[#093] Believing (Ayatsuri Sakon)

[arknes]

Theme Prompt: #093 – True Love

Title: Believing

Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 or R, Contains Blood/Wounds and Mentions of Murder, but nothing explicit

Bonus: Yes.

Word Count: 905.

Summary: Sakon ponders post-case, Zenkichi cleans his wounds, and they rest in the backseat of a car. 
Notes: Certainly not my best, but I've been telling myself to write all week. 

They talk to the police, give the info, and leave. The work is done, Sakon's ultimate duties are fulfilled, and the case is finished. Yet, it never is truly over. Sakon's no longer surprised by how long blood loss lasts and even bleeding, he has time to think.

Cases, puppeteering, murder -- life has never been what it's seemed. This case is another passion-fueled regret from a jilted man and his lonely lover with innocent bystanders caught in the whirlpool.

"You're bleeding," Zenkichi remarks, sliding a roughed hand against his knuckles.

Sakon winces, then glances up at him. He's glowing in the light, and Sakon can see the color of the street lights reflect on his tan skin. He's so much brighter than Sakon's bitter thoughts.

Life isn't as expected, but neither is Zenkichi.

-

Their shoulders brush as they walk back. A stray hand lingers around Sakon's waist, and they slip into the car to the sound of soft jazz and the peace of late-night stations. The car rumbles as Zenkichi drives them far away, down rocky trails and to a deserted road. The seats aren't too cold, but the lingering cold is welcome from the hot heat of sweat and adrenaline.

Sakon thumbs at his bleeding knuckles and roughed fingers, crusted blood falling in red dust, caught under his fingers.

"That looks painful," Zenkichi frowns as the car stops and music fades.

Leaning over the console, Zenkichi inspects his hand, eyes flickering from bruises and cuts to Sakon's delicate features. His pale hands are rough, arms strong even with his slight, wispy frame.

Sakon chews his lip. His hand quivers not from keeping it up so high but from Zenkichi's careful touch. Beyond the initial calm, Sakon always fumbles, and it's no fault other than his own. Still, he smiles.

Before, he thought loving would be demanding and strenuous. Sakon didn't believe the starships and fireworks, but he had no idea how wrong he was, from how complicated to how disastrous— for every revenge-seeking lover, there's a girlfriend-killing boyfriend. He's seen handfuls of couples - more than a few - split, fall, and betray each other, and the fact merely bolsters any reservations Sakon possesses. There's an unjust wrong for every morally right, but somehow, being with Zenkichi manages to be easy.

Zenkichi is happy with all he has to give. Fathoming that and that everything is genuinely clear-cut is one of those he'll never manage.

He hums, then drops his hand.

"I dunno if it'll scar," Zenkichi says as he hops into the back seat, gesturing to the seats beside him, "but I got salve and some bandages."

Sakon's legs move before his mouth, and he slides into the too-familiar space.

-

"...Thank you," Sakon musters, hardly able to peek from his vantage point with Zenkichi's hair fountain around his hidden hand. He sees Zenkichi nod, and the moving hands stop for a moment, though.

He patiently waits until Zenkichi pulls up, finishing the bandages. Pride strikes his larger-than-life smile.

Sakon awkwardly scoots closer, voice stuck in his throat. He's never let words come out, let alone trekked beyond the initial stages of trying to ask, but his shyness never covers his enthusiasm. Without Ukon, he's too easy to read.

"Thinking?"

Before he can open his mouth, Zenkichi tugs his wrist. His freshly wrapped fingers stretch strangely, but they didn't hurt much before.

"C'mere," He whispers, but Zenkichi can't keep the note of huskiness out of it, and Sakon's stomach flips.

Zenkichi pulls Sakon to his chest, reclining as much as he can with his broad body. Scrawny, Sakon takes up less space, even lesser now he's smushed in half the seat. He pulls off his greatcoat and throws it over the both of them as calloused fingers hike the slim of his waist—a soft flush colors Zenkichi's cheekbones, even as relaxed as he is. Tentative pressing against his muscled chest reveals the thumping heartbeat mimicking his own.

Somehow, the big things aren't distracting him, but Zenkichi's tiny mannerisms are. After solving the dozenth murder, Sakon pondered life, and for this one, he's lost count. Shouldn't fate and life and the strange nature of their relationship bother him?

He'd like to have a better fate, one unlike his father's or granduncle's - a future that doesn't involve death, dying, or familial tragedy, but he's got a record and a reputation that follows him; Tachibana Sakon: amateur detective, slight omen of death, attractor of murders. He'd like to puppeteer through life, and he'll avoid the fine details of their 'wrong', intimate relationship.

But here, he's anything but those and more than the sum of his issues. He doubts Zenkichi forgets everything and the bad luck that follows him - and fixing his bloody hand is only proof - but he doubts Zenkichi cares. He's his own person, and he chooses to be here despite everything.

Sakon shifts, threading through the long hair. Zenkichi smiles down at him, content with petting, content with anything Sakon's giving. The man respects him, gives him space, always considers him, but never walks on eggshells. He's good like that.

He distracts himself in the details of the old tattered, threaded leather seats. They're resting in the back of a car, breath mingling, and together to reserve warmth. Somebody's down this path with him. Somehow, it's all real.

Smiling, Sakon looks up to reality. It isn't perfect, but perhaps time can bring him back to believing.