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“This won’t work.”
“No.”
Angel glances over to Aki who’s leaning on the balcony railing, cigarette in hand. He had tried to quit, but everyone apparently needed a vice. Aki had insisted it was “just something to do with my hands,” but they both knew better. The orange ember glows, catching briefly in the dusk light.
Angel shifts slightly in the chair he’s sitting on. The metal is cold beneath him.
“Did you even really want it to?” he asks, voice small, afraid of the answer that might follow.
Aki turns to look at him now. “What?”
“I mean… maybe you only think you want this because you can’t have it. Not really, anyway. Not like normal people.”
Aki stares at him for a long time, cigarette burning too fast between his fingers. Angel holds his gaze, refusing to back down from whatever this was between them, this strange gravity Aki always pulled him into.
“Of course I wanted this to work,” Aki finally says. He turns back toward the street, taking a long drag, the smoke curling away into the air.
“I’m sorry,” Angel whispers, he knows he shouldn't be accusing Aki of anything like that. He's just hurting.
“It’s not your fault.” Aki sighs, but the sound is heavy, as if he’s been holding it in for years.
Angel almost laughs at that. “Yes it is. I’m literally the reason why this would never work. You couldn’t possibly be with someone you can’t ever touch.” A lump forms in his throat and he hates it. He shouldn’t be crying about this. It’s just a fact of his existence, one he had learned to carry long before Aki even came along. He wasn’t supposed to get this close. Wasn’t supposed to care. Wasn’t supposed to fall for him.
They had tried.
God, had they tried.
But there were too many close calls, too many nights where a stolen moment of tenderness nearly cost Aki months, years off his life. Too many fights, fear slashed into anger, both of them exhausted and wounded by the reality of it all.
“I can touch you,” Aki says suddenly, facing him fully now. The cigarette is now gone.
“Not how you actually want to. Not how I want you to.” Angel’s voice trembles, and he wills himself to keep it together, to keep the breakup from dissolving into a breakdown. “You deserve someone you can have that intimacy with. Someone whose warmth you can really feel.”
“So do you,” Aki shoots back immediately.
“Don’t,” Angel says, warning sharp and raw. “Don’t say that. I can never have that.”
Aki moves slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile. He sits in the chair beside Angel and leans back, exhaling smoke that isn’t there anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I wish this could’ve been different.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Angel sounds defeated, like he’s letting go of something he had been gripping too tightly.
“We did give it a good go though, didn’t we?” Aki asks. There’s something in his voice, thin, hopeful, like he wants Angel to say no, so he can argue they should try again. One more time. One last time.
“We did,” Angel replies with a soft, sad smile.
Silence settles between them, but not an empty one. Just the quiet of two people who’ve said everything there is to say. The city below murmurs, cars passing like distant waves on asphalt.
They sit close but not close enough. For once, neither reaches for the other.
Angel had never known the real feel of Aki’s lips. Kissing through cloth, through plastic, through anything that wasn’t skin, it just wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste him. He wanted to know all the little things normal lovers never thought twice about. Maybe it was selfish, but he knew Aki felt the same deep down. Aki deserved someone he didn’t have to fear brushing against in the night. Someone he could touch without calculating risk. Someone whose skin wasn’t a danger.
A sob breaks the stillness before Angel can swallow it down. Aki’s head snaps toward him, eyes wide.
“Woah. Hey, hey,” Aki whispers, moving quickly to crouch in front of him, hands gentle on Angel’s knees over the fabric of his trousers. “It’s okay. What’s the matter?”
Angel’s breath shudders. “Do you think… do you think we made it in a different universe?” he asks through the tears. “One where we actually got to have a normal life?”
Aki’s heart breaks cleanly in his chest. He reaches up with gloved hands, cupping Angel’s face carefully, the way someone handles both something precious and something dangerous. He wipes Angel’s tears with his thumbs, soft and steady.
“Yes,” Aki says. His voice doesn’t shake. “I know we did.”
Angel’s breath hitches. “You think so?”
Aki nods. “Somewhere out there, there’s a version of you who doesn’t have to be afraid. And a version of me who doesn’t have to keep my distance.” His voice softens even more. “And they… they get everything we wanted.”
Angel closes his eyes, letting the imagined universe soothe the ache inside him, tears still fall and collect under Aki’s gloved thumbs.
Aki continues, quieter still, as if confessing something that will never be said again, “Sometimes I like to think they’re lying in bed right now. Holding each other. No gloves, no layers, no fear. Just warmth.” He swallows. “I hope they’re happy, Angel.”
Angel opens his eyes, more tears gathering. “I hope they’re happy too.”
Aki stands then, slowly, reluctantly, like every movement is pulling something out of him. He places a hand on Angel’s shoulder, safe, through thick fabric and he squeezes gently.
“This isn’t goodbye,” he says. “Just… goodbye to what can’t be.”
Angel nods. “Yeah.”
They stay there together a moment longer, letting their final version of closeness fill the space between them. An almost-touch, an almost-love, an almost-life together.
Then Aki steps back.
And Angel doesn’t stop him.
Not this time.