http://aibashi.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] aibashi.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] planetarylight2011-02-23 04:05 pm

this is what we are after.

Title: this is what we’re after.
Pairings: toshiyaxkaoru
Rating: G
Genre: angsty, romance
Number of words: 1.608
Summary:
God, it just reminded me of you.
Not only the cigarettes, everything else did.

Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me.
Comments: gooood, it has been literally years (well just one) since i decided to write something and it actually worked out. i don't want want to say i've lost my muse or something but i was really struggling against writing for so long. so many unfinished fics and drabbles, i hope this changes now, though.
the grammar of this is a bit messy, more than a lot of ideas threw together than a real story and I need to say this just... kind of wrote itself instead of i wrote it.
please, crits and feedback are really important for me, so either if you love ir or if you think it sucks, comment me.
they are more than appreciated.♥


“I want to try it your way this time.”

I whisper and you look up, startled, because no one was supposed to be here while you were finishing up some work, because we were supposed to be home. Because you didn’t expected me to be there, from all people. Your long limbed bass player, with messy hair and even messier clothes, playing nervously with the end of his jacket, leaning against the door of our studio whispering out love pledges at almost midnight.
The truth was, I really went home. I did. When you dismissed us and told us our work there was done, I really packed my things, zipped up my jacket, took my bag and left. As simple as that. I was obeying orders like I was a small kid. Not only me, we all left as soon as you told us to because there’s never enough free time when we’re too used to drown ourselves in work and tours in cities we can barely pronounce.

I went home, and I started to feel restless. I arrived and I tried to eat, but not even the most tasteful and good looking plate could make me hungry. I tried to watch TV but my mind seemed everywhere else but there, in my main room, on my couch. I had the strangest crave of smoking a cigarette, and I found myself on my feet going to Lawson to spend money I would never thought I would spend again. I came back home, sat down, lighted the so called cigarette and trashed it as soon as I gave a drag of it, because when the smoke arrived my lungs I’d remember the exact reason why I decided to quit.
God, it just reminded me of you.
Not only the cigarettes, everything else did.

My anxiety grew inside of me like that exact moment, like a puzzle getting together, all the pieces fitting exactly with each other’s, creating something beautiful and perfect yet scary, as if it will break into a million pieces if you dare to touch it, to even approach it.

That had always been you and I, right.

Staring the white cancer stick, perfectly lying still on the transparent ashtray, moments and words and memories and, your eyes, oh god I could see it in your eyes; flew inside of me, invading my senses and mind like a hurricane I wouldn’t even want to avoid.

I wouldn’t even dare to.

I’ve just missed you, in the painful, heartbreaking way you can miss someone you see every day, and you live with and coexist with. That way when you physically miss someone who’s standing next to you.
When did the distance between my hand and your hand become so big, like instead merely centimeters between us there was a deep cliff, and it’s windy and it’s dark and I just want to know you will be there, to jump with me. To dare to do it.

It was right there and right then, my eyes fixed into the half burnt cigarette inside of me, that I decided I wanted to try things your way, whatever your way was. That if there was any hope I would like you fire it up, because it was the only nourishment my love could have, not the hope itself, but a word from you, the right words from you. And if you felt there was nothing else we could do, if the flame totally extinguished and where the fire was now there was only cold and ice, then I would rather listen it from your mouth, too.

And that left me here, in our studio at an unholy hour while you stare at me like I’m a ghost, because that was probably what I’d become.
You look up at me, your eyes as beautiful as ever even if they are circled by dark bags that never seem to leave, no matter how much you try to sleep, even if I know you don’t sleep much to start with.


(“I want to try it your way this time.”)


“My way about what?” You ask and I wish your voice can hold some kind of emotion, even if it’s loathed, even if it’s annoyance. The fact you’re always sound so calm it’s a curse and a bless at the same time.

“Your take on love.” I whisper again, as I don’t dare to raise my voice. Too scared to move, as if you would disappear, leave, if I dare to come near you. Because I know you would do it. Because I know how uncomfortable you are right now, facing words you don’t want to hear.

“There’s no such thing.” You shrug, with a wave of your hand like you’re talking about something trivial, pathetic.

That does it. I move, finally moving from the door, walking slowly to the table you’re working at. I see you switch slightly, surprised to see I move, because you probably didn’t expect it too soon. But I have to; I’m going to go insane standing at the door, when my skin is crawling for me to fly to your arms.
You’ve been really working hard, the table is full of notes, and papers, and cigarettes since you can smoke when no one else is around. Your phone is on the table, too along with your wallet. Tiny pieces of you spread on the shiny surface like a shop’s display. When I’m finally next to you, I kneel down, the tips of my fingers leaning against the arms of the chair, afraid to touch you but having enough with the memory of your touch in them. Your hands touched that armrest, they say to me, and I feel like a million of bright butterflies explode inside of me.
“Then what am I doing here.” I ask, my fingers curling around the arm seat, as is clinging to it.

“It was you the one who decided to come.” You reply, and even if I am there, a cigarette is placed between your lips and soon the familiar smells of poisonous smoke fill my nose and my lungs.

“Kaoru…” I say and your name sounds so different for me. It has been a while since I said your name like this. Haven’t you missed it? I’ve always loved so much when you called out my name, whispered it, panting it, moaned it. All of the above.

“Don’t.” You try to sound solid, but I know you too well to know when your voice trembles, when your will is quivering. And it’s exactly what I’ve heard.

“Kaoru.” I try again and even if I’m aware I’m close to begging, I don’t care. “Please.”

For first time since I arrived to the studio, you actually look at me and stare right into my eyes. And I feel so dizzy I feel like I can collapse on the floor. You’re still staring at me when one of my hands move, blindly but securely to grab one of your hands. The distance between us doesn’t seem as big, doesn’t seem as scary. Your hand is hot and solid and when I move my thumb all over the back of it I can feel the traces of ink around your fingers, your knuckles, and your wrist. I really had no idea how much I missed your skin.
We say nothing and do nothing for what it seems to be a long time, and I cling to your hand and you look at me like you’re trying to find my soul through my eye balls.

“I’m not going anywhere, if you don’t want me to. I’ve always been here and I will always be here, just please give me something I can hold onto.” I’m totally aware I’m begging this time, but someone, a long time ago told me that egos were useless when it was about the people you cared for, and I can’t find a single person inside my heart I care for more than Kaoru. At least not right now.

You finally move, but instead of saying something, anything. Something soothing or beautiful you move close enough so our foreheads are touching each other’s and I feel your breath ghosting my lips. And it smells like coffee and cigarettes and all the promises you said to me during all these years, the one you fulfilled and the ones you couldn’t and you wanted to and it’s like all my life and all my love is summed up in those seconds you inhale and exhale. And I’m smiling, the most sincere smile I’ve felt in months.
I see how you move, trashing the cigarette into the ashtray, and then with that same hand you move it up, your fingers digging into my hair, soft curles around your inked fingers. My breath is caught up in my throat, because even if I’m almost sure about what it’s going to happen, I don’t want to wish it out my mind in case it won’t be true.

But it does.

Your fingers push me against you and your head tilts to the side to cover the distance between your lips and mine until they finally meet. My eyes almost close, whimpering at the velvet touch which it’s sending chills down my spine. I should have known better. You don’t need words, at all. You don’t need love pledges and promises and sugar coating true’s. Is this all that matters. Just this.

You, and me and your kiss and everything in between, even the struggles and the tears.
This is your take on love.
And I take it wholeheartedly.

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