Current mood:	exhausted
Entry tags:	very very random, w-inds omg

A/N: more (sort-of?)drunk!drabble, hence also for sugarless_666. ^_^

prompt: LP challenge 3.6.07 - 3.20.07, combining exercises #2 & #3. (I think ... )

W-inds.
__________



In the dim light the reflections in the large glass windows are perfectly lucid, the night sky frosting over the Tokyo nightscape, the pale white lanterns glowing gently overhead. The faces of himself and Yoshio float, surreal in a space beyond the glass, defined only by the bright planes where the light hits from overhead, faces emerging from the night sky. Their shadowed eyes and mouth, neck, the sky comes up over them there like a black wave drawn in with the tide.

He wishes he could get up and touch the glass, but it's as if all his strength is ebbing away, and if he could touch the glass he would know for sure he was in here, but now it is possible that he could merely be looking in upon himself.

"Another drink, Ryohei?" Yoshio asks, chidingly, the way Yoshio does when he messes up a move too early in dance practice to be tired, and he tips more sake into his cup, answering the question with an action.

The light is making his eyes hurt, it is too dim and all the available light is concentrated above his head, each and every object in the room is vibrating ever so slightly, displacing itself in time and space, particle by particle dissolving.

"I know it," Yoshio says, and Ryohei buries his face in his hands, shuddering despite himself. The sake traces a hot burn down the back of his throat, a distraction of nerves. The room is shifting. His eyes can't focus, they trace a succession of saccades, jerk. jitter. flame. Sudden dart and he finds himself absorbed in the gravity-bound slide of a drop down the side of his glass, the way the light hits it, shakes it. Light has particles. Infinitesimal.

The flicker of warm and cool, his shadow, the shadow of his hand holding the cup lies heavy on the table. Its umbra is deep, dark, and its penumbra wavers, several shades falling transparently over each other, lapping and separating. Ryohei shuts his eyes a minute, slumping over. The alcohol is sluggishly pushing its way through his veins, in waves ... his heartbeat, it is rocking him unsteadily.

A scratchy sound of socks on matting, and someone walks over from the other side of the table, and it must be Yoshio's arm that's draped over him now, warm and steady, comforting, and then Ryuichi's voice is in his ear, pleading with him not to drink any more.

"I didn't have very much," he says, and they both know it's a lie, and Ryuichi rubs his back comfortingly, tugging him close, and he rests his chin on Ryuichi's shoulder and stares out the window, looking at the reflections of them three in a closed room, him staring at himself, Ryuichi's back, and Yoshio somewhere in the background.

"Where's Yo-kun going?" Ryohei manages to ask, and Ryuichi pulls back to stare at him. "Yo-kun? He's not here, he didn't come today, Ryohei, you're fucking drunk, you -- you -- "

"I don't know," he says, and inches forward to drape himself about Ryuichi again, Ryuichi's solid warmth is comfort itself. He can see Yoshio in the reflection, small and clear, pulling on his socks and about to slide the door open and leave the two of them alone in the small emptiness of the tea-room. Yoshio is there.

"Let me ... I feel so dizzy." Ryohei lets Ryuichi tug him forward and soothe him.

"Oh ... you," is all Ryuichi murmurs, stroking a hand over his hair, stroking his eyes shut, so warm and so quiet. He could luxuriate in it forever. Their shadows, twining over the small low square of the tea-table.

"Hmmm," he says, and then his eyes jerk open, because the neck he's nuzzling into smells of Keita's aftershave. Keita's arms are holding him, they tighten about him. He can't move, he's so tired, as if he's turned to lead.

"So this is where you tell me -- "

Keita's socked foot brushes his knee warmly, Keita sitting crosslegged while he -- he doesn't know why he's kneeling up now.

"Shhhh," Keita says, drawing back just a little to place gentle hands about his face, "why do you always think it's a dream?"

"I don't -- "

Keita shushes him with a finger to his lips, and then kisses him, deeply, so sweetly.