Man, I really need to stop writing so many multi-chapters at once.
updates is ridiculous o.O Oh, but my computer recognizes "shitfaced" as a word. This makes me incredibly happy.
He awoke to his alarm screaming into his dreary apartment. His hand crashed down upon the offender, and silence fell once more.
The morning light was golden, warm, and delightful; it didn’t suit the gloomy weight pressing down on Daisuke’s chest, by contrast it seemed to mock and worsen the dread. He would have preferred the thunder and rain of the previous night to this cruel and cheery scene.
over in his mind, attempting to pinpoint where it had all gone wrong. For a second he had the wonderful notion that perhaps it had all been a dream, the deranged product of an over-stressed mind. For one glorious instant the line between reality and fantasy could be placed wherever his sleep-befuddled brain wished it to be. But the fog quickly cleared, adding another twenty pounds to the invisible anvil determined to crush his ribs into powder.
He turned on his side, studying the light trickling through the screens. He knew he had to get up soon, he couldn’t stave off
for much longer. He needed a shower, he had to eat something, and he certainly didn’t want to be late again. But, by the same token, he didn’t really want to go to recording at all. He didn’t want to know what would be waiting for him, he would have much rather remained curled up and hidden under the cozy blankets all day long.
He took a deep breath, kicked back the covers, and sat up. A mildly fuzzy feeling between his eyes seemed to be the only evidence of the alcohol, which was good. It would not do to have a hangover on top of everything else. Although he had resented it at the time, he now felt that he owed Yukino a sincere thank you for not allowing him to get completely shitfaced.
~*~*~
/>In the kitchen, the tiny bottle of pills felt heavy in his hand, as if each tablet were made of solid led instead of the substance designed to “balance his moods” and “help with the depression.” This was it, the reason he loathed every morning and not just this one; the little monsters in his hand were a daily reminder that he was a fuck up, a failure; one of
those people, who cannot manage their own emotions without specialized medical attention. The tiny pills would never allow him to forget that without them he would be a twitching wreck, unable to function in normal society.
He gulped his meds down with a glass of water. No amount of sugar would help
that medicine go down any easier, anyway.
He was intensely aware of the pills crawling down his esophagus, as if they moved in slow motion, almost like the little devils wanted to make doubly sure that he thoroughly understood his status as damaged goods.
He ate some bread to chase the pills down faster.
~*~*~
The train ride to the studio seemed to only take a matter of minutes, like his life was fast-forwarding him to his doom. Before he had time to get his bearings, he was standing outside the studio door. He wasn’t late, but, for once, he would have rather been late this day of all days.
His hand was trembling towards the handle when the door suddenly jerked open from the inside. A pair of slanted, nearly extraterrestrial-like eyes blinked at him for a moment in surprise.
“A-aie?”
The slender guitarist quickly stepped into the hall and shut the studio door behind him.
This wasn’t fair. Daisuke was supposed to walk through that door, and be able to resolutely ignore the situation under the camouflage of work and his other band mates. This unexpected turn of events was completely against the rules. Where was the referee? Red flag, penalty, out of bounds! Foul, damn it, foul!
Daisuke took a few stumbling steps backward causing his back to sharply thud against the wall of the hallway, as Aie continued to break increasingly severe rules with his every advancing step, determination glinting in his narrow eyes. They were merely inches apart now, sucking in each others’ breath for a startled moment before Daisuke felt a hand on his cheek, warm and a little moist, preventing him from squirming away as a pair of lips descended upon his.
For a precious minute, Daisuke allowed himself to kiss and be kissed, to feel and be felt, to experience and taste the man before him. To kiss goodbye the fairytale in which Aie had become his band mate and his friend, safely inaccessible and non-threatening. To greet with lips and tongue the new reality that this person was a human being that he could touch, caress, whom he could lose himself in, who had needs and desires like all humans. But it was for
just a minute.
He didn’t want to relinquish the fairytale, the myth that his life was finally working with just him in it, that he wasn’t a fragmented ruin of a man, and that he wasn’t fucking up again. He wouldn’t let it shatter, he wouldn’t allow himself to mess everything up, he wouldn’t let it be his fault. Not again. Never again.
“No!” A sudden surge of unknown strength allowed Daisuke to push Aie off him. He dashed passed the stunned guitarist, and ran to the safety that lay beyond the studio door, the fallacy that he could hide in and remain sterol and whole.
“Woah! Dai-chan, where’s the fire, buddy?” Hibiki asked, clearly amused, as Daisuke burst into the room and quickly retreated to the furthest corner from the door.
The vocalist paid the rhetorical question no mind, dropping his messenger bag, and clutching his head in his hands as he collapsed onto the lone chair near him. His heart was pounding, the resulting pulse throbbing in his head.
He heard the door to the studio open, but he didn’t look up to see Aie walking into the room. He didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to know.
