Ash...like cinders.