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“Do you want to come meet the baby?”
Ever since Haise’s—Kaneki’s—child was born, Urie had developed a habit: on Tuesdays he would go to :Re for coffee; and each time he would stop at Mutsuki’s apartment—which was not exactly on the way —and ask him to join him for breakfast.
(Stupid, really.)
He meant it as a date; but he realized after the third refusal that Mutsuki took it as a threat—an intervention.
So, he switched tactics: blunt exposure. If he thought it an intervention, then let it be one. Anything to get him out of his apartment (and out of his head.) When exactly he began to fall for Mutsuki he wasn’t quite sure, but Urie knew now that he was in love with his former comrade—and it was terrible, because he knew Mutsuki would never so much as allow his heart to open to another until he was able to love himself.
And that would take time—way too much time—if he spent his days locked in his apartment, hiding from the rest of the world in a shroud of guilt and shame.
So, Urie was determined to help the process along.
“Go away.”
(I should; but I don’t want to…why don’t I want to?)
“If you won’t come, then at least open the door and look me in the eyes as you say it.” Urie replied, his hand and his head pressed against the apartment door.
He had meant his retort as a careless comment; he hadn't actually expected Mutsuki to listen to him. So, he was wildly surprised to feel the door falling away from him. He ungracefully reached out, finding himself in Mutsuki’s arms.
Mutsuki looked down at Urie and sighed. “Why do you keep doing this?”
”Because,” he straightened up, brushing his hands self-consciously down the front of his jacket, “you can’t keep hiding away up here. You need to move on from the past—we all have. I mean—“ he caught himself as he watched a darkness shade Mutsuki’s face, “the CCG, and what happened after Rushima; I didn’t mean—listen to me!”
(We’re all a little fucked up. Maybe it’ll be easier if we stick together.)
He knew that raising his voice had stunned him, but it was the only way to get Mutsuki to listen. When it only half-woked, Urie took him by the arms, and shook the his sense back into place.
Mutsuki’s voice sounded so far away when he said, “I know it was a long time ago now—but I can’t help but feel so guilty still about what I did. To my parents, to you guys—I’ve hurt so many people. How can you all really forgive me for that? I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
(He means, he doesn’t deserve happiness…bullshit.)
Mutsuki’s face turned up towards Urie’s, but his eyes were unfocused—unfocused. They looked straight through him and into the past that haunted him, taunted him—telling him he wasn’t good enough.
Urie rubbed his hands down his arms and back up, past his shoulders and around his neck. He pulled him closed, pressing his face into his collarbone. Mutsuki’s cheeks burned at the contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to react, couldn’t even return the gesture.
He wanted to—really, he did; but, for all his life love, had only meant pain. Closing himself off was the best way to guard his heart, to keep him safe.
It was the only way to keep those he loved safe too.
“We forgive you because we know you’ve gotten better—you’ve punished yourself enough; you don’t need to suffer anymore.” Urie brushed out his hair, peppering kisses in the wake of each stroke.
(You deserve the world. Let me give it to you.)
The gesture soothed Mutsuki, lulled him into a calm submission that allowed him peace enough to wrap his arms around Urie. His fists bunched up the back of his shirt, his tears painting the front. And they stayed like that as time tumbled on, alone in the doorway; on the brink of the unknown.
Mutsuki shuffled his feet, pulled Urie inside enough to close the door. “Is it ok if we just stay here for a little?”
The way he looked up with round eyes and quivering lips melted Urie’s heart.
(I’ll stay forever here if you’d like.) “Yes—have you eaten? I’ll cook.”
But with a barren pantry and a fridge that only offered mouldy strawberries and rotten milk, they decided to order in for now—and made a plan to pick up groceries together after calling in their order.
”It’ll be good for you to get out,” he suggested, running a finger down Mutsuki’s cheek—it was almost as pale as his own.
(He needs to see the sun.)
Mutsuki reluctantly agreed.
(It’s a date, then.) “It’s a date.”
Urie’s eyes widened, then fell half-closed apologetically; and Mutsuki stiffened in his arms.
”I didn’t mean it like that.”
(Yes, I did.)
”I meant—“
Without warning, Mutsuki reached up and kissed him. It was short, unemotional, rather uninspired; but it ignited a flame between the two of them that thawed the tension in the air.
”Ok,” Mutsuki said slowly, “it’s a date then.” But his eyes were downcast as he spoke, his lips pursed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
”Don’t be,” Urie answered.
(I’m the one who’s sorry.)
(I should have been there for you more.)
Urie initiated another kiss, taking a second to savour the sensation. Thankfully, Mutsuki let him, urged him on further. But they were disrupted by the ringing of the pager from the lobby announcing the arrival of their brunch.
With something else to occupy their mouths, they sat side by side on the couch. Urie ate mechanically, Mutsuki was ravenous. He could almost laugh—he could almost cry. He made a mental note: make sure Mutsuki is eating.
(At least once a week I’ll take him out to eat; we don’t have to call it a date.)
”Thank you,” said Mutsuki, drinking in the way Urie looked so sweetly into his eyes, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I needed this—I needed you.”
And Urie admitted, “I need you too.”
(I love you, too.)
Some words were better left unsaid—at least for now.