The line went dead. Souji wasn't surprised. He had his cell phone open again before he consciously thought about it.
To: Hanamura Yosuke 16:37
I can't believe you did that.
Souji sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, suddenly exhausted. The rush of adrenaline was subsiding, replaced by fear wrapping itself around Souji's heart like an icy hand. He stared at the screen of his phone, slowly navigating away from the text message screen and back to Adachi's blocked number. /If you get calls from this number, you'd better pick up./ As long as he kept that number blocked, he'd never get another call again.
It was too simple. There were bound to be repercussions or retaliation, if not immediately then somewhere in the foreseeable future. But right now, for these precious moments, Souji could be free.
To: Hanamura Yosuke 16:40
Souji set the phone down on the table and got up to make some tea. He hadn't eaten all day, couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten, but tea was something he was fairly certain his still-trembling hands couldn't ruin. As he waited for the water to boil, he thought back to Yosuke's last words to him outside the hospital. /You still think you have a say?/ He couldn't imagine what must have happened that apparently made Yosuke change his mind.
He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he wasn't paying attention to the mug he took out of the cabinet. When he realized it was Dojima's blue one, he flung it away from himself without thinking and it crashed and shattered on the floor. Legs giving out beneath him, Souji sunk to the floor amidst the broken pieces, covering his face with his hands and sobbing.(less)
The lily is beautiful. I reach a trembling finger to touch its waxy whiteness. So smooth. So soft. So pure.
A red smudge mars a petal now. With a cry I strive to wipe away the mark but it only spreads. A petal apart from its peers. I(more) tear the flower from its stem and stamp it into the ground. I grind my heel until the petals are shredded to a dirt stained confetti.
I feel no better.
I am still alone. My crime-stained hands proclaim my punishment. Alone. A petal apart from its peers.(less)
Masayoshi with his knees pressed in the mattress - one of the stockings had slipped down his leg, the suspender belt snapped loose, the other still taut againt his muscled thigh - his ass in the air, back arched, moaning pleasantly into the pillow - Gotou sat back on(more) his knees and dragged his hand across his mouth, satisfied with how wanton Masayoshi looked in this instant.
He was so hard it hurt, aching to get out of his underwear but he sat a moment and watched Masayoshi's thighs tremble. Masayoshi had stopped making soft sounds into the pillow, he was just panting raggedly now, gulping air into his lungs like he was drowning. Gotou leaned forward and pressed his hand over the front of the green panties Masayoshi wore, green silk women's panties that were doing a piss-poor job of containing his straining erection. They were soaked through on the front, stain dampening further as he pushed his fingers back into Masayoshi.
"Gotou-san," Masayoshi gasped into the pillow, shivering with need. Gotou had never seen Masayoshi so shameless, pressing himself back onto Gotou's hand, hips bucking trying to maintain stimulation.
"You are so hot inside, Masayoshi," the words were tumbling out without conscious thought, Masayoshi gave a little moan and tightened on his fingers. "So hot and soft, I just want to bury myself in you..."
"G-Gotou-san," Masayoshi voice pitched into a whine. "I can't, please, /please-/" He bucked his hips and let out a noise of disappointment when Gotou pulled his fingers out again. "I want to /come,/" he almost sobbed into the pillow, and Gotou exhaled, feeling his cock twitch in his underwear at the sheer desperation in Masayoshi's voice.
"Soon," Gotou murmured, kneading his fingers into the soft roundness of Masayoshi's ass, watching him twitch. "Soon." (less)
As Alan quietly turn the lock on his bedroom door, he could feel the slippery sweat sliding between his fingers and the small knob. He knew his roommates should all be at work by now...but it was better to be safe than sorry.
He chuckled. Was(more) he really going to be safe tonight? Or....
His grin vanished.
Would he be sorry?
As he walked over to his bedside drawers, he pushed the thought out of his mind. Where he was going, he couldn't afford to be negative. Or afraid.
He slid open the top drawer of his bedside table and began sliding random objects aside. Eventually, he gently brushed off a black, simple notebook.
Alan noted how new the journal always looked, in spite of the many hands it had passed through. Or perhaps most people preferred to shy away from psychadelic drugs? Alan shrugged at their loss, and flipped through the book until he landed on a page with a folded corner.
1. We had to explain everything we meant. So international relations crumbled. Court trials, pop music concerts, and business meetings dragged on for years. Small, neighborly kinds of talk became labyrinthine pits of despair and woe.
2. We would only talk when we needed something to keep our bodies(more) going. Food, water, a sweater, a pillow. No longer did spoken sentences meander into clause after dependent clause or carry on with lilting emphasis and without a full stop in sight. At this point it seemed the only persons unaffected were Russian or Mongolian.
3. We strongly shamed those who could not follow these unwritten rules for wasting our precious fucking time.
4. The word "love" fell out of use.(less)
the dirt was soft and wet with a passing rain, churned up enough near our feet to melt into mud. the sky was tinged pink as the sun's first few rays licked up from the horizon, and the chirping of birds was replaced with the rattle of ammunition fire(more) in the distance and the march of feet on dead earth.
adam had frozen somewhere along the way, feet stock still in our walking, and i'd taken him by the elbow to move him along.
he wouldn't budge.
"why?" he asked, softly enough that i barely caught it over the shouting being exchanged among soldiers. they passed on around us, uncaring. "why do they have to die?"
"come on, buddy, keep it moving," i jabbed him between the shoulder blades, but he remained where he was. people were starting to notice. "whatever it is, we can talk about it while we walk, we don't have to stand here."
i remember his hair always being a tad bit too short, like a mother's careful handiwork before getting shipped off to work. it was matted with mud, and the bandage above his eye bloomed right as he furrowed his brow to try and stave off tears.
"i don't get it," his feet started to move then, but they staggered in broken steps. i helped him along by the arm. "why are we killing? what purpose?"
"for the war," i whispered. "for our country."
i'd said these words so much to try and justify it-- the killing, the barbarism, our unadulterated patriotism that eventually ended in bloodshed.
"i don't want to do it anymore," his steps became larger then, like he'd gained strength his spirit enough to carry him. "i'm so tired of fighting."
he died two days later. god had answered his prayers.(less)
he says "i'm going to kill you slowly" and you don't ask questions. he says "i want us to fall in love" and you know there's hardly a difference. he says "why are you crying" and you tell him to look at his hands.
it starts in the basement. that's where you found the apple slices: the cores missing, the skins in soft piles, the stems swallowed. when i look back i'll always remember the look on your face as you opened the furnace. the pilot was still on, the flames licked the(more) open air, and all you cared about was the apple pie, roasting to perfection. there's something about pie that makes you think it will last forever. but it never made it upstairs.
i wondered how it tasted so i kissed you. that wasn't my first mistake.(less)
'Love-bites' seemed kind of cliche, even if it was true. But Hazel made a point not to break skin--truly a demonstration of iron-clad restraint--and the sensation without the feeling of being drained left it akin to being chewed on by a particularly affectionate cat. Though Hazel's tongue was smooth,(more) at least.
"Say, Hazel..." Joji kept his gaze lowered to his feet submerged in the hot spring, hiding his stiffening arousal with a careful fold of his arms over his lap. The brush of black lashes across his cheeks assured him Hazel's eyes were closed, but it still felt like he was all-seeing. A press of cool lips followed near his chin.
"Shireikan~" came Hazel's purring acknowledgement. Tonal inflection outside of his subdued default always sent a shiver down Joji's spine.
"U-uh..." His train of thought briefly derailed. Pale fingers crept from the other side and teased along his neck.
"U-uh, no, nothing, it's fine." That nibble nibble, moving lower to his shoulder. "Just do as you'd like, 's all."
He'd pin him down eventually, at this rate. With his mind made up, he turned his thoughts to rehearsing what he planned to say once he reached the point where he couldn't hold back.
"Oh..." Hazel paused briefly, a slight sound of surprise. So the commander planned to--
"Oh, nothing..." Nibble, nibble. "Just do as you like. I don't mind."(less)
adam was a young one, bright and shiny like a brand new penny with eyes as wide as saucers the first time we set foot onto the front lines. i was sure he would die within the first few days-- he had spunk, but in the wrong way, the(more) kind that can get you out of paying a check at dinner but not the kind to win a war.
his hair was a little too short, dark and matted with dirt onto his pale forehead. i imagined then that his eyes were the most perfect cornflower blue-- up to hitler standards at that, the nazis would've loved him.
he smiled at me the first time we met. i snorted and cuffed him on the shoulder, and i knew how young he was by the way he flinched.
"how old're you?"
"nineteen," he huffed out.
i scoffed. his eyes went wide.
"sixteen? seventeen? you're a pretty good liar, you got a baby face on you and yah still made it in. you wanna fight that bad?"
"my brother-- my brother signed up, i wanted to go too but i'm too young--"
"well you're here now," i jabbed him in the shoulder again. "as long as you kill krauts, you're good enough to be here. but once you start slacking and gettin all scared like the boy you are, don't think i'll offer you one ounce of pity."
his mouth opened as if to say something more, but just then eddie came running by, a cigarette dangling between his lips and something about me slacking off running out of his mouth.
"new kid," i watched eddie eye him up. their gazes met for only a second, but i saw it.
"just remember kid: not everyone chose to be here."
"W-what are you talking about?" Souji said. He stared at the cell phone in his other hand as though it was about to explode.
"You know who I mean!" Adachi snapped, and Souji flinched as if struck. He'd been referring to his phone, but he realized now that(more) the question had been ambiguous. "That little shit must've done it when he had your phone last night. Does he still have it?"
Souji couldn't remember the last time Adachi had sounded this angry. It might have been the angriest he'd ever heard him. "N-no, I have it right here... what do you mean, he fucked with it?"
"I've been calling you all fucking day," Adachi said, enunciating each word slowly, like he was speaking to a child. "None of the calls went through. I couldn't even get your voice mail, not that I'd leave a message. So, what, you've had it all day and it's never rung?"
Souji didn't respond right away, distracted by frantically checking his phone's settings. The phone wasn't on silent, still seemed to be able to accept calls, except--
"He blocked your number," Souji said solemnly, flipping the phone closed and clutching it to his chest, as though he could siphon the battery power into his failing heart.
There was a long pause; Souji could hear Adachi's even breathing on the other end of the line. He couldn't imagine what Yosuke had been trying to accomplish; it was dangerous and reckless and so very like Yosuke that it made Souji's chest ache. "So," Adachi's voice cut in, cold as ice, "unblock it."
/Don't waste it,/ came a small voice somewhere in the long-banished part of Souji's mind. /Don't waste the chance he gave you./
Despite the fact that they'd barely spoken since Souji moved back to Inaba, the house felt unbearably quiet without Nanako. It was funny how a person could grow used to certain things -- the TV being on when he came downstairs in the morning, coffee made and waiting tacitly(more) in the pot, the warm presence of another human sitting in the living room and carefully ignoring him -- to the point where they're barely noticed until they're unceremoniously ripped away.
It was just the same as the previous November, except this time he knew for a fact that one of the Dojimas would never come home, and he had no one to blame but himself.
Souji tried sitting in front of the TV, his phone face-up on the table in case the hospital called, but he couldn't bring himself to even turn the set on. It would still be on the last channel Nanako had watched; at this time of day it would be the news, then a Featherman rerun, then that that quiz show she liked so much. He couldn't remember a time when he'd watched either Featherman or the quiz show by himself, and he wasn't about to start now.
The foggy sky was beginning to dim by the time Souji managed to extricate himself from the living room. The entire day had somehow passed and he hadn't noticed.
It was just after 4:30 when the Dojima house phone rang. Souji rushed to answer; he had given the hospital his cell phone number, but this one would have been listed first on Nanako's file. "Dojima residence," he answered breathlessly, steeling himself for bad news.
"You should know," Adachi said, vicious and venomous, causing Souji's heart to leap into his throat, "that your little boyfriend fucked with your phone."(less)