write_it_in (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
write_it_in) wrote2007-12-05 03:40 pm
write_it_in) wrote2007-12-05 03:40 pm
Entry tags:
Identity
Mood music: Guster - Demons
Identity
Eiri dreamed every night.
It wasn't something he could stop, and the dreaming was constant no matter what pills he took or what sort of tea he drank, or if he'd done his meditation that day or not. His subconscious must have realized that having Shuichi around at night kept the dreams from becoming nightmares, because Eiri had slowly begun allowing Shuichi to stay in his bed after sex. Once he'd figured out the pattern – and against his better judgment – he allowed Shuichi to sleep with him even when they hadn't fucked.
He did it as flippantly as possible... he couldn't show that he cared. He could never show that he actually cared, because Shuichi was an experiment. He let the pink-haired teen sleep next to him in the bed, but never let him snuggle, no matter how much he begged. He let Shuichi eat his food and watch his TV, but it was clear that the apartment and all the things in it belonged to Eiri, and Shuichi was merely an irritating houseguest. A younger cousin or nephew, even, staying with him because it was something they both just had to deal with.
Eiri worked very hard to make it clear that he didn't -want- Shuichi, and surely didn't -need- him, no matter how untrue it was at the time.
This was because almost every night, Eiri dreamed of Yuki; he dreamed of what he'd done, and quite a few things he hadn't. It was only the ending that his nightmares embellished. The gun in his hand was always heavier than he remembered, the shot was always louder. Sometimes he’d turn the pistol towards himself. But the main event remained untouched, frozen in time, like a heart ripped from its body still-beating and thrust into a jar. It was a memory, floating in the preservative of his mind, its edges still torn and bloody and ragged, that would tear the screams from Eiri’s throat, even after all these years.
Sometimes, Eiri thought that he would have let the older man have his way. He dreamt of that, as well… of it being just Yuki in that apartment. His younger self nodded, and managed to smile, and bent over. Like he did when Yuki pushed him to do the extra math problems that he had no interest in at all. Eiri had always done so much to please him.
If Yuki had been mean to him, though, surely he wouldn't have trusted the older man. Never would have followed him anywhere, or been attracted to him in the least. It was only because his mentor was so nice, and was always there, and always followed through on his word... he was consistent and kind, and Eiri had been fooled. That was all it was. And as soon as the illusion was shattered, he'd reached for the gun.
Shuichi was happy and overeager and maybe not quite as innocent as he looked, but innocent enough. He knew nothing about relationships, or how someone should be treated when they were in one. He knew nothing about Eiri, nothing about sex, and nothing about cooking or housekeeping. He cried every time Eiri yelled at him over something inconsequential, or kicked him out over something more consequential, or didn't show up for a show. Eiri treated the boy like crap, acting like he despised the teen's presence in all of its pink-haired, media-soaked, overly-cheerful glory. And Eiri was frighteningly good at using Shuichi and tossing him away again, shoving at him when he came back.
But he always came back.
Shuichi was an experiment... he had been an experiment. Shuichi was him with a better voice and slighter frame, years and years ago. Shuichi reminded Eiri of himself, eager to please and devastated when he failed to do so, but always trying again. Always trying again to win favor. So if Eiri was a complete asshole.............
No. Shuichi always came back. Shuichi always rolled over, or spread his legs, or ran to the store to get Eiri more cigarettes. Shuichi wrote him cute little notes on girly pink stationary when he left early in the mornings, and a smile always lit his face at the sight of Eiri. Shuichi considered them lovers, and professed his love constantly and publicly, even when Eiri screamed himself hoarse telling the teen how he loathed him.
Shuichi just never seemed to care.
Eiri must have done something wrong. Perhaps he should have been nicer at the beginning. He'd tried, for awhile, being nice... and then switching back to asshole mood. Inconsistency. That would breed the discontent he wanted, that would drive Shuichi away. He'd been so sure of it. But that hadn't worked either. Nothing had worked. And Eiri had started to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with the boy. If maybe he'd just been born spineless. Then he'd been in the studio the day Tohma had tried to book Bad Luck on a tour in Germany for the week of Hiro's birthday. Shuichi hadn't been spineless then. And when the teen wanted something, he had the drive to get it.
He only bent over, figuratively and literally, for Eiri. Yuki. Shuichi always called him Yuki. Eiri never told him.
And after nearly a year, a year of watching Shuichi come crawling back at least twice a week, Eiri began to think that maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe when a person got it in their heads what they wanted things to be like, they just saw them that way. Or maybe Shuichi was smarter than Eiri had ever been, and could see through his act, if it even was one anymore. And as much as his words cut and his actions stung, Eiri had never tried to hurt the teen. He knew, deep down, that he would never be able to bring himself to. If anything, he’d tried to protect Shuichi, from everything and everyone but himself.
Maybe that was the difference. Eiri didn't know. But he accepted that in the long run, he'd probably never know.
Shuichi had been an experiment. Somewhere along the way, he'd become a constant. He'd moved in, and Eiri couldn't sleep at all anymore without him there, and inevitably when Eiri woke up in the morning, they'd be snuggling somewhat.
And one day, Eiri gave up.
Because some things just weren't worth it.
He was starting to like Shuichi's smile too much, and miss it when it was gone, and worry that if he kept this going too much longer, he'd never get to see it again. Eiri was starting to smile back. And that was when he realized the real difference between him and Yuki. Yuki had faked affection well. Eiri couldn't fake disinterest anymore if he tried.
So one day, Eiri waited in the living room for Shuichi to come home, instead of hiding in his office like he usually did. He sat on the couch and watched the door, feeling awkward like he couldn't remember ever feeling. Maybe because he'd never done anything like this. He managed to offer Shuichi a smile when the teen walked in the door.
"Yuki?"
"...Eiri." He wasn't going to be Yuki anymore. "C'mere?"
Shuichi glanced from Eiri to the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table, and shut the door behind him warily. He approached Eiri as if the older man was about to bite, and it was a struggle to take each step. Eiri wondered if he'd managed to condition Shuichi somehow... scowl = glomp; indifference = approach cheerfully; smile = approach with caution. The teen paled slightly when Eiri noticed him about to sit on the couch and patted his lap instead. Shuichi moved to comply jerkily, something skittish in his eyes. "Did I set something on fire again?"
A million of the cheesy romance lines Eiri had written over the years sprang to mind in response, and he felt his lips curve into a wry smile. He settled for, "Yeah, maybe," and wrapped his arms around Shuichi's waist.
A year of whining and pouting and, 'why don't you hold me?' and his lover was stiff against him. The boy said nothing.
Eiri sighed and tucked his head under Shuichi's chin, and waited until he felt arms slip around his shoulders before speaking again. "You're not happy. I thought this was what you wanted?"
"This isn't you... Yuki..."
Bile rose in Eiri's throat and he shoved Shuichi to the floor, turning his head away from the soft sound the teen made as his back hit the table. This wasn’t him? Maybe it wasn’t. Tears burned his eyes. He'd been determined. But it looked like he wasn't going to be able to do this.
"Yuki........" Shuichi picked himself up off the ground, his tone brighter. "Are you alright? Did you forget your pills again? Oh, I got dinner today! We were working in the studio downtown, and I passed that place you li--"
"Shuichi. Stop."
"...I'm sorry." The teen sat down, gently, on edge of the couch, solemn again. Locks of dusky pink hair fell into his eyes -- he needed a fresh dye job soon. "Are you sick?"
Eiri started to shake his head... the words were on the tip of his tongue to explain, to make it make sense, to get Shuichi back in his arms and just fix this year long mess of...........
Shuichi was waiting, concerned. Eiri just stared at him.
"Yeah... feel a little off. Go make me some tea?"
And Shuichi scampered off, eager to please, as if Eiri hadn't just shoved him into a table and told him to fuck off. He sighed. They were both fucked up. Eiri smiled again when Shuichi came back with a mug. That was a start. He’d figure out who he was, and what Shuichi was to him. They'd just have to do things slowly, like it all should have started.
He promised himself he'd try again the next night.
***
Identity
Eiri dreamed every night.
It wasn't something he could stop, and the dreaming was constant no matter what pills he took or what sort of tea he drank, or if he'd done his meditation that day or not. His subconscious must have realized that having Shuichi around at night kept the dreams from becoming nightmares, because Eiri had slowly begun allowing Shuichi to stay in his bed after sex. Once he'd figured out the pattern – and against his better judgment – he allowed Shuichi to sleep with him even when they hadn't fucked.
He did it as flippantly as possible... he couldn't show that he cared. He could never show that he actually cared, because Shuichi was an experiment. He let the pink-haired teen sleep next to him in the bed, but never let him snuggle, no matter how much he begged. He let Shuichi eat his food and watch his TV, but it was clear that the apartment and all the things in it belonged to Eiri, and Shuichi was merely an irritating houseguest. A younger cousin or nephew, even, staying with him because it was something they both just had to deal with.
Eiri worked very hard to make it clear that he didn't -want- Shuichi, and surely didn't -need- him, no matter how untrue it was at the time.
This was because almost every night, Eiri dreamed of Yuki; he dreamed of what he'd done, and quite a few things he hadn't. It was only the ending that his nightmares embellished. The gun in his hand was always heavier than he remembered, the shot was always louder. Sometimes he’d turn the pistol towards himself. But the main event remained untouched, frozen in time, like a heart ripped from its body still-beating and thrust into a jar. It was a memory, floating in the preservative of his mind, its edges still torn and bloody and ragged, that would tear the screams from Eiri’s throat, even after all these years.
Sometimes, Eiri thought that he would have let the older man have his way. He dreamt of that, as well… of it being just Yuki in that apartment. His younger self nodded, and managed to smile, and bent over. Like he did when Yuki pushed him to do the extra math problems that he had no interest in at all. Eiri had always done so much to please him.
If Yuki had been mean to him, though, surely he wouldn't have trusted the older man. Never would have followed him anywhere, or been attracted to him in the least. It was only because his mentor was so nice, and was always there, and always followed through on his word... he was consistent and kind, and Eiri had been fooled. That was all it was. And as soon as the illusion was shattered, he'd reached for the gun.
Shuichi was happy and overeager and maybe not quite as innocent as he looked, but innocent enough. He knew nothing about relationships, or how someone should be treated when they were in one. He knew nothing about Eiri, nothing about sex, and nothing about cooking or housekeeping. He cried every time Eiri yelled at him over something inconsequential, or kicked him out over something more consequential, or didn't show up for a show. Eiri treated the boy like crap, acting like he despised the teen's presence in all of its pink-haired, media-soaked, overly-cheerful glory. And Eiri was frighteningly good at using Shuichi and tossing him away again, shoving at him when he came back.
But he always came back.
Shuichi was an experiment... he had been an experiment. Shuichi was him with a better voice and slighter frame, years and years ago. Shuichi reminded Eiri of himself, eager to please and devastated when he failed to do so, but always trying again. Always trying again to win favor. So if Eiri was a complete asshole.............
No. Shuichi always came back. Shuichi always rolled over, or spread his legs, or ran to the store to get Eiri more cigarettes. Shuichi wrote him cute little notes on girly pink stationary when he left early in the mornings, and a smile always lit his face at the sight of Eiri. Shuichi considered them lovers, and professed his love constantly and publicly, even when Eiri screamed himself hoarse telling the teen how he loathed him.
Shuichi just never seemed to care.
Eiri must have done something wrong. Perhaps he should have been nicer at the beginning. He'd tried, for awhile, being nice... and then switching back to asshole mood. Inconsistency. That would breed the discontent he wanted, that would drive Shuichi away. He'd been so sure of it. But that hadn't worked either. Nothing had worked. And Eiri had started to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with the boy. If maybe he'd just been born spineless. Then he'd been in the studio the day Tohma had tried to book Bad Luck on a tour in Germany for the week of Hiro's birthday. Shuichi hadn't been spineless then. And when the teen wanted something, he had the drive to get it.
He only bent over, figuratively and literally, for Eiri. Yuki. Shuichi always called him Yuki. Eiri never told him.
And after nearly a year, a year of watching Shuichi come crawling back at least twice a week, Eiri began to think that maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe when a person got it in their heads what they wanted things to be like, they just saw them that way. Or maybe Shuichi was smarter than Eiri had ever been, and could see through his act, if it even was one anymore. And as much as his words cut and his actions stung, Eiri had never tried to hurt the teen. He knew, deep down, that he would never be able to bring himself to. If anything, he’d tried to protect Shuichi, from everything and everyone but himself.
Maybe that was the difference. Eiri didn't know. But he accepted that in the long run, he'd probably never know.
Shuichi had been an experiment. Somewhere along the way, he'd become a constant. He'd moved in, and Eiri couldn't sleep at all anymore without him there, and inevitably when Eiri woke up in the morning, they'd be snuggling somewhat.
And one day, Eiri gave up.
Because some things just weren't worth it.
He was starting to like Shuichi's smile too much, and miss it when it was gone, and worry that if he kept this going too much longer, he'd never get to see it again. Eiri was starting to smile back. And that was when he realized the real difference between him and Yuki. Yuki had faked affection well. Eiri couldn't fake disinterest anymore if he tried.
So one day, Eiri waited in the living room for Shuichi to come home, instead of hiding in his office like he usually did. He sat on the couch and watched the door, feeling awkward like he couldn't remember ever feeling. Maybe because he'd never done anything like this. He managed to offer Shuichi a smile when the teen walked in the door.
"Yuki?"
"...Eiri." He wasn't going to be Yuki anymore. "C'mere?"
Shuichi glanced from Eiri to the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table, and shut the door behind him warily. He approached Eiri as if the older man was about to bite, and it was a struggle to take each step. Eiri wondered if he'd managed to condition Shuichi somehow... scowl = glomp; indifference = approach cheerfully; smile = approach with caution. The teen paled slightly when Eiri noticed him about to sit on the couch and patted his lap instead. Shuichi moved to comply jerkily, something skittish in his eyes. "Did I set something on fire again?"
A million of the cheesy romance lines Eiri had written over the years sprang to mind in response, and he felt his lips curve into a wry smile. He settled for, "Yeah, maybe," and wrapped his arms around Shuichi's waist.
A year of whining and pouting and, 'why don't you hold me?' and his lover was stiff against him. The boy said nothing.
Eiri sighed and tucked his head under Shuichi's chin, and waited until he felt arms slip around his shoulders before speaking again. "You're not happy. I thought this was what you wanted?"
"This isn't you... Yuki..."
Bile rose in Eiri's throat and he shoved Shuichi to the floor, turning his head away from the soft sound the teen made as his back hit the table. This wasn’t him? Maybe it wasn’t. Tears burned his eyes. He'd been determined. But it looked like he wasn't going to be able to do this.
"Yuki........" Shuichi picked himself up off the ground, his tone brighter. "Are you alright? Did you forget your pills again? Oh, I got dinner today! We were working in the studio downtown, and I passed that place you li--"
"Shuichi. Stop."
"...I'm sorry." The teen sat down, gently, on edge of the couch, solemn again. Locks of dusky pink hair fell into his eyes -- he needed a fresh dye job soon. "Are you sick?"
Eiri started to shake his head... the words were on the tip of his tongue to explain, to make it make sense, to get Shuichi back in his arms and just fix this year long mess of...........
Shuichi was waiting, concerned. Eiri just stared at him.
"Yeah... feel a little off. Go make me some tea?"
And Shuichi scampered off, eager to please, as if Eiri hadn't just shoved him into a table and told him to fuck off. He sighed. They were both fucked up. Eiri smiled again when Shuichi came back with a mug. That was a start. He’d figure out who he was, and what Shuichi was to him. They'd just have to do things slowly, like it all should have started.
He promised himself he'd try again the next night.
***
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