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If there was something to be said about Tatsumi, it was how his radiance mimicked that of the sun.
People flocked to him, how could they not? He was bright, loving, beautiful, everything Mayoi was not. It was as such that Mayoi, too, found himself drawn to everything Tatsumi offered, his golden luminescence and gentle prayers.
If there was anything to be said about Mayoi, it would surely be relative to night, darkness. About the swirling corruption in his mind and marked onto his skin.
Tatsumi always asked if Mayoi was okay, held his hands carefully, called him his wife with that playful yet painfully genuine lilt to his voice. Even so, Mayoi knew he couldn't possibly know about the things that crawled under his skin, crept from his amygdala, seeped out between his rotten teeth. There was no way he could ever be worth anything if Tatsumi had known the way his skin belied the horrors underneath it.
The sun has no place in that overwhelmingly dark night. This was a truth that had been ingrained into Mayoi's brain for as long as he had been alive.
So how, then, had so much light found its way into his life?
It seemed that every morning he woke up he found himself enveloped in this new light. Looking at Tatsumi, it seemed to seep from his every pore, finding its way into Mayoi’s own pockmarked skin, until maybe it could tear him apart from inside. There was something to be said for how looking at him made a bird rise and get stuck in his throat, breaking off feathers that fell heavily into his stomach. When Tatsumi would pat him on the back and offer him a drink, Mayoi could feel it flap its wings wildly in his ribs, and it was difficult to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing, sometimes.
After all, people are oh so susceptible to being sunburnt. Years spent underground had certainly given Mayoi’s skin an aversion to the sun’s rays. He would slather on layers of sunscreen before going out, always wary the buzzing warmth on his skin would become an itching rash. It was so much easier to stay inside, be cocooned in the familiar metal of the vents, than go out and let the sun brush his face again with its harsh smiles.
Though, as he adjusted to the feeling of being outside, of letting fear pump the thought of survival through his veins, it wasn’t as hard letting himself be encapsulated with light, if it was a familiar kind of light.
It wasn’t an instantaneous thing, of course. Something like Mayoi couldn’t, shouldn’t have deserved so much kindness, so much purity and warmth. But Tatsumi had taken his hand anyway and guided him out to the stage anyway, offering a reprieve from the torrential images rushing through his mind. Tatsumi didn’t let go, not even when Mayoi accidentally let slip another horrid thought, not even when he proved over and over how susceptible he was to human sin.
(It shouldn’t matter to the sun that the moon had a dark side, forever frigid, forever out of sight. But this one did, somehow; did the people on the earth below tell it about the shadow that faced them each month?)
Everyday was an effort. It would be easy to give up, to creep back to the shadows he was birthed from, but things were different now. There were friends, companions, people Mayoi couldn’t disappoint.
Hope was a new kind of taste. Sometimes it was sickly sweet, other times too bitter to bear, but above all it was warm. It was Aira giving him a keychain, proclaiming that Alkaloid just had to match. It was Hiiro giving him that familiar earnest smile and a determined nod at any instruction. It was Tatsumi absentmindedly brushing Mayoi’s hair out of his eyes, Tatsumi being willing to just sit there and listen when it was bad, Tatsumi telling him it was okay to just breathe.
There had been one particular night, all the way back when they’d still been in the old dorm, when Mayoi found himself on the balcony of their shared room, one sleepless night. They were still very much new idols; only some bare minimum preparation under their belts, inexperience their familiar companion.
It had been raining. Rain was nice; the world was finally quiet when it fell, subdued with the smell of petrichor seeping into the atmosphere.
The night sky was obscured, but that was okay. It was enough to breathe in the rain and the crisp air and tell himself that this must be what it felt like to be alive. It was enough as long as he could force his mind to shut up, if the rain could flood his brain until it finally drowned and fell stagnant.
Tatsumi had been there, too. Him and his drowsy eyes, and his hair all messed up from sleep, beckoning Mayoi back inside before he caught a cold from the wet gales outside.
He’d complied, of course, why wouldn’t he? It certainly wouldn’t do to let his new unit mate be inconvenienced anymore than he’d already been.
But then Tatsumi had looked at his hair, running down his back and tangled over one shoulder, ribbon laid forgotten on Mayoi’s pillow, and offered to braid it again, seeing as they were to wake up again in only half an hour. He’d shook his head no, of course. His sleep deprivation was no reason for Tatsumi not to as well. Despite this, the other had only smiled a small, half-asleep smile, offering promises that he wouldn’t mind at all.
It was like this that Mayoi had found himself kneeling stiffly beside his bed, with Tatsumi’s warm hands carefully undoing his dark strands. The only light was the dim blue that filtered weakly through the balcony door as drops of rain continued pelting the delicate glass. They exchanged few words, considering how Hiiro and Aira still slept peacefully in their bunks. Even so, Mayoi had no idea how he’d ended up in this position. There was rarely ever anyone he’d trusted or even had to trust with something as intimate as his hair. Despite that, here he was, biting his lip nervously as Tatsumi continued carding his blunt fingers along his scalp. It was all he could do to make sure he didn’t accidentally brush against the other boy’s legs unprompted.
As he stayed there, eyes fixed silently on his hands balled together at his knees, Mayoi decided there was something to be said for the comforting aura that enveloped him when he was around Tatsumi, like the sun rising on the horizon and bleeding gold into their dorm room. It was warm summer days spent exchanging furtive glances and prolonged touches, wondering, waiting. It was flustered confessions and a secret kiss shared backstage. It was seeing the imperfections that made Tatsumi human and wishing he could hold him in his arms all the same.
There were still times when uncertainty weighed heavily in his stomach, when no amount of gentle reassurance or hand holding could quell the black hole of his mind. But Tatsumi had never told him he was broken, or irreparable. Sometimes he never even tried to force him back together in the first place. It was reassuring, somehow, knowing even if he shattered to pieces in his lap, if pieces of glass flung themselves to embed deep into dry skin, Tatsumi would never have rejected him even then.
A jolt; Tatsumi accidentally caught one pristine fingernail on a stray knot. He murmured hastened apologies to an equally startled Mayoi.
Neither of them were perfect, and Mayoi knew that fact perfectly well. He had seen hints of the Tatsumi that had been there sometimes, when the boy thought nobody was looking at those murky purple eyes, when he thought nobody would notice how the past still flashed in fragments within him. Mayoi knew, and he still wanted, wished, loved with all the meteors that flew into his heart.
(He knew that maybe he’d never truly understand what sort of nebula had created Tatsumi, but he could always try, couldn’t he?)
There were little things they understood, of course. Mayoi knew how best to maneuver around Tatsumi’s injury during practice, how the easiest way to leave him flustered was pressing kisses all over his face in rapid succession. He knew how people seemed to place Tatsumi on some sort of pedestal. Perhaps it was selfish of him to do so, but there was always that itch to pull him down, to take the hand of that angel frozen in its marble effigy in the galaxies above and drag it down to the same earth he lived on. For all the saving that he probably needed, it never would mean as much if it was just some distant face.
Humanity; that was all that Mayoi needed from Tatsumi.
Maybe Tatsumi couldn’t see it through whatever clouds still hung heavily over him. But Mayoi could see him, all of him, at least what he was able to see, and it was the most radiant, kind being he had ever seen.
They had been at this little routine for months, and now it was cold winter, the world glittering with preserved tears from the stars. Mayoi no longer wore his gloves around Tatsumi. The other had seen his callous, ugly hands countless times before, just as Mayoi had seen how his solid hands trembled as if the sky itself nestled within them. (Even if it was only ever Mayoi’s hands; no, especially if it was.)
The braids Tatsumi made were cleaner, now. Much closer to the ones Mayoi had been making his whole life. It was almost an unspoken habit by now for Tatsumi to keep practicing at any given moment, whether it was after post-practice showers, or in the morning when they’d spent the night together. He’d insisted he needed to get this right, if just for Mayoi’s convenience. And, similarly, Mayoi wondered what he should do for Tatsumi to feel safe, with whatever he could muster from the dying star he was.
The neat rows of hair wove between each other under deft fingers. Tatsumi was humming something under his breath, probably their upcoming release. It was always like him to be on top of things.
There was something to be said for how easily the sleek strands curved between his strong fingers, their warmth brief but burning where they brushed against his scalp. It was all Mayoi could do to not sit up even closer like a loving cat to let it melt into stardust sinking down to his bones. It was selfish, but there was nobody else on this little planet of theirs to reprimand him.
Mayoi turned to partly face the other as he felt Tatsumi’s hand simply holding the almost-finished piece carefully. His lips were slightly pursed, a cute little contemplative gleam in his galaxy eyes as he considered between two of the ribbons he himself had gifted Mayoi. It had been a sweet birthday gift, a tiny dream come true. One was a familiar sleek black, the other cool mint. It was supposed to match Mayoi's eyes. (He thought it perfectly suited the both of them too.)
As if he’d felt the other boy’s inquisitive watch, Tatsumi delicately picked up the greenish ribbon to tie it around the end of Mayoi’s hair. There was an urge to turn further and keep watching his dedicated concentration but Mayoi kept himself still.
Tatsumi announced he was done, draping that messy but perfectly wonderful braid over his shoulder. It all wasn’t enough to completely drown himself out, but it was enough to give him something else to cling onto, and that was already more than he deserved.
(He only hoped that his boyfriend was also able to wish on the shooting stars that lit up in his gaze when they were together.)
Tatsumi leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Mayoi’s scalp, his breath warm where it fanned out against dark locks. “I love you, Mayoi.”
“I love you too,” he whispered back easily, turning to lean his head onto Tatsumi’s soft lap.