pslplz | Futureverse

When he got Akaya's text, Omi took a moment to stare down the probable all-nighter he'd be pulling to make a deadline for a client and jumped at his chance. It would be worth the rough night ahead to see Akaya while he could.

"Ugh," Omi sounds, and despite himself he's grinning, too. Akaya is doing this on purpose-- he knows he hates the stuff. He doesn't mind this kind of teasing, though.

"That's lucky, then. I know I can count on you to eat every bite of it for me." He could eat it if he really had to, but what's the fun in saying that?

He accents his point with a little accidentally-on-purpose bump of Akaya's shoulder.

Their shoulders bump and he laughs. Honestly, Akaya isn’t a huge fan of the stuff himself, but it’s fun to tease him about it sometimes.

“How about I write a song about it? It’ll be so fun and catchy, you’ll always associate it with good things and can’t help but love the stuff.”

Sometimes, what you really need is a good walk to clear your head. Yukimura suspects that in this case, it's going to take rather more than that, but it's a start. Maybe.

Even a walk isn't simple, of course. He dresses down in jeans with a hole in one knee and a worn t-shirt under a light windbreaker with a high collar that helps obscure his jawline. He's added a cap he borrowed from Sanada for extra coverage. Sometimes, it's fine (if a bit exasperating) to be recognized and clustered. Tonight, he'd really rather not deal with it.

This time, it isn't the quiet, hopeful squeal of a fan asking confirmation of his name that stops him in his tracks. It's the sound, ever so faint in the din of the evening crowd, of a laugh he'd recognize anywhere, because it belongs to a voice he'd recognize anywhere, whether it was singing into a microphone, goading from the other side of a tennis court, or gasping underneath him between the sheets.

Akaya.

That laugh. It came from the west. Was he approaching or walking away? Did it matter? Because either way, aren't his feet turning in that direction and carrying him closer to it?

His stomach aches, because he knows that's a happy kind of laugh, and he has a sinking feeling what he's going to find. And just like dinner with Hokuto, against better judgment he's drawn into this masochistic sense of curiosity, this need to see the face of the one who's lighting up his life now, who's bringing that beautiful sound to life to reverberate through his memory and drive him mad with regret for what never could have been.

The sheer ridiculousness of the concept of a metal rock song about celery prompts another laugh. "Your music deserves better than celery. It wouldn't help anyway. I already associate your songs with other good thi--"

A personal alarm sounds on his wearable, causing his face to immediately fall. Is it really already that late? It went by so fast.

"That's my cutoff. I've got to go churn out that patch or I'm going to be in real trouble." And not the fun kind. The downside of freelance coding was it was competitive and a lot of work to build up and keep a client base. If your reputation took a hit it could mean more than one lost source of income, and quite a lot of missed opportunity in new clients.

"The rest of this week should be flexible. Let me know if you want to meet up again."

Hey, he can make a song out of celery, why not? (And maybe he will, just because.) The amusement is soon rudely interrupted by the pesky thing called time.

“Aw.” Akaya looks a touch disappointed too, but he knows Omi has a deadline and it’s late enough already.

“Well, go home then, before you turn into a pumpkin.” He chuckles and leans in to nuzzle his ear. “Call me when you’re free.”

Somehow, Akaya can even turn saying goodbye into something that makes him happy, and he makes a noise that sounds dangerously close to a giggle. The anticipation of seeing him again soon brings some sparkle back into Omi's eyes as he turns into the nuzzle and tips his forehead against Akaya's.

"You'll be the first to know. Promise."

He ought to leave it at that, but he can't quite help himself, and kisses him briefly-- definitely a mistake, because it's so hard to pull away after that. But he does, and with a last look turns and summons a cab.

He sees them mere seconds later, paused on the sidewalk with their foreheads touching and gazes locked. He's not sure what he was expecting, only that he wasn't ready to see it. The boy is way too close.

The kiss makes something hot twist in his stomach. He keeps himself exactly where he is, a safe distance away, until the cab takes Akaya's company away, leaving him alone.

The smart thing to do should be to walk in the other direction and forget he saw anything. Fuck that. He has no interest in what's wise right now. He's tried that for most of the last two years; there's nothing waiting for him down that road.

Instead, he approaches like any other pedestrian just minding his own business, until he's standing in the same spot Akaya's little friend occupied a moment ago to hail that cab, and he flags one of his own. He doesn't make eye contact.

But if he sees Akaya dare try to turn and walk off from his peripheral vision, he'll be summoning his Captain voice. Just because he's pretending to ignore Akaya right now doesn't mean he'll tolerate Akaya ignoring him back.

Edited 2020-11-16 22:50 (UTC)

The taste of Omi’s lips lingers as Akaya watches him ride off in the cab. His smile is lingering too, almost like the last bit of energy he still has after being on the go for so many weeks. He should really head home and crash...

And maybe he’s about to, but something catches his eye. A familiar silhouette, one he can recognize anywhere, even disguised like this. It’s not just the shape of him that’s familiar. He has a presence like no one else. It’s not his appearance, or his scent, or his mannerisms, but perhaps an intangible combination of everything, an aura that can stop his heart in an instant.

“Yuki...”

His mind goes blank, unable to even form the obvious questions that his sudden presence should demand. No, all he can do is stand there, rooted to the spot because he can’t remember what he’s supposed to feel. Breathless.

There's a cold, sick satisfaction from the fact showing his face around Akaya still has this kind of effect. If he were a nicer person, he'd hate that it does because they both should have moved on from each other by now. But at heart, he's selfish this way. Jealous even over someone he long ago let go of.

In fairness, Akaya wasn't just a someone. Akaya was special. There's a reason Yukimura hasn't been able to fully move past him.

The driverless vehicle pulls in and slides open its door to welcome its passengers. Yukimura turns and meets his eyes. He keeps his own expression and tone unreadable. Neutral and flat and comfortably in charge.

"Get in."

It’s like he’s been watching everything in slow motion and under water. The bustle and sound of the city around him is muffled, sluggish. All he can see is him. When he finally says something, the world suddenly comes back into focus.

He blinks.

Akaya stares at him for a moment, fixed on that expression that says so much and nothing at the same time. And even now, the questions don’t form in his head, much less his lips. They’ll come later.

He gets in without a word.

Akaya complies without making a scene, which is for the best (or the worst? It's what he wants from him, at any rate). Yukimura climbs in after him and pushes the button to close the automated door.

Instead of sitting down, he leans back against the side of the car with his arms folded. "Home," he instructs. The cab obediently glides into motion and merges into traffic.

The door opened, and he walked through it. He’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because Yukimura told him to. Or maybe he’ll tell himself later it was to satisfy his curiosity. In truth, he should know that it’s reflex. Like an addiction, obsession. He has no choice but to follow it. Around Yukimura, it’s a familiar sensation. Sometimes, he forgets it’s a thing. And then he’s confronted by moments like this, and his body moves before he has a chance to think.

He stands on the other side of the car, which feels strangely too big and too small at once. If he finds it suffocating, it’s probably because he’s forgetting to breathe.

And whatever it is on Yukimura’s mind, he doesn’t seem especially willing to announce. Before, Akaya might've been tempted to ask. But why should he be the one to break the tension? Feelings begin to creep back from underneath the initial shock, and what do you know, he’s caught up in another familiar sensation - stubbornness. He stares back at him, daring him to speak.

Edited 2020-11-17 02:56 (UTC)

The tension in the air is palpable, the silence deafening. Yukimura lifts his gaze and meets that stare with a poker face. Does Akaya think he'll be the one to talk first? It would be perfectly reasonable to expect that, if only there were anything he could say that didn't expose this raw hurt and anger that would leave him so vulnerable he'd sooner walk home naked. He has everything to say and nothing to voice.

He won't speak. But he will eventually take his weight off the side of the cabin and step across it to Akaya and reach for his face to cup it. He brushes his thumb across Akaya's mouth. In his mind, it's wiping away whatever traces of that boy might have lingered there.

It doesn't belong.

The silence is heavy and long. The cityscape flies by outside the window like a dream, as if all this movement is happening to someone else. Inside, it feels like time stands still.

When Yukimura moves toward him, Akaya stiffens, keeping his eyes locked on his all the while. Yukimura’s hand reaches for him, brushing his face, his lips. He hasn’t felt his touch in a long while, but he can never forget what it was like. Even something as simple as this feels like a jolt beneath his skin. Akaya furrows his brow as he feels his lip tremor just a little. His body, it seems, reacts of its own volition.

His hand reaches out and grabs the hem of Yukimura’s shirt by his hip. He doesn’t know if he means to shove him away to pull him closer.

In the end, they don't speak because they don't need to. Touch speaks for itself. Akaya's hand closes around the fabric at his hip. Yukimura takes the back of Akaya's neck in his other hand and presses on his chin with his thumb to lower Akaya's jaw for the possessive, demanding kiss he pulls him into.

He takes another step in, pressing Akaya's warm body against the wall of the cabin until their hips are flush.

The questions, he knows, will come later...packed with plenty of accusations and hurt. Enough to fill a million silences and cut through all that deceptive calm on Yukimura’s face. Because Akaya isn’t fooled. He can feel it in his kiss. There’s unspoken desire, it runs deep and chaotic, just like Akaya’s own.

And later too, must come regret, and frustration, confusion. A long hard look at himself and what he really wants.

But all that is not now. Now is about what he needs, and he realizes this, the moment his back hits the wall and his fist tightens its grip. He growls under his breath as he opens up to him, kissing him back heatedly. He presses up against him, his other hand sliding around to Yukimura’s back to pull him close.

Indeed, this is all going to hurt very badly later, but Akaya doesn't seem to mind it any more than he does. Yukimura doesn't think he could pull away if he wanted to. Seeing Akaya with anyone that wasn't him was still so painful and wrong he couldn't stand it. He needs this now, as much psychologically as physically. That reciprocated urgency that says deep down, Akaya hasn't moved on either.

It's a terrible thing to need, and there's just enough of a sting over that need's existence that he can't block it out. Deep down, he loves Akaya, and in some form or another, he probably always will. That he wishes some form of suffering on him in spite of that love is a bitter piece of self-awareness to carry.

His kiss is hard. His tongue moves deep into Akaya's mouth while his hands hold fast to him, locking their mouths together. He leans into the pull towards Akaya's body and pushes his hips against him until it hurts. Everything hurts, for that matter, and the fact that they aren't already behind his apartment door is the most wretched thing in the world.

So wretched, in fact, he's not sure he still cares.

Break up, move on, and be stronger for it. That’s probably what a lot of people might say about a relationship like theirs, more bitter than sweet sometimes, and volatile. But closure is fake. At least, it’s not as clean as they make it out to be. As if there’s a stark line between ‘okay’ and ‘not okay’ that you can cross over one day and be forever happy. Akaya can tell you that it’s a lot messier than that.

There is no line. Maybe there’s such a thing as distance, and he drifts away enough to think he’s fine, until something like this snaps him back so hard it gives him whiplash. He is not okay.

But neither is he, which he finds painful and daunting. And weirdly gratifying, which is fucked up but he doesn’t care.

Akaya’s kiss is sharp, aggressive to match the hard thrust of hip to hip. His fingers pull at the hem of Yukimura’s shirt, yanking it loose from his jeans so he can reach underneath to touch him. His palm slides across his waist, hot and possessive. He once knew every inch of this body, and he means to claim it back.

Yukimura lets out a small noise of approval into the kiss as Akaya's hands come into contact with his abdomen, still just as toned as from his tennis days because you couldn't afford not to be in an industry that sold sex appeal hand-in-hand with music. His palm drops from Akaya's jaw and clutches around his ass as if there were some chance he might move away. As if there were any place for him to go.

By all accounts, he should be pissed off shouldn’t he? Yukimura’s hands on his body, like they belong there. After all that bullshit about not being right for each other or whatever it was he’d said. If Akaya were feeling rational at all, he’d punch him in the face instead of sucking it. But then again, ‘rational’ was never really a trait he was good at around him. It’s just the way it is. He drives Akaya crazy.

Besides, it’s all the same. The hand that slides across Yukimura’s skin is just as possessive, because if he can map every curve and dip of his body by touch, why shouldn’t it belong to him?

His other hand moves up to grab a fistful of Yukimura’s hair, possibly yanking some strands of it out as he pulls to expose the slender neck. He traces the curve of Yukimura’s jaw with his mouth, down his throat, edged with sharp hunger.

Edited 2020-11-18 16:41 (UTC)

Their lips part too soon, as if any span of time would be long enough. Akaya seems as eager as he is for them to get in each other's pants. It's a discovery that calms the turbulent waves of jealousy and anger that have been stewing inside him ever since Hokuto mentioned Akaya was seeing someone. Whoever he was, Yukimura was clearly correct in his assessment before: it wasn't serious.

He ignores the pain in his scalp, focused instead on the graze of lips and teeth over his throat. That Akaya was going to bite, wasn't he? Yukimura feels a small thrill in the anticipation of it. He senses Akaya's possessiveness, a mirror image of his own looking back at him, asserting itself in the touch of Akaya's hand, the sharpness of his parted kiss. Leaving a mark would be right in keeping with that energy. With Akaya in general, really.

He tips his head ever so slightly, exposing his neck for him. Go ahead, then, if it's what you want. And expect the favor to be returned twice over.

Even if Akaya knows that he’s playing right into Yukimura’s design (and he probably does), it doesn’t matter. He’d still sink his teeth in, because this isn’t about proving anything. Whether he’s over him or not; whether he’s serious about Omi or not. What he feels about Omi, it still exists, unchanged. And despite what Yukimura might think, it is pure, unadulterated. It’s his feelings about Yukimura that have never really been easy to define. It’s not a label he can slap on and point to, because it’s taken root so deep inside that it’s impossible to know where to look. Nowhere, everywhere.

So he puts his mark where he can see, a blemish on his perfect skin.

Yukimura hisses in a breath when he feels Akaya's teeth dig into his neck, erotic pain that sends a shiver up his spine. Despite that pain, it causes the corner of his mouth to turn up in the barest hint of a smile. Fingers travel from Akaya's neck into thick curls of hair, this familiar mop of unruliness, to cradle Akaya's head against him with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the aggressive kissing and groping, the hard press of his body that traps him against the wall.

"You seem quite energetic. Akaya."

His teeth graze over his skin, a taste that’s all too familiar to Akaya, despite all the months he’s spent apart from him. He’s not sure if energetic is the word for what he’s feeling now as he pulls back just enough to narrow his eyes at that barely there smile.

What is he feeling right now? Hot. What else? Does Yukimura want to put a name to it? That’s probably not that wise.

“What are you trying to say?”

What is he trying to say? Does this have to be complicated? Yukimura sets his forehead against Akaya's.

" 'Hi.' "

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