Entry tags:

shun, yoshi

001. trace addictions

All alone in space and time.
There's nothing here but what here's mine.
Something borrowed, something blue.
Every me and every you.

Another grey day.

The rain kissed the shoulders of one Sumiyoshi-kai assassin, sinking through layers of cloth and settling for a stormy sort of cold in his very skin.

Dismal.

Pausing outside his apartment to cast a glance up to the balcony which he knew was his own, complete with blond and bird, Shun smiled and shook the rain out of his hair -- off of his face; heading inside, into the elevator cages and up, up, where he was promptly vomited out like a drug addict's purge.

Inside only briefly, the assassin quickly moved through his apartment, through the bedroom he shared with just one, to the balcony who held that very man within its cages. Shun said nothing. The words weren't necessary.

Instead, he quietly wrapped his arms about blond shoulders, nose to hair, victim to the ghost of a scent surrounding the other.

These and other things -- the smell of hair, the sound of breath, the feel of fingertips -- Shun had claimed for his own -- like trace addictions.

Running through his very blood.

One little glance upward. One short glance back down to a pencil that had yet to stop moving. Tongue lapped across dried, chapped lips once, twice, then one chin upped itself, glancing outside the cage that held him still.

"I've been drawing the rain, you know."

Head cant; nose into wet hair; muffled words.

"Gesture drawings. I've been thinking of you."

"Have you?" Shun asked, smiling over the blond's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crown of Yoshi's head.

He found a seat, sinking into it -- dark eyes turned out to a dark day. "I missed you today."

"I missed you too," Yoshi replied, slowly setting down his sketchbook before turning to face the darker of the two. "Where did you go today? I wish I could've come with you."

"I wish you could." Said the brunette, who sincerely meant such -- understanding the blond's desire to get out of the apartment he'd been caged into by circumstance.

The assassin had no idea where he'd been.

"...just work. It's always the same." Shun explained, watching the rainfall. How so many drops blended together in sheets and sheets. How so many notes, hitting pavement one drop of ink at a time, turned into a percussive concerto on the streets. "...they... it blends together. I don't know."

"I miss work." Slow words, slow realizations, and the slow drawing of knees to chest. "I've been afraid to look in the mirror. I think it's just because I feel like a ghost. I'm afraid of what the scar on my forehead looks like. I'm afraid of how far gone my roots are." One more slow movement, looking to his loverbrotherfriend. "I've had a pain in my chest recently-- but I think it's only because I'm boxed in."

"Your roots are fine." Shun replied, rather automatically -- spoken without processing. "...we should go somewhere. It's not fair of me to make you stay here like this." He dug through his pockets for cigarettes -- damp with rain. He lit one anyway.

"Yeah. We'll go somewhere. Where they can't see us. Or find us." Inhale. Exhale. "Where it won't matter anymore."

He watched the smoke dissipate, grey on grey. "...I'm sorry."

"How long will it be?" the blonde asked curiously, resting a chin on a hand and a knee. "A week? A month? A year?" He sighed a little, sad. "I want some air, I think..." A little dizzy, a little tried. "Will you take me up to the roof? I want to draw up there-- I want to get rained on. Today, I think. If you'll let me."

Shun, for whatever reason, would have preferred the balcony; but he couldn't say no to the ex-Yamaguchi at his side.

Another drag of the cigarette, and a slow, slow nod. He stood and offered the other his hand. "...sure. We'll go up to the roof."

Hand in hand. Step for step. One arm about a neck and a body drawn close. One warmth against another and a kiss interchanged. "You humour me so much..." the blonde said, silent and quiet against the other man's lips before another exchange of whispers and delusions. "Thank you."

Shun, wet and cold, tried to absorb what warmth he could from the ghost-assassin in his arms, seeking another kiss from the blond on the balcony in the rain. "How could I not?" He whispered. "...I love you."

"I love you too," was whispered in reply, cold and wet with the rain transferred from lips to loving lips. "Let's go."