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It was past three in the morning, and there was someone knocking at his door.
A part of Atsuhiro had a feeling of what- or rather who -was responsible for that knocking. Among his ring of associates, the list of suspects was fairly limited. It did not stop the dread forming in his gut. He was not still awake at this hour because he wanted to entertain company.
As such, he sat still for a moment, taking a calming breath. See, he’d only just lowered himself on to the compact couch in the small but tidy living area of his similarly compact loft. There was a tall glass of water and a vivid orange pill bottle sitting on the coffee table in front of him. His hair was damp following a shower, and he was clad in a bathrobe as the ordeal of undressing, showering, and renewing the bandages around his missing arm had collectively caused a bit of a headache. He had not been mentally willing to go through the ordeal that was attempting to properly clothe himself again one handed and in miserable pain. Meanwhile, the robe had been hanging on a hook so conveniently near..
Another series of raps against the door, this time more persistent.
He sighed again and stood, sliding towards the door, and peering through the peephole even if it felt like a redundant gesture. He closed his eyes in sharp irritation, and quickly moved to open the door with his missing arm. Ignoring the throb of pain in his severed limb, he tried again, this time with his right.
It swung open, revealing Jin, who other than the blatantly obvious Twice mask covering his face, was in his civilian clothing, hands in his pockets, staring at his feet guiltily. It was almost as if he hadn’t been the one pounding at his door with the incessant beat of a maniac at an underground rave, and when Atsuhiro finally opened the door he just happened to be standing there. Coincidentally.
“Come inside,” Atsuhiro said urgently, granting Jin a pathway to shuffle through the doorway. He would hope to the powers that be that all of the neighbors reamined asleep and unperturbed by the sound issued by his colleague’s slamming fists. Hoping that no one had witnessed the nationally recognized visage of a League of Villains member standing at his doorstep.
“It’s three in the morning, Jin” Atsuhiro accused somewhat pointedly. Given the hour, and the day he was having thus far, he had more trouble than usual keeping the annoyance from seeping out.
“Really?” Jin mumbled first, then added slightly more expressively, “ Not like you were sleeping anyway. ”
Atsuhiro’s jaw clenched and he braced himself, willed himself to keep calm.
“You can’t just show up here like that,” he gestured at the mask.
He didn’t wait for a response, just strode back towards the couch, the left sleeve of his robe flapping emptily as he moved. He snatched up the pill bottle which had been resting nearby. Something for the pain , Giran had promised and for once there was not a trace of that teasing sleeze in his voice. Instead, there was something akin to actual sympathy that had sent an inexplicable blot of anger coursing through Atushiro.
Now, he was standing in his suffocating living room, dutifully ignoring his uninvited guest, and struggling to get the lid off said pill bottle with only one hand to aid him in the task. That was when Jin's shoes suddenly faded into his line of vision, and a hand landed on Atsuhiro's. Somewhat clumsy fingers eased the bottle free of his own clammy hand, and opened the cap with such a practiced ease, it felt like a smack to his face.
Jin handed back the bottle, again something apologetic about the gesture.
"Thank you," Atsuhiro said quietly after a beat.
The rest of the process went relatively smoother. It was easy enough to fish out one of the capsules buried inside, and wash it down quickly with the water from his glass.
He’d closed his eyes as he’d swallowed the pill, leaning slightly against the arm of the couch. For a moment, all he could fixate on was the sensation in his fingers. Those in his left hand, as if it too was brushing up against the fabric of his furniture to help him balance. There was a ghostly pinch in the tips of those extremities. As if the blood flow had paused momentarily and now it was picking up again.
Brown eyes fluttered open to land on Jin’s mask. There was usually at least one mask between the two of them in these moments. More often than not, it was his own. Tonight he was the vulnerable one, leaving every crease and dark shadow under his eyes exposed to Jin’s probing stare. If only the damn pain pill would kick in faster.
A third sigh.
“Why are you here?”
Jin continued to shift in that sorry way before finally speaking, “I thought someone should check in on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
It was a trying situation and the miserable note in Jin’s voice had him second guessing the rapid irritation pounding in his head. Of course, Jin’s intentions were always good ones. That was the common thread between all of these encounters. Except that he felt the motivation didn’t just end there.
If he had to warrant a guess this was just as much about Magne as it was his arm. If not more so. There was a pang in his chest at the thought.
“So… How are you?” Jin said when it became apparent that Atsuhiro would not be leading this conversation.
“I’m tired , Jin, it’s three in the morning,” he repeated as if it hadn’t been pointed enough the first time he’d brought up the fact.
“Oh yeah..”
A more mannered guest would take the hint and leave. Atsuhiro didn’t believe that Jin was as oblivious to these cues as he often pretended to be. If he wasn’t leaving now, it wasn’t because he misunderstood. It was because he didn’t want to be alone. And that deep seated longing for company outweighed his fear of coming off as a rude nuisance. Atsuhiro was apparently the only wimp in their team that couldn’t kick his sorry puppy-dog eyes to the curb.
Even in this state.
He fixed another look at Jin, catching on to a subtle tremmor coursing through the other man. A symptom of stress he hadn't noticed before too preoccupied with his anger, his pain, his need to get the damn cap off the pill bottle.
After a moment Atushiro broke the silence.
“Top left cabinet in the kitchen. Fetch me what you find.”
….
The spirit the two of them were sharing, plus whatever the hell Giran had slipped him, nearly had Atsuhiro forgetting he’d ever had arms at all. His head was spinning out in this awfully heady way. Or was that just the late night hour? He hadn’t slept in what felt like days.
The only solid in that moment had been Jin’s shoulder beneath his head.
Jin was talking to Atsuhiro, telling him a story. Or was he simply arguing with himself? It was difficult to keep track. Meanwhile, Atsuhiro’s glazed eyes were fixed on the satin sleeve where it hung flatly off the edge of the couch cushions.
“--She punched the damn thing out of my hand, and I thought the crash was gonna wake up the entire league. I wasn’t worried at all! And then she told me that waffle irons aren’t actually meant for waffles, they’re supposed to be used for sandwiches. I’m not a gullible guy-- I’m so fucking gulible . Shut up-- And, and for a minute I actually believed it because of the look on her face. She’s always so full of shit-- Was full of shit, asshole-”
The speech had abruptly cut off. Atsuhiro’s brain realized with only partial dely.
He shifted from his languid position, staring up at Jin. Only the lower half of the man’s face was exposed. The skin tight mask rolled up to the bridge of his nose so as to ease the drinking process. And he’d drank like it was his last night on earth, pounding back shot after shot of amber liquid, far out pacing Atsuhiro who was still somewhat aware that mixing even one shot with the Giran-pill had been a bad idea. This thought had briefly occurred to him as he’d poured a second glass after what felt like hours, but had likely been barely fifteen minutes later.
The visible half of Jin’s face was pale and unshaven. His previously flapping mouth had transformed into a thin trembling line.
“Enough,” Atsuhiro commanded softly, “Come here.”
He moved first, assisting Jin to fall into his chest. Slowly the man folded inward, the quake in his shoulders returning and vibrating against Atushiro’s body. He wrapped his available arm around Jin, hand landing at the base of his neck to card fingers through the stiff blonde locks.
….
At some point in the night Jin had stopped crying and began laughing.
At which point, Atsuhiro had pressed his lips against the other man’s cracking ones.
Something about that maniacal sound had been even more grating then the shuddering sobs which had preceded it. As they were both far too faded for the kissing to lead anywhere promising, Atsuhiro simply cherished the quiet that followed.
For one spectacular moment there was silence besides the soft sound of their mouths working against each other. He’d learned a while ago that kissing was an efficient means to shut down some of Jin’s otherwise inescapable noise. So, for the next period of time they sat and kissed, and Atsuhiro cherished the blessed silence.
Following this, they’d abandoned the bottle and dirty glasses on the coffee table, in favor of tumbling onto the futon which Jin had been far too eager to unfold. Atsuhiro remained in his robe, Jin in his dirty civilian clothes, something he may have argued on a different night. Then of course, there was the half drawn Twice mask...
Both of them were sluggish as a result of the substances coursing through their blood streams. Or perhaps that was a result of the deep resonating sadness the two of them had shared. Who was to say really? Either way, changing anything about the arrangement would have been an unnecessary challenge.
Instead, they settled. Atsuhiro spread out on his back, missing limb angled outward to keep it from rubbing against Jin’s body. Meanwhile, Jin burrowed his face against Atsuhiro’s neck, still dropping the occasional kiss against any piece of skin that was level with his mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” a ragged whisper broke the silence that he’d dared to hope would be permanent for the remainder of the night.
“...Jin… Enough,” he murmured, closing his eyes and hoping to hell that either the drugs or sheer exhaustion finally dragged them off to sleep.
….
He awoke in the early dawn hours. Or maybe it was closer to late afternoon?
Through the fog that lingered in his brain the dimb lighting in the loft was tough to decipher.
Jin was still at his side, sleeping soundly. His mask had slipped off at some point in the night, exposing his face and a pair of raw red eyelids still shut in a dream. Atsuhiro quickly clenched his eyes as a stab of pain suddenly coursed through him. Although, it wasn’t his arm that bothered him this time.
He felt a convulsion tight in his chest and realized with some surprise that he was about to cry.