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Entry tags:
Worst
Summary: A Junjou Romantica AU, dealing with the possibility that Miyagi had decided to end his relationship with Shinobu that night.
The worst part—the absolute worst part—was the fact that he had cried at the end. It would have gone all well, he thought, if that hadn’t occurred. But what could he do? After all, he was only a young teenager, not even of age yet, and the wreck had happened, and he had been delusional, and everything was messed up, and he couldn’t even tell the way from up and down anymore, and what was love, anyway.
The worst part was the crying, though. That he knew for sure.
--
“N-no—no, please—“ Those were his words. Miyogi analyzed them without much care or concern, because quite frankly, he was just doing this to get rid of him. Oh, yes, he had a steel heart, and yes, he no longer cared about the world. What did he care? It was just another teenaged boy, who had chosen to play with his heart. He knew the game. Find an older man, toy with him by looking young, and that was all.
They had Chinese take-out earlier that night, because Shnobu had made cabbage stew again, an atrocious strew that was green and hard and liquidy all at once. Though Miyagi had still eaten it, Shinobu had called in from the take-out menu on the table, face flushed and angry, disappointed in himself for failing him.
What a cute game. Miyagi could see through this easily.
Just playing with him, just playing cute. What did he care anymore? His hand extended downward and Shinobu writhed under him, gasping, eyes open.
“No, not—not there—“ he was begging, but what did he care? And what was this stupid lie, that he had done it many times before? Che. Any idiot could see this was his first time—with another man, at least. He probably did it with a bunch of girls, and wanted to try out with a man, for once. Always in control, and for once, under control. Miyagi wished he had a cigarette. It wasn’t much fun to just do this sort of thing, though there was a certain entertainment to have a body writhe under him, and Shinobu flushed and gasped and closed his eyes heatedly, trembling at every stroke and gasping at every touch.
He was bored of the game, so he began to stroke himself as well, casually, without much care. All the while, he put his fingers in him, because that’s what he had seen in manga, and might as well, not that he cared. Lube, he thought in the back of his mind. Oh right, they had that in manga, too. Hopefully the pre-come would work just as well. Maybe saliva.
“Hey,” he said, wishing for a cigarette, “Come and suck.” Shinobu blushed, and hesitantly opened his mouth. It wasn’t really for the enjoyment, because he obviously had never done it with a man before. Girls, perhaps, had done it to him. For some reason, he got angry just thinking about it. While Shinobu was busy, his mind wandered off. The papers that he would need to sort through tomorrow, and what he would have for dinner—not cabbages, though. But wans’t his refridgerator full of them? He’d just throw them all out. But then it’d be a waste of a vegetable, even if it was a vegetable that he disliked.
Oh, right.
He shoved him back, with a mutter of enough, and then separated his legs easily.
“Wait—no—“
Why still the sounds? He took a deep breath, and then shoved his in at an angle. Shinobu gave a broken cry, not really of enjoyment, but not that Miyagai particularly care. Break the boy, show him a thing or two about men. This was it, wasn’t it? Just in and out, in and out, and Shinobu was making pained noises, and sobbing. That was all good and well, teach him not to mess with hearts for his own enjoyment.
Wait, sobbing?
“It hurts—it hurts—“ Shinobu cried, one hand trying to stop the tears, the other trembling and gripping the top of the blanket.
“It’ll be better soon.” He really needed a cigarette. With a slight grumble, he continued to stroke him, as well, thinking about if he’d have a different sort of take-out tomorrow. Maybe Greek. Or go out to the family restaurant, that was a nice place, except it was full of families. How boring. And suddenly his hand was wet, and when he looked down, he wiped it off on the blnkaet. He extracted himself, and with no interest, felt for a cigarette on his cabinet.
Shinobu lay still, breathing raggedly.
“Stay as long as you want,” Miyagi said, upon realizing there were no smokes. He dressed himself in the dark, wrapping the tie around his hand. “I guess I won’t see you around again.” He dispassionately wandered off into the night, and would have exited the door silently, if he hadn’t heard the sobs. No, the sobbing really got him, especially when he saw Shinobu’s tearful face, blotchy with tears already.
He shut the door quickly, and exited, stage right.
--
“Hey, Hiroki.” He smoked his cigarettes on the couch. “Have you ever had sex just to get rid of someone?”
“. . . Get rid?” Hiroki looked confused, but at least he had stopped typing and started to pay attention to him for once. He still couldn’t get the imagery of his tears out of his face. Why had he been crying so much? Because it hurt? He hadn’t really been paying attention, but he knew that it wasn’t because of any touchy-feely feelings. He felt glad when he went back home late at night or early int en morning and seen t hat he wasn’t there anymore. Given up on playing with hearts—and noepfully forever. Learn a lesson. Teach a lesson. All the same to a professor.
“They say they love you, but they really know better. Play with your heart.” He released a puff of smoke in the air, looking at it distantly from another angle. Finally, he chuckled. “What do you think, Hiroki? About stuff like that?”
Hiroki suddenly stood up.
“Eh—“
“If you’re that type of person,” Hiroki said, his voice tightly constrained, his back to him, “Then I don’t think I can work under you anymore.”
The cigarette dropped out of his mouth. He quickly grabbed at it, but it had already left a light burn mark on the green couch. At least it had not lit anything on fire. But he still gazed at Hiroki’s dark back, which seemed to tell dark stories.
“I was just joking,” he said quickly, because Hiroki was fun to play with, and he did most of the work for him, anyway. And—and maybe was a friend that he wanted to keep close. “Or—wondering what would happen if someone did that to me.”
“. . . Oh.” Hiroki sat down again. Without turnint to face him, he continued to type loudly, the ratchety sounds filling the room once more. This time, it seemed much more comforting. He leaned back and took another deep smoke, breathing in the heavy smells and scents of cedar and wood.
“So I guess that’s what you think about it.” Miyagi stared out into the distance.
“Hey, Miyagi.”
“Yeah?”
“Know that high school kid that’s been dropping by?” Hiroki continued typing. “The cute one who always looked angry.”
“Yeah?”
“Turns out he’s the Dean’s son. What do you know.”
Of course he knew. “Yeah, I saw him before. What’d he come around for?” Though, of course, he knew. He wanted to see him. Just like a pursuer, playing with hearts again. The smoke drifted by restlessly.
“He wouldn’t say. Nice kid, though. Talked to him a lot.”
“About what?”
“Stuff.”
For some reason, Miyagi wanted to know, with a burning passionate curiosity. What did Shinobu talk about? Certainly not about him, or cabbages—maybe about his school. Actually, thinking back, he did a lot of talking to Shinobu, but never really listened to him in particular. He never found a need to, and Shinobu seemed perfectly happy charging on his own path. That was the way these things went, he suppoed. Slowly, he took another long drag.
“He was a nice kid,” Hiroki said, not turning around.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll beat up whoever guy did that to him.”
“Yeah—wait, did what to him?”
Finally, Hiroki turned around. His voice was unusually unhappy, furrowed brow, dark frown. His eyes were completely serious. “Some bastard raped the Dean’s son.”
“. . . What?”
“Everybody knows about it now.” Hiroki looked back at the computer screen, angry. “That’s why he doesn’t come around anymore. The Dean’s looking out for blood. So don’t say those types of stuff to him.” His typing continued from the awkward silence. Miyagi’s cigarette slowly fell.
--
Nobody talked about it. Even as he lingered by the water cooler, he felt an insistent urge to suddenly bring it up—the Dean's son—asking, wanting, wishing. He felt a trembling of fear within him, but an even more terrible type of fear—it was a lethargic fear. Slowly, he sipped his cup, and then crunched the plasticness into a nearby trashcan. He rested his forehead against the cool wall, waiting for the bell to ring for some relief. Already the tension had built into his shoulders, a sort of never-ending stretch. His legs did not feel well, and his head was too warm. This was not the way it was supposed to be.
"Did you hear about the Dean's son?"
The bell rang. It shattered his ears, and he leaned back to find some coolness in the wallpapered walls.
"How is he? Poor thing."
"They say he's doing fine now. But how terrible! Whatever is the Dean doing, taking so long?"
"They say there's complications."
"Complications? How can there be complications? Isn't it a simple case?"
It wasn't that simple. He knew this better than anyone else did, and even though his heart trembled in his throat.
"Well, ask the Dean. Nobody else seems to know very much about this case. It's very hush-hush, kept under warps. I wonder why."
Because maybe Shinobu—Shinobu hadn't actually told the dean. The thought gave him some relief. If the Dean had not known about it because Shinobu told him, then maybe it was because Shinobu did not consider it—he had asked for it—and for some reason, he knew that Shinobu wasn't the type to betray him like that. He had too much pride. But what if he had told the Dean—had said—not naming names—but had felt that—
He grew angry just considering it. Instead, he grinded the cigarette underneath his heel and left abruptly, slamming the staff door behind him..
--
“What day did it occur?” Miyagi asked, smoking. Hiroki was sorting through files. Their constant proxmitiy to each other in the room ha given them a certain fond relationship, where they constantly swapped jibes and happiness, as well as unhappiness.
“Why do you care?” Hiroki looked up, parchment still held in his hand. “Isn’t that a little too specific?”
“Because I knew the boy. I’ll do what I can to help.”
“What can you do?”
“What can any man do?” Miyagi puffed. “It’s called being proactive. You should try it sometime. It’ll make your skin even shinier.”
Hiroki grew red. “Wh-what did you say?”
“What day did it occur?”
“I don’t know. Friday. One Friday. Maybe.” Hiroki still stayed flushed, even as Miyagi absently checked his planner. No, all his Fridays had been filled. A certain weight fell off his chest. It was as if someone had finally toppled down the boulder. It hadn’t been his fault—it hadn’t been—
His cigarette dropped out of his mouth.
“Miyagi?”
That meant—that meant some—somebody had actually done it to Shinobu. To Shinobu! The peaceful boy who didn’t mean any harm, who blushed when he was shy, cried too much, was absolutely uncute—but too gullible. Miyagi stared down at his planner.
“Somebody had actually done that to him,” he said. “Who would take advantage of a high school boy?” His anger mounted. “Who would--?”
“Miyagi?”
He swung open, and grabbed his coat. He wasn’t too sure where he was going, or why he was going. It had nothing to do with him anymore. It had absolutely nothing to do with him anymore! With trembling anger, he cracked open the door. He hesitated for a mere moment, and said, “Hiroki, close up after me.” And then he left, a trembling storm of outrage and anger.
--
He had found his way to the Dean’s house, quietly being admitted into the large house. It wasn’t an unknown territory, though rarely had he taken down the certain steps of the hallway. Though the butlers had asked him to wait there, he had instead stormed terribly down the plush hallway as soon as they were gone. He remembered the Dean’s instructions, so long ago, of not going down that hallway because it was Shinobu’s room. And Shinobu, so angrily glaring, had made him feel like he would never be welcomed there.
But there was rage beneath his skin. No, more than rage, like a storm that made him breath fire and snort. It writhed underneath his skin, and he clenched his coat in his hand until it hurt his own fist, and he wanted it it to hurt, he didn’t care, he was reckless and dangerous and deranged. He could kill a man at the moment, he knew it.
He swung open the door with a crack.
Shinobu jolted. He had been sitting with the back to the door on his glowing computer, on a computer game that was nothing more than a RPG. His mouth was half-open in surprise, earbuds still in his ears, and hand still on the mouse. He was still in his high school uniform, which enraged him even more. Why? Did some pervert see the emblem and think it was delicious? Did some bastard get off on that? He slammed the door closed violently, enough to shake the desk.
He had never seen Shinobu’s room before. There was something special about it that warmed his heart, but only fed the flames of anger. It was overall a plain room, with a bed with plain sheets and plain pillow, though looking quite comfortable. There were no posters on the wall, though there was a CD stand in the corner. The dresser held a variety of keys and change, and the closet parted halfway to show neatly-put clothes hanging on their hangers. There were boy things, of course, and a pencil holder on his desk, and a sleek new computer, and Shinobu was only wearing socks, he had just come home, the bookcase was full of textbooks and manga, and the occasional odd thing he had gotten from souveniers, and his homework was in front of the computer game.
“Put some shoes on.”
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Shinobu took off his earbuds and began to stand up, but fell back down when Miyagi slammed on the desk. The pencil holder fell over, and a mechanical pencil rolled underneath the blue bed. Shinobu stared at him, flushed, panicked, unsure. His mouth was parted.
“Close your mouth.”
“Wh-why?” Now Shinobu looked defiant.
“It’s too seductive.” Miyagi used his hand to close Shinobu’s mouth. Shinobu blinked, even more unsure, off the normal stance where they had both safely stood. Oh, yes, there had been walls, and Miyagi knew he shouldn’t do these types of things, but the time for that was over, all over.
“Who did it?”
“Who did what?” Shinobu was flushing, but there was an honesty in that. He was not being defiant, though he was—he truly did not understand. Miyagi put down his head and leaned back against the wall. There was a small window, revealing the open outside. Trees glowing in the light, birds atwitter. He closed his eyes.
“Who did that to you?”
“You—You heard about that?” Shinobu got up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. He had suddenly turned pale. He gritted his teeth and looked down. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Well, I have.” He had. “And that’s all there is to it. Now just tell me. And I’ll deal with them.” He fingered his cigarette, shaking the box rapidly until one came out in his hand. Roughly, he shoved it back into his pocket and lit one. “Permanently.”
“Miyagi—“
“Or were there special circumstances?” Miyagi puffed in the room. It felt somewhat a disgrace, to smoke in the room where a teddy bear still lay half-hidden beneath the cover. He felt even more sad at that sight. “Because if there were, I don’t care.”
“—Miyagi—“ Shinobu seemed helpless for a moment, torn between defiance and willingness to submit to him.
“I’ll kill whoever the bastard was.”
“Miyagi!” Shinobu trembled like a leaf in the wind. “Please, stop! It’s—it’s not like that. My father just—he got it wrong, and—“
“Why aren’t you telling me?” Miyagi didn’t want to hear his excuses. A cold expression dawned on his eyes and he gazed upon Shinobu, analyatically. Maybe there was something wrong. Though he couldn’t quite rightly tell what. He certainly wished he could.
“Because—“
“Just tell me.”
The door opened, and the butler appeared. “Sir, please do not go wandering and disturbing young master.” Shinobu looked away, wearing his high school uniform and socks.
“. . . I’m sorry. I was looking for the bathroom.” Miyagi breathed in the cigarette. “All right, I’m coming.” He followed the butler out the room, but not before turning around and giving Shinobu a meaningful, angry glare. Then he turned around and shut the door.
--
He wasn’t aware why the anger had boiled within him, deep and tumultuous. He spent the night tossing back and forth before finaly giving up, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee and sipping it until he was drained. The next morning, he arrived in his office, too early, unshaven and without sleep. He boiled himself another pot of coffee and was dealing out letters lethargically while sipping the warm cup when Hiroki came into the room, giving long glances at his curious state.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Miyagi said. “My neighbors started a band. I sent them a letter about it.” It was a good enough excuse, even if the night had been silent last night, too silent, to allow his thoughts to echo. And they were not even thoughts, just formless angry expressions that overrode his logic about how he was no longer involved. In anger, he closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hiroki said. He tossed his jacket on the couch.
“Hey,” Miyagi said, because his mind was not clear, and he could not control his languid tongue. “When that boy came. What did he and you talk about?”
“I told you, I don’t remember—“
“Try. Anything.” Miyagi tossed the letters aside, leaning back in his cool, smooth black chair. He blew out another large puff when Hiroki began to turn on the computer, first pressing a button here, then a button there. Hiroki then paused in front of the computer, indetermined.
“I guess,” Hiroki said, “Nothing much at all.”
“Just—“
“Budgies.”
Miyagi leaned forward, blinking and then rubbing his eyes. “Buddies?”
“Budgies. They’re little birds in Australia.” Hiroki shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg. “That’s what we talked about. That’s all. We didn’t say anything interesting. There are kangaroos there, too, and dingos.”
But Shinobu had never told him about budgies. An irrestible anger rose within him until he finally turned away, and spent the rest of the day ignoring Hiroki, even when he tried to present him some documents. It wasn’t really anything wrong, just that he aws angry. Probably because lack fo sleep. No, definitely lack of sleep.
He refused to think there was anything else.
--
“What’s with the flower?” he asked his colleague. He tried to make sample conversation, though he didn’t really care where he got the flower. Probably from the lover. Somerthing like that. Everyting was fialling to pieces, and he didn’t even care anymore. He closed his eyes, and breathed shallowly.
“Oh, that. It’s from the social from that Friday.”
“Social?”
“Oh, you weren’t there.” His colleague lifted the white lily. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Miyagi fumbled with his planner. That Friday where he thought he was busy—he had penciled in a social—but he had been with Shinobu—he had been with—
He stumbled away.
“Miyagi?”
--
Slowly like time flowing to a stop time it wasn’t time
“What did you need, Miyagi?” The Dean leaned in his room. “Another report about the department, like last time? Though I appreciate these updates—“
“No,” Miyagi heard himself saying, hand holding a teacup full of coffee. “Something more than that. I have to tell you something.”
Shinobu was there, too.
Why was Shinobu there?
He was blanching white. “Professor, what are you—“
“On Friday night. Was it the night of the social?”
“. . . Miyagi?” The Dean lowered his teacup, and straightened out his glasses. Weren’t they all just clockwork dolls, after a while? Just one after another, a hopeless pair, a hopeless bunch. He aswaht there was clocks, and clocks ticked. Yes, that’s how it was.
Shinobu had cried, after all.
Now that he thought back about it, he hadn’t really remembered or anything. Shinobu—hadn’t he been in pain? He didn’t quite remember. All he remembered was sitting there afterwards, in a family restaurant, and smoking, oh yes, that was the priciest of all, smoking, and thinking about the next night’s dinner. He had been the cruel one, and Shinobu was only a high school student.
“Stop, Miyagi--!”
“I did it.”
“Miyagi?”
“That night, Shinobu came over, and I—“
“Miyagi!” Shinobu sprang forward, but Miyagi pushed him away, and continued through his outcries.
“He cried at the end, and—“
“You’re burning with a fever,” Shinobu said, crying out half-heartedly. He dropped on the couch, trying to wrestle the power from Miyagi, but he refused to stop, because the burden was being lightened with every word he uttered, and he wanted nothing more than to rid himself the guilt and the pain, because they were too much! Yes, they were too much, and he felt sick and disgusted with himself for even daring to think of such things.
“He wasn’t very good—“ Miyagi laughed, putting his face into his hands, allowing Shinobu to pin him down against the couch. “Oh, who am I kidding. It didn’t matter to me, just as long as he was a nice place—“
“Miyagi!”
He didn’t quite remember what came next.
He didn’t quite care.
--
When he woke up, he was in his own room again. There was nothing much there, just darkness. And then there was shuffling. Curious piqued, he looked up to see Shinobu stirring the soup, his eyes darkened even against the barely-lit room.
“Shinobu?”
“You’re up.” Shinobu’s voice was rough. “Finally.”
“What are you doing—“
“My father thought it was okay, since you were probably lying, since you had a fever and everything.” Shinobu sat next to him, face flushed. “You idiot. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“So now it’s no longer destiny,” Miyagi said weakly.
“Don’t even try to talk. You only say stupid things.” Shinobu put the tray on the bed, and stirred the soup again. “Why did you do that? That was stupid.”
“It was true.”
“No it wans’t!” Shinobu’s face flamed up again. “It wasn’t true. It wasn’t your fault.”
Miyagi’s heart skipped a beat. “That means someone else really did—“
“No! No, it’s not like that! Just listen to me!” Shinobu gripped the plate with his knuckles slowly turning white. His face was still flaming red, and he looked ready to weep once more. “I came home that night, and I couldn’t walk, and I was bleeding, so my father put out the report, but it wasn’t really—but he said I was only seventeen, and—“
“And you are.” Miyagi looked up at the ceiling. “Are you all right now?” He asked this after a long period of silence between the two of them the sound of the room only being their shallow unhappy and uneven breathing.
“Of course I am.”
“It was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t! Don’t even try to admit it!”
“But you were only seventeen, and I just used you. That was just to get rid of you. Can’t you tell? I’m that lecherous old man that I hated. Who liked the high school uniform. And liked that uncute expression. Lecherous—“
“That’s not true! That’s not true at all!” Shinobu took his hand suddenly, face blanching. “Can’t you tell? It’s just—it’s just that you, and I love you! Why can’t you just let bygones be bygones, and I still love you, and I know I shouldn’t, but.” Shinobu cried silently, and then loudly. Tears dropped from his face to the blanket, and he trembled diffidently. “Please, Miyagi, I still love you.”
“Even after I did all those cruel things to you?”
“No,” Shinobu sobbed, “They only hurt a little bit.”
That was the worst part. The crying. Because he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t threatened to go to his father or the world about his lecherous ways. Maybe that would have hurt less than the crying, because he had beaten a puppy, and what a terrible man he was, such a terrible man. He stared into the distance of his ceiling, and pondered.
“Miyagi?”
“Hey.” He said it suddenly, from the darkness. “Why don’t we go talk about budgies.”
“Budgies?”
“From Australia. You know, the birds. I heard you talked about them with my assistant professor.” He stared intently at him. “I want to know aboutr them, too. If you’ll let me.” His eyes must have been too intense, for Shinobu looked blank and shy and unhappy and happy and bewildered.
“You mean,” Shinobu said, his voice cracking at the end note, “You’ll have me for another try?”
“You can only try to fall in love,” Miyagi said gruffly, but Shinobu was already sobbing away. He pulled away cautiously, but Shinobu was still there, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobbing loudly. He put his head down on the blankets and sniffled, until there was a faint wet patch there. Miyagi sighed, but then placed his large hand on Shinobu’s hand, shyly at first, but then ruffling his hair fondly.
“You’re a good kid, Shinobu,” he said.
And this time, he did not mind the tears.
The worst part—the absolute worst part—was the fact that he had cried at the end. It would have gone all well, he thought, if that hadn’t occurred. But what could he do? After all, he was only a young teenager, not even of age yet, and the wreck had happened, and he had been delusional, and everything was messed up, and he couldn’t even tell the way from up and down anymore, and what was love, anyway.
The worst part was the crying, though. That he knew for sure.
--
“N-no—no, please—“ Those were his words. Miyogi analyzed them without much care or concern, because quite frankly, he was just doing this to get rid of him. Oh, yes, he had a steel heart, and yes, he no longer cared about the world. What did he care? It was just another teenaged boy, who had chosen to play with his heart. He knew the game. Find an older man, toy with him by looking young, and that was all.
They had Chinese take-out earlier that night, because Shnobu had made cabbage stew again, an atrocious strew that was green and hard and liquidy all at once. Though Miyagi had still eaten it, Shinobu had called in from the take-out menu on the table, face flushed and angry, disappointed in himself for failing him.
What a cute game. Miyagi could see through this easily.
Just playing with him, just playing cute. What did he care anymore? His hand extended downward and Shinobu writhed under him, gasping, eyes open.
“No, not—not there—“ he was begging, but what did he care? And what was this stupid lie, that he had done it many times before? Che. Any idiot could see this was his first time—with another man, at least. He probably did it with a bunch of girls, and wanted to try out with a man, for once. Always in control, and for once, under control. Miyagi wished he had a cigarette. It wasn’t much fun to just do this sort of thing, though there was a certain entertainment to have a body writhe under him, and Shinobu flushed and gasped and closed his eyes heatedly, trembling at every stroke and gasping at every touch.
He was bored of the game, so he began to stroke himself as well, casually, without much care. All the while, he put his fingers in him, because that’s what he had seen in manga, and might as well, not that he cared. Lube, he thought in the back of his mind. Oh right, they had that in manga, too. Hopefully the pre-come would work just as well. Maybe saliva.
“Hey,” he said, wishing for a cigarette, “Come and suck.” Shinobu blushed, and hesitantly opened his mouth. It wasn’t really for the enjoyment, because he obviously had never done it with a man before. Girls, perhaps, had done it to him. For some reason, he got angry just thinking about it. While Shinobu was busy, his mind wandered off. The papers that he would need to sort through tomorrow, and what he would have for dinner—not cabbages, though. But wans’t his refridgerator full of them? He’d just throw them all out. But then it’d be a waste of a vegetable, even if it was a vegetable that he disliked.
Oh, right.
He shoved him back, with a mutter of enough, and then separated his legs easily.
“Wait—no—“
Why still the sounds? He took a deep breath, and then shoved his in at an angle. Shinobu gave a broken cry, not really of enjoyment, but not that Miyagai particularly care. Break the boy, show him a thing or two about men. This was it, wasn’t it? Just in and out, in and out, and Shinobu was making pained noises, and sobbing. That was all good and well, teach him not to mess with hearts for his own enjoyment.
Wait, sobbing?
“It hurts—it hurts—“ Shinobu cried, one hand trying to stop the tears, the other trembling and gripping the top of the blanket.
“It’ll be better soon.” He really needed a cigarette. With a slight grumble, he continued to stroke him, as well, thinking about if he’d have a different sort of take-out tomorrow. Maybe Greek. Or go out to the family restaurant, that was a nice place, except it was full of families. How boring. And suddenly his hand was wet, and when he looked down, he wiped it off on the blnkaet. He extracted himself, and with no interest, felt for a cigarette on his cabinet.
Shinobu lay still, breathing raggedly.
“Stay as long as you want,” Miyagi said, upon realizing there were no smokes. He dressed himself in the dark, wrapping the tie around his hand. “I guess I won’t see you around again.” He dispassionately wandered off into the night, and would have exited the door silently, if he hadn’t heard the sobs. No, the sobbing really got him, especially when he saw Shinobu’s tearful face, blotchy with tears already.
He shut the door quickly, and exited, stage right.
--
“Hey, Hiroki.” He smoked his cigarettes on the couch. “Have you ever had sex just to get rid of someone?”
“. . . Get rid?” Hiroki looked confused, but at least he had stopped typing and started to pay attention to him for once. He still couldn’t get the imagery of his tears out of his face. Why had he been crying so much? Because it hurt? He hadn’t really been paying attention, but he knew that it wasn’t because of any touchy-feely feelings. He felt glad when he went back home late at night or early int en morning and seen t hat he wasn’t there anymore. Given up on playing with hearts—and noepfully forever. Learn a lesson. Teach a lesson. All the same to a professor.
“They say they love you, but they really know better. Play with your heart.” He released a puff of smoke in the air, looking at it distantly from another angle. Finally, he chuckled. “What do you think, Hiroki? About stuff like that?”
Hiroki suddenly stood up.
“Eh—“
“If you’re that type of person,” Hiroki said, his voice tightly constrained, his back to him, “Then I don’t think I can work under you anymore.”
The cigarette dropped out of his mouth. He quickly grabbed at it, but it had already left a light burn mark on the green couch. At least it had not lit anything on fire. But he still gazed at Hiroki’s dark back, which seemed to tell dark stories.
“I was just joking,” he said quickly, because Hiroki was fun to play with, and he did most of the work for him, anyway. And—and maybe was a friend that he wanted to keep close. “Or—wondering what would happen if someone did that to me.”
“. . . Oh.” Hiroki sat down again. Without turnint to face him, he continued to type loudly, the ratchety sounds filling the room once more. This time, it seemed much more comforting. He leaned back and took another deep smoke, breathing in the heavy smells and scents of cedar and wood.
“So I guess that’s what you think about it.” Miyagi stared out into the distance.
“Hey, Miyagi.”
“Yeah?”
“Know that high school kid that’s been dropping by?” Hiroki continued typing. “The cute one who always looked angry.”
“Yeah?”
“Turns out he’s the Dean’s son. What do you know.”
Of course he knew. “Yeah, I saw him before. What’d he come around for?” Though, of course, he knew. He wanted to see him. Just like a pursuer, playing with hearts again. The smoke drifted by restlessly.
“He wouldn’t say. Nice kid, though. Talked to him a lot.”
“About what?”
“Stuff.”
For some reason, Miyagi wanted to know, with a burning passionate curiosity. What did Shinobu talk about? Certainly not about him, or cabbages—maybe about his school. Actually, thinking back, he did a lot of talking to Shinobu, but never really listened to him in particular. He never found a need to, and Shinobu seemed perfectly happy charging on his own path. That was the way these things went, he suppoed. Slowly, he took another long drag.
“He was a nice kid,” Hiroki said, not turning around.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll beat up whoever guy did that to him.”
“Yeah—wait, did what to him?”
Finally, Hiroki turned around. His voice was unusually unhappy, furrowed brow, dark frown. His eyes were completely serious. “Some bastard raped the Dean’s son.”
“. . . What?”
“Everybody knows about it now.” Hiroki looked back at the computer screen, angry. “That’s why he doesn’t come around anymore. The Dean’s looking out for blood. So don’t say those types of stuff to him.” His typing continued from the awkward silence. Miyagi’s cigarette slowly fell.
--
Nobody talked about it. Even as he lingered by the water cooler, he felt an insistent urge to suddenly bring it up—the Dean's son—asking, wanting, wishing. He felt a trembling of fear within him, but an even more terrible type of fear—it was a lethargic fear. Slowly, he sipped his cup, and then crunched the plasticness into a nearby trashcan. He rested his forehead against the cool wall, waiting for the bell to ring for some relief. Already the tension had built into his shoulders, a sort of never-ending stretch. His legs did not feel well, and his head was too warm. This was not the way it was supposed to be.
"Did you hear about the Dean's son?"
The bell rang. It shattered his ears, and he leaned back to find some coolness in the wallpapered walls.
"How is he? Poor thing."
"They say he's doing fine now. But how terrible! Whatever is the Dean doing, taking so long?"
"They say there's complications."
"Complications? How can there be complications? Isn't it a simple case?"
It wasn't that simple. He knew this better than anyone else did, and even though his heart trembled in his throat.
"Well, ask the Dean. Nobody else seems to know very much about this case. It's very hush-hush, kept under warps. I wonder why."
Because maybe Shinobu—Shinobu hadn't actually told the dean. The thought gave him some relief. If the Dean had not known about it because Shinobu told him, then maybe it was because Shinobu did not consider it—he had asked for it—and for some reason, he knew that Shinobu wasn't the type to betray him like that. He had too much pride. But what if he had told the Dean—had said—not naming names—but had felt that—
He grew angry just considering it. Instead, he grinded the cigarette underneath his heel and left abruptly, slamming the staff door behind him..
--
“What day did it occur?” Miyagi asked, smoking. Hiroki was sorting through files. Their constant proxmitiy to each other in the room ha given them a certain fond relationship, where they constantly swapped jibes and happiness, as well as unhappiness.
“Why do you care?” Hiroki looked up, parchment still held in his hand. “Isn’t that a little too specific?”
“Because I knew the boy. I’ll do what I can to help.”
“What can you do?”
“What can any man do?” Miyagi puffed. “It’s called being proactive. You should try it sometime. It’ll make your skin even shinier.”
Hiroki grew red. “Wh-what did you say?”
“What day did it occur?”
“I don’t know. Friday. One Friday. Maybe.” Hiroki still stayed flushed, even as Miyagi absently checked his planner. No, all his Fridays had been filled. A certain weight fell off his chest. It was as if someone had finally toppled down the boulder. It hadn’t been his fault—it hadn’t been—
His cigarette dropped out of his mouth.
“Miyagi?”
That meant—that meant some—somebody had actually done it to Shinobu. To Shinobu! The peaceful boy who didn’t mean any harm, who blushed when he was shy, cried too much, was absolutely uncute—but too gullible. Miyagi stared down at his planner.
“Somebody had actually done that to him,” he said. “Who would take advantage of a high school boy?” His anger mounted. “Who would--?”
“Miyagi?”
He swung open, and grabbed his coat. He wasn’t too sure where he was going, or why he was going. It had nothing to do with him anymore. It had absolutely nothing to do with him anymore! With trembling anger, he cracked open the door. He hesitated for a mere moment, and said, “Hiroki, close up after me.” And then he left, a trembling storm of outrage and anger.
--
He had found his way to the Dean’s house, quietly being admitted into the large house. It wasn’t an unknown territory, though rarely had he taken down the certain steps of the hallway. Though the butlers had asked him to wait there, he had instead stormed terribly down the plush hallway as soon as they were gone. He remembered the Dean’s instructions, so long ago, of not going down that hallway because it was Shinobu’s room. And Shinobu, so angrily glaring, had made him feel like he would never be welcomed there.
But there was rage beneath his skin. No, more than rage, like a storm that made him breath fire and snort. It writhed underneath his skin, and he clenched his coat in his hand until it hurt his own fist, and he wanted it it to hurt, he didn’t care, he was reckless and dangerous and deranged. He could kill a man at the moment, he knew it.
He swung open the door with a crack.
Shinobu jolted. He had been sitting with the back to the door on his glowing computer, on a computer game that was nothing more than a RPG. His mouth was half-open in surprise, earbuds still in his ears, and hand still on the mouse. He was still in his high school uniform, which enraged him even more. Why? Did some pervert see the emblem and think it was delicious? Did some bastard get off on that? He slammed the door closed violently, enough to shake the desk.
He had never seen Shinobu’s room before. There was something special about it that warmed his heart, but only fed the flames of anger. It was overall a plain room, with a bed with plain sheets and plain pillow, though looking quite comfortable. There were no posters on the wall, though there was a CD stand in the corner. The dresser held a variety of keys and change, and the closet parted halfway to show neatly-put clothes hanging on their hangers. There were boy things, of course, and a pencil holder on his desk, and a sleek new computer, and Shinobu was only wearing socks, he had just come home, the bookcase was full of textbooks and manga, and the occasional odd thing he had gotten from souveniers, and his homework was in front of the computer game.
“Put some shoes on.”
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Shinobu took off his earbuds and began to stand up, but fell back down when Miyagi slammed on the desk. The pencil holder fell over, and a mechanical pencil rolled underneath the blue bed. Shinobu stared at him, flushed, panicked, unsure. His mouth was parted.
“Close your mouth.”
“Wh-why?” Now Shinobu looked defiant.
“It’s too seductive.” Miyagi used his hand to close Shinobu’s mouth. Shinobu blinked, even more unsure, off the normal stance where they had both safely stood. Oh, yes, there had been walls, and Miyagi knew he shouldn’t do these types of things, but the time for that was over, all over.
“Who did it?”
“Who did what?” Shinobu was flushing, but there was an honesty in that. He was not being defiant, though he was—he truly did not understand. Miyagi put down his head and leaned back against the wall. There was a small window, revealing the open outside. Trees glowing in the light, birds atwitter. He closed his eyes.
“Who did that to you?”
“You—You heard about that?” Shinobu got up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. He had suddenly turned pale. He gritted his teeth and looked down. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Well, I have.” He had. “And that’s all there is to it. Now just tell me. And I’ll deal with them.” He fingered his cigarette, shaking the box rapidly until one came out in his hand. Roughly, he shoved it back into his pocket and lit one. “Permanently.”
“Miyagi—“
“Or were there special circumstances?” Miyagi puffed in the room. It felt somewhat a disgrace, to smoke in the room where a teddy bear still lay half-hidden beneath the cover. He felt even more sad at that sight. “Because if there were, I don’t care.”
“—Miyagi—“ Shinobu seemed helpless for a moment, torn between defiance and willingness to submit to him.
“I’ll kill whoever the bastard was.”
“Miyagi!” Shinobu trembled like a leaf in the wind. “Please, stop! It’s—it’s not like that. My father just—he got it wrong, and—“
“Why aren’t you telling me?” Miyagi didn’t want to hear his excuses. A cold expression dawned on his eyes and he gazed upon Shinobu, analyatically. Maybe there was something wrong. Though he couldn’t quite rightly tell what. He certainly wished he could.
“Because—“
“Just tell me.”
The door opened, and the butler appeared. “Sir, please do not go wandering and disturbing young master.” Shinobu looked away, wearing his high school uniform and socks.
“. . . I’m sorry. I was looking for the bathroom.” Miyagi breathed in the cigarette. “All right, I’m coming.” He followed the butler out the room, but not before turning around and giving Shinobu a meaningful, angry glare. Then he turned around and shut the door.
--
He wasn’t aware why the anger had boiled within him, deep and tumultuous. He spent the night tossing back and forth before finaly giving up, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee and sipping it until he was drained. The next morning, he arrived in his office, too early, unshaven and without sleep. He boiled himself another pot of coffee and was dealing out letters lethargically while sipping the warm cup when Hiroki came into the room, giving long glances at his curious state.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Miyagi said. “My neighbors started a band. I sent them a letter about it.” It was a good enough excuse, even if the night had been silent last night, too silent, to allow his thoughts to echo. And they were not even thoughts, just formless angry expressions that overrode his logic about how he was no longer involved. In anger, he closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hiroki said. He tossed his jacket on the couch.
“Hey,” Miyagi said, because his mind was not clear, and he could not control his languid tongue. “When that boy came. What did he and you talk about?”
“I told you, I don’t remember—“
“Try. Anything.” Miyagi tossed the letters aside, leaning back in his cool, smooth black chair. He blew out another large puff when Hiroki began to turn on the computer, first pressing a button here, then a button there. Hiroki then paused in front of the computer, indetermined.
“I guess,” Hiroki said, “Nothing much at all.”
“Just—“
“Budgies.”
Miyagi leaned forward, blinking and then rubbing his eyes. “Buddies?”
“Budgies. They’re little birds in Australia.” Hiroki shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg. “That’s what we talked about. That’s all. We didn’t say anything interesting. There are kangaroos there, too, and dingos.”
But Shinobu had never told him about budgies. An irrestible anger rose within him until he finally turned away, and spent the rest of the day ignoring Hiroki, even when he tried to present him some documents. It wasn’t really anything wrong, just that he aws angry. Probably because lack fo sleep. No, definitely lack of sleep.
He refused to think there was anything else.
--
“What’s with the flower?” he asked his colleague. He tried to make sample conversation, though he didn’t really care where he got the flower. Probably from the lover. Somerthing like that. Everyting was fialling to pieces, and he didn’t even care anymore. He closed his eyes, and breathed shallowly.
“Oh, that. It’s from the social from that Friday.”
“Social?”
“Oh, you weren’t there.” His colleague lifted the white lily. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Miyagi fumbled with his planner. That Friday where he thought he was busy—he had penciled in a social—but he had been with Shinobu—he had been with—
He stumbled away.
“Miyagi?”
--
Slowly like time flowing to a stop time it wasn’t time
“What did you need, Miyagi?” The Dean leaned in his room. “Another report about the department, like last time? Though I appreciate these updates—“
“No,” Miyagi heard himself saying, hand holding a teacup full of coffee. “Something more than that. I have to tell you something.”
Shinobu was there, too.
Why was Shinobu there?
He was blanching white. “Professor, what are you—“
“On Friday night. Was it the night of the social?”
“. . . Miyagi?” The Dean lowered his teacup, and straightened out his glasses. Weren’t they all just clockwork dolls, after a while? Just one after another, a hopeless pair, a hopeless bunch. He aswaht there was clocks, and clocks ticked. Yes, that’s how it was.
Shinobu had cried, after all.
Now that he thought back about it, he hadn’t really remembered or anything. Shinobu—hadn’t he been in pain? He didn’t quite remember. All he remembered was sitting there afterwards, in a family restaurant, and smoking, oh yes, that was the priciest of all, smoking, and thinking about the next night’s dinner. He had been the cruel one, and Shinobu was only a high school student.
“Stop, Miyagi--!”
“I did it.”
“Miyagi?”
“That night, Shinobu came over, and I—“
“Miyagi!” Shinobu sprang forward, but Miyagi pushed him away, and continued through his outcries.
“He cried at the end, and—“
“You’re burning with a fever,” Shinobu said, crying out half-heartedly. He dropped on the couch, trying to wrestle the power from Miyagi, but he refused to stop, because the burden was being lightened with every word he uttered, and he wanted nothing more than to rid himself the guilt and the pain, because they were too much! Yes, they were too much, and he felt sick and disgusted with himself for even daring to think of such things.
“He wasn’t very good—“ Miyagi laughed, putting his face into his hands, allowing Shinobu to pin him down against the couch. “Oh, who am I kidding. It didn’t matter to me, just as long as he was a nice place—“
“Miyagi!”
He didn’t quite remember what came next.
He didn’t quite care.
--
When he woke up, he was in his own room again. There was nothing much there, just darkness. And then there was shuffling. Curious piqued, he looked up to see Shinobu stirring the soup, his eyes darkened even against the barely-lit room.
“Shinobu?”
“You’re up.” Shinobu’s voice was rough. “Finally.”
“What are you doing—“
“My father thought it was okay, since you were probably lying, since you had a fever and everything.” Shinobu sat next to him, face flushed. “You idiot. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“So now it’s no longer destiny,” Miyagi said weakly.
“Don’t even try to talk. You only say stupid things.” Shinobu put the tray on the bed, and stirred the soup again. “Why did you do that? That was stupid.”
“It was true.”
“No it wans’t!” Shinobu’s face flamed up again. “It wasn’t true. It wasn’t your fault.”
Miyagi’s heart skipped a beat. “That means someone else really did—“
“No! No, it’s not like that! Just listen to me!” Shinobu gripped the plate with his knuckles slowly turning white. His face was still flaming red, and he looked ready to weep once more. “I came home that night, and I couldn’t walk, and I was bleeding, so my father put out the report, but it wasn’t really—but he said I was only seventeen, and—“
“And you are.” Miyagi looked up at the ceiling. “Are you all right now?” He asked this after a long period of silence between the two of them the sound of the room only being their shallow unhappy and uneven breathing.
“Of course I am.”
“It was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t! Don’t even try to admit it!”
“But you were only seventeen, and I just used you. That was just to get rid of you. Can’t you tell? I’m that lecherous old man that I hated. Who liked the high school uniform. And liked that uncute expression. Lecherous—“
“That’s not true! That’s not true at all!” Shinobu took his hand suddenly, face blanching. “Can’t you tell? It’s just—it’s just that you, and I love you! Why can’t you just let bygones be bygones, and I still love you, and I know I shouldn’t, but.” Shinobu cried silently, and then loudly. Tears dropped from his face to the blanket, and he trembled diffidently. “Please, Miyagi, I still love you.”
“Even after I did all those cruel things to you?”
“No,” Shinobu sobbed, “They only hurt a little bit.”
That was the worst part. The crying. Because he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t threatened to go to his father or the world about his lecherous ways. Maybe that would have hurt less than the crying, because he had beaten a puppy, and what a terrible man he was, such a terrible man. He stared into the distance of his ceiling, and pondered.
“Miyagi?”
“Hey.” He said it suddenly, from the darkness. “Why don’t we go talk about budgies.”
“Budgies?”
“From Australia. You know, the birds. I heard you talked about them with my assistant professor.” He stared intently at him. “I want to know aboutr them, too. If you’ll let me.” His eyes must have been too intense, for Shinobu looked blank and shy and unhappy and happy and bewildered.
“You mean,” Shinobu said, his voice cracking at the end note, “You’ll have me for another try?”
“You can only try to fall in love,” Miyagi said gruffly, but Shinobu was already sobbing away. He pulled away cautiously, but Shinobu was still there, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobbing loudly. He put his head down on the blankets and sniffled, until there was a faint wet patch there. Miyagi sighed, but then placed his large hand on Shinobu’s hand, shyly at first, but then ruffling his hair fondly.
“You’re a good kid, Shinobu,” he said.
And this time, he did not mind the tears.