Work Text:
“what are we?”
he looks over at you, a confused look spread across his face. his hair falls slightly into his eyes, it’s gotten longer.
“what?” he asks, glancing at you skeptically. “we’re best friends, you know this, akira.”
‘best friends’. that answer doesn’t satisfy yo in the slightest. but it’s fine. friends do this type of stuff all the time. (you try to ignore the tug you feel at your heart and simply focus on the road ahead of you. he’s speeding again, though not fast enough for you to blame the pit in your stomach on.)
***
he has you crowded up in the back seat, mouth against yours in a hasty, sloppy, desperate kiss. his hands grab at your shirt, trying to pull you closer.
he pulls away briefly, smiling at you, all sharp coffee-and-nicotine-stained teeth. biting hard enough could probably make you bleed.
he moves down to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin, rolling his hips into you. he bites down, and you gasp. (you remember the first time he did this, the aftermath of that night.
“sorry about that. i didn’t hurt you, did i?”
you shake your head, too excited after your best friend had just made out with you to think of anything else.
he smiles in return, and it’s somehow different from how he smiles when you two are out fighting, you think at least.
you’re probably just looking for signs that aren’t there.
grow up, akira.)
he licks the bite mark, almost apologetically, before sinking his teeth down into your neck again, causing a bruise to blossom under his mouth.
you close your eyes, bathing in the feeling. closest to heaven you’ll ever get.
***
“i’m gonna grab something to snack on, you want anything?” he asks you as he pulls into the parking lot of some convenience store.
you shake your head, offering a polite smile. he nods and exits the car, his beige trench coat billowing in the night breeze.
***
he’s wasted. you can tell. you smell the alcohol on his breath.
he’s laying on top of you, his face burrowed in your neck, but he’s not doing anything. you stroke his blonde hair, it’s gotten even longer, falling just above his back.
he mumbles something in english, you can’t understand. he had tried to teach you once, turns out he’s just as shitty at teaching languages as he is teaching driving.
“what’d you say?” you ask, hoping he’ll translate for you. instead he just shakes his head and laughs, a cold, humorless laugh. you feel something wet on his cheeks.
***
walking back to the car after hunts is rarely ever silent, but not a single word has been uttered since you killed the demon.
he walks right next to you, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. (you ignore the urge to grab it, hold it, feel his warmth.)
you’re wearing his coat, he looks incomplete without it. you would offer it back if you weren’t completely naked underneath it.
the car comes into sight, but you grab his wrist, making him look back at you.
you kiss him.
it isn’t hurried or anything sexual like it usually is when you two kiss, but slow, soft. something you would see partners doing. ha, what a thought.
you pull away almost immediately, a small blush on your face. your thumb slowly moves on his wrist.
“you know i love you, right?”
he shakes his head and laughs.
“no you don’t” he says coldly, yanking his wrist from your grasp and walking the rest of the way back to the car. he slams the door when he gets in. (you try not to flinch. you feel tears pricking at your eyes, and you try to will them away.
you’re successful until you’re back in your room.
you sob into your pillow until you pass out.)
***
you don’t talk about it. neither of you bring it up.
***
you start keeping a journal. the first words you write in it are ‘fuck you ryo asuka.’.
miki comes into your room and you write so hard your pencil might break. she doesn’t ask questions, just pulls you into her arms.
“girl trouble?” she asks.
“something like that,” you reply.
***
looking at him makes you fucking sick. you hate how bad you want him. you hate how much you love him.
you hate his stupid fucking hair. obnoxiously blonde and always falling in his eyes. and, god, speaking of his eyes, they’re so violently blue, it makes you wonder if they reflect the fucking sky. his fashion sense is horrendous, all clasing colours and odd patterns.
you hate him.
you love him.
you can’t tell the difference anymore.
***
you stare at him standing in the rubble of some collapsed building. he looks too put together to be there, white suit nearly pristine.
you start to walk towards him.
he looks hopeful.
you don’t even glance at him as you walk past. he doesn’t deserve that recognition. not after everything he’s done. everything he’s put you through.
"i love you.”
shocked at his words, you stop, glancing back at him. he’s crying, looking at you with pleading eyes.
“no you don’t.”