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Eichi thinks – and he thinks about many things, often all at once, but he thinks of this the most – that he was doomed from the start. That the second he entered the world, tiny pink hands balled up into fists, his entire life was already written for him. But perhaps that’s an excuse, maybe it’s easier for him to soothe his conscience if he pretends everything he’s done was out of his control, predestined in some way, a result of the poor hand he was dealt. After all, the house always wins, and Eichi had no chance against God.
In his worst moments, Eichi turns into a believer, prostrating himself on the hardwood floor of his hospital room until his knees bruise, begging God for a respite from the pain between incoherent sobbing. I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die. It’s always the same. His prayers fall on deaf ears; there is no miraculous recovery, no good news. Perhaps Eichi was a sinner in his past life, or perhaps he sinned too much in this one. Perhaps this is retribution. There’s a lot of things Eichi should be punished for.
The end always justifies the means, no matter how cruel or harsh they may be – that is Eichi’s outlook on life. He’s never had the time to think any other way. Eichi wishes things had turned out differently, but it’s too late for that now. It’s too late for him to fix things, too late for him to un-ruin the lives he destroyed. Eichi can feel his organs rotting, muscles deteriorating, blood turning to sludge under the thin membrane of his flesh. It’s almost too late for him. How horribly macabre.
-
“Eichi onii-chan~” sing-songs a pretty voice by Eichi’s ear. The wind carries the fragrance of expensive tea, and Eichi looks up from his book.
“Ah, Hajime-kun,” Eichi replies. Hajime holds a cup of tea out, and Eichi takes it gratefully, placing it on the table. “Did you pour yourself a cup?”
“Not yet, I was waiting for Ritsu-senpai…”
“So selfless, I admire you~” Eichi smiles at the younger boy. “But you shouldn’t be too selfless, or bad people will take advantage of you.” Eichi knows a lot about taking advantage of people, and his cute underclassman is no exception. Bookmarking his page, Eichi closes his book. “Ahh… feed me, Hajime-kun?”
“Of course, onii-chan~ Open wiiide.” Hajime grabs a cookie from the plate at the centre of the table and holds it up to Eichi’s open mouth. Eichi doesn’t exactly remember when it started, but Hajime feeding him has become a tradition of the tea club. He knows how it probably looks to outsiders – especially with Eichi and Hajime’s respective reputations – but he swears it’s not a power imbalance thing. Hajime is one of those people who truly likes to help out, and who is Eichi to deny him?
The cookies are expensive, featuring only ingredients approved by his doctor. They taste good – though Eichi has never tasted real cookies before, so he’s not sure he’s a very good judge. Ritsu calls them edible, and Eichi thinks that might be a glowing endorsement, coming from him. They do make a mess, though, don’t they? Eichi thinks once he finishes eating.
“Ah, Hajime-kun, you have crumbs on your fingers…” he says.
“O-oh, I’m sorry Eichi onii-chan.” Hajime flushes a little, reaching for one of the napkins on the table. It’s so sweet, so endearing, how quickly Hajime has adapted to the nickname Eichi requested, and Eichi would be lying if he said he hadn’t developed a fondness for the boy.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eichi replies, wrapping his fingers around Hajime’s slender wrist. What he does next can only be described as a moment of impulsivity, which is odd, because everything Eichi does follows meticulous forethought. But maybe the sun is hitting him just right, and his limbs feel heavy, and a sweet contentment is settling in his heart, because he brings Hajime’s hand up to his mouth and runs his tongue from palm to the tip of his finger. And, God, is Hajime’s reaction worth Eichi’s momentary lapse in judgement; he’s immediately rewarded with a bright pink flush spreading from the roots of Hajime’s hair down to his collar and a noise akin to the squeak of a wounded animal.
“Uuu, P-President?” The boy begins to tremble as Eichi begins to lap at his other finger, staring up at him through his lashes.
“We don’t want to waste any food, do we Hajime-kun?”
“No, d-definitely not.” Hajime twitches, like a bunny, but with half the survival instincts. Eichi wants to eat him. He wants Hajime in the Ra*bbits uniform so he can ruck those shorts up to his thighs and leave bloody tracks with his nails. He wants to see tears streaming down Hajime’s face, ruining his stage makeup and dripping down that smooth, pale jaw. He wants to comfort Hajime once he’s finished hurting him, ask him what’s wrong, pretend he doesn’t know. Eichi has done a lot of bad things in his life, but he thinks this may be the worst. He was born damaged goods. He should leave good boys like Hajime alone, and stop dragging them down with him, but he can’t help it. With a final lick to Hajime’s pinky finger, Eichi pulls away, gracefully wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. Hajime, for his part, looks a little afraid, his hand glistening with spit in the setting sun, and his face flushed a bright pink. He opens his mouth to say something, probably a question like why did you do that President? or a statement; I don’t think I’ll be showing up to next week’s tea club meeting…, but that’s when a dishevelled looking Ritsu decides to show up.
“Ahhhh,” Ritsu yawns, obnoxiously loud (as usual). “I fell asleep in a bramble bush. Did I miss anything?” Ritsu doesn’t bother waiting for a response before asking, “Haakun~ pour your senior some tea, okay~?”