Work Text:
The door behind him slams shut, locked without a second thought- he has half a mind to worry at his father’s next outrage upon such aggressive behaviour, but the tremor in his hands and the panic seeping into the folds of his brain is suffocating enough to discard everything else.
Searing pain stirs in his chest, and his heart feels like it’s decaying right in between his ribcage, yet it simultaneously thumps as if trying to puncture through the skin and collapse on the carpet in front of his socked feet. He can almost envision the sight; his useless organ macerating in blood pitifully as the pools of crimson stain the tiles so deeply they cannot be washed away.
Maybe it would look like a pathetic imitation of the stained glass in the church his father frequents. Another piece of art for him to be disappointed by.
Toya’s legs tremble, suddenly unable to support the weight of his torso and his mind as he falls gracelessly to the floor. He feels shattered, brittle bones cracking inside of him and puncturing his muscles in a similar way that ceramic might inflict flesh wounds on careless fingers.
Shame festers in his gut, pinpricks wedged in between the ridges of his spine and rendering him paralysed against the cold marble. Ice seeps past his fingernails and under his nailbeds, past his open pores and his bleeding follicles, frosting over the microvilli in his trachea and the alveoli in his lungs. The numbing cool washes over him, and he finds himself stuck. Stuck on the ground, stuck in his room, stuck in this house, stuck in this family, and stuck with the desire to mean something, anything, everything, and nothing at all.
Moisture blurs all else beyond comprehension. Toya closes his eyes and lets himself weep.
It’s loud, gasping, choking, breath caught in his inflamed throat as the oxygen in his vessels ignites like gasoline and burns like wildfire.
He tries to breathe, wants it so badly that it aches in every fibre of his being, wants air like it is the only thing he has ever worshipped and coveted in his pathetic life. But at this moment, a cruel, otherworldly deity must be pondering upon his body, his cells, his atoms. They don’t work, won’t work, can’t work. He thinks he is dying.
Every sob rattles his chest, and every jolt of his body pierces his weeping soul with guilty conscience, intent to harm.
It hurts, and he feels like he has lost his grasp of all the past years of his life, confined to the weary conscience of a child curled under his covers with red fingertips and aching wrists, his only company the steady rhythm of teardrops falling, falling, falling.
He feels pathetic, chained to the residual melodies of his past and a cup he can never seem to fill.
He wants to get up, he wants to move, he wants to live, but his bone marrow is molten and he is tethered to a painfully dull existence of sheet music and recitals.
Music, engraved in the outlines of his fingerprints. He consumes it and it looks sinful.
Music, wrapped in the cartilage of his nose. He consumes it and smells sinful.
Music, stuck to the roof of his mouth. He consumes it and it feels sinful.
Music, burning as it goes down his oesophagus. He consumes it and it tastes sinful.
He shudders at the thought, heaving a shaky breath, because music is what reminds him of Akito.
Oh.
His heart stutters, stopping for a moment that feels suspended in time for an infinite eternity.
Akito.
And suddenly it’s beating again, harder and faster and stronger than before, and he can feel the blood rushing in his ears; he feels only slightly nauseated at the reminder that he is alive and that his organs are still working.
Desperation claws at his limbs as his hands fumble, frantically searching his pockets for his phone.
The familiar object is there, just in his reach, but his hands feel as flimsy as paper and his phone as heavy as a paperweight.
He heaves in a shaking breath, the taste of salty tears aggravating the gums of his mouth, wilting in frustration at his incompetence of being unable to grab his phone of all things.
He shifts, pushing his torso upwards by leveraging his weight onto his forearms and tilting to the side in hopes the momentum would cause the phone to slide out.
The device slips forwards in front of him, and Toya collapses onto his side with sweaty palms, the breath pushed out of him by another dry sob.
He reaches out a shaking finger, attempting to unlock his phone and open his messages with clammy and quivering hands, but the phone doesn’t want to unlock because his fingertips are damp and the distress is beginning to compress his sternum with crushing pressure, and, oh, he can’t breathe again and the anger is suffocating and overwhelming and all-consuming and all he wants is his partner and he can’t even be granted that much because he is so infatuated with him. His greed for lover’s comfort is being punished, for it is that he cannot inhale normally without him.
Fuck, he thinks once, and fuck, he thinks twice when the phone unlocks, now displaying his home screen; a photo of Akito eating a stack of pancakes whilst looking down at his phone, at the time unaware that Toya had been so enamoured by how soft he looked in the warm lighting, deciding to snap a photo.
He still remembers how Akito had done a double take when he realised Toya was holding the phone, squawking in indignation at such a betrayal.
Normally, Toya would smile at seeing the photo, but his heart is hurting and aching and is melting and he needs him like how he needs the sun. Without him, he thinks he would burn out like a star in a display as enrapturing as a supernova. His life has always been a performance, so perhaps it is fitting to end with one, too.
But he doesn’t want that, what he wants is Akito, and so he fumbles his way through weak attempts at tapping, scrolling, and opening apps to reach his boyfriend’s contact number and attempt to type in a message.
Akito :) 23:47
amto
sk
akto
hhnlp
A high-pitched whine tears its way out of the back of his throat, and it would almost be embarrassing if he were not so agitated and upset at being unable to type out a coherent message. Instead (he wastes only a heartbeat of hesitation- what if Akito is busy?) he chooses to dial his number.
Toya exhales wetly, heaving in desperate breaths as the ringtone echoes off the walls of his room and back to him, still laying on the floor with his shallow river of tears. It’s almost mocking.
He thinks he might decompose on the cold, tiled floor of his bedroom when no one picks up. Maybe his body will be found in the morning with maggots worming through his bitter remains. He thinks he would taste of salt and ash.
Instead, he calls once more, praying and pleading upon every shooting star for a fleeting moment, hoping his wish is loud enough to be heard.
A click, a moment of silence that cannot be longer than a second yet seems to be stretched out for forever and a day, and then-
“Hello?”
It’s Akito. It’s Akito’s voice speaking to him, so familiar and smooth and positively dripping in the warm honey that Toya likes to drizzle in his coffee when he has a sugar craving to fill.
“Akito…”
“Toya, what’s up?”
Suddenly hot tears build behind his eyes for the nth time that night, throat closing with the words on the tip of his tongue now clogging his mouth.
His breath hitches, and before he knows it, he’s crying again.
“Woah, hey, are you crying? What’s wrong?”
Drawing his knees up to his stomach, he curls his fingers around his phone tighter and brings it up to his ear. “Can you- I need to see you,” he chokes out, voice wavering and cracked.
He hears a muttered curse under Akito’s breath. “Shit, yeah, I’m on my way, partner. Stay on the phone for me. Can you tell me what happened?”
Toya shudders, his free hand coming up to clutch at his chest as he tries to steady his breathing enough to reply, but a soft “Akito..” is all he can manage.
“I’ll be right there, I’m with you. Use your words, love. I’ll be there in ten minutes, yeah?”
He nods, although it resembles more a jerk of the head as temple stings against the cold floor, before remembering the motion is useless and that Akito can’t actually see him. Instead, he hums quietly in reply.
“I want-… I wanted to play piano,” he starts, but doesn’t finish.
There is a following silence in which Toya knows Akito is waiting for him to reply, but he doesn’t think he can bare to talk about it right now. Akito takes his silence as response enough.
“Hey, I didn’t do much today. I woke up at six to go on my morning run, and I saw Ena’s light on from under the door. She was probably up all night, but she somehow still managed to hear me leaving.”
The sound of a door shutting carries through the phone.
“She came out of the cave she dwells in all the time to pester me about going to this café because she wanted to try out a new cheesecake, or something… Anyways, I ended up going on my run after agreeing and I headed to the convenience store nearby.”
Toya can hear the sound of cars driving past. He feels his heart settle.
“I found some pochacco stickers there, and I ended up buying a pack. I figured you would want to maybe put them on your laptop. If not, I guess they’ll be there for whatever you decide to use them for. Hey, funny enough, I actually have them on me now.”
Akito’s microphone picks up the sound of the wind. Toya’s breathing begins to slow.
“Anyways… I went out with Ena at around 1pm, and the food was good, I guess. She made me pay though, even though I know damn well she has enough money to do it herself. She’s such a bore. But it’s whatever, she owes me now.”
“The flavour she bought was pumpkin, man. Who the fuck even comes up with that shit? I wanted to just get strawberry, but Ena called me basic and ordered me ube cheesecake. I mean, it was pretty good, I have to give it to her. Maybe we can go together next week. I know sweet things aren’t really your thing, but I’ll treat you to coffee.”
“I’m a few minutes away now. You still with me?”
Toya shifts, rolling over onto his back, humming in affirmation. He stares up at the ceiling, overtaken by Akito’s voice. It’s soothing, comforting. Toya misses him.
“Good… When I got home, I tried writing some lyrics. I think they sound pretty good, so I’ll have to share them with you, okay? I always need your thoughts on them since your opinions help me a lot.”
“Uhh.. I had a shift I think at 4pm, and that was for around four hours. I ended up getting home a bit later than I planned since I decided to swing over by the park for a bit. It looks pretty damn cool at night- the light from the lampposts is nice. Ah, I’m on your street. Is your door unlocked?”
Toya raises a hand, fingers pressing down over his eyes. A collage of different colours is imprinted inside his eyelids. It’s grounding. He tries not to worry when Akito decides to scale his balcony like a bug. “Yes… be careful.” He tries not to cringe at how his voice still sounds raspy.
“You know I always am. Hey, I’ll be up in a sec, okay? I’m hanging up now.”
That’s all the warning he gets before the soft beep of the call ending rings loud in Toya’s ear.
He thinks back to the piano lit by the moonlight filtering in through the windows, the lace windows doing little to block the illumination in the practice room he had wandered into over an hour ago.
He thinks about Akito instead. He thinks about how he has an insatiable sweet tooth, and how he thinks of Toya enough to buy him things unprompted. He thinks of how he is so talented and incredibly gifted at song writing and producing. He thinks of how he is so nice to him. He wonders what he did to deserve it.
The glass door is sliding open now, and Toya lets his hand fall away from his face and his eyes reopen.
Feather light footsteps near him. Gentle hands, soft hair, kind eyes. He is pulled up, up, up onto his unsteady feet and into strong arms. The cold is displaced. He is finally warm, the fuzz in his chest growing stronger at each gentle administration.
A kiss to his temple, in between his eyebrows, on top of his eyelids.
He is only vaguely aware of the fact they are moving to the bed. Akito pulls back the navy covers, settling in first against the wall before bringing Toya down with him.
A kiss on his cheeks, wearing away the tear tracks. A kiss on top of his mole, a kiss on his eyelids.
Akito manoeuvres them to lay on their sides facing each other. He intertwines their legs together, chests pulled flush. Toya wants to fuse with him, to live inside of his body, to intertwine with his soul. He wants them to become one sole entity.
A kiss on his jawline, a kiss on his chin, a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
Akito’s warm hands wrap around his waist, grounding him and tethering him to the world that exists around them
And finally, a kiss on the lips.
The pressure is firm yet tender, never too much and never too little.
Toya lets himself melt into the arms that keep him safe. With each stroke of his hair, he finds himself growing more weary and tired, lulled into the soft curls of sleep…
…That is, until he remembers something very important.
He pulls away almost immediately, eyes opening to glance at Akito’s half lidded ones.
“Akito.”
“Hm?”
“…Stickers.”
Akito blinks once, twice, before realisation dawns on his face and his eyebrows furrow. “Hah? You want them now?” Toya continues to stare. “Ah, fine…”
He tugs his white hoodie off, leaving only his grey sweatshirt underneath. He retrieves the pochacco stickers from inside of the pockets, handing them over to Toya before tossing his hoodie somewhere halfway across the room. It lands with an unceremonious thud.
Suddenly rejuvenated and feeling a slight spark in energy, Toya sits up to straddle Akito’s lap, using one hand against his chest for balance and using the other to hold the stickers. Large hands come to land on his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin there.
“What are you thinking, Tou?” Akito asks, voice deep and low. Toya stops his motions to admire how he looks so pretty below him, strands of orange hair scattered against the grey pillow like he has come straight out of a painting. Reverently, with divine worship rising below the surface of his skin, he leans down, one hand resting on Akito’s chest as and the other coming up to his face as their lips connect once more…
…and he places a sticker of pochacco riding on a scooter right in the middle of Akito’s cheek.
He pulls away, smiling to himself as he admires the cute image now imprinted on his cute boyfriend.
“Hah?!”
Toya smiles now, giggling as Akito’s face falls unamused at the action. The stickers won’t last long, so he grabs Akito’s phone laying on the pillow to open the camera app. “Do you not like it, partner?”
He is taking a picture before his lover below him can even protest, happily clicking away at the white icon.
Akito’s lips press into a thin line (but Toya immediately recognises it as mock annoyance) and moves to pick up the pack of stickers too. Toya blames the fact that he is is a little too tired and a little too slow to move out of the way before a sticker is being smacked right into the centre of his forehead.
“Ah!”
Akito snorts at the sight of whatever sticker he must have grabbed now stuck on his face, before he is raising his hands to pull Toya down him to kiss him once more.
Toya goes easy, pressing their bodies impossibly close as his hands wrap around the back of Akito’s neck. He sighs against his lips, pleasure unfurling in his gut at their sheer closeness.
He could do this for the rest of time- being with Akito is his favourite thing in the world, whether they’re pressing soft kisses and touches into each other’s skin, or whether its on a stage singing side by side to an audience cheering them on.
Right here in this moment, he is content to pick up sticker after sticker, this time of a sleepy pochacco dressed in a night gown adorned with yellow stars, sticking it below and to the right of Akito’s mouth. Once he smooths it down, making sure the sides aren’t sticking up, he grabs another one in which the puppy is showing off his behind and fluffy tail, pressing it down over the bridge of Akito’s nose.
Akito takes gentle hold of his left hand, pressing a kiss onto his knuckles. Toya feels his face flush.
Akito is mimicking his own actions now- a sticker to Toya’s cheek, a sticker on his chin, a sticker on just half of his nose, a sticker on his jawline.
They match perfectly. They are complimentary shapes, colours, and patterns made solely for one another.
Akito looks adorable covered in stickers of the white sanrio dog, and Toya quietly wishes to the stars above to stay suspended in this moment with his beloved for as long as he can.
He knows that in the morning they will talk about what happened tonight, but tomorrow seems like a million lightyears away, and Toya wants to waste not even a second of kissing, hugging, touching, and adorning Akito in images of his favourite character.
All that matters right now is the both of them laying in the sheets together, trading stickers with one another on any skin they can find, giggling softly under the covers in the dark hours of the night.
No night is too dark or dim when he has his own sun by his side, after all.