tampered | [LOG]//[Set Your Hope on Fire]

[LOG]//[Set Your Hope on Fire]

When; Today, evening
Rating; PG (Soubi is a serial kisser, so...)
Characters; Soubi (

reasonstohope)
Summary; Soubi wanted to see Yuki again, even though the younger doesn't remember him.
Log;

He was perched on the couch, legs stretched out across it, a book hanging limply in his hand. In truth, he was exhausted, although he tried hard not to show it. The festivities last night had gone on until the small hours of the morning, meaning that the noises ineveitably wafted up to his apartment.

The book in his hands was Robinson Crusoe. He didn't think much of it, but it had come with the tiny apartment, and there was nothing better to read, anyways. Until he figured out where the library was in this City, it would do.

His tiny apartment was brought to life by the dozens on flowerpots he had around the rooms. He hadn't found a place to plant them outside, yet, and at least this way they'd be warm. A small crop of cucumbers, pointsettia plants given to him by Machi, various herbs and small vegetables. This place could never replace his 'Secret Base', but he was starting to grow fond of the plants nonetheless.

Yuki reached for the blanket across from him, wrapping it around thin shoulders and curling deeper into the corner of the couch. Setsuna had given him this blanket, and he was undoubtedly grateful. Speaking of people he'd met in this city...

Soubi was coming. Yuki wasn't sure how to react to that. Apparently they'd met before, but he couldn't remember a thing. And yet, the first time he'd heard his name, he could have sworn he'd heard it somewhere before. There were half-memories. Foggy, fragile things that he could barely decipher, but they were there.

So then, what he had said was true. And as much trouble as Yuki had trusting people, with Soubi, he couldn't help it. Something inherently said, 'you can trust him'. The same feeling that told him that this man seemed famiiar. It was strange, like an overwhelming feeling of deja vu.

Shaking these thoughts off, he picked up the book again, only to feel sleepy once more after a few chapters. He'd left the door unlocked, but he could always go back and lock it later...

Yuki felt his eyes flutter shut and heard, distantly, the book falling to the ground with a thump.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ironically, it was the small things he began to notice.

Like the cool feel of his glasses and the way his bangs still slid into his eyes, hair loosely pulled to the nape of his neck to keep it tame. Otherwise, the lengthy mess of blond would spill over his shoulders and get in the way. Bothersome. His clothes – jeans and a button-up; nothing too outrageous. How long had it been…?

Soubi wanted to laugh at himself. It was irrelevantly selfish to be acting so childish, concentrating on such unimportant details. But when he started counting his steps, to that building, to that door, the apartment. To…Yuki. He, decidedly, couldn’t help it. He’d even smoked through half a pack of cigarettes by the time he came to be standing there, staring with cautious apprehension. So unlike him, surely.

Ah.

He pressed his hand to the door, lengthy fingers sliding down the cool of the wood to touch the doorknob. Could he have changed so much that it—

No. It wasn’t locked.

Perhaps this was a better calling than art or being sentouki. Breaking and entering. A light smile touched his lips at that, quiet as he let himself in. It was easy to be silent. So much practice, being perfect. He wouldn’t have allowed such a juvenile mistake.

And it too was easy to find who it was he was looking for. How incredibly simple to be drawn towards him. That skin, the hair. His nose and cheeks.

…His mouth.

Soubi’s mind was blank. Horribly empty as he stared, some distant viewer in the grand design of something so breathtaking. He didn’t notice how he knelt by the couch either, features strained to some form nonchalance. But his hand was shaking as he reached out to touch him. Surreal.

And perhaps he was holding his breath too.

The only time he looked truly carefree was in sleep. During his waking hours, there was always a sign of tension behind the carefully non-chalant face. Brows that were slightly furrowed, a glimmer of some unintended emotion in his eyes, teeth that bit the corner of his lip. His chest rose and fell, eyelids fluttering with each heavy breath he took. A calm sleep, undisturbed by anything else.

Except now there were fingertips, reaching for him.

A brush against his shoulder, so soft that most wouldn't have noticed it. He stirred, slightly, a distant area of his mind telling him that he needed to wake up. Eyelids that were framed by long, dark lashes fluttered, unwilling to fully open. He was lazy at times like these. After all, a growing boy needed his sleep.

Soubi was here. Those fingertips were his.

That though was enough to jerk Yuki awake. He sat up, seeing a flash of blonde through bleary eyes. Someone crouched by his couch, watching him. Reaching out to rub the sleep from his eyes, he didn't notice himself leaning forwards to get a better look.

A tall man. Yuki could tell that even when he was crouching. A mass of long blonde hair pulled and tamed to the back of his neck. Bespectacled blue eyes that were currently staring at him intently. He was someone that Yuki would be able to spot instantly from a crowd, there was some quality about him that seemed to draw him in.

Noticing that he was staring, Yuki glanced away, briefly, before giving a prodigious yawn. He only just remembered to clasp his hand to his gaping mouth, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. It was rather embaressing to have fallen asleep, especially since he knew that Soubi was coming.

"You're Soubi, right?" It seemed almost stupid to ask, but he couldn't think of anything to say, right now, because the other man seemed to be struggling with something. He'd noticed when he had first awakened that Soubi's hands seemed to be shaking. The expression on his face was tense, slightly pained.

He knew that expression all too well. The forced non-chalance, pretending to be aloof and slightly cold, blocking yourself from everyone else. He'd done it far too many times.

Watching him, Yuki patted the seat beside him, pulling the blanket to uncover the couch. "Please, have a seat."

He hadn’t a clue as to what to do.

Somewhere, in the slow collapse of his mind, Soubi knew he was lost. Perhaps drowning a little in his own mess of thoughts as he watched Yuki waken, startled like—

Like a mouse.

He chuckled a little in the back of his throat even as he continued to flounder with words that typically came to him without hindrance. No matter the circumstances, he could never forget that particular detail of this enigmatic youth. And the way that flush of his cheeks after he yawned brightened the deep violet of his eyes, a softer expression he once could have painted without looking.

But now…

His voice. How could he have forgotten that too?

“Mm.” Soubi simply did not bother with introductions. If Yuki had been expecting someone else… But no, that certainly didn’t seem to be the case. He knew better than to think that. Idly, his fingers situated the frame of his glasses.

And that question. Sit? Beside him?

He forced the lingering shiver in his hands to still. This was ridiculous. He could control himself, knew the best way to draw propriety when it was needed. Like now. Fingertips briefly touched the white of the gauze stretched neatly around his throat, the softest of smiles playing his lips.

…It was almost like an order, wasn’t it?

“If that’s what Yuki wants.” He spoke evenly, standing the entirety of his height before easing next to him in some elegant motion ingrained in him. Space was never a concern with him; the closer, the better. It was far simpler to judge someone that way. Examine them. And he leaned a little towards him, barely brushing those odd body parts together: fingers to forearm, thigh to thigh.

Soubi drew a breath. A smoother grin. “You’re tired.”

Soubi was close, now. Close enough for Yuki to almost count his eyelashes, to feel the slightly warm breath on his cheek when he spoke. In other words, slightly too close for comfort. He felt himself flushing slightly, trying to figure out how to ease away, without seeming rude.

He was touching his forearm now, and there was no way to do so anymore. Soubi's eyes were trained on him, and Yuki felt the distinct feeling of being examined. Yuki bit his lip slightly, looking anywhere but at him. The floor, the table, his lap. Anything but stare back into those eyes.

Over the years, he'd learned to deal with being uncomfortable, but nothing like this. Soubi's thigh touched his, that gaze of his was too heavy for Yuki to deal with. Instead, he focused on the other's hands.

"Why-" he cut himself off.

He had wanted to ask why Soubi's hands kept shaking, but he didn't want to be too inquisitive. Although Soubi acted like they had been close, a long time ago, to Yuki he was practically a stranger. An exceptionally charming one, but a stranger nonetheless.

Instead, he gave a slight smile at the other's statement, yawning at that moment. "It's nothing, really. Just a few loud, late night festivities kept me awake. I'm fine." a lie, flawlessly told. Truthfully, Yuki felt on the verge of dropping at that moment, but he kept awake. He had a guest over, after all.

"I'll..get you something to drink. I don't have any alcohol, so is..coffee fine? Or water?" standing up, he moved towards the door to the kitchen, wedged firmly shut. Perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to open it at this time, but in his exhaustion, Yuki forgot.

He pulled open the door and unleashed the tidal wave. Packs of instant food everywhere. Plates stacked everywhere since he had no shelves. The single cookbook that came with the apartment was discarded on the floor. Yuki had attempted to cook, because the cookbook was titled 'Easy Recepies', but had gotten frustrated.

The trashcan was filled with burnt creations. He'd been optimistic at first and thought that if he worked at it, perhaps he could finally create something edible. When that failed, he'd reverted back to his instant food, despite the fact that the ingredients in them would probably give him a heart attack.

Sheepishly glancing back to Soubi, he flushed again and tried to close the door, but found it was firmly wedged open by a six pack of instant soup.

It was there. And then, it wasn’t.

That melting heat of close contact, something he hadn’t relished in quite some time. He could barely remember the last time he’d actually spoken with Ritsuka. Of course, he’d missed his birthday, and had yet to make up for it…

Soubi found it pathetic – the way he wanted Yuki to come back, the way he couldn’t get his tongue to move to speak. The way he wished he didn’t feel so alone at that moment when he watched him scoot away and move into the kitchen.

Kitchenette. Whatever it was, it was small, cramped, and eyes widened a little at the sound pouring from it. Ingenious. The boy seemed so nervous and frustrated and helpless all at once, the way blue eyes watched him push against that door to attempt closing it. He tried not to smile, but in the end, he couldn’t control such a thing from slipping free.

It was…cute. A painful reminder—

“You don’t have to,” he began, voice just as stiff as his movements as he stood. His hands rested limply at his sides, squeezing a little to occupy the empty space between his fingers. It would have been easier if he knew what to do, what to say. If Yuki didn’t seem like he was running…

Don’t think about that.

Soubi smiled, though it wavered a bit. The slide of his hair forced his arms to move, a distraction of sorts so he could tuck pieces of blond behind his ear. He simply stood beside the couch, examining Yuki in some distant fashion, borderline fear.

Heh.

To be scared—

“I’m fine.” He was such the perfect liar, after all. “Yuki.”

There was a definite flash of pain in Soubi's eyes when Yuki had moved away. It wasn't obvious, and most people wouldn't have even noticed it, but Yuki had always been slightly more observant than other people.

Yuki felt a resounding pain in his heart when he saw that expression. He knew that expression all too well- that yearning look. The almost-desperation and the fear of being abandoned. He knew all of that, he'd had the same yearning on his face when he reached out to his brother, to anyone who might help him. Not surprisingly, nobody did. He was the 'hated rat', after all. There was nothing else to be expected.

With a nod at Soubi's words, he managed to cram the door shut, chest rising and falling sharply with exertion. The City had been bad for his lungs, and Yuki felt pathetic because of it. He couldn't even shut the door without his breathing becoming heavy. Stubbornly refusing to go to Hattori, he'd wait it out a little bit more.

He moved towards Soubi again, fluid, almost graceful strides until he was face to face with the elder. He was about a head short than him, so Yuki had to look up instead. With a sigh, he looked away, preferring to slowly pace the room instead.

"I'm sorry. For hurting you, because I know I am." a glance up, into those bright blue eyes, a flash of guilt in his grey eyes, and then his gaze was directed back to the floor again, where it remained. "I just...I don't remember. Please believe me, I've tried." his voice was flat now, somewhat dull. A cover, to save face. Inside, he probably hurt as much as Soubi did.

Ayame didn't remember him. He pretended not to. Was it the same pain of just wanting to be close to someone who kept running away, was that what Soubi was feeling?

"I'm trying because...because I know what it's like. To be forgotten."

Why was he even being so honest? What happened to the perfectly cultured mask, the 'Prince of Kaibara High'? Somehow, since the few short hours of knowing him, Soubi had stripped that away, and Yuki was not so sure that he wanted to be vulnerable just yet.

Each word…

Each and every syllable that fell from Yuki’s mouth seemed to burn his skin, his chest, his heart.

Soubi couldn’t understand it. It hurt worse than those obligatory sensations of being a Fighter. RESTRICTION. Already, those invisible binds were leashed around him, squeezing so tight he could barely breathe. His legs felt unsteady, like he was about to fall.

Or he was going to be sick. Or he was just going to turn and walk right back out that unlocked door and not even bother looking back.

He didn’t understand it. And perhaps, he really didn’t want to.

Blue eyes merely followed the boy’s movements around the apartment, aimless as well as pointless. The artist in him couldn’t help finding beauty in the way his legs stretched, muscles working together in beautiful compliance despite how naturally thin Yuki was. The artist in him couldn’t deny the attraction, such a flawless work of living, breathing flesh aching to be immortalized in paint and charcoal and ash. But the artist in him couldn’t survive the remorse threatening to tear apart his sanity.

How many things could he say? What was there to offer other than those useless, pathetic words…?

You left.

…You left me.

Soubi felt his chest hitch. Just a little. Barely there in the way it sounded the moment he looked down.

I tried to forget—

Really, there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing other than stand there, hands once again lifeless against him. Face downcast to stare at the ground, feeling utterly and hopelessly chastised. Beaten, as if he’d been the one to do it wrong.

All he could do was…

“I’m sorry.”

And that was all.

One image.

Just one image slipped into his head. Soubi and himself, sleeping together. He was curled up in a corner of the bed, and they both looked...what was the word? Happy? Peaceful?

Whatever it was, a slight gasp escaped from his lips as he broke out of his reverie, wide-eyed with his heart whirling about in every direction until he didn't know what to think anymore. It still seemed so...strange. A few hours ago he hadn't even known Soubi and now he was...

So, what then? Grey eyes gazed on the hunched figure, focusing on the hands hanging limply at his sides, the blonde hair just enough to cover his eyes. The image of someone looking so broken, so beaten, made him want to sob.

He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, Yuki was at a loss for words.

Instead of trying to think of something clever, something fake to say, he let his instinct take over. Before his rational mind stopped him, Yuki strode over to where Soubi was standing. A second's hesitation.

Then, he slowly wrapped his arms around Soubi's waist, pulling his cheek to his chest, squeezing tightly as if that could stop the pain. He fit just under the crook of the other's arm, being slightly shorter than him. And somehow, this felt right for some reason.

As if that little spot near Soubi's arm had been carved out just for him.

His cheek pressed against the other's chest, he felt the thudding heartbeat in his ears, beating in perfect time with his own.

"I only needed one memory." a vague sentence at best, but that was all he could think of to say right now. And perhaps, just maybe, it would make sense to Soubi.

Hot.

Hot, hot, hot…

I’m falling apart.

Soubi had little time to distinguish what was happening. Why Yuki was pressing into him, why his arms were pressing against his waist and the weight reassuring. Why he was whispering—

It was the hardest thing imaginable to remain standing and not tumble to the ground, dragging the other with him. Surely he was trembling now. Something he could feel and would undoubtedly question. Later, much later. Please. He wanted to freeze time and remain like this, drawn into his embrace as if it were the only way he too could apologize. For not remembering, for having disappeared. For staying gone so very long.

It wasn’t safe to look. So, he closed his eyes.

And then, clung to him. Weak and helpless. Lost.

He missed…

“Hold me.” His voice was a choked one, strained against whatever emotion he was trying to force back. This was so unlike the collected guise he’d become so used to. Just simply crumbling. How could he be strong? And what would this Yuki who was not his Yuki but was trying anyway—

What would he think of him?

“Please…”

Please.

It was surprising, how much like a child this man was.

He was so broken right now, so weak. Vulnerable, even though Yuki would have never guessed it from the way he looked and the way he had acted previously. He wanted, he needed someone to keep him from falling apart.

Yuki decided that he would try, just as Tohru had tried for him. Sometimes he'd wished that she had just given up, thinking he was a lost cause anyways, but she had been patient. So now, he would be strong, and he would try his best.

He knew fully well that he was not the same boy that Soubi had known before. How could he be? The experiences, the memories that had shaped that other boy, were gone. So how would Soubi feel when this boy, this imposter stepped in? Yuki wasn't...he wasn't trying to be Soubi's Yuki. He was himself, and nothing could change that. He'd hold his breath, and Soubi could take him, or leave him be.

Soubi's strained voice made him think of the child he used to be, and Yuki found himself holding him tighter, so tight that he was worried the other's breathing might be affected. He breathed in the scent of oil pants, and something else, something he couldn't identify but was pleasant and still slightly melancholy at the same time.

"I'm here but...I'm not him. I'm not the boy you used to know. He's...he's gone. And all that's left is me."

“I don’t care.”

It was a terrified whisper against that soft, soft hair of his. That smelled of soap and boy and the way Yuki almost always used to. Soubi didn’t think to lie about it. It just was, and truly, what could he change about it? The youth he had known wouldn’t come back. He would never be able to hold the same Yuki he had first met, tease him or kiss him expecting all the same reactions.

No.

It was something impossible, improbable to consider. But—

Soubi’s breathing was a soft hitch of hesitation, thoughts tangled around his tongue and being forced between his lips to make sounds. Words. He knew words, familiar unlike this body clinging so tightly to him. Winding around him just as the scars across his throat, its meaning never to heal properly.

Ah. He needed to…

“Do you mind?”

Polite, ever so careful in the way he spoke them. And though it was quiet, he had already started picking up the pieces. He had come here, unsure what to find or think or do. He just wanted to be, complete in the understanding of how cruel the City could actually become to someone like him. In the end, perhaps it would have been better to have his heart ripped out rather than watch it bleed like the thinned paint of a bowl tossed askew.

His fingers, less unsteady and more firm, slowly lifted to touch him.

Soubi, until that point, had simply stood there, wallowing in the heat of close bodies and the flat angles of this boy pressed to him. Now, he wanted to touch him. And it was just at a hip, grazing the edge through his clothes to wind around his waist, press them to the small of his back instead.

A reverent stroke of hands – the briefest memory of Yuki kissing the very things he honestly shouldn’t have been touching him with. Fingers, palm…

“…Can we?”

Permission, always consent. But he hadn’t a clue as to what he was asking.

He couldn't...he couldn't do this.

Yuki felt Soubi's hands at his hip, and then his back, and it was almost unbearably strange. Perhaps it wasn't even the close contact that bothered him. Most likely, he couldn't remember anyone touching him so fondly in years.

His pale skin flushed deeply and he found himself breaking away from the embrace, backed instead into the corner of the room. He was shaking, now, looking almost as timid as the creature he transformed into. Startled, confused and vulnerable.

"I-I can't. Please..." Please understand. Please don't leave.

Yuki couldn't understand his aversion, because hadn't he loved Soubi, before? Why...why couldn't he be the Yuki that the other had known? Liar. You're a fake. that little voice inside his head screamed, repeating those words over and over again until they became a mantra.

"Sorry."

Was that the only thing he could say, now? Pathetic. Yuki stared down at the floor, cheeks still flaming. Longer bangs fell over his eyes, shielding his expression from view. His last, and only line of defense.

Oh.

There was nothing after that. Merely the silent sound of something breaking even as it tried to piece itself back together. There was the briefest quiver of his hands as they clutched at air, not stopping the boy from retreating. Then, he shrugged it off.

Or tried to.

Soubi brushed at his hair, momentarily contemplating just grabbing at a fistful of it and pulling. On the inside, he was surely screaming for some reprieve to this never-ending madness. But his face was composed, features solemn and expressionless, ever examining in that way of his no one could distinguish until it was far too late to remedy the situation.

He was such a fool. And it showed, in the way Yuki wouldn’t look at him, how afraid he was. His Yuki had been just the same, hesitating and insecure. But there had been that intrigue— Perhaps the curiosity would once again overrule those internal boundaries. Soubi was exceptionally patient when he wanted to be.

And he wanted…

“Yuki.” The deep timbre of his voice lulled into some soft-spoken murmur, legs moving of their own accord to approach him. He kneeled again, before him and trying to catch a glimpse of those eyes. See what he was thinking.

It’s all right.

“Don’t apologize.” Soubi reached out to touch his hand, grasping the fingers gently, smoothing his thumb over the knuckles. Just once, a light graze. He offered the only thing he had then: the lingering, shy smile. “I understand.”

But…

Liar. Because that’s all he ever was. A liar.

That voice had him captivated.

Yuki couldn't tell exactly what held him, perhaps it was the deepness in his tone, or the slight hoarseness that came from years of cigarette smoke?

A sharp intake of air was audible as Soubi knelt, trying his best to not peer into those blue eyes that were looking up to meet his. The moment Soubi touched his hand, Yuki shivered for some reason. It was all so familiar, and yet strange at the same time.

He understood. Those two words were enough to make Yuki break out into a relieved, though shy smile. It felt good, almost, and it felt like he hadn't smiled at all today. "Thank you...for understanding, I mean-"

He cut himself off, grey eyes widening as for the first time, he got a close look at Soubi's bandaged neck. The man had towered over him before, and he'd been too busy staring at the ground. A tentative hand reached out and touched the fabric of the bandage. Barely a whisper of a touch before he pulled back.

"Ah, um...May I ask you a question?" he tilted his head slightly, a habit that he had picked up over the years. A pause, and Yuki was debating with himself wether it would be too forward to ask or not. Then again, he'd already hugged the man.

"What are those bandages around your neck for?" he was the very image of a curious youth, full of life, right now. Flushed cheeks, a shy smile, the works.

Perhaps…

He wasn’t ready for that particular confession. Not yet.

And how odd it was to see him with such a cute smile on his face, the shape of his eyes in the light and his reflection in their depths. Soubi turned his head, the loose gathering of his hair failing as pieces of it slid around his ears to pool at his shoulders. It was easy to conceal the truth of his ownership in so many ways. Gauze, sweaters…

He couldn’t—

All he recollected were those fingers grazing the scars, still sore. Still tender. Touching them and wondering so many things at once with just the briefest look. How…? Why…?

Soubi…

No. Not like this.

“It’s nothing important,” he began, only the slightest hesitation edging his voice. Then again, what would it really hurt for him to see them? Everyone knew. They must have. “But…”

He tore at them easily, the white material stretching and curling freely along his shoulders as he tugged at it. It was a familiar routine, bearing himself like this. Once, long ago, Ritsuka had asked to see him. Really see him. But only to know the truth of his brother, and Yuki—

Yuki merely asked because he did not know. Nor could he fathom the truth.

My name.

It was BELOVED.

Soubi titled his neck enough for him to see, and only that.

There was something more to the question that Yuki hadn't understood before.

He'd assumed that it would be a temporary cut, a small thing. He didn't understand the weight of the question he was asking, and later, Yuki could have kicked himself for his carelessness.

And for all his assumptions, he'd never expected this.

Grey eyes widened as he gazed at Soubi's bare neck. A raw, red crisscrossing of scars around his neck, along a single word. Carved into the skin so deeply that they must have still hurt. A word that he couldn't understand the full implications of.

With a shaking hand he reached out and brought his fingers close to Soubi's neck again, just barely touching the scars. Yuki's expression was somewhat horrified. Who did this to him? Or did Soubi do this to himself? Why?

His mouth was rather dry, and he was forcing himself to get the words out. Except that he had to choose carefully, because his words might reopen old scars, just like before. He'd been careless, but after seeing this, that would change.

"Soubi...how did you get these scars?" he kept his voice level, or as best as he could right now. The scars were almost too painful to look at. Yuki just couldn't imagine the pain he must have been in when they were made, and his voice softened, humbled, to show it.

[OOC- ACK! I didn't get an email for this post so I wasn't aware that you posted... Also, this post is made of so much fail but..it's 2 in the morning, so please forgive me?

...Maybe?]

It was nearly instant, the shiver scalding his spine at the barest of touches.

Yuki…

His scars hadn’t bled in quite some time, the flesh a relatively normal color compared to that of his skin. Pale, pink. Paler. His eyes fell shut for a moment, only a moment, thoughts spiraling back and forth between the truth and what he wanted to say. He had to keep them separated. Thus, his hand gentle pushed the boy’s fingers from him before beginning the process of binding the mark of another.

“It was…” Soubi paused, forcing his mouth thin. A shallow smile. “A gift.”

Truly.

Seimei had been so kind to give his name, he an already earless boy when they had met. A tremor disrupted the expression on his face—

And he had to look away.

[ooc: Don't worry about it. I should be apologizing for this. Anyway. XD ♥]

The tremor in Soubi's face made him want to sob.

Seeing someone like this, kneeling on the floor, so obviously battered made his breath catch. His first instinct was to say something, anything. Why? He had never been good at conversations, despite the many empty ones he held with students at school.

His mouth was dry, and the words wouldn't surface. Not that he would know what to say even if he could speak.

Instead, Yuki dropped to his knees as well. He couldn't stand looking down at Soubi anymore, it didn't seem natural to him. Being shorter than Soubi, he was now at eye-level to his scars, although he tilted his head up now to look at his face.

One hand was silently lifted, brought to his lips before he gently reached out and touched the scars. A kiss. Or at least, the closest he could come to one right now. Cheeks flushing, Yuki wondered if he just looked like an idiot instead.

The scars would probably never disappear. They were etched too deeply into Soubi's skin. But perhaps the stinging, the pain could fade. Maybe one day.

That…

Soubi’s eyes nearly flew up, the sensations of shifting positions so much easier to note with particular senses dulled to enhance others. Yuki was— The damp skim of his fingers burnt an invisible path down his chest and to the pit of his stomach, lips parting is if to immediately ask. But the words were stuck, and all he could bring himself to do was stare.

Yuki…

“Yuki.” It was inevitable now. His voice was shaking with the syllables, bandages squeezing into his throat as he pulled. Tighter as the thought sunk in. Was he…? But why—

“You shouldn’t.”

He shouldn’t have been on his knees, at his level. It wasn’t the way of things.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

His lap seemed like the most fascinating thing right now. Yuki's normally pale skin was the brightest, deepest red it could possibly be. He'd probably looked like an idiot, or been to forward. Really, what was he thinking?

"S-sorry. About that, I mean..." what else had he wanted to say? The words dried up from his embaressment, his sheer foolishness.

Still, he couldn't help but look up when he heard the shaking in Soubi's voice. Except that his face, his voice betrayed nothing else. Yuki could never pinpoint exactly what emotion was on that face.

"I shouldn't what?"

Yuki's expression was serious as he lifted his chin to stare directly at Soubi. He wanted to ask if Soubi had really thought of the scars as a gift, and why. Except that he would most likely not get an answer to that question as Soubi would wave it off.

Instead, he opted for a shy sort of half-smile. "I'm glad, then. That it doesn't hurt."

He didn’t want an apology.

There had already been such a confession, not to say anything that had no meaning to him. He cared not for those particular words because Yuki had done nothing. Had only…

Soubi shook his head, more an answer than the words he could provide at the moment. Of all the things he was proficient at, he didn’t want to speak. What point would there be in doing so now? Yet, he was looking at him again, those curious but wise eyes piercing through the glass and into his soul. Idly, he wondered how much more of this he could take before he simply got up and left without saying anything. He’d always been accused of—

“You shouldn’t…”

Care.

Look at me.

Everything.

But they were so close already, inches separating them. It was only natural for him to reach out with hands whitened from squeezing, to cup the curve of soft, porcelain skin and flinch as if it burned him. Perhaps Yuki would pull away; in all honesty, there was nothing he would do if he did. He did not blame him for this.

Wasn’t it his fault…?

Soubi’s thumb skimmed across a cheekbone and down, across the smooth expanse of flesh he had once known almost intimately. Touched the corner of his mouth and forced himself to return his gaze.

“Please.”

He wanted to flinch. To pull away.

Except that he didn't, he couldn't. He simply sat there, frozen in place, hands slightly shaking as they were hidden in his lap.

Nobody had ever touched his face so fondly. Not even his mother, or perhaps that was only to be expected. Yuki's cheeks flushed, but he didn't move, despite his instinct screaming at him to pull away. This wasn't like him. He wasn't one to accept close contact, preferring to shy away from people in general.

Soubi never finished his sentences. At times, Yuki couldn't help but feel confused. What was he trying to say? What was he ever asking? There was always that pleading in Soubi's eyes somehow, but he could never understand exactly what he wanted.

Please. Slowly, Yuki nodded his head, once. Part of him didn't understand what he was agreeing to. A slight nod, a shy smile.

"A-alright."

Their faces were so close together, now. And yet, instinctively, Yuki shifted closer.

[OOC- SOIHFOIDSHFS I AM SO SORRY. Stupid, stupid flu. Ahh I took so long. I'm made of fail. Sorry, Dai!]

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[LOG]//[Set Your Hope on Fire]

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