'These Simple Breaths' - [Aoi/Uruha] 2.5/3
Aug. 6th, 2010 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
colberryTitle: These Simple Breaths [because I'm drowning in your lungs]
Chapter: 2.5/3
Description: This gold is fading. Three moments that meant everything when nothing went right.
Notes: A slight change in plans, it seems. Here's the Yuu-chapter! I realized, along with others, that we need some perspective from our Aoi-shi, so voila! Only one chapter left (gah! that was fast o.o)
Previous Chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]
When Yuu reconnects his answering machine, lets those circuits gasp at forgotten oxygen, red blinks at him urgently.
17 new messages.
17 more pleas.
17,000 reasons to forgive him.
His hands are shaking again and suddenly the device is crumbled and cracked. Gears are ticking aimlessly, shrapnel quivers upon his linoleum floor and Yuu's fingers are bleeding. Red is drowning him, chasing him. He grits his teeth and slams his fists into the dry wall because damn it all, he thought rocks stars were supposed to be invincible, untouchable -- unbreakable.
His knuckles ache, but he wants his bones to splinter and disintegrate because then he'll have a reason why he's collapsing.
&
Kouyou doesn't say anything when he sees the bandages on his hands.
He still doesn't utter a word when Yuu slips up on a chord, a hiss breaking through his teeth.
He's silent when the elder man grabs the roots of his hair, eyes nailed shut while his guitar hangs limp from his neck.
But when Yuu snaps the strings, tears the fiberglass apart, eyes caged and wet, he almost chokes out a yell --
"Wait -- !"
-- But Yuu is already gone.
&
He throws away his coffee mug. It's the blue one Kouyou had always stolen sips from and when he presses his lips to the ceramic, he can taste him. And Yuu doesn't want to remember.
Forgetting would be so much easier.
Hating him would be so much easier.
But his heart has no other metronome.
&
Takanori doesn't think much when he's asked to accompany Yuu to a local drinking hole. The vocalist barely pays attention to the warble in Yuu's voice over the phone, doesn't think to imagine the elder man's nails digging into the receiver with all his will not to fracture. He only pays heed to picking out the perfect pair of dark-wash jeans, the precise lyric to scribble down beforehand, and the whisper of cologne on his collarbone.
The same collarbone Yuu nuzzles against in a drunken slur of 'just-stay-like-this-please-please' as the guitarist's still-bandaged fingers wander to the hem of his shirt. And Takanori has to pause and take notice, has to grip Yuu's wrists and hear him snivel from pressure on tender skin, from everything else that is leaving shards of broken-hope in his ribcage --
"What the fuck are you doing."
Yuu's eyes are glazed when they find the younger man's. Takanori can see black bruises under his mahogany irises, lips chapped from embracing cigarettes two-at-a-time, and the way his head lolls to the side in a sickening guise of innocence.
"Anything to make it stop."
He leans in closer, savoring this new warmth. He's so fucking cold, the ice of empty sheets still sticking to his skin. He wants to claw it off, tear it open and slather his body, his heart, across Kouyou's. He wants to hate him. He wants to hate-hate-love until he suffocates on paradoxes and rips out every promise he's made to move on.
And he knows the short, brunette man he's suddenly straddling isn't him, but Yuu still lowers his head to try and catch Takanori's unwilling lips. He wants warmth, wants to fill this emptiness with something, anything.
Takanori leans back, eyes wide with comprehension, watching how Yuu's eyes are shimmering in the darkness of the bar. Red light from a neon sign proclaiming "OPEN" blisters across their skin, making their teeth glisten. He grasps at the guitarist's arms, ignoring the soft pleas that fall from drunken lips, from his own heart to just take it, it's something, it's anything, it's what you always --
Yuu feels Takanori's lithe fingers clutch his biceps tight and anger laps at his soul.
"Fuck, Yuu, stop. You can't do this."
But Yuu presses his mouth against the vocalist's, bites the lip hard, eyes blurred from searing hatred that he still feels his heart. Because why not?
I've already lost everything.
Takanori's lips are full, plush and taste like blood; they're different. And Yuu can't help but choke out a strangled sob that he can't feel that familiar bowed maw beneath him.
Their breaths mingle, both choking on oxygen. Takanori can feel that bottom lip slide to the corner of his mouth, a soft pant that may be a whimper fans across his skin and he buries his fingernails into Yuu's arms harder. The younger man roughly jerks his head away, eyes wild and blazing as he feels scarlet slithering down to his chin.
And Yuu can feel himself being pushed away, he can feel his back hit the corner of the booth. He can hear something shatter.
Takanori exhales loudly, touching his abused lip tentatively before eyeing the man across from him who's white-gauzed hand is fisting the fabric over his heart. He tries not to let the tragic-poet in him imagine the guitarist's hand dappled in vermillion regret from the organ he knows is bleeding. Takanori, instead, sputters:
"What the hell did he do?"
And Yuu can't look up. His head hurts, his sheets are empty and he misses his blue mug.
"Yuu, what did he do?"
He has three new holes in his wall, his knuckles are throbbing and he needs a new answering machine.
"Yuu --"
He misses him, he misses him, he misses him.
&&&
A/N: A little peek into Yuu's side of things. This is called Chapter 2.5 for a reason as it wasn't supposed to be here, but we really did need some Yuu-perspective. Oh, why do I hurt these boys so?
Chapter: 2.5/3
Description: This gold is fading. Three moments that meant everything when nothing went right.
Notes: A slight change in plans, it seems. Here's the Yuu-chapter! I realized, along with others, that we need some perspective from our Aoi-shi, so voila! Only one chapter left (gah! that was fast o.o)
Previous Chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ]
When Yuu reconnects his answering machine, lets those circuits gasp at forgotten oxygen, red blinks at him urgently.
17 new messages.
17 more pleas.
17,000 reasons to forgive him.
His hands are shaking again and suddenly the device is crumbled and cracked. Gears are ticking aimlessly, shrapnel quivers upon his linoleum floor and Yuu's fingers are bleeding. Red is drowning him, chasing him. He grits his teeth and slams his fists into the dry wall because damn it all, he thought rocks stars were supposed to be invincible, untouchable -- unbreakable.
His knuckles ache, but he wants his bones to splinter and disintegrate because then he'll have a reason why he's collapsing.
&
Kouyou doesn't say anything when he sees the bandages on his hands.
He still doesn't utter a word when Yuu slips up on a chord, a hiss breaking through his teeth.
He's silent when the elder man grabs the roots of his hair, eyes nailed shut while his guitar hangs limp from his neck.
But when Yuu snaps the strings, tears the fiberglass apart, eyes caged and wet, he almost chokes out a yell --
"Wait -- !"
-- But Yuu is already gone.
&
He throws away his coffee mug. It's the blue one Kouyou had always stolen sips from and when he presses his lips to the ceramic, he can taste him. And Yuu doesn't want to remember.
Forgetting would be so much easier.
Hating him would be so much easier.
But his heart has no other metronome.
&
Takanori doesn't think much when he's asked to accompany Yuu to a local drinking hole. The vocalist barely pays attention to the warble in Yuu's voice over the phone, doesn't think to imagine the elder man's nails digging into the receiver with all his will not to fracture. He only pays heed to picking out the perfect pair of dark-wash jeans, the precise lyric to scribble down beforehand, and the whisper of cologne on his collarbone.
The same collarbone Yuu nuzzles against in a drunken slur of 'just-stay-like-this-please-please' as the guitarist's still-bandaged fingers wander to the hem of his shirt. And Takanori has to pause and take notice, has to grip Yuu's wrists and hear him snivel from pressure on tender skin, from everything else that is leaving shards of broken-hope in his ribcage --
"What the fuck are you doing."
Yuu's eyes are glazed when they find the younger man's. Takanori can see black bruises under his mahogany irises, lips chapped from embracing cigarettes two-at-a-time, and the way his head lolls to the side in a sickening guise of innocence.
"Anything to make it stop."
He leans in closer, savoring this new warmth. He's so fucking cold, the ice of empty sheets still sticking to his skin. He wants to claw it off, tear it open and slather his body, his heart, across Kouyou's. He wants to hate him. He wants to hate-hate-love until he suffocates on paradoxes and rips out every promise he's made to move on.
And he knows the short, brunette man he's suddenly straddling isn't him, but Yuu still lowers his head to try and catch Takanori's unwilling lips. He wants warmth, wants to fill this emptiness with something, anything.
Takanori leans back, eyes wide with comprehension, watching how Yuu's eyes are shimmering in the darkness of the bar. Red light from a neon sign proclaiming "OPEN" blisters across their skin, making their teeth glisten. He grasps at the guitarist's arms, ignoring the soft pleas that fall from drunken lips, from his own heart to just take it, it's something, it's anything, it's what you always --
Yuu feels Takanori's lithe fingers clutch his biceps tight and anger laps at his soul.
"Fuck, Yuu, stop. You can't do this."
But Yuu presses his mouth against the vocalist's, bites the lip hard, eyes blurred from searing hatred that he still feels his heart. Because why not?
I've already lost everything.
Takanori's lips are full, plush and taste like blood; they're different. And Yuu can't help but choke out a strangled sob that he can't feel that familiar bowed maw beneath him.
Their breaths mingle, both choking on oxygen. Takanori can feel that bottom lip slide to the corner of his mouth, a soft pant that may be a whimper fans across his skin and he buries his fingernails into Yuu's arms harder. The younger man roughly jerks his head away, eyes wild and blazing as he feels scarlet slithering down to his chin.
And Yuu can feel himself being pushed away, he can feel his back hit the corner of the booth. He can hear something shatter.
Takanori exhales loudly, touching his abused lip tentatively before eyeing the man across from him who's white-gauzed hand is fisting the fabric over his heart. He tries not to let the tragic-poet in him imagine the guitarist's hand dappled in vermillion regret from the organ he knows is bleeding. Takanori, instead, sputters:
"What the hell did he do?"
And Yuu can't look up. His head hurts, his sheets are empty and he misses his blue mug.
"Yuu, what did he do?"
He has three new holes in his wall, his knuckles are throbbing and he needs a new answering machine.
"Yuu --"
He misses him, he misses him, he misses him.
&&&
A/N: A little peek into Yuu's side of things. This is called Chapter 2.5 for a reason as it wasn't supposed to be here, but we really did need some Yuu-perspective. Oh, why do I hurt these boys so?
