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26 October 2005 @ 09:58 pm
[RP log] Possession  
Characters: Atobe Keigo & Oshitari Yuushi
Rating: PG
Timeline: Follows right after this IM conversation
Summary: The pain of loving something that is not your own...



Anxious hardly described how Yuushi felt. Out of breath and nervous. He had promised to stay home so he would. But it wouldn’t make him happy about it.

He had picked up onions first, just to have something to do with his hands. Cooking was just a very logical thing to do. His hands were moving meticulously on the chopping board, cutting and slicing, making thin little onion rings. Keigo would come any minute now. Why had he agreed to stay?

After closing out his chat window, Atobe had stared at the computer screen blankly for a full two minutes. What the hell just happened there? It was by far the most awkward conversation he had had with his best friend over instant messenger. The lulls in their conversation felt so deafening; he could almost visualize Oshitari's eyebrows furrowing as he sat in silence at the home computer, pondering whether to even write him back or not.

He missed those times when the two of them could flirt shamelessly over the net without worrying about this heavy weight that seemed to suck the air from his chest and leave him staring stupidly at a monitor for longer than he cared for.

It was twenty minutes later, and this time Atobe was staring at the outside of his apartment door. Just beyond that door was his roommate, and a roomful of tension. But he was the one who had forcibly made Oshitari stay. He couldn't back down now. He reached out and turned the knob, stepping inside the foyer as he spoke--

"Yuushi?"

”Okaeri nasai,” Oshitari called from the kitchen softly. He felt safe within his own realm… only that Keigo had broken into that safe haven of his just days ago, even his usual apron didn’t make him feel more protected.

He continued to chop down the vegetable, some tears spilling onto his cheeks as he managed to cut the onion in wrong angle and he cursed under his breath impatiently.

Oshitari's greeting brought a slight smile to Atobe's lips. Welcome home. This apartment where they had shared the past several years together was more home to him than he had realized. And though part of the reason he wanted his friend to stay home this evening was because he wanted to talk through what was going on between them, the other reason was that he didn't like coming home to an empty place.

He slipped off his shoulder bag and set it on the couch as he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. Oshitari had his back to him, bent over the cutting board. As Atobe leaned against the door frame, he answered tenderly, "Tadaima."

Glancing over his shoulder, Oshitari threw a little nervous smile at his roommate, the man he had been in love with for his whole adult life, and a good part of his youth also. The feeling was as strong as it had been in the first years, just grown out as more matured kind of love, less the adoring, oversensitive feeling of a teenage boy.

“Hi there,” he murmured softly, continuing to chop down the onions as he blinked few tears from his long lashes. “You’re one minute late,” he joked awkwardly, the soft midnight locks falling over his eyes as he turned back to the chopping board.

"I am," Atobe answered with a soft chuckle. "Forgive me." He walked up behind Oshitari, watching him as he chopped at the onions. Even through his curtain of silken hair, the tears that hung on his roommate's lashes were clearly visible, sparkling faintly. It was only a week ago that they had stood side by side, just like this, and Oshitari had reached out to wipe away his tears with soothing fingers. He wanted to do the same, but was afraid of touching him, as though doing so would somehow change everything he had known.

"Yuushi," he murmured, sliding his fingertips across Oshitari's forehead, brushing away the dark strands in a subtle sweep. "What can I do?" he asked gently. Referring perhaps, to assisting with the cooking...or another matter altogether.

“Mmmn… what do you want to do,” Oshitari answered with the same soft tone as his friend had used. Keigo’s fingers felt cool against his burning skin and he couldn’t resist turning his face just slightly towards the caress, his glasses bumping against Atobe’s palm as he nuzzled his nose against the other’s wrist.

"I want--" he paused, sliding his palm to cup his friend's cheek as he considered his face. This beautiful face that he grown up looking at, beside him always. What he wanted was for there to be no awkwardness like this between them. Like that morning after the reception in spring, when Oshitari had made pancakes and the two of them skirted the issue with obvious analogies and painful silence. "What are you cooking up?" he answered instead.

Sighing softly, Oshitari turned to look back at the chopping board with random vegetable on it. He had no clue what so ever what he was making. He had just wanted to give his hands something to do. He arched his brows amusedly as he muttered weakly to Atobe, “I’m not sure yet, it might be anything…"

He turned back to look at his roommate grinning sheepishly, his midnight eyes wandering over Atobe’s face and stopping on the full, at the moment slightly damp lips.

Shishido had kissed those lips also. Had kissed them yesterday.

And with that thought, Oshitari turned around and headed to the fridge, pulling the door open and stared inside with blinded eyes. “I think I can come up with something…”

As Oshitari turned from him, Atobe bit his lip, his brows furrowing further. There was a pang of something heavy in his chest, and it bothered him immensely. He was free to come and go as he well pleased. With whomever he pleased. As he had said to Shishido, no regrets... Guilt was something he felt more often than he cared to acknowledge. He may have been born into privilege, but he paid the price in guilt. And a little bit of freedom as well.

What assurances could he give beyond what he had already told him over their im conversation? What more could he afford to give? For both their sakes, he hoped it would not end like this. Diverted gazes and absent words were not what he wished for from the boy he had been closest to for all this time.

He stepped closer and leaned in beside his friend, peering into the fridge with him. "How about the yakisoba?" he asked. "Something classic and simple."

“Sound like a plan!” Oshitari chuckled as he picked up all he needed and shied away from his friend again. The burning smell of Shishido’s aftershave he had noticed last night on Atobe and remembered only today and known where to associate was now coming back from his memories.

Damn he hated himself for being like this. Possessive over something that wasn’t his.

Though the kitchen was still a new domain for Atobe, he could at least remember where the wok was kept, in the cabinet just beside the stove. He bent down to pull it out, as he had done a few days ago when he first made his venture into the world of cooking. The process had ended up being twice as long as it would have taken, had Oshitari made everything on his own. Atobe's gyoza creations were far from perfect, but his friend had patiently watched over his shoulder as he formed them each, one by one.

Setting the wok on the stove, he curled his fingers around the handle as he said, "Do you want me to help? Or am I just going to make it worse?" He turned to look at Oshitari with a forced smile.

“No!” Oshitari knew his tone was too fierce for simple conversation over food, but he was sure there was something else within the words. Underlying meanings that he should not overlook. “I mean… Please, stay and help. Don’t get frustrated if it’s not easy in the beginning, it’ll get easier over time,” he murmured, wondering if he was talking about cooking at all but something completely different, midnight eyes sparkling sharply under his ruffled bangs.

His fingers relaxed a little on the wok handle. Yes, he wanted to stay. This room had felt more welcoming than he had imagined, though he was by far one of the worst cooks that he knew. Somehow his lack of culinary skill did not seem to matter in this kitchen.

"Then I'll stay," he said. "Thanks...for your patience." He looked at him with smiling eyes. Only Yuushi could see him this way - weak and with fault, and not the glittering perfection that everybody else wished to see.

“Pff… Why does it matter if you’re a bad cook,” Oshitari forced a smile over his lips and after few seconds it somehow grew to be sincere. He grinned weakly as he piled up the ingredients on the counter beside the stove. “What matters is that we’re having company while cooking, if the creation process is fun, it shouldn’t taste like shit, right?”

"Nothing you had a hand in the making could ever taste like shit, tensai." Atobe winked at Oshitari before reaching for the cabbage and setting it down over the cutting board. He eyed the thing for a moment before realizing that he had no idea where to start with the cutting of it. Onions he learned. Tofu he also knew. Cabbages, on the other hand...

"It occurs to me that yakisoba doesn't usually have onions in it," he suddenly observed, raising a eyebrow at Oshitari as he nodded toward the onions that his friend had cut rather haphazardly. "So what are we gonna do with all those? Unless you wanted to come up with our very own recipe for dinner, aaahn?" He chuckled softly.

“Tsk.. I already cut them. We’ll throw them in,” Oshitari cut in, turning quickly the heat on the stove. “I’ll fry them with some sugar before the noodles… it should taste just as good.”

He waited for a moment for the wok to heat up before throwing in some oil and the sliced onions. Doing something was good. Doing something and not thinking was better. He glanced at Atobe from the corner of his eye and saw him inspecting the cabbage with a frown over his features.

“Just chop it to pieces… “ he murmured softly. He couldn’t stay awkward for long with Keigo what ever he had been doing with Shishido. And that thought made him wince, close his eyes and turn to the stove again.

Just fry the damn onions, Yuushi, he told himself.

Even as he poked the cabbage around the cutting board, Atobe could feel the odd discomfort between the two of them, hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Talk of the food and occupying themselves in the cooking could help them skirt the issue for a little while, but he wasn't even sure if he wanted to, anymore. They could always communicate before...and the thought that he had lost something between them was curling tense knots into his stomach.

Instead of reaching for the knife, he turned to his friend, who was trying his hardest to concentrate on his cooking.

"Yuushi." He uttered before stepping up behind him and sliding his arm around the other's waist, burying his face into midnight hair. If he couldn't bridge the gap with words, then he would do it with his body. The sweet smell of browning onions in sesame oil permeated the atmosphere as the sizzling sounds from the wok echoed dimly in Atobe's ear.

Freezing when the arms wrapped around his waist, the midnight haired tensai blinked few times sharply before settling his eyes at the handle of the wok. “Keigo,” Oshitari’s voice, it definitely was his voice with kansai-ben and all, muttered hesitantly.

He could deal as long as he wouldn’t have to touch Atobe, not like this with very intimate connection between their bodies. If they wouldn’t touch, his body would not betray him like this…

But they were touching; Atobe’s nose rubbing against his neck, the other’s chest leaning against his back… the familiar scent of his captain enveloping him, their body heat mingling… He could feel wild tremors running down his spine already…

"I don't want us to be this way, Yuushi...tell me what to do," he murmured into Oshitari's ear, unusually vulnerable and completely genuine. He already suspected why his friend was acting like this, like as though he was forcing himself to keep his distance. But when things involved his best friend, who had been with him for most of his meaningful life, Atobe tread with careful footsteps. For as much as he showed a craftier side to the rest of the world, Oshitari was sensitive and a romantic, and Atobe would do close to anything--anything for his happiness.

His arms curled tighter around his waist, afraid of letting go.

“Keigo… “ Oshitari muttered first awkwardly but quickly the tension melting from him as his best friend’s name rolled from his lips, softly, intimately, like he thought of Keigo.

He leaned back against Atobe, turning his face just a fraction towards the other. “I’m sorry, Beautiful. I’m being rather difficult, aren’t I?” He chuckled and wrapped his arms around the other’s, entwining their fingers together.

Why was he being this jealous? Atobe was not his possession. It had not been like this when Keigo had been dating Hitomi. He had been glad to see his best friend so happy, and yes, protective when the relationship had ended leaving Keigo lonely and hurt. But this was something different…

"Why are you sorry? You don't have to be sorry," Atobe said, his voice muffled within Oshitari's hair. It wasn't as though he had anything to be ashamed of, or feel guilty for. And yet...as their fingers entwined together, and he felt himself fall deeper against the vast warmth of his friend's slender body, he tasted something close to regret. Was this how Oshitari felt, that awkward morning after the reception?

He leaned in and rested his chin against his friend's shoulder as he purred in a teasing voice, "Besides, tensais are supposed to be difficult. Or so I've heard."

Arching his brows amusedly, Oshitari let himself relax in Atobe's embrace. "Are they now? Have I proven to be a usual tensai or an especially difficult one then?" he asked laughingly as he leaned his head back against the other's shoulder and turned his face towards Atobe.

"Maybe I haven't used the whole potential of my brilliance yet then," he murmured against Atobe's neck. The scent of the other enveloping him like a safe blanket and still sending thrilling shivers down his spine, fragrant and warm.

Keigo… Hold me tight, he wanted to ask. Stay with me..

"I think it's the last option," Atobe chuckled as he pulled him closer and kissed him gently on the temple. "Isn't that the theory of the 'tensai'? Their potential is infinite..."

As he held him close, he could feel his tension unravel slowly. Oshitari always had this effect on him. Even in junior high, when he thought the pressure of keeping up his façade of perfection was too much, his best friend was always there to ground him. Only with him, Keigo was Keigo.

He could have held him for longer, yet the cooking would not wait for them. It wasn't until the pungent smell of burnt onions hit the air that he realized the stove was still exerting itself under the spacious wok.

"Oh, fuck..."