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He thinks that maybe this will all consume him.
He doesn't understand, not even now. He has all the pieces, and they fit together so wonderfully, but he can't look at the big picture and see anything other than the ruining of his life.
He's angry. Beyond furious.
Laurent laughs. He smiles, sipping at his wine, and the ring around his neck gleams in the moonlight. And Edamura stares, fingers clenched, body trembling. It's the game they always play; the blonde, calm and coy, and the brunette, flustered with anger and ready to throw everything away.
Edamura sighs, pulling himself up from the loveseat with a huff. Nobody says anything as he takes his leave, coming to the edge of the yacht, pulling a cigarette from its pack and lighting it quickly.
He drags in a deep puff, letting it settle in his lungs and warm his bones before he releases it, watching as it swirls in the misty ocean air. His free hand goes to grip onto the guard rail, feeling the cold beneath his fingers.
He can hear Laurent talking.
It's a distant buzzing; always an annoyance, always there, but completely out of reach. Half of the words that Laurent drawls, with slow, alluring sounds that melt along his accent, perfectly formed to pull you in and keep you close- not close enough to know , but close enough to endanger .
His father is speaking as well, and the sound of his voice only brings conflict within his chest and emotions that eat away at this well crafted mask he's put up. He feels like he's a little kid all over again, on his dad's shoulders, talking to him like he means the world. He can still feel his big hands holding him close, laughing with him and playing with his stupid capsule toys.
Cynthia pours herself another drink. He can hear Abbie laughing, honest to god cackling . She's half drunk, he knows, but he appreciates the sound anyways. It's not often that he gets to hear it.
And, well, it's been months. Months of grieving Cynthia and Abbie, months of delusional attachment to a woman he was born to despise. He thinks maybe it's because of the loss of his mother, piled on the fact he believed he had killed his own father. He doesn't know, not really.
Edamura flicks the cigarette ashes into the ocean. The embers disappear as soon as they hit the water.
He's so incredibly tired.
His eyelids are weighed down by the presence at his back- by the sight of blonde hair and half lidded stares. At the sound of his voice, of those carefully drawn out syllables that he wants to melt into.
Somehow, it's comforting, being here and knowing he's not alone. Knowing that they didn't abandon him, that he didn't murder his own father. He loves them all, really, from the bottom of his heart. They're great people who taught him when he needed it and pulled his head out of his ass.
And yet, he wants them dead.
He wants to watch the world burn .
Because, really, what did he do to deserve this? To be born to a con man, be groomed into something he never wanted, to see people he loves die over and over again and never knowing if it's real or fake. He wakes up some nights, cold with sweat and heart pounding, and within the darkness of this room, blood leaks through his fingers as he weeps. When the lights flicker on, the red is always gone and he's always just a little angrier.
He resents these people. With everything he has.
Yet, he's still in love with Laurent Thierry. He sees azure blue and thinks of shining, cunning eyes. Gold shines like his hair, pretty pale and perfect. When he shops, he sees button up shirts with weird designs and thinks Laurent would love this , and without a second of hesitation he pulls a large from the rack and adds it to his cart. They sit in the bottom of his closet, neatly folded in a box that also houses all of his stupid capsule toys. He hasn't bought any new ones in months, and he doesn't dare to even look at them.
The cigarette burns down to the tips of his fingers. He flicks it in the ocean.
"Those things are horrible for you, my dear Edamame." Laurent slides up to him, tucking himself against his back, chin on digging into the flesh of his shoulder. They've been in this exact position many times before- Laurent is a touchy guy, always hugging and feeling - so it comes like second nature to lean into the heat.
Edamura hums, crossing his arms. Laurent presses up so tight that he can feel the bite of the cold metal digging into his hip bones from his front.
"You are too, but it's not like you'll ever stop coming around."
"You are correct about that, mon chéri ." Laurent speaks gently in his ear, voice carried by the waves. No gentleness about his tone, words only carried within a rough whisper.
There's no love story to be had here, Edamura thinks. There's only lies and heartache, cold and unrelenting.
Brisk air flows through them, hair gently moving in the wind, along with the rustle of their clothes. When Edamura looks out into the water, there's only endless darkness. The blue looks like the depths of Laurent's eyes.
"Thank you for going along with the plan."
"I didn't have much of a choice, now did I?"
Laurent sighs, and the air that puffs from his lips grazes his skin, soft and warm.
"We were worried, y'know," Laurent pressed a feather light kiss to the nape of his neck, and Edamura feels the floor falling beneath his feet. "Cynthia said we should have trusted you with the plan."
Edamura shakes his head.
"No. This was a wake up call. I needed it."
Laurent pulls back a little, sliding to the side, tucking himself close, staring into Edamura's face. Edamura keeps his gaze on the water, but focuses on the prickly feeling he gets when Laurent is looking at him.
"For what exactly, mon chéri?"
Edamura sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back. His chest is heavy.
His lids are weighted when he opens them again, lolling his head to meet Laurent's gaze.
"I suppose I never was a good man, yeah? Worse than Oz. Worse than you, or Cynthia. Even Abbie," Laurents face only morphs into confusion the longer he listens. Edamura's features pinch. "I shot and killed my own father. It wasn't real, but I did it. I still killed a man, and… I remember being happy. That I'd avenged my friends, or that maybe I had sent him up to see mom again," Edamura laughs, voice cracking. "I forgot who I am. I dont know why I'm here, honestly. If I was born to a different man, maybe I'd be off, working hard and being a good person. But I'm not. And Dorothy is dead, and somehow my life has been traded for revenge on her death," Edamura pulls out another cigarette, lighting it quickly. He looks back to the ocean. "Do you know how I know my father doesn't love me?" He doesn't wait for an answer, only pausing to listen to the waves, lapping against the edge of the boat. "Because I can't fathom a man who would use his son as some sort of tool. Sometimes I wonder if any of my life was the truth, or maybe hes been grooming me to be a con-man my entire life."
Edamura shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Either way, I've never had a choice. Because if I did, I'd probably just screw it up anyway."
The waves crash a little louder on the side of the yacht. Under his white, crisp shirt, is an entire back of tattooed skin- a gift. From the lady with red lips, whose hair is styled neatly, who drinks his coffee like it's the best thing she's ever tasted- Akemi Suzaku. He'd gotten them not long after he had moved into her house. They were beautiful, really, a blend of gentle red and blacks, some lines fading, while others remained sharp. He hadn't wanted them, not really- but she had reminded him of his mother, and he had never had the heart to say no to her.
Laurent pulls back slightly, and his hands come to smooth across his chest, sneaking up his collar bones. His fingers trace them, and his breath fans across the gentle plains of Edamura's dress shirt. His hands are greedy, looking utterly pretty and polished. They're rosy from the crispness of the air, just at the tips. It's wonderful to look at.
"You must give yourself more credit, mon amor. "
That's a new one, Edamura thinks. My love. Laurents never said that, much less spoke it directly into his ear.
He wants to tear his damn heart from his own chest from how fast it beats. He knows Laurent can feel it- just from the way one hand comes, slips to his neck, fingers pressing into his pulse. The other finds its place, flat and firm on his chest. His heart only beats faster because of it.
"For what?" To Edamura, his own voice sounds shallow, empty. He feels anything but.
"For keeping the show going. For keeping us on our toes, for making all of us feel alive. For making me feel like I'm on top of the world." Laurent's thumb strokes, making it's way between one of the buttons, settling on the skin on his sternum. Edamura sighs, settling further into Laurent.
Lips press into his neck, not puckering, just settling. His skin feels moist from his breath, gentle and careful. Blond hair mixes with his brunette when Edamura leans his head into Laurent.
He closes his eyes.
Warmth slips down his cheek.
It's not raining.
He doesn't remember when he had started crying.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of this, my love."
The nickname sounds different when it's said in a language he's fluent in. His cheeks burn, and his mouth opens, and he knows a confession when he sees one.
"I don't want to stop, Laurent. Not now, maybe not ever. I want to travel world and drink coffee, and I want to be held and loved, and I want to make my own damn decisions." His voice cracks, and it's only a little humiliating, because Laurent starts peppering kisses on the nape of his neck, so he stops giving a singular fuck .
"You can have anything you want, Makoto." It's spoken in a whisper, only just grazing the shell of his ear. The sound of Laurent saying his name sends shivers through his being.
"Even you?"
Glass shatters from behind him. Cynthia is giggling, and Abbie is yelling something with a smile in her voice. Laurent tightens his grip.
"You've had me from the start."
It's not true, really, Edamura thinks. Laurent has always been owned by the game- by Dorothy's death. But Edamura is here, and he's being held and loved, and someone is brewing coffee, somewhere. The smell burns his nose.
"Then let me make a decision for once," Edamura breathes into the air, salt on his tongue. He doesn't know if it's the tears or the ocean. Maybe both. "Come with me. Let yourself be led for once, Laurent. Let me make you coffee, let me kiss you, let me open a cafe. Live in Japan and just fucking shut your dumb french mouth, settle the fuck down. Forget about stupid cons, and always know that when we wake up, theres no lurking danger. I'll be there, you'll be there. We'll be safe and stupidly fucking rich, and we'll get cats and we'll live honestly." Edamura let's out a heavy sigh, feeling the way Laurent's breath is unsteady, chest heaving.
He opens his eyes.
The sun is rising. The shades of blue look like the brightest parts of Laurent's eyes, and the gold is one shade off from being the shine of his hair.
"If you do that, maybe I'll stop hating you so much. Or… maybe the fact that I love you will outshine everything else. Fuck if I know."
"Wise words, Makoto. You know… I've always followed you. Dragged you back to me, pulled you close and enticed you to stay. I don't think I'll ever stop."
—
Laurent does come with him. Edamura drags his ass to therapy and teaches him it's okay not to lie. Shows him that he can move on, that he should not feel any guilt for doing so.
And he watches, as the world burns, as this dumb game and stupid team falls apart to just a rag tag group of friends, who call eachother everyday and who meet up at least every month. He watches, as nothing stops his honest life, as Laurent only just starts to grow into himself and take on the young, childlike wonder he's always had hidden.
Things are different, and they burn brighter than ever. He gets his apologies, he gets to yell and scream and be fucking angry . He gets to live, to love, to make coffee and kiss Laurent on his pretty, dumb mouth.
He watches the world burn, and only settles into its warmth, feeling its embers.