keepingshop | ＩＮＥＶＩＴＡＢＬＥ

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ＩＮＥＶＩＴＡＢＬＥ

MAKE A WISH.
( IF YOU CAN PAY THE PRICE ... )

[Automatically, he wound an arm around Kimihiro's waist to keep him steady, and steered him away from the influx of people.]

Hn.

[They might have adjusted to dealing with others trying to fill what they saw as empty space, but that didn't mean Doumeki approved of the pushing.

He held Kimihiro close like that for the rest of the walk home because he was a shameless man who preferred having his partner in his arms, though he'd reserve kissing the top of Kimihiro's head for the moment they stepped inside their house.

In many ways, serving as one of Kimihiro's anchors in this world was something that crept up on him with every errand. Every wish. Every sacrifice exchanged, running deep beyond words and silence. Doumeki would do it all over again for reasons that went beyond duty and diligence, and he could only hope it was enough for them to carry on like this.

(It wasn't ideal. Kimihiro was a social creature, he knew, and there ought to be a way for him to interact with others who didn't come seeking wishes... though part of him dreaded the cost.)]

[ The curl of Shizuka's arm around is waist is like a reminder: yes you exist, yes you are here. The kiss he receives to the crown of his head is more humanizing still: you are wanted. Not just as a price paid to avert disasters elsewhere (everywhere), not just as a promise created to be kept even if the meaning isn't entirely what he thought, not just as a placeholder for a woman who lived outside of time and made sure in all of it to give Watanuki Kimihiro a tangible place in this world. Human like this: the curl of Kimihiro's tapered fingers in Shizuka's collar as he lightly pulls and presses on it to neaten it -- unnecessary, since it's the end of the day, but he wants to, so he does. Human like this: the way he peers up at him thoughtfully and re-memorizes all the things he knows about Doumeki Shizuka.

It's a disservice, Kimihiro is old enough -- worked through enough -- to recognize: to call him 'enough'. Shizuka is more than enough. But that's neither here nor there when one has made oneself a living ghost. ]

Messy.

[ He tsks and lets his hands flatten and smooth out from the shirt collar to Shizuka's shoulders. If people could have seen them they would make quite a pair -- Kimihiro in his traditional clothes beside Shizuka in his work attire every day on the walk from or to the station.]

[Doumeki snorted. There was only the two of them, and he couldn't see below his chin. Still, he dutifully let himself be fussed over, because that was the sort of detail Kimihiro focused on.

He might not see the point, but that didn't mean he disliked the attention.]

I'll change out of it later.

[A simple reminder. The same went for Kimihiro's attire, which he'd relish divesting him of later, if they were in the mood, and he dipped his head, giving a kiss in thanks once the fabric was straightened out.]

Dinner?

[It went without saying he'd follow Kimihiro to the kitchen, though he'd settle down at their dining table to grade a few papers while Kimihiro cooked.]

Later, [ Kimihiro parrots with the wryness that's become a staple of his demeanor, somewhat replaced the more volatile ways of how he used to be. Though some things remain close to those old ways: how when Shizuka kisses him Kimihiro will now and always blush visibly in his cheeks and annoyingly the tips of his ears, how Kimihiro's hands so intent on making him fastidious curl on his shoulders anyway in the end. It's almost worrying how Shizuka has been able to stay a part of his life, that there is no perceivable cost that Kimihiro can see. So if he holds onto him as if saying 'stay', he can't help it.

Then Shizuka opens his mouth and the undercurrent of worry is mellowed, at least for now. ]

What kind of a question -- [ He doesn't even finish that sentence, leaving Shizuka to his papers and busying himself with their meal. It's a thing Kimihiro holds dear to himself in a way he's not certain he's allowed -- the preparing and making of food to share with someone he cares for, important enough that even when he was too new to the role of Shopkeep and had a habit of passing out wherever after event he smallest of wishes, he'd still insist on doing it. "It's important." That's what he'd said, he thinks, gathering the bowls. He nudges Shizuka's arm or shoulder or whatever with his knee as if to say move so he can put the things down. Then he goes back to hesitate over sake or tea before returning with the former.

Eying the papers, he tilts his head.]

What was this assignment?

[ Given the field of study, of course Kimihiro is interested, but given the teacher, of course he would be regardless. ]

[Cute.

Making Kimihiro blush like that always counted as a personal achievement. He smirked, his good mood lingering when it came time to clear his work off the table. Just as Kimihiro took great care in preparing their meals, Doumeki made sure he'd properly appreciate each dish by not being distracted by objects unrelated to dining.]

Mamemaki.

[The essays were still at arm's reach if Kimihiro wanted to read.]

We're covering Setsubun and other festivals.

Edited 2020-05-16 19:28 (UTC)

[ His eyes do flit in consideration towards the papers, but he refrains for the duration of the meal, content like this as he asks his questions to Shizuka, whose day and life are the ones he's truly interested in if he's honest; though the thoughts of strangers on such things can be...useful. He'll read them later, likely, pore over them with unexpected zeal because that's how it often is with Kimihiro and his glimpses into Shizuka's students. He tends to remember them too -- "Oh, Fujiwara did better this time I see" and "Shirou is rather sharp, you said he's on recommendation?" -- which fills in his world in a way he's grateful for. ]

And are they teaching you anything new, professor?

[ Unlikely, but it's a more fun question than 'How many of them will have to rewrite and resubmit?'

He tilts his head on his hand, having finished his food -- always giving a larger portion to Shizuka because he likes to feed him and because he himself has an appetite that has shrunken considerably -- , sitting in that relaxed almost lazy way that's so reminiscent of Yuuko even if he himself doesn't realize it. ]

[His students would've liked Kimihiro, that much he was sure of. Outside of dealing with customers who fielded in terrible karmic consequences, his partner was warm and supportive in ways Doumeki himself had difficulties expressing.

Information might come at a cost, but the same wasn't true for feelings.

Was there any wonder why he held Kimihiro's food with such high regard, even if he rarely spoke about it? Doumeki had come to think of even the smallest grain of rice as a miracle: more proof that Kimihiro still remained with him. Chose to be here, when there was a time that the allure to stay at the Shop had been strong.

It was something he was grateful for, and he absently bumped knees with Kimihiro, even while his hands were occupied with his bowl and chopsticks.]

Not about the topic.

Hashimoto's participating in the Chichibu Festival. Arai and Fujita are going with him to take pictures and videos.

[ In another version of their lives, Kimihiro becomes less Kimihiro and more Watanuki; he stays in the shop for more than a lifetime and misses Shizuka and Himawari and Kohane and Yuuko -- always always always -- every single day inside of it. He does not lose himself but he loses. But it is, like this world, also his choice. One might argue that Watanuki Kimihiro has a bad track record for it -- those big decisions, those prices he accepts to pay.

But here, at least, he can have the privilege of certain things: nagging Shizuka at the market for which vegetables to pick, judging his desk space if he gets there before he's cleaned it up to go home, meeting him for lunch if Kimihiro's own job isn't in the way, and much as they might do later, falling asleep tangled up like the red string Yuuko alluded to what feels forever ago.

When he feels Shizuka's knees, the smile pressed into Kimihiro's own palm grows softer. Yes. Still here. ]

Ah. Well then.

[ The second thing has him lifting his head, sitting up a bit straighter. ]

You aren't going?

[ Not that he supposes Shizuka needs to or has specific job-oriented necessity to do so; but he asks anyway. For Kimihiro, that night will be busy, also the day before and after, perhaps whole weeks bordering; the spirit world is for better or for worse tied by its own thread of fate to the human one. More of them will be around than usual. The kekkai around the shop is considerable, and it's far rarer these days for there to be a spirit Kimihiro cannot simply keep out. But it depends doesn't it; on what he needs to do, if he has to protect someone; to what extent.

Absently he entertains the fantasy of going, then silently shelves it. Not wise, really.

He nudges his bowl of rice -- half finished -- over towards Shizuka. ]

The professor's making arrangements. Some of his students are interested.

[His senior colleague. The same one he served as assistant to, and one of the few Doumeki had actually spoken to about Kimihiro whenever old artifacts were involved.

Accompanying the man wasn't a problem.]

...it will be loud and crowded.

[That combination was his specific reason for not committing to any plans yet, and he took the bowl of rice after checking just how much Kimihiro had actually eaten (was it enough?), fingers lingering on his partner's knuckles. Doumeki had attended all sorts of festivals and celebrations over the years - with his grandfather at first, then with Kimihiro. He understood their significance, the importance of thanksgiving, of the meeting between the mountain god and the town's goddess. If he was specifically invited, it was only proper to attend and participate.

Festivities were loud affairs by nature.

He would be very tired afterwards, and it was a busy time of the year for Kimihiro.

Doumeki didn't look forward to sleeping alone after such a trying day, although this wasn't something he'd bring up. Not when Kimihiro also thrived when he interacted with spirits, and Doumeki could tuck away the fear that his partner might not return once the festival was over.]

[ Days and nights surrounding festivals of import are moments when Kimihiro is busiest both with work and with what has become his only form of socializing outside of Shizuka. Over the years he likes to think he's perfected the art of slipping into bed beside him without waking him, but that's only assuming Shizuka sleeps at all. Because even exhausted, Kimihiro has found him awake and waiting for him at unkind hours, and most times he's berated him for it, but they both can't help certain things about themselves regarding each other. He also can't blame him since, even as he's gotten better at his role of shopkeep, there have been nights where he's returned worse for the wear -- a wish too high in cost even now, the temperamental nature of some spirits whose faces won't be shown, or even simply the human nature of Kimihiro to simply not know his own limits ("Enough," Shizuka once said with his arms tight around Kimihiro's shivering frame.) ]

And tiring, [ He acknowledges at least, but not without adding, ] and beautiful.

[ Shizuka takes such care with the food Kimihiro makes for him that he catches himself being exceedingly fond of him, and well, he should be; one might suppose so of people who are together. But it goes beyond that too, indeed has been there since before Shizuka took him up with both hands in the kitchen and kissed him, wound his way and his meaning into him with a sense about all of it that felt like finally. Shizuka understands the things that matter, in plainest terms.

Kimihiro also understands what matters.

The kiss to Shizuka's temple is gentle but quite present, and while he doesn't linger, there's a sense that he considers it before he takes up the bowls and chopsticks and brings them with him to the kitchen to begin washing. Perhaps he will encourage him to go with the professor; perhaps he won't. Not as though Shizuka ever does anything he doesn't want to anyway.

They have that in common.]

Hn.

[Beautiful, indeed.

Kimihiro would wear something elaborate for the occasion, long-limbed and elegant, graceful wrists peeking out of billowing sleeves. A vision to be appreciated, a reminder of his growing mystique.

He didn't mind waiting for Kimihiro to come home at the brink of dawn if only to assure the both of them that the reality they were in wasn't just a vision, and the lecture that followed was a welcome sign of care.

Doumeki would wait, whether it was late into the evening, or the short time it took moving between their dining table to the kitchen. Kimihiro might not have lingered, but the sensation of his lips on skin temple did, and Doumeki closed his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling.

Then, he stood up.

Helping with the dishes was only fair. Rinsing and drying was routine, and they've mapped out each other's steps with years of familiarity. The only bumping there was to be had was from Doumeki leaning close once the final bowl was dried and back on the rack, arms winding around Kimihiro's waist, gratitude and contentment rolled into one.]

[ If anyone could know Kimihiro, they would see the perhaps the way the two of them act and it wouldn't be any kind of rocket science to make the assumptions they would whether from their silent communication or their almost reliable bickering that more and more these days consists of mutual worry -- as if passing back and forth the same plate: you eat no you eat! You be careful -- no, you be careful. Okay, okay, okay. And so it goes with them whether regarding spirits or the subtly exhausting nature of even the most ordinary of days. That Kimihiro can bend down and card his pale fingers through Shizuka's hair and wait for him to fall asleep is a gift; that Kimihiro can touch him at all is a gift. Because he remembers making the deal that he did and, not knowing he'd be given such grace, trying to make his heart quiet.

Looking back on it now, he knows he failed, because when it became quickly apparent Shizuka could see him -- the crawl of outrage in his expression when no one else could see much less knew Watanuki Kimihiro was ever there at all -- he almost...

...well it's been a while. Kimihiro does not quite remember what stupid or foolish action he'd been on the precipice of that time; he just knows there was one, and knowing himself, it was probably something embarrassing.

Today's clients did not take him outside of himself too badly. The ones who do leave him floating on some bridge between himself and his memory of Yuuko. Those nights, Shizuka brings him the rest of the way home, and more than once Kimihiro has wondered if he wasn't there then what would come of him?

The wordless cleaning up after the meal is pleasant because it's theirs, and when Shizuka encircles him, that's pleasant too. Kimihiro covers his hands with his own and leans back against him with all the trust of years and years, lets his head tip back against his shoulder, and says what he often says now when the remainder of the night belongs to them, ]

Welcome home.

[ He'll never tire of saying it, and if he's afraid that the wish that binds him to the shop will one day take that choice away from him, he never speaks to it. Some things don't need to be made more real by saying them out loud; some things should not be.

The way he bends his arm back to push his fingers through Shizuka's hair is unintentionally elegant, but that's how most of his movements are these days from the way he reaches for him to the way the full sleeve falls with the angle of it, arm pale against the dark plum of this particular robe. Some of his clothing is more reminiscent of Yuuko than others; this one might be perceived as softly in-between. ]

[Then was then, now was now. They've both learned from the past, or so Doumeki liked to think, even if they needed to remind each other of those lessons on occasion.

Perhaps today was not one of those days. Over drinks, he'd have to ask. Recounting the hours before bed was yet another ritual: there were some things not meant to be talked about on the walk home, and Doumeki was always curious to hear what - or whom - Kimihiro encountered while he was busy in the classroom.

Ah, but those words. They, too, were ones Doumeki never tired of hearing, a pleasant lilt of syllables and warmth whenever Kimihiro said them, burrowing deep.

The weight of those slender arms on his and the warmth pressed on his chest - privately, Doumeki was glad for their difference in height, when it meant he could envelope Kimihiro and lean down to meet that welcome with a kiss, enjoying the sensation of fingers carding through his scalp.

Here they could linger, by the sink in the middle of the kitchen, revelling in each other's company, a haven of simplicity they've managed to keep to themselves in spite of the complicated journey it took to get here. Home was where Kimihiro was, and Doumeki adored him for it.]

[ Kissing Shizuka is always thrilling in a way Kimihiro would be too embarrassed to admit to, but it's true and there is something romantic about Shizuka being his first kiss at the start of a contained lifetime of them. Not that he would say those precise words to him either. But they've been together long enough that it would perhaps be unnecessary anyway. The soft ahn between one kiss and the next is want, and the way Kimihiro slides the hand in Shizuka's hair down the side of his neck to curl is encouragement, and how he chases after another kiss when this one ends is an option.

Because they can keep going or they can stop; they can do almost anything and Kimihiro finds he's genuinely okay with.... it as long as they're together. And he's careful not to think of it as a wish, careful to always think of Doumeki Shizuka as the person he wants. There cannot be a price for how he feels for him anyway, but Kimihiro knows the sensitivity of the shop as well as such seemingly harmless imaginations (they never are), and so he knows better.

Sometimes Kimihiro is hit with an intense and fearful wave of what-ifs and almost always he spirals into trance-like states where he dreams -- not always useful. Equally almost always, it's Shizuka who reminds him those things haven't happened -- not yet and hopefully not forever.

Then again, what's 'forever'?

Kimihiro sighs as this kiss -- second? third? fourth? -- breaks but he keeps his head tilted back, and smiles up at Shizuka the way only someone in love can. ]

Bed? Bath?

[ If his own bias comes first, well he doesn't feel bad about that. Not one bit. ]

[One kiss, to another, and another, both of them puzzle slotting into place. Kimihiro tasted of their dinner and the sweet sighs spilling from his mouth, and Doumeki smiled, relishing the feel of soft lips and needy touch.

The contradiction of Kimihiro's shyness and bold encouragement, too, were a delicacy, as was the warmth of the palm covering his neck.]

Avoiding extra laundry?

[There was a hint of heat in that tease doubling as a question when he planted another kiss on Kimihiro's jaw, hand wandering to the delicate curve of his partner's back. He could certainly go along with that bias before they freshened up for sleep, his own private worship of the being that was Watanuki Kimihiro.]

[ They're older now but Kimihiro retains a level of density sometimes that would impress, well, anyone. Though even if he had caught the double meaning, the result might be vaguely the same as he narrows his eyes, ]

Laundry belonging to who? You--

[ Kimihiro is a certain percentage soft bluster in no time at all, but just as fast his words trail off, breath twisted out of him warm and bright. He ends up with both of his hands cradled at the back of Shizuka's head, a certain weakness for the path Shizuka is fond of laying across his jaw perhaps with reverent attention to his throat. Truth be known, he's still embarrassed of it and doesn't know why because it's not exactly new anymore, but one wouldn't know it the way he blushes and reacts to every single touch. A reasonable guess would have to do with his lack of contact with, well, almost anyone; how hyper sensitized he is to the weight of Shizuka's hand at the line of his spine or even the low hum of his voice that seems still to prefer 'hns' and 'ahs' to words. But maybe that's fine in these cases; every word is just another point of potential for Kimihiro to want to cover his own face but also half ask half demand that Shizuka never stop -- stop what? Touching? Yes. Seeing him? Yes. Being together? Yes.

All of it, yes. A thousand times, yes.

It's easy, self conscious or not, to let Shizuka lean into him until he feels himself backed against the counter, and Kimihiro slides one hand to the front of his shirt no longer neat at all, and pulls at the collar this time, more playful and enticing than he means to be but often is these days as he looks at Shizuka with the kind of openness no one else has seen in a long, long time. ] Didn't you say that you were going...to take this off?

[He smirked at that protest, lips trailing from jaw to the hollow beneath it: a favorite spot of his to leave marks at, on the rarest of occasions he was allowed to leave such obvious signs above the collar. His second favorite spot was two inches below Kimihiro's ear. This was where he lavished his attention on, shifting his grip to avoid the countertop, but otherwise pressing his fingers on Kimihiro's spine, an echo of how he's seen his partner settle on a chord on his shamisen.

Being reminded of his earlier words, too, made him huff in amusement. That was one leap from irritation to playfulness. When he was flustered, Kimihiro wasn't at all a smooth talker. Doumeki liked this side of him, too, this raw sincerity that he equally protected and wanted to covet.]

Hn.

[An agreement. Yet, he held off from actually unbuttoning his shirt.

Both his tone and the look he gave Kimihiro pointed to one question: what are you going to do about it?]

[ Kimihiro would protest, would tell him sometimes Not where it can be seen only to be met with Shizuka's eyes and then have to look away because of course no one would, not people anyway, and spirits had no care of such things. It was an empty protest anyway, Kimihiro liking it as much as Shizuka if not more so, kindled alive and present and real by the pressure that edged on the side of leaving a bruise that bloomed like a flower if Kimihiro let it. Tonight, he lets him, and tomorrow he'll touch his fingertips lightly to the discoloration and flush and feel young and strange and loved. He loves this: the play of Shizuka's touch along the notches of his spine and the attention to detail therein, and maybe it's not unlike how sometimes when Shizuka falls asleep first, Kimihiro will count his eyelashes or trace the lines of his dominant hand just because he can and because he wants to.

All that being true, he's still no good when Shizuka so effortlessly throws the ball into his court like that, so smug and self assured that it drives Kimihiro a little crazy but also out of his depth because the second he over-thinks something like this he's outpaced. But it's not like he'll admit such a thing. Ever. Rather, he draws both hands up to Shizuka's face -- a face that has no right to do the things it does to Kimihiro's heart both when he sees him and, conversely, when he hasn't seen him for too long usually due to a client -- and slots his mouth to his. He tries to convey stupid into his expression though his success is probably none. Shizuka tastes like the food they ate and the sake, of course, but beneath all that he's just Shizuka.]

Shizuka.

[ He says a great deal with just his name, and clumsily echoing a kiss to the corner of Shizuka's mouth, lets his hands slide down to deftly work at the buttons of his shirt -- a thing he has gotten better at overtime, practice making perfect and all that.

It's still startling to this day, how Shizuka chose him, how even given the possibility of a slightly more normal life with a woman who loved him and the promise of a family....he still chose Kimihiro. He doesn't bring it up, ever, because Shizuka did indeed make his choice and Kimihiro is too selfish to send him away by force -- though he could; could lock himself up in the shop and create a kekkai even Shizuka could not penetrate; he could.

But he doesn't want to.

He wants this: their home, Shizuka's hands on him like prayers, the unwritten tradition and promise of sharing meals.

For as long as he can have them; he wants them all.

Maybe they should move, he thinks, the kitchen not really being the place for this, but he gets the final button free of Shizuka's shirt and can't help but lean in to press a kiss to his collarbone, the pressure of his teeth a flirtation he can manage because he doesn't have to look Shizuka in the eyes when he does so. ]

[Any accusatory look Kimihiro might have were marred by his earnestness, bright and clear, down to the way he held Doumeki's face, kissing him first then and calling his name.

Here was a secret: just as he pretended to be asleep sometimes to enjoy the trailing of fingers on his palm, he equally kept quiet about the effect Kimihiro had on him in using his given name.

Perhaps it was a losing battle. Kimihiro, after all, was close enough to see the dilation of his eyes, hear his quiet exhale when the buttons of his collar and shirt were undone.

The cool air on his skin was fine. Chasing it away from his partner's bare chest was even better.

Wordlessly, he placed his hands on Kimihiro's hip, seeking out that spot again above the collar with his mouth as he led them to their room and to the bed, fingers questing to untie the obi keeping those robes together. There was no one else Doumeki could imagine loving this way, not with how Kimihiro meant everything to him beyond ties of shared sight and blood.]

Overdressed.

[Whether he meant himself or Kimihiro, he didn't specify.

His intention to take his time unwrapping Kimihiro, on the other hand, was obvious with the slide of his hand beneath silk.]

[ They fall into bed together more often than not whether or not entangled, but it never gets old and Kimihiro never lacks for the soft thrill of how easy it is to do so. The contrast of how soft the bed is beneath them and how solid Shizuka is makes for the kind of juxtaposition that lets Kimihiro open up beneath him with the ease of a second nature. Even when this was new and Kimihiro clung to him almost too much just to hide his face, that part was easy -- as if even though the mind's inhibitions elicit a blush or a protest, the body's honesty supersedes it and the heart confirms.

Some of it is how slow Shizuka takes it, takes him, the warm weight of his hand a thing Kimihiro melts under. Overdressed? Well. He doesn't know if Shizuka means himself or not, but he half laughs anyway, using one hand to slide his shirt back off of one shoulder, not bothering with the other because that hand is still warm against his skin. Some of it is how as close as they are even if Shizuka maintains a sometimes maddeningly cool veneer, Kimihiro can detect the tells whether it be his eyes or the catch of his breaths. In plainest terms, they know each other, and of course, as with many plainly stated things, there's nothing 'plain' about the meaning of it at all.

It's only when they kiss again like this, Shizuka's full weight on him if he has his way, easy enough to slip a leg out even before Shizuka has had time to unravel him, and hook it encouragingly at his waist -- too slow (not that Shizuka listens to him, not that he really needs him to in this case, some of it worth being made to wait for) --, that Kimihiro has to laugh again but this time at himself as his glasses make themselves more known and he gently slides a hand down to Shizuka's chest to press briefly as he moves his other to remove his glasses. It's not like he needs them honestly for this, the dark of their room cut clean through by the moon -- a waning gibbous -- and both of them intimately familiar with each other's bodies anyway. ]

[That laughter, with all the lightness of feathers dancing in the summer breeze, seeped into the fiber of Doumeki's being and trickled into his gaze, pulling his hand away from Kimihiro only to peel away his shirt before seeking out his partner's slender palm to kiss the sharp curve of his wrist.

That Kimihiro could still smile with such openness in spite of old regrets and fears that haunted him was something to be cherished.

For that reason, he kept his own steady pace, though he did give the thigh wrapped deliciously around his waist an appreciative squeeze, using that leverage to part and slide Kimihiro's kimono, fingers painting a heated trail up smooth skin with the same deliberateness inherent in pulling a bow string. Indeed, there were plenty of planes and lines on Kimihiro's body he'd rather he have more hands for: the hollow of his hip, the dips between rib, and he mapped out the space between easily now that the obi was untied.

He'd help Kimihiro place his glasses on the side table, if it was just out of reach for his partner. Without a reflective surface to obscure them, he let himself be drawn into Kimihiro's gaze, near hypnotic on their bed's chiaroscuro. Doumeki could, perhaps, be excused for sliding lower to adorn Kimihiro's chest with kisses and another bruise, keeping his rapt attention on his partner's expression.]

[ Sometimes, when Kimihiro has granted a wish that threatens to leave him empty, he might seem as if caught in some kind of hypnosis himself until he reaches for Shizuka and pulls him into a kiss that says everything he's been robbed of saying: I don't regret my choice but sometimes it's hard, I would make it again but I'm still scared sometimes, I am afraid of the day you are no longer with me. Sometimes, Kimihiro has no clients at all, and playfully wends himself back and forth through the house that day and when Shizuka is around makes sure to touch him as if by accident -- the bump of knees, the jostle of elbows, the whisper that almost is a kiss. Sometimes, it's a mix of things like today and the upcoming festivals, and everything else that makes up their life as theirs and no one else's.

This, for example, is no one else's: Shizuka's hand at his thigh, Shizuka's mouth the path of an unhurried arrow across his skin.

Without his glasses, it's easy for Kimihiro to raise his arm to cover his face, which he does even as his back bows and pushes his body forward as if desperate to be closer to him even though they are nearly as close as any two people can be. There is something to be said for hunger though, for the way every inch of his body that isn't real to anyone else but Shizuka keens under his touch -- the bruising purse of his lips to his skin, any errant drag of teeth or pathway made by fingertips that know him better than anyone ever would have even if Kimihiro hadn't disappeared as he did.

Each point of connection is a point of reality and Shizuka has a way of paying almost reverent attention to all of them; it makes Kimihiro flush uncontrollably, the pink spreading across his pale frame every time they do this, and when he covers his face it's not because it's new but because Shizuka always makes him feel so known it's overwhelming. It also helps to muffle the sounds he can't help but make -- the volume of his gasp that threads into stifled sighs too much because the rest of their home is so quiet. He reaches with the arm not covering his face so that he can tangle his hand in Shizuka's hair, tighten the curl of his fingers as if in encouragement, well versed by now in the fact that there is more than one way to say yes. ]

[On those days when Doumeki could see the faintest signs of distress, he kept close, wrapping his arms around Kimihiro, accepting and giving kisses, grounding him with touch, conversations with both silence and words, the sharing of meaning that both of them had grown accustomed to understanding.

The past could not be changed.

Or, more accurately, hitsuzen was unavoidable.

That reality settled uneasily with him, a hair's breadth away from fatalistic resignation, but Doumeki could set his own fears and misgivings aside, choosing to remain cautious and staving away everything else that would paralyze him, keep him from seeing the other side of the coin that was them and living in their present. In due time, if no solution was to be found that could free Kimihiro from limbo, Doumeki knew he'd have to prepare.

Kimihiro would never be alone. This, he'd vowed to himself.

A promise he'd keep even in the simplest of moments, hidden in the way he ran his tongue on reddening skin, closed his lips on a pert nipple and rubbed tantalizing circles on the hollow of Kimihiro's hip. His partner might cover his face, but Doumeki's attentiveness meant he caught everything else: the rise and fall of Kimihiro's chest, the flush spreading to the delicate curve of his ears and the dip of his slender neck, the strained restlessness of the fingers in his hair.

Pleased with his handiwork so far, Doumeki slipped further south, lightly dragging his short nails up Kimihiro's thigh for added sensation before hooking his thumb on the waistband of his underwear. He could still bear how his own pants constricted his growing arousal in favor of helping Kimihiro relax first. Later, he might be accused of lulling his partner into a false sense of security with the knowledge that those gasps wouldn't be muffled for long, and Doumeki would take it in stride.]

[ Given a choice, Kimihiro might decide to be alone rather than with anyone else than Shizuka; rather, he knows he would. No one can replace him, and no one can stand in, or at least, that is how he views it now. He dislikes greatly the notion and very real possibility that someday he will have to live such a life and it will all be his own doing. He won't be able to entangle with him like this, won't be able to softly moan half-starts of Shizuka's name when his mouth sucks at his nipple and Kimihiro's hands cradle the back of his head even as he writhes underneath him in askance for more even though he's so sensitive there it mortifies him as much as it undoes him -- catches of exhales that coil tight only to sharply unravel in small separated noises that make him blush. Then again, he's sensitive everywhere. Being touched took on a whole other depth of meaning when he faded from almost everyone else's existence and it's only increased in intensity the more years have passed. So that there's a day that he won't be able to be like this with him, it is as cruel as it is realistic. To shiver hot and so unmistakably real under Shizuka's nails and his tongue and the prompting pull of his fingers that has Kimihiro lifting his hips enough to let him slide them off with ease -- this is a privilege and a gift that Kimihiro takes with all of him until he no longer can.

And who knows? Maybe such a day won't come. That is what he hopes and is afraid to hope all at once.

That he might not undo his agreement -- because he cannot and would not -- but rather that there might be a way to make the agreement's price met in some other yet unfathomed way, that he might then live his life like this, gasping against the silence around them with his mouth pressed to his own forearm as if to bite himself to be mindful of his own voice, intimately inextricable from the person he loves so much it hurts. It's not a particularly warm night but everywhere Shizuka touches is as if an undercurrent of fever or night sun has taken to Kimihiro's skin. And he loves it, all of this, and even day to day -- a stolen kiss to his nape, the curl of Shizuka's fingers subtle and at home at his waist on the train, so on, so forth.

No one else will do; he will never let anyone even half as close, even if he has a future where his alternative becomes no one at all; Kimihiro can't help it.

Shizuka is his one and only.

"I'm not leaving." he once said and Kimihiro almost broke down because it felt like he was asking a terrible thing of Shizuka, as much as it was the only way of Kimihiro himself being saved.

His fingers trail down the side of Shizuka's face, assuming he can reach, and he can't ask Shizuka to keep going and also ask him for a kiss but he's tempted to anyway, wants what he always wants when they end up like this: everything. ]

[Staying with Kimihiro was far from the worst thing. Far from it when he loved him, that spirited youth that grew to encompass both compassion and selfishness, sensitive mindfulness and myopia rolled into one.

In plenty of ways, they matched each other, for all that neither of them expected it before they started getting along.

For that reason, Doumeki would ensure Kimihiro would be taken care of should the worst come to pass - not necessarily to the extent they were involved, no, not when neither of them were inclined to look any other way while they both lived, but he did worry that after his passing, Kimihiro would forget himself, sink further into that void between worlds until dream and reality were indistinguishable. That wasn't to say Kimihiro couldn't hold his own these days, but power alone wasn't enough to stave off the effects of weariness.

Grief wasn't a mantle Kimihiro wore well - he kept it on too long, and there was a difference between self-condemnation and healing. Doumeki had intervened when it became too much, mere moments before Kimihiro offered himself on the altar that arose from the aftermath of a very, very long string of events. He couldn't ensure his own spirit would linger when his own time came - not yet, anyway, and that path might hurt Kimihiro - and so he needed to find a way to help Kimihiro stay grounded.

Kimihiro mourned because he loved. And because Doumeki loved him in return, the last thing he wanted was to become something like a second Yuuko in binding Kimihiro to the past.

These memories, the ones he left on skin, mouth to chest, hand to thigh, were meant to cherish, and not ensnare.

Words were far from the only way to express want. Kimihiro's breaths made the heat coil low and tight within Doumeki, urging him further down, and he tossed his partner's underwear to the same spot his own shirt landed.

Would Kimihiro object today if he was taken half-clothed? There was a pattern to how Doumeki decided such things: anything that was more in Kimihiro's predecessor's style was summarily stripped away. An extention of Kimihiro's elegance, however, was a different matter entirely.

With that thought in mind, he licked his lips and, holding Kimihiro's thighs steady, kissed and sucked the dip before the jut of a hipbone. If his partner had any objections in washing out any stains from his otherwise orderly clothing, Doumeki figured he'd hear them by now.]

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