Chapter Text
Again. And again. Akihiko would touch him. A faint brush of their shoulders. Fingers twirling a loose strand of his hair. And he would say these sweet words. Complimenting his hairstyle or admiring his kindness. And he would stare at him with those piercing green eyes that would stab a stake through his heart.
And each time, again, Haruki would blush. He would fluster and squirm under the treatment like his body was struggling to contain the creature that wanted so desperately to be loved by that man.
And he’d had enough. Or he would tell himself that, then he would find himself blushing the next time it happened, and there was always a next time.
Here he was, again, sneaking out of a venue after a show, after drinks with Akihiko where he got too touchy-feely with a strand of hair that slipped loose from his bun. Haruki, like a lovesick fool, blushed and stammered an excuse to step outside. Again.
He grit his teeth at the memory, mouth tasting sickly and needing the tang of nicotine to wash over his tastebuds.
He found a rail outside the venue, a poor excuse for a bike rack, and deemed it a good enough seat for a smoke. He set his bass case down and perched on the bar, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Despite the queasy feeling in his gut, the night air felt refreshing. He briefly considered it was a better alternative to a cigarette. Briefly.
Alas, now was not the time to replace old vices for healthy alternatives. He lit his cigarette and inhaled, the smoke tiding over the pitiful feeling inside.
He exhaled, not for the smoke, but because he couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh at himself for being so pathetic. So desperate. Every time, he would get drunk off this tiny hopeful feeling that those touches and words and stares would turn into more. Every time, he would fall for him, over and over again. And every time, it went nowhere.
Absolutely nowhere.
He was hurting himself at this point. The tiny inkling of hope that flared at his touch and whisper burned a hole in his chest that scarred with shame. He kept picking open that wound over and over again, chasing that feeling of hope, praying it would flourish rather than die.
On the worse days, he’d burn through an entire pack of cigarettes and stay up late staring at the stupid secret photos he took of Akihiko sleeping on his couch. Thinking about it now made his stomach clench. Pathetic. His fingers twitch over his phone in his pocket as he considers deleting those now. A step in the right direction.
He doesn’t. Desperate.
His heart was fickle. He didn’t know what would kill it first; the shame born of false hope or admitting there was no hope at all.
The next inhale stung. It felt good. He hoped it killed whatever hurt inside him.
He should go home after his cigarette. He’s supposed to stick around and mingle with the other bands, with Take, but putting on a good face right now would be a betrayal. Then again, he was weak, and at home he had a full pack of cigarettes to burn through and a folder of not deleted photos to stare at till four in the morning. Maybe he’d just smoke another.
“Can I bum a cigarette?”
Haruki blinks away from his thoughts and looks up at the one man he didn’t want to see.
Akihiko raises an eyebrow, his question still hanging in the air.
Haruki sighs and reaches for his pack.
Again.
He shakes a dart free and passes it to Akihiko, who now occupied the space next to him, leaning on the rail too close to him as usual. Akihiko fishes out his own lighter and flicks it, over and over again. He grunts and shakes it in frustration, flicking it again with no avail.
Again.
Haruki’s raises his own lighter, taking mercy on him and perhaps on himself. At least if Akihiko smoked, he’d be less likely to chat.
Suddenly there is a large calloused hand roughly gripping his jaw, yanking his head to the side. Akihiko stares down at him with burning intensity as he kisses their cigarettes together, inhaling Haruki’s smoldering flame to ignite his own.
Again.
Haruki stares back, eye twitching and muscles going tight. Usually, Haruki would fluster. He would blush and stammer and chase that fucking inkling of hope. And he would pray it would become more.
This time, instead of that pathetic desperate flutter, Haruki was angry. Seething, even.
Not again.
He grits his teeth and jerks back, smacking Akihiko’s hand away. “Tch!” he spits, flicking his ashy cigarette to the ground like it’s filthy. He felt filthy. He sneers at Akihiko, face scrunched with anger and disgust, “Why don’t you just fuck me if you’re going to act like that!”
He gets up and grabs his bass, “I’m going home.” He stomps his cigarette as he walks away. Akihiko doesn’t say a word.