(he hates every tear that rolls down his cheek, the salt trail left on his skin, and it even brings crimson to his nose and ears - it's not from the act itself, but the anger that he is feeling from letting baji witness him breaking, shattering, awake for once, and he supposes this is why he needs the dark impulse.
weak, weak, weak. it clouds in ways that he doesn't fully understand, but it allows him to just do what he has to, smother these stupid morals and feelings, until he's just a walking carcass. it works out. everyone's safe from him, and he does what he has to do.
everyone but baji. baji's as subjected to his wrath and indifference as everyone else, and his hollow eyes stare sideways to the man that approaches. he could hiss, were he truly a cat.)
You don't deserve a man who tears off nails, skins and scalps, and feels very little at the end of the day. You need to get away as soon as you can.
I won't make you, but you should.
(because if he does, it's just him and sanzu - he feels even more alone.)
--you do know that ripping nails off used to be literally Kazutora's faovurite thing, right?
[Mikey couldn't make him, more like. No way he'd leave him with the vultures; and worst of all, himself. Mikey could be surrounded by people, but it wasn't going to make him any less lonely; wasn't going to make the pain any better, or improve things.
And maybe Baji could never improve this shit for him. Maybe Mikey needed to be numb, to get through all this, and maybe there wasn't a coming back from it.
But he was nothing if not stupid, and hopeful.
Baji didn't press him about it anymore-- he pretended to be on board with everything-- but they both knew better.
They both knew what he really thought and felt.
Too bad he knew what Mikey really thought and felt, too, in his lucid moments.
He'd put out a hand for him. Whether to help him up and back, away from the ledge, or wether for a cigarette, it was unclear.]
He's grown out of it, I'm sure. Besides, he was young. We're old and I suppose there's no growing out of this for me.
(the subtext is there, however. for him, but there could be a place out there for baji. one he doesn't have to deal with bloody emojis drawn on his forehead, or murder on command, where his heart could be free and his loyalty better placed.
none of the things he seems to be asking are coming for him. instead, mikey takes the hand, intertwine fingers like he used to when they were younger, and places a kiss to each sinful knuckle.
Maybe Kazutora wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe he wasn't good for him. Maybe even Chifuyu would be ashamed of him, at this point. Or maybe they'd both get it. Maybe they both talked over tea and fruity desserts about how he was being held hostage by Mikey, the evil Prince in the tower.
Who the fuck knew. It didn't matter. If he let it matter for much more than a few minutes a night alone with himself, Mikey would notice. And he couldn't have that.
He'd rub the palm of Mikey's hand with a thumb in slow, soothing circles. Warm. Affectionate. The blood on his forehead had dried, and was starting to crack.]
Yeah. I love you, too. Now c'mon.
[Giving him a soft tug; more suggestion than anything.]
You coming with me? You got some blood here, and here, and here...
(fuck-- if he doesn't wash this shit off, his white hair is going to become salmon-colored, and that just won't do. the purple shampoo-- does baji know these things by now? has he become awfully used to these things?
there's a sigh before he hops off, cigarette to ashtray before he stretches his muscles. apparently, at this age, he needs to keep his flexibility more than ever.
his back hurts.)
... Can I have my toys or you're going to bitch at me?
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weak, weak, weak. it clouds in ways that he doesn't fully understand, but it allows him to just do what he has to, smother these stupid morals and feelings, until he's just a walking carcass. it works out. everyone's safe from him, and he does what he has to do.
everyone but baji. baji's as subjected to his wrath and indifference as everyone else, and his hollow eyes stare sideways to the man that approaches. he could hiss, were he truly a cat.)
You don't deserve a man who tears off nails, skins and scalps, and feels very little at the end of the day. You need to get away as soon as you can.
I won't make you, but you should.
(because if he does, it's just him and sanzu - he feels even more alone.)
no subject
[Mikey couldn't make him, more like. No way he'd leave him with the vultures; and worst of all, himself. Mikey could be surrounded by people, but it wasn't going to make him any less lonely; wasn't going to make the pain any better, or improve things.
And maybe Baji could never improve this shit for him. Maybe Mikey needed to be numb, to get through all this, and maybe there wasn't a coming back from it.
But he was nothing if not stupid, and hopeful.
Baji didn't press him about it anymore-- he pretended to be on board with everything-- but they both knew better.
They both knew what he really thought and felt.
Too bad he knew what Mikey really thought and felt, too, in his lucid moments.
He'd put out a hand for him. Whether to help him up and back, away from the ledge, or wether for a cigarette, it was unclear.]
no subject
(the subtext is there, however. for him, but there could be a place out there for baji. one he doesn't have to deal with bloody emojis drawn on his forehead, or murder on command, where his heart could be free and his loyalty better placed.
none of the things he seems to be asking are coming for him. instead, mikey takes the hand, intertwine fingers like he used to when they were younger, and places a kiss to each sinful knuckle.
god, he sucks so much.)
I love you, Keisuke.
no subject
Knowing it's possible didn't make it true.
Maybe Kazutora wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe he wasn't good for him. Maybe even Chifuyu would be ashamed of him, at this point. Or maybe they'd both get it. Maybe they both talked over tea and fruity desserts about how he was being held hostage by Mikey, the evil Prince in the tower.
Who the fuck knew. It didn't matter. If he let it matter for much more than a few minutes a night alone with himself, Mikey would notice. And he couldn't have that.
He'd rub the palm of Mikey's hand with a thumb in slow, soothing circles. Warm. Affectionate. The blood on his forehead had dried, and was starting to crack.]
Yeah. I love you, too. Now c'mon.
[Giving him a soft tug; more suggestion than anything.]
Let's go rinse off.
no subject
(fuck-- if he doesn't wash this shit off, his white hair is going to become salmon-colored, and that just won't do. the purple shampoo-- does baji know these things by now? has he become awfully used to these things?
there's a sigh before he hops off, cigarette to ashtray before he stretches his muscles. apparently, at this age, he needs to keep his flexibility more than ever.
his back hurts.)
... Can I have my toys or you're going to bitch at me?