'These Simple Breaths' - [Aoi/Uruha] 2/3

[colberry]

Title:  These Simple Breaths [because I'm drowning in your lungs]
Chapter: 2/3
Description:  This gold is fading.  Three moments that meant everything when nothing went right.
Notes:  And here comes the second chapter (oh goodness, I'm actually completing a multi-chapter?  Unheard of..)  Not so sure about this one though.  I'm also thinking of adding in another installment focusing on Yuu because this is pretty Kouyou-centered.. Ah, we'll see.  EDIT:  Okay, there will be a Yuu-chapter.  Kouyou had stolen my plot, but I'm stealing it back, haha.
Previous Chapters:  [1] 

Hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Kouyou isn't afraid of the dark.

He isn't afraid of the inside of his empty sheets either -- his hands do not shake, his breath does not tremble, and certainly his lips do not whisper his name.

Nor the inside of his heart when Yuu disconnects his answering machine that first night.

-- it's me again.  Just pick up, I know you're there; please --

Fear does not grasp him because light pollution has made the night sky of Tokyo so goddamn bright that all the stars could hang from nooses and he'd still be able to see.

&

But it's when he's stuck in a nameless hotel room, adrenaline from live-glory leaking through his bones, and the silence of emptiness crushing his lungs, does Kouyou ever feel the slight race of his heart.

The navy sheets tangle themselves around his ankles when he tries to toss his spent body into a position that doesn't face the utter darkness that each corner emits.  And, fuck, the room is so empty --

-- without him.

&

It's afterwards.  

After the live -- a total of two days to wipe his eyes clean of agony before limelight slaps his face -- and after the soft murmur of Takanori as they sweat backstage:

Doesn't something seem different tonight?  Something's different.

Yutaka shrugs, fingers gripping a broken drumstick tight because he agrees but can see how Kouyou's shoulders stiffen -- how Yuu's eyes become burning ice.

And Akira gives a noncommittal grunt and complains about his gnawing stomach instead -- because he can feel Kouyou start to lower his head behind him, start to break in two and, dammit how can Takanori not see it?

&

Everyone politely averts their eyes as Yuu opts to room with Yutaka.

The silence that envelopes the common-room is eroding Kouyou's heart.  His eyes oddly sting when Yutaka smiles with a question in his gaze, briefly glancing at the younger guitarist in this cringing moment of 'this isn't right'.  And in a second less than infinity, Yuu is passing through the door -- away, away.  His palms start to become cold and moist because maybe this was real.

I swear this is it.

Maybe this is it.

&

"Fuck, Kou -- just once would I like to not share a room with Mr. Gorilla Arms.  I swear, for being a midget, the kid just ends up strangling me in his sleep one way or another."

Kouyou watches Akira fume with an uneasy smirk -- his stomach is still quivering, apprehensive of sweet dreams -- and lets his head fall against the wall he's sitting near in the common-room, "Don't you guys have separate beds?"

Distraction, distraction.

Akira rolls his eyes and Kouyou takes the time to appreciate the man's unburdened face, noseband discarded, leaving the bassist to grant the guitarist an unfiltered, magnificent snort, "Doesn't matter.  Sleep-walking, he says.  Sticks to me like glue, that's what he does, the little monster."

Akira knows and he'll gladly distract the other until eternity collapses because --

Kouyou fiddles with the loose threads of his jeans, fingers poking and pulling at the frays of the ripped knee, and tries to concentrate on Akira's rant.  Anything to forget that he'll be facing the headboard -- this existence -- alone.  His eyes must have looked distant, he must have looked so small, because the elder man hesitates in his pacing and softens his voice, "Hey, you okay?"

Jerked out of his thoughts, Kouyou snaps his head up and simultaneously tugs too hard at the fray on his knee.  He rips the shredded fabric clean open.  "M'fine."

He attempts to magically weave the pieces back together, but he's left with the pale flesh of his knee staring up at him.  Kouyou knows it's unfixable, yet he keeps pinching the strands side by side -- pinch-pinch-tug-weave until Akira's fingers halt his own.

The world tilts just a tad and Kouyou has to grab hold of his breath as he catches Akira's concerned gaze.

A light pressure squeezes his fingers before Akira pulls his hand away and runs it through his bleached locks.  His eyes bounce across the room, over the strewn wrappers, the guitar cases, the burnt-out cigarettes before he comes to rest on Kouyou's crumpled form on the floor.

And suddenly, they're ten again as Akira quirks his lips into a light smile, one so beautifully pained that Kouyou thinks he might feel his ribs weeping, and knowingly mutters, "I won't lock the door tonight."

Kouyou sputters, indignant and failing to hide the redness that seeps into his cheeks with a frown, "I'm not scared, Akira."  Don't be stupid.  He can't meet the bassist's eyes.  Something's cracking in his chest.  He turns his head away sharply to the side because everything's becoming blurry and dammit, he can be stronger than this right?

"I don't need him."

And for the guitarist's sake, Akira pretends the other man hasn't just spilled everything onto the tiled floor, hasn't confirmed what he already knew.  He doesn't make comment, merely grasps Kouyou's thin wrist and hauls him to his feet --

-- because his hand is too used to fitting into the younger's palm, so callused from gripping Kou's so tight all these years, to let him go now.

&&

It's 3:26 in the morning when Akira hears a shuffling of feet beside his bed.  Immediately, he curses all that is holy that he has to stave off another Takanori-Snuggle-of-Death for a third time tonight, but his groggy brain catches a slight stutter of breath that could only belong to --

Akira opens his red-smacked eyes as he feels a tall shadow loom over him.  A blurred silhouette is all he needs to deduce the anxious presence of Kouyou.  The younger man shifts from one foot to the other, decked out in boxers, a nightshirt and a case of frazzled bed-head, and nibbles at his lower lip in uncertainty. 

Both are still for a moment before Kouyou whispers brokenly, "Yuu's door was locked, 'kira."

This is real.

Akira ignores the deafening ache in his heart and merely scoots over and lifts the covers to where Kouyou dashes inside as if the floor were bearing hot coals.  The taller man buries his face into the junction between the pillow and Akira's shoulder.  He bites his lip to stifle the sob that's begging in the cavity of his chest.

Tokyo isn't bright enough.

Callused fingers sift through his knotted locks, careful not to tug and Kouyou can't hold back the tears from such gentleness.

"Shh, don't cry.  Don't let him make you cry."

Kouyou shuts his eyes even tighter, buries his face further into Akira's shoulder until his nose almost crunches under the pressure.  His hand finds Akira's chest and he clutches the fabric with white knuckles because --

"I made him cry first."

&&&

A/N:  ...Akira literally invaded my plot. 

Chapter 2.5