“Do I? I didn’t think it was that noticeable…” The corner of his lips upturn into a small smile, attempting to shake loose the dread settling within his heart. Ah, how he’s thankful for an excuse - how merciful Tachibana was, an angel truly. But he had always been too good for this world, wasn’t he? Perhaps that would be why elsewhere was calling Tachibana forth, a place that transcended this finite realm but god, how Gentaro never wanted him to go.
“But to answer your question, unfortunately that was the case. I have another deadline coming up at the end of the week.” He settles upon that, and leaves it precisely at that - words spinning skillful white lies, strengthening the front he puts on in front of his dear friend. If only he could spin a reality that could be theirs, one that was merciful to both of them: one where Tachibana was healthy and truly happy, one where Gentaro would be safe in loving him ( for nothing would take him away, it would be them and only them ).
The book is left momentarily forgotten as he sets it down upon his lap, hand moving to gently grasp those slender fingers within his own hands - giving a small squeeze of reassurance.
“I’m fine, but perhaps we’ll continue this story another time.” Please, he doesn’t it to end yet.
He lets go of his hand ( though a desperate part of him wants that to be the last thing he ever does ), clearing his throat quietly.
“How are you feeling today?”
What good was an angel whose wings were clipped? Pure white meant nothing if it was dirtied by a world that kept him shackled to the ground, forced to bear the weight of his sins that he never knew he commited. Perhaps in a past life he did something that warranted his feathers to be scattered all over the world, left at the mercy of those who found them. It was simply some twisted form of fate that Gentaro, his own personal angel who also had shackles around his wrists, would attempt in vain to put those wings back together, try to let Tachibana fly again, but they knew it was fruitless.
They both knew all of this was pointless, yet Tachibana always tried to reach his hand out, grace that light that was cursed to dim forever in his heart. It was like as he reached his hand out and brushed his fingertips against Gentaro’s cheek, he would slip through his fingers, much like Tachibana was doing to him. It was a truly torturous cycle that trapped them in an endless lop, a mobius strip where nothing came to an end.
Except Tachibana’s strip was slowly snapping, hanging on by a thread. It was only a matter of time before it finally split.
He let a solemn smile form on his lips as he let go of his hand, his arm subconsciously reached to touch it again, to keep him close, to let him feel that warmth he knew was fleeting. He held it back. He wasn’t strong enough.
‘ I’m feeling a lot better now that you’re here! ‘ a half truth, really. Gentaro could see through those so easily, it was impossible to lie to a self-proclaimed liar. Yet Tachibana just wasn’t brave or selfish enough to tell the truth.
‘ I always feel better when you tell me your stories, Gentaro. Do you think I can tell you a story next time you come around? ‘