His silhouette- matte and pale, plain and tall. Urahara couldn't take his eyes off of Shinji. He tried to decide if he was two dimensional or if he simply existed in a divine plane of existence, far above his own sight, so ascended he looked to be in hell- could it be both? Ethereal and lowly. An angel with thorns. Lovable and abhorrent?
Oh, but he was gorgeous. He was a sense of majesty not yet understood by man, not yet captured by camera or thought- let alone a mirror. Perhaps it was just something about him that clouded Kisuke's sense of self, something that nearly pushed him to tearing himself apart and offering the pieces to the man ahead of him so he could build himself up over again. And Shinji would do so with a tone of humility, a word of thankfulness left unsaid yet echoing in the air. There was something so constitutionally wrong with the sense of duty Urahara felt towards him- society shunned it, he should pray to be with a woman instead. Pray to be different.
But he felt his knees aching, stuttering and repeating himself every time he tried to plead with something higher than him that he knew didn't exist. He was born this way, and he was doomed.
“But you're the antidote," he muttered, tracing the words upon his own lips and wondering how they would feel upon someone else's. Could cyanide cure an overdose? Hirako made him believe in that. All of Kisuke's superior sciences declined, but what if a Seraphim said yes? What then?
“Pardon?" Shinji said confusedly. Urahara had forgotten that he spoke out loud for a moment's notice, but he wished he could draw his breath back the moment he recalled. It was all supposed to stay in his head, but a teacup could only hold so much before beginning to spill.
“Oh. Nothing Hirako-San,” he gently said, “don't worry." He still couldn't break eye contact- like a lovestruck fool. Oh, what an idiot he was. He drawled out, “Oh, I'm so stupid…”
Oh, and I'm so direly in love with you and you don't even know, he refrained from saying.
Shinji raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, smile inching upward. "There's only two things you're stupid for Kisuke. One, just call me Shinji already. The second? Calling yourself stupid. Ya get it? Stop talking about yourself like that."
“Oh, Hirako-san," Shinji shot him a harsh look, “You have no idea… I'm quite the coward, really!” Urahara laughed, standing up from where he was seated with his (admittedly overfilled) teacup. It spilled over the sides and gathered in the small dish that held it. Could it really drain itself of unneeded pressure with the knowledge that something will catch it no matter what? That sounded heavenly.
Yes. A mere visit. That's what they were here for. To have tea together and talk of the past- auld lang syne. Kisuke couldn't have his jaw on the floor the entire time, staring bug-eyed at the prettiest man he'd ever seen! The vocabulary he could've poured into poetry, or maybe even a simple sentence or expression had all but dried up. All he could do was bid: “You could… Take a seat?”
Shinji stared at him for a moment, grin never leaving him, before breaking out into a giggle.
Another beat passed as Kisuke's heart beat to the very same rhythm- a rhythm that devolved into grueling mortification as he realized he had never brought in a second chair.
“Do ya suggest I sit in your lap?” Hirako jested- Urahara's consciousness completely fled his body right then and there. Okay, maybe he had remembered the man's favorite flavor of tea from over 100 years ago (a fact that had Shinji shocked to silence for a bit over the phone when they were planning the occasion), but other than that everything was going wrong. The object of his desires, his beloved friend that he would probably tear his heart out for- was being dangled in front of his face as a joke. A joke. Okay. That's okay. It's alright.
He pleaded with himself to appear matte and natural, like Shinji could. He begged to stop donning his heart on his sleeve. But that heart still beat, separated from everything else, foolish and everlasting- and that tell-tale heart hummed his adoration still. It listened to no man, it wouldn't stop at its goal- to it, a goal was an eternal accomplishment.
Kisuke forced himself up, eyes still lingering on the illuminated figure right in front of him, in the distance- he walked out of the room and lingered in the hallway. There was an extra chair there, but he still stood still for a bit. He pressed his hand against his chest, breathing in the air he wished wasn't just his own at times, soothing that tell-tale heart. He hoped, at times, that it would quit beating altogether. someday it would.
And who do you want to be there to share that moment with you-
He hissed at that thought, quickly banishing it from his head. And he had a guest over! A guest he was thinking about in such a way! He was almost tempted to stay there, staring at the clock until eternity itself was over, but the pressure built up inside of his lungs.
He lunged back into forceful action, yanking the chair into the room. He nearly ran face first into Hirako, freezing him in his tracks as he forced his final shreds of dignity back into his hands.
“Oh, Kisuke, you had me worried for a moment there. Ya had t’ do somethin’ else too, or?-”
"No, no. I'm fine. Just needed a moment." At Urahara's poorly executed cover up, Shinji raised an eyebrow. Good going, Genghis- I'm sure that'll go real well! He internally grumbled, as he reflected on why he couldn't just calm down and think for a moment like he used to. Except he was never calm around Shinji anymore. This should drive him away, but he couldn't get enough of the man.
“Do you have a fever? We can reschedule," Shinji quickly pressed a hand to his forehead before poor Kisuke could object, “I mean- you do seem quite warm."
Urahara betrayed himself, slightly leaning into his touch. He prayed that Shinji wouldn't notice- but something briefly flashed in his eyes that suggested otherwise.
“I'm fine. I promise! I mean, could a sick man-" he stopped, comically turning around in fancy circles to try and put on a distracting show, “-do that?"
Hirako barked out a laugh, drawling out, “I suppose a sick man couldn't do that, but could a mad man plan a murder? Apparently so. I mean, just ask Edgar!”
"Oh you-” Urahara finally laughed- perhaps it relieved the tension for a moment. Perhaps he was just glad to have an excuse to put a hand on Shinji's shoulder.
Urahara ignored the persistent beating of his heart as they sat down.
He lightly held his teacup- it was finely decorated, and the drink itself lightly danced with the smallest movement. Kisuke did the silly act of comparing himself to this tea- and he embarked on the even sillier act of comparing Shinji to the hands that held him. His previous philosophical tangents had died- but that heart still beat in his chest. His eyes never truly left that form. They kept moving back- like a lost dog always finding its way home every night it rests. It must be in the form of a feeble dream, but dreams can feel like reality and thus feel like reflected truths for a moment. Moments are enough, but just a moment later, you realize it never was. You need the whole damn timeline, don't you?
“But seriously,"
Huh? Wait, what? Had he uttered something aloud by mistake? Was it his heart beating in his chest? Which was it?
“What's been up with ya lately, Kisuke?” He leaned forward in his chair, "Something's off. We both know it." Kisuke had known.
That tell-tale heart beat in his chest again, because Kisuke played the role of the fibber that tried to say it had ever stopped. Relentless. Hope that filled him with hopelessness. He couldn't do this for much longer, couldn't retain his sanity when an angel lay right in front of his eyes.
“Nothing Shinji, I-" Kisuke started, and-
“Don't feed me that bullsh*t. Something's off. I'm worried." A ginger touch to his forearm was all it took for something to pour out of him.
Worried, worried, worried. His heart beat faster yet. He stressed. He pained. He hoped. He tried and he failed to suppress his mouth.
His heart forced its way into his throat, it said, “God, listen- or don't, you're better off like that anyway- you're too… Clean for me to tell you. You'd hate me. I'd get on my knees and beg you to stay, but begging does nothing in the face of-” He completely phased out of his own words, rambling, on the brink of tears, something he hadn't been near in years- in his mind, he wanted something better. Something more. Something he wouldn't get. Something he missed, and then tried to recall when he had ever had it in the first place. A placebo? No, that's not what a placebo is, a placebo is-
“Kisuke!" Someone yelled in his ears, halting his borderline breakdown. Who yelled?-
Shinji was there, hugging him tighter than he had ever been- Kisuke realized, in horror, that his own tears stained Shinji's perfectly matte form. The luster tainting his once flat skin gave him a new sense of depth that made him seem real and present- but the new emotion given to him made his regret sag down even more harshly. He probably hated him now. He must hate him. If he didn't, what would they be then? He needed a clear result, something that would clear his mind and heart, something that would clear the past and shun the future. Yes, something like that. Perfections lying in imperfections- not a miscalculation in sight.
He wanted to owe something to him so he would have the opportunity to leave. The opportunity to push him away and, consequently, shove himself in the process. And why? Why did he need it to be like this? Why was he like this?
“It's okay," he vaguely heard. Something freed itself in the sunlight gently streaming into the room, and Kisuke wondered if it was a dust particle or maybe a little piece of his soul. It was so quiet. A nice day. And Kisuke had forgotten. He didn't want to remember.
He was suddenly consciously aware of the fact that he was still sobbing into Shinji's chest. He wrapped his arms around the man tighter than they were before.
He had forgotten to feel just a minute before. Just one minute, and the wave of reality that suddenly struck him nearly pulled him under. It was regret for his sobbing, and envy at the couples walking down the street. It was anger at Shinji for not shoving him away, shunning him, for not serving him what he silently asked for. It was rage at himself for requesting such a thing in the first place. It was adoration, providing what almost felt like relief, it was a prayer in the light. And it was like something coming to take him home again. Like a lost dog.
He really was a jackass.
“You're not a jackass.”
Oh. He had said that out loud.
"And I'm sorry if I made you think you ever were. I just wish you would've told me.”
Kisuke looked up at him for the briefest moment. He didn't understand- but that was what Shinji understood. If the man said it was alright, that it was okay, then maybe it was.
Shinji hugged him tighter.
And Kisuke was selfish. He accepted every bit of it and then some. He almost begged for more- and it was like he received it anyway.
“I missed you and everything about you," He barely breathed out, a murmur among what might be, but Shinji still picked up on it. Barely.
“What was there to miss? I've always been here," The man uttered, grinning like the damn fool Kisuke knew both of them were.
“I suppose I haven't, then. But, where could I have gone, in that case?" Kisuke responded. He almost laughed through his own tears. He saw the warmth in Shinji's eyes that he saw in his own mirror. Shinji held his own heart in the same hand Kisuke wished he could hold, and Shinji assured him that the tell-tale heart that had sewed itself into Kisuke's own sleeve was a worthy resident. It was okay. Perhaps he was there to stay.
“I love you," Kisuke exhaled, “Hirako-San."
Shinji frowned, hissing, “Say it…"
Kisuke lightly chuckled, chiming, “Shinji."
“That's the reverence you'd want to treat your lover with, wouldn't ya? Keep that spirit for me, sweetheart!” Shinji whistled, tilting his chin up and delivering him a sweet kiss.
And that tell-tale heart still beat. It had a mind of its own, didn't it?
