![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
solongsun April 8, 1970: the day of the Ten-Roku gas explosion, and the day that 22-year-old Ruki attempts to end his life. Less than two weeks later, he finds himself committed to the Yamauchi Hostel, a psychiatric hospital in the Kyoto hills. Kept on a ward with a number of other ill young men, Ruki is sometimes frightened and sometimes enthralled by his new friends – and none more other than the 'untreatable' Kyo, whose hospitalisation hides a legacy of dark secrets...
There was a strange feeling in the air that afternoon, after the parents had left. It finally stopped raining, and the air lost its flinty smell, but nobody seemed to feel comfortable sitting in the TV room with the food from Uruha's parents still spread all over the table. Aoi was punished with the loss of his grounds privileges and banished to his bedroom, but Kai, Die, Kyo and even Shinya, tottering like a pale wraith, drifted to the music room to listen to Die's new Let It Be LP. Kai was so excited about it that he was hopping on the spot, actually jumping for joy, but watching him, Ruki felt strangely hollow.
He heard in his head: but youth attracts us, it's compelling...
He had felt angry with E. O., and he had felt sad, and very often he had felt desperate and ready to forgive the other man for the whole horrible mess, including the loss of his scholarship and his expulsion from art school. This was the first time, though, that he was conscious of feeling real grief. It was as though it had taken seeing his former lover on television to realise that it was over, and that they would never be together again.
And that E. O. would continue on his path upward, with TV interviews here and exhibitions there, and all the while Ruki was locked up and stagnating, and going nowhere.
This thought took him past the music room, where his friends were gathered, without going inside. He could see them in there: they felt unreal too, as if he was only seeing them through a screen. He saw that Kai was bouncing up and down in his seat, and that Uruha was listening with this eyes closed and his chin in his hands, and that Die was holding one of the guitars from the cage of musical instruments and was trying to play along, biting down on his lip in irritation every time he hit a wrong note; he saw that Kyo was sitting on the floor underneath the window, his eyes closed and his head face tilted upwards, looking tired; he saw that Shinya was gazing into the pattern on a cushion, following it carefully with his eyes.
It made Ruki feel exhausted. He wondered what the hell the point of it all was: this bunch of pale ghosts huddled around the record player, listening to The Beatles play Across the Universe.
'Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world...'
The gentle swell of the music seemed to push E. O.'s image even harder against Ruki's ribcage, like he was being suffocated from the inside. The sense of pressure was incredible: he couldn't see what was preventing him from simply splitting apart.
He went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, relieved that everybody else was occupied and he could be alone. Kai's clash of posters on the wall seemed somehow touching, like toys left on the floor after all the children have gone to bed, and Ruki lay down on his bed, nestling into the covers. He pushed his nose against the blanket, but it didn't smell of anybody else; it only smelled like him.
He remembered how E. O.'s bed had smelled of his cologne, always – a strange, slightly bitter scent – and how the pillows had always smelled of his shampoo, or whatever wax or pomade he used to achieve that constantly rumpled look. He'd had a small bed, and all the sheets were white; everything in his apartment was white, from the rugs to the walls to the lampshades and electronics. The only splashes of colour had been his own works, mounted on the walls in white frames; that and Ruki himself, wandering through the glaring whiteness and feeling like he was the only thing alive for miles. It had made him feel like his heart was beating more, like his skin was warmer; like every inch of him was flushed with blood. He had worried at first that E. O. would hate the sight of his clothes puddled on the floor where they'd been pulled off him; he had taken to wearing all black or grey, like E. O. himself, so it was difficult to tell whose clothes were whose. Gradually, the colours had been phased out of his wardrobe altogether, and the thing that pained Ruki now was how much shameful enjoyment he'd gotten out of it at the time; as if he was stripping away something superfluous, narrowing down his life until it was thin enough to slot in next to the life of the man he loved. Now he remembered all the clothes he'd tossed – the weird army greatcoat he'd picked up at a thrift store that made him feel like a spy, and the egg yolk coloured scarf some sweet misguided girl in his class had knitted for him, and even the big psychedelic patch that said COME TOGETHER that he'd sewn onto his black rucksack; he'd ripped that off, opened his dorm window and fed it to the wind. Now he thought how much Kai would have liked something like that. The rainbow coloured CND symbol he'd worn pinned to his scarf; had he just binned it, like it was nothing?
'Groovy,' he muttered to himself, rolling restlessly onto his back. It had felt so worth it, at the time, to be dressed like E. O.; to look like they belonged together.
Roughly, Ruki reached up and ripped the postcard of E. O.'s painting, The Student at Work, down from the wall. He wondered if anybody would ever know that it was him in the picture, and if anybody would ever know what it had done to him, because the painting had been the start of his entire downfall; E. O. saying it was him, and then putting his hand on Ruki's knee, and Ruki getting flustered and almost jumping to his feet – you're old enough to be my father – quite nearly, yes – and the way the the older man had kissed him then, cold hands on Ruki's hot face, leg pressing insistently between his own.
His eyes flicking nervously to the door, Ruki gently eased his hand inside his pants. It was easy; clothes seemed to have been getting increasingly loose on him for the past few months. He slipped his fingers beneath the band of his underwear and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to relax; his mind felt like it was moving too quickly, and dozens of images were jostling for space in front of his eyelids, bright as flashbulbs: there was E. O. crawling over him on the pure white sofa, kissing the patch of skin behind Ruki's ear and murmuring to him, instructing him; take off my pants. Do it.
Don't you want to find out what a man tastes like?
He remembered he'd fumbled; the button on E. O.'s pants had been stiff and the older man had been distracting him, kissing his neck and whispering things like that in his ear. He'd been nervous, he remembered that, but once he'd got the clothing out of the way, the smell of the other man had gone to his head.
Put your hand on me. Lick it.
Put it in your mouth.
Tentatively, Ruki's hand stole around his own cock, rubbing it gently. It was weird to be touching his own whilst thinking so much about somebody else's; it made him feel unsure what was real and actually happening. There were too many images; too many touches. They all blurred into one.
The first time they'd slept together, he'd been drunk. It came back to him now because it felt the same; the vagueness, the feeling of being almost outside of his own body. His dick was hard in his hand, but then E. O.'s dick had been hard in his hand, and he'd been stroking it as he climbed over Ruki's body: can't you see how much I want you?
Ruki made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, running his hand down the length of his cock.
Somehow or another E. O. got his clothes off; it seemed he did it without really moving. His dick nudged against Ruki's stomach, against his chest, smearing an indecent trail against his skin; he'd told him, turn over.
Get on your hands and knees.
I'll make it so good for you.
Had he? Ruki could hardly remember, except for thinking that it had hurt at first. He had made a small squeak that E. O. had mistaken for pleasure, and Ruki hadn't corrected him because he hadn't wanted him to stop. He remembered how part of him had just felt so relieved to know that he had crossed that line, and that he couldn't be pushed any further; there he was, safe at rock bottom.
Sighing, he pulled his hand out of his pants and raked his hands through his hair. He was hard, but it felt so wrong, thinking about a man and touching himself. Physically he felt almost horribly turned on, but inside his thoughts felt as though they were shifting constantly, quicksilver transformations from arousal to guilt, arousal to guilt, like a heart turning to stone and back.
He briefly wondered if Aoi had ever felt like this, but the thought of Aoi was enough to confuse him even more. Seeing him and Uruha together had turned him on, kind of – at least he had felt a kind of flutter in his stomach, and his cock had felt sort of flushed and heavy against his thigh – but more than that, it had made him feel unsettled and miserable. It made his head hurt: why did the feeling have to be so complex, so abstract? They were both attractive men, so if he really was gay, wouldn't he...?
There was one short knock on the door, more of a dull thud, and Ruki jumped, quickly pulling himself upright and dragging a pillow over his lap.
'Yes?' he said in a voice that seemed a little higher than normal, and the door swung open to reveal Kyo looking at him. The other man's gaze was narrow and assessing, and Ruki's heart started to pound heavily; he couldn't have guessed what it meant.
'Dinner,' he said tonelessly.
'Oh,' Ruki said, feeling breathless. 'Thanks.'
Kyo swept his dark eyes over him, and Ruki felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He swallowed drily, trying to look innocent, but then their brown eyes seemed to clash and it happened; under the pillow, his cock twitched in his pants.
The shock seemed to send his arms numb, and he squeezed the pillow desperately.
'I'll be through in a minute,' he said. Kyo gave a single nod and then left him to it, thankfully closing the door behind him; Ruki snatched the pillow from his lap and buried his face in its coolness.
'Get a grip,' he muttered to himself. His cheeks were burning, and the blood in his veins felt very obvious. His hand slipped into his lap and rubbed himself just lightly through his pants; the feeling sent a shiver through him, and to his immediate embarrassment, a tiny groan slipped out of his lips.
The postcard of E. O.'s painting, The Student at Work, was still on the bed next to it; Ruki picked it up and scrutinised it thoroughly, trying to distract himself.
This can't mean what I think it means, he thought, trying to bully his racing mind into rationality. It's just that I was already turned on, and then he gave me a weird look. That's all.
But since when did a weird look make him feel like that? It was something peculiar in Kyo's stare; a feeling almost of penetration that left him feeling as though every secret in his head was written plainly on his face. It was a scary feeling, but it was also the cleanest, strongest feeling he knew, because it was the feeling of being seen; not just being looked at, but really seen. Understood, on every level, for what he was.
He could still feel his heart beating high in his throat, sexuality melding with his growing panic and making his pulse flutter. Food was the furthest possible thought from his mind, and the idea of sitting down at the table with all his friends was making him feel faintly sick.
It struck him how much easier it would be to simply disappear. To not exist. There would be no more feelings getting tangled up with each other until they were impossible to extract; he had the vague idea that he could lie dying and as the time grew nearer, he could sort of throw oil on each of his various moods one by one, and seeing what they really were at their peak: the scared peak, the angry peak, the sad peak, the aroused peak, the humour peak. Maybe it would all finally, finally make sense, and even if it didn't, he wouldn't have to care any more.
And he was in a room with a wall stuffed full of pills. Ruki's gaze slid towards the loose panel of skirting board: it would be so easy.
No more E. O.
No more memories.
No more having to wash his body and stuff it into clothes, no more eating, no more trying to1 keep himself entertained.
Just dark and quiet forever, without the confusion and the fear.
There was another thump at the door, and Ruki almost jumped out of his skin.
'Yes?' he said, trying hard to keep himself together. The door opened, and Kyo was looking at him with eyebrows raised.
'Are you finished masturbating yet?' he asked bluntly, but then the expression on his face changed – or maybe it didn't change; there hadn't really been much expression there to begin with, just Kyo's usual deadpan face, but it had, in some undefinable way, softened slightly. His eyes lost their hard-edged look and his jaw, untensed, looked less harsh; carefully, shooting Ruki a strangely tentative look, he slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him. Moving in a wooden sort of way, uncomfortably, he sat down on the bed next to Ruki and stared down at his knees. The postcard of the painting was on the bed next to him, and he gave Ruki another uncertain sort of look before he picked it up and studied it.
'This is you,' he said, not even a question.
'Yeah.'
'Your boyfriend painted this.'
'...Yeah. He did.'
Ruki realised that he could smell Kyo – the same scent that had been on his bedsheets, soap and whatever innate smell his skin had. It was comforting, and he wanted more of it, but it made his stomach do that uncomfortable fluttering motion again.
Another conflict. Another tangle. Ruki rubbed his hands tiredly over his face.
'Eiji painted it shortly before we got together,' he said in a weary voice. 'Eiji Okada, the artist. I guess it was the trigger. He was just my mentor then, but I was in love with him. Before anything happened, I sort of kidded myself into believing that it was a different sort of love. Like I just loved him because he was my hero or something; I never actually would have slept with him.'
He eyed Kyo soberly, drawing some kind of comfort from how still Kyo kept his face; listening, but not reacting, simply examining the postcard.
'We were together for two years,' he said, 'And I loved him, and he said he loved me. But we had to hide it. He always said we had to hide it, and I was so stupid that I never once even questioned why.'
Ruki stared at the picture blindly. 'Then one day,' he carried on, 'Not long ago, he just – told me it wasn't working out. He said I was too young. September can't marry May. All of that. I think he's fucking somebody else now. Another student, I mean.' Ruki gave a rough shrug. 'The thing is, he changed me completely. He...it's not that I didn't want him, but he pushed me into things, and I just felt myself change. I became this cynical person; I started becoming just like him. I can't remember what I was like, not loving him. I changed everything about myself for him, and now I don't know who I am. And I feel so confused, but I'm so tired of being confused. I just want everything to be simple. I just wish it could all – just – stop. I want it to stop. I want out. I'm – done.'
He suddenly smiled, but it was more like a grimace. 'I don't know why I'm telling you all of this.'
Silently, Kyo lit up a cigarette. He looked ill-at-ease, like he was struggling for words; he opened his mouth, but then closed it and shook his head.
Finally: 'It's the thing you're hanging onto,' he said in his hoarse voice.
'I guess it is.'
'So fuck him.' Kyo took a drag of his cigarette and held it in, so his next words were croaky with smoke, 'Fuck him, fuck all of his shit, fuck him. He's a dick, he's scum, whatever. Fuck him.'
Despite himself, Ruki felt his lips twitching.
'I was thinking about killing myself, and that's your advice?'
'Yes, that is my advice. If somebody hurts you, fuck them. They're dirt. Shit. Nothing. Fuck that.'
Almost angrily, he pressed his packet of cigarettes into Ruki's hand. 'Do you still love him?'
Ruki could have laughed, because which answer was he supposed to give to that – yesterday's, today's, tomorrow's? He had no idea.
'I do,' he said once he'd lit up. 'But...'
'But.'
'But I sort of hate him, too,' he said quietly. 'He sort of – he sort of makes me sick.'
He suddenly shot a curious look at Kyo, eyeing him through the smoke of his cigarette: 'Why are you being so nice to me?' he asked suspiciously.
'I'm always nice.'
'Everyone keeps telling me that you're this psycho headcase.'
'Everyone, or Aoi?' Kyo asked drily, and Ruki flushed slightly.
'But why are you being so nice to me?' he pushed, and Kyo gave an uncomfortable sort of shrug.
'I don't know. You gave me the book.'
'That was ages ago.'
'Yes but you see, it still happened.'
Kyo stood up stiffly, stretching out his arms. 'Also, you offered to go outside with me.'
'Yeah, so?'
'So it's been about a decade since I've been outside,' Kyo explained shortly.
'Yeah, but that doesn't really answer my question,' Ruki said, and Kyo made a frustrated sort of noise.
'You've been nice,' he almost hissed, 'Is what I'm saying. You've been nice to me.'
'But...hasn't anyone else?' Ruki asked, and Kyo favoured him with a withering look.
'This conversation is over,' he said blankly. 'I want to eat.'
'Okay.' Ruki paused. 'Me too.'
It was true. All at once, he felt positively ravenous.
Dinner that night was safe and happy feeling; it wasn't exactly clear why, but either the family visits or the subsequent ending of those visits had put the assembled company into a comfortable, relaxed sort of mood. Uruha had put sticking plasters over his two poor ripped nails, and Aoi was in high spirits despite his afternoon of being banished to his room; he was playing some sort of very silly game with Kai and Die, which Ruki didn't really understand until Die stuck both chopsticks between his upper lip and his teeth, flopping his hands like flippers and making a strange crooning noise; Kai grew so excited he clapped his hands and exclaimed, 'I Am The Walrus!'
'Not fair,' Aoi complained, 'I was going to do that one.'
'That's all right,' Die said lightly, his words somewhat distorted by his chopstick tusks, and with deadly aim, flicked a large piece of fried egg at his friend's face, 'You can still do I am the egg man.'
'Yeah?' Some egg whizzed back across the table at Die, 'How about, we are the egg men?'
'You guys are such nerds,' Ruki said before he could stop himself. Die gave him a bewildered walrus look.
'We are not nerds,' he said with as much dignity as he could muster, 'We're crazies. Nutjobs. Raving loonies. And...' he took careful aim and flicked a pea at Ruki, 'So are you.'
'Die,' a nurse said warningly, and he took the chopsticks out of his mouth and grinned, leaning across the table towards Ruki.
'See?' he said. 'They're scared of us.'