Chapter Text
Keito has no intention of answering the door to whoever has the audacity to be bothering him at midnight. It could be the President, for all he cares- anyone inconsiderate enough to disturb him at this hour on a weekday simply doesn’t deserve his time. He closes his book, turns out the lights and settles into bed.
When his doorbell rings for the sixth time, he can no longer ignore it. Angry, he fumbles around in the dark for his glasses and goes to unlock the door, though he already knows well who’s on the other side.
‘Long time, no see.’
His voice is raspier than usual, and his eyes are rimmed red from crying. Still, there’s the lilt of a smile in his tone.
‘What the hell is the matter with you, Eichi.’
‘Can I come in?’
Keito sighs and steps back to let him into the hall. Eichi doesn’t answer his question, instead opting to absent-mindedly run his fingers over one of Keito’s ornaments. He’s completely soaked, to the point where small puddles of rainwater are forming on the ground where he stands.
‘Why did you walk all the way here in the rain? Are you trying to get yourself killed?’
Eichi snorts in amusement, but still doesn’t give him an answer. Keito doesn’t really need one, though. Sometimes Eichi defies explanation.
‘Come on, idiot. Get yourself dried off.’
Keito directs him to the bathroom. Eichi shuts the door, and Keito leaves a fresh change of clothes folded neatly outside. He comes into Keito’s bedroom a few moments later, wearing Keito’s sweatshirt and trackpants, but is otherwise not much drier than he was before.
‘You’re hopeless. You didn’t even dry your hair. Here, sit down and give me that towel.’
Eichi situates himself in front of Keito on the bed, his back facing him, knees pulled up to his chest. Keito can hear a slight rattling in his breathing from congestion in his chest. Keito works through fine blond hair with the towel, concentrated on getting it as dry as possible.
‘You’re very gentle, Keito.’
Keito thinks Eichi is trying to tease him, but he sounds dejected, so it falls flat. He ignores him and keeps going.
‘We broke up.’ Eichi eventually says.
They’re both silent for a moment.
‘I could have guessed.’
‘Don’t say it like that.’
Keito hasn’t spoken to Eichi in four months. The only things he’s heard about him have come from the magazines that line the racks at his local grocery store, boasting headlines about Eichi Tenshouin’s latest antics with his new beau. It was about three months ago when he saw the first photo of them splashed across the glossy covers, and that told him all he needed to know about why Eichi had seemingly dropped all contact with him. It definitely wasn’t the controlling actions of a jealous lover; when Eichi loves, he loves consumingly, to the point where attention given to anyone but the object of his affection is attention squandered. Keito couldn’t bring himself to begrudge him for it, though. When you’ve known Eichi for as long as he has, you learn to be patient.
Eichi’s hair is now dry, and he lays horizontally across the double bed, his eyes closed. Keito has accepted that he won’t be getting much sleep, and has begun reading his book again.
‘You’ll definitely catch a cold, Eichi. I don’t understand why you didn’t just call your driver to bring you. Not even a person with a healthy constitution would do something so stupid as to walk for half an hour in the rain, nevermind alone and at night. Sometimes it seems like you have a death wish.’
A smile twitching at the edges of Eichi’s lips.
‘I missed your lectures.’
He lies there for a few moments, looking almost blissful.
‘To answer your question, I walked here because I like the rain.’
He wants to scold Eichi for being both reckless and pretentious, but finds himself caught up with the arresting mental image that his words have conjured. He envisions Eichi wandering alone down the narrow, rain-washed streets, cotton and cashmere soaked and clinging to his skin, throwing his head back and baring his face to elements to feel the cool droplets on his cheeks.
Nothing is ever easy with Eichi. Everything is a greek tragedy, and, beyond hospital walls, life is a dramatic and romantic stage play where every occurrence bears some metaphorical resonance. Eichi manages to find some kind of pleasure in something as sad as a breakup, because being broken up with in the first place is a surefire sign that he is alive, and more importantly, that he’s living. As far as Keito can tell, emotional pain is, to Eichi, like some kind of flame that he can’t help but touch. He absolutely feels the white-hot sting, but in that first contact before the pain sets in, there’s a reminder that he can still feel warmth.
Eichi moves next to Keito on the bed, resting his head against plush pillows. He’s staring at him. Keito keeps his eyes deliberately fixed to the pages of his book.
‘Keito.’
No response.
‘Keito.’
‘Keito.’
‘What, Eichi.’
‘Take off your glasses and look at me.’
‘No.’
‘Please?’
Keito just sighs, takes off his glasses, and lies so that he’s facing Eichi. He knows well by now that he can’t help but indulge him, but he always tries to put up a fight, no matter how feeble.
‘Your eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen. They’re so pretty.’
Eichi’s hand is on his cheek now. Keito had forgotten how hard it is to be touched him him.
‘Have you been asked out on any dates at your new gig? The girl’s hearts must be all aflutter, having a former idol amongst their ranks, you know?’
‘No. The artists I work with are professionals, Eichi. Unlike you.’
He giggles, then lies silent for awhile, his gaze growing pensive as it drifts across the room.
‘Can we cuddle, Keito?’
At that, Keito feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over him-but he doesn’t falter.
‘No.’
He refuses to meet Eichi’s eyes. If he does, he knows it’ll all be over.
‘Please?’
‘Enough. I only have so much patience. I’m not going to be your rebound.’
‘You know it’s not like that. I...just want to feel someone’s warmth. Just for tonight.’
Eichi’s voice sounds so small. This justification doesn’t make Keito feel any better; in fact, it probably makes him feel worse. But he lets out a sigh, a voiceless signifier of his resignation, and Eichi crawls into his arms. He’s heavy on top of him; Keito’s arm will definitely go dead if they lie like this for long. Eichi’s head is buried in the nook of his shoulder, and his tears fall hot on Keito’s neck. He strokes Eichi’s hair as his sniffles turn to sobs, and wills himself not to think about how badly he wishes he could hold Eichi like this every night. He’ll lie there with him until morning, just a source of warmth to lull him to sleep, a place-holder for another’s body. They’ll awake soon, and nothing will have changed.
----------
The moon is as full and as bright as Keito has ever seen it. He’s standing, watching Eichi, who is knelt, fondling with the petals of a pink rose. Eichi is attired entirely in white, a stunning stage get-up that looks at once completely foreign and at home in the humble little flower garden. The tails of his coat give way to ivory ruffles of organza that trail for meters behind him. Illuminated by the shine of the moon, it reminds Keito of a wedding dress.
‘Your manager wants you at the after-party.’
Eichi smiles at the sound of Keito’s voice, but doesn’t move.
Ever since that night, Eichi has scarcely left Keito’s apartment. They share a bed, though he hasn’t asked Keito to hold him again. Tonight, he’s brought Keito along as his guest to the biggest awards show in the industry, but he appears to be more concerned with observing a rosebush than mingling.
Eichi stands then, and turns so he’s facing Keito.
‘Have you ever thought that you’d lost your glasses, but they were actually on top of your head the whole time?’
Eichi delivers this bizarre line with profound sincerity. Keito just looks at him perplexedly. Their eyes lock onto one another for a moment, and Eichi, no longer able to conceal his amusement, lets out a snort of laughter. Soon, the pair of them are bent over laughing, practically gasping for breath by the time they’re standing upright again.
Keito takes off his glasses to wipe a few stray tears from his eyes, still giggling a little.
‘Was that supposed to be a metaphor?’ He asks.
‘I couldn’t think of anything better.’
‘Don’t you write your own lyrics?’
‘I can’t strike gold every time, Keito.’
What were you even trying to say?’
‘It’s probably for the best if I don’t tell you-far too cheesy.’
‘You can’t just come out with something like that and not explain yourself.’
‘‘Finding what you’ve been looking for right under your nose’, and all that.’
Keito doesn’t say anything, but he feels his heartbeat quicken a little when Eichi moves closer. He takes Keito’s hands, twining their fingers together. He’s smiling, and there’s a markedly soft expression in his eyes. Keito can feel the warmth of his palms through his gloves.
‘Would you mind if I bothered you for a little while longer, Keito?’
‘How much longer?’
‘The doctor says about four years.’
Keito feels a melancholy seeping through all the warm, misty emotions swimming in his head. But that’s what loving Eichi is; a heady, bittersweet cocktail of elation and heartache. Keito can’t imagine it any other way.
‘Four years with you would be four years well spent.’