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A(r)mour, Chapter 11

Title: A(r)mour

Warnings: Rated M, contains yaoi and occasional swearing, if you don’t like these things please don’t read.

Summary: Hiroki just keeps getting his heart broken, again and again and again, like a fool who doesn’t know when to quit. Standard romantica, egoist, and terrorist couplings, plus Nowaki/Misaki, Akihiko/Hiroki, Miyagi/Hiroki.

Author's Note: Xmas giftic prompting is open, and will remain so until Christmas itself. Thanks for your prompts so far guys, some fun ones in there already.

As for this fic... I have no idea what is going to happen to the update schedule here on in, but expect delays, as I am hitting the road. We're only a couple of chapters away from the end at least, barring any disasters it should be wrapped up by the end of the year.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10


Chapter 11

As soon as Hiroki opened his eyes the next morning to a pounding headache and mouth that tasted like couch stuffing, he knew it had been a mistake.

It had taken a long time, coupled with Nowaki’s stubbornness, for Hiroki to finally put his unrequited feelings for Akihiko behind him. To get over it and move on to someone who might one day actually give a damn about his feelings. To reach the point where he saw his friend and thought of him as nothing more than a friend, to where he could read his novels without entertaining hopeless fantasies or being constantly reminded of their awkward history.

And in one moment of drunken weakness, he had undone seven years of progress.

He peered at the alarm clock through bleary eyes. It wasn’t particularly late yet, but late enough that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

Akihiko had slung his arm over his side at some point. Hiroki made to slide out from under it, when the arm suddenly tightened around his ribs, dragging him back in. “Unnnnhhhh.”

Damn, he’d forgotten what a bear Akihiko was in the morning. “Let go you big lug, I need to use the bathroom.”

Akihiko simply nuzzled the back of his neck. Hiroki stiffened, then wrenched away forcibly, tumbling awkwardly out of the bed in a tangle of blankets.

Akihiko finally opened his eyes a sliver. “Hn? What are you doing?” His voice was slurred with confusion.

“Bathroom. Go back to sleep,” Hiroki snapped.


He slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

His breathing wouldn’t settle. He fumbled with the taps, twisting the cold water to maximum. Splashed his face as though the shock of cold might chase away the lingering dream – nightmare – and reassert reality once more.

It didn’t. He was left standing at the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror as water dripped from his hair.

Seven years, and the memory still burned like hot oil. He’d buried it, replaced icy hands with warm ones, but the scars had never completely healed. And now he’d torn them wide open again, and rubbed in salt for good measure.

The worst part was, he didn’t even know which pair of hands haunted him the most.


By the time Akihiko finally sloughed his way out of bed, Hiroki had wrestled back enough of his composure to start making breakfast.

The author dropped into his chair, face pinched in a truly black frown. Hiroki dumped a cup of coffee in front of him, and then followed it up with a plate.

As it was, Akihiko was nearly halfway through the cup before his gaze cleared enough to properly register the food in front of him. “Toast?”

“I have a hangover, I’m not up to either eating or making anything more complicated than that,” Hiroki retorted. “You want something fancier, make it yourself.”

Akihiko stared at the toast, and old friends or not, Hiroki couldn’t figure out that facial expression. Disappointment? Surprise? Or just his usual early morning death stare?

In the end though, he picked it up and started eating it without complaint. Hiroki busied himself with cleaning up. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but… “Your kitchen is disgusting. When was the last time you cleaned this place?”

“Hmmm… Three months ago?”

“Three-” Hiroki cut himself off. He couldn’t be surprised, really. “You idiot. Why don’t you just get a housekeeper already?”

The light in Akihiko’s eyes this time was unmistakably mulish. “That’s not ordinary.”

“You’re still going on about the commoner lifestyle thing?” He eyed the sponge in his hand with distaste. His head hurt too much to be dealing with this. “You’re living on your own money, isn’t that good enough?”

The brooding silence said that it wasn’t. Hiroki just rolled his eyes and filled the sink with soapy water. None of those plates were getting clean without a thorough soaking. His stomach lurched at the sight of some of those down the bottom. On second thought, maybe he should leave it until he was less hungover.

“Hiroki, how did you become so good at that sort of thing? Your family’s wealthy too.”

Hiroki whacked him upside the back of his head as he passed by the trashcan. “We’re not even on the same scale, idiot. You stayed over often enough to see that.” He wasn’t any sort of home-maker, not the way Nowaki had been – the unexpected thought still made his chest tight – but it wasn’t like it was rocket science.

“I suppose.” Akihiko sipped his tea, face pensive. “What are you doing today? Do you need to go to the University? I can give you a ride.”

“It’s my day off. I need to go out and look for a new apartment.” Even though going out was the last thing he wanted to do right then. He fished through the cupboards. “Don’t you have any headache tablets?”

“The cupboard above the sink,” Akihiko replied. “You should stay. I miss having a roommate.”

“I’m not going to be your live-in maid.” Even if the author desperately needed one.

“Maybe I will hire someone,” Akihiko mused. “Since this is my office too. Offices hire cleaners.”

“Whatever it takes to make you feel better about it,” he grouched.

This was good. This was normal. If Hiroki could just cling to this familiar banter, he would be okay.

Of course, Akihiko wouldn’t let him get away with that.

“Last night. You said I was a cruel man.”

Hiroki froze. Several seconds too late to be natural, he managed to stammer, “W-what are you bringing that up for all of a sudden? I was drunk. You can’t go quoting me on anything I say when I’m drunk, you know that.”

“You’re more honest when you’re drunk. What was so cruel about it?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

Akihiko rested his chin against his palm. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

His face burned. “I-idiot! Don’t say such weird things.”

“Did it help?” When Hiroki didn’t reply, choking on his words, Akihiko continued, “I didn’t expect it, but it helped me. You’re right, it’s easier to think clearly when you’re not sexually frustrated.” He took another sip of his tea. “I just hoped it did the same for you.”

This was a trap of Hiroki’s own making. Seven years ago, that had been a good part of the spiel he’d used to convince Akihiko to indulge in that misguided fantasy role-play. And to admit the truth now, to confess just how messed up it left him, would be to reveal the years of unrequited affection. “…Yeah,” he lied.

“We should do it again.”

Hiroki sputtered and spun around. “What?! No! That was a one-time thing!”

“Why does it have to be?” Akihiko asked.

“What happened to the true romantic who wouldn’t sleep with someone if he didn’t care about them?” Hiroki challenged.

“I care about you,” was Akihiko’s flat response. “And things change, Hiroki. You know that.” He stood up, walking forward, Hiroki backing away until he hit the edge of the countertop. “I’m surprised you’re so worked up about it.”

“I-I’m not! It’s just… unexpected.”

Hiroki had never been idealistic about relationships. While he was hardly cavalier about sex, he’d never considered true love or commitment a prerequisite for an encounter. He made bad decisions when lonely, or aroused, or drunk, but in the cold sober light of day ill-advised lays like Shinoda and Haruhiko were cut off as fast as possible.

But he’d set the precedent, hadn’t he? That he was okay with casual sex. And when Akihiko asked if it had helped, he’d said yes.

“We’re friends,” Hiroki stressed, a little desperately.

“Friends with benefits,” Akihiko murmured, and wrapped him in his arms. Hiroki could barely contain the flinch.

He was cornered. His brain had been paralysed – the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. But some part of him registered that Akihiko was all he had left now. All other bridges had been burned behind him – and Hiroki would set himself on fire before burning this one.

“…I guess it’s okay, then,” he muttered. “If it’s helping you too.”

It’s just sex, he told himself, and didn’t believe a word of it.


Miyagi wrapped his hands around his third cup of coffee of the morning, mouth stretched in a silent yawn. That damn Shinobu… he didn’t know how the kid ran on so little sleep. Probably napped in the afternoon while he was still at work.

The door swung open, admitting a familiar thundercloud. “Morning Hiro-Kamijou~” Miyagi corrected mid-song. The cheery greeting tasted uncomfortable on his tongue, but since his underling appeared determined to rewind the clock, he could only play his part. In time what was awkward would become natural again.

Kamijou eyeballed the room critically. “No brat today?”

“School day.”

The raised eyebrow he received in response was more eloquent than a thousand word essay. Miyagi hunched his shoulders and very dramatically focused on his coffee. “We’re keeping things platonic for now, if you must know.” The kid might have been over the legal age, but only barely. He had some scruples.

“Lap-sitting is platonic with high schoolers now?”

Miyagi placed his coffee down. “Are we doing this now? Going to have it out finally?” He’d been waiting for the other shoe to the drop, but Kamijou’s armour had remained firmly up, and the professional politeness strictly enforced. This was the first time in weeks the conversation had ventured anywhere near the expected sniping.

“You seem strangely eager for a fight, Professor,” Kamijou replied mildly. “I was just making conversation.” He sat down at his desk, pulling out some paperwork.

“I suppose passive-aggressiveness is better than what you were doing before,” he mused. “Though I honestly expected for you to shout and throw things at me.”

“You’ve read too many dramas. But if it would make you feel better, I could go rat you out to the Dean.”

Miyagi waved his hands in surrender. “No! No, that’s fine! Ahahaha…”

Kamijou continued completing a form, the scratch of his pen against paper filling the spaces between their words. “In that case, you might want to be more discreet if you’re intending to keep things quiet.”

He couldn’t hide his wince at that. “Right, right. I’ll, ah, keep it in mind. Thank you for not saying anything.” It had been a real concern. He had tenure, the Dean couldn’t fire him, but he could easily take Shinobu away and make life extremely difficult for them both. An even slightly more vindictive ex could have caused a lot of trouble there with very little effort.

“It’s not my business anymore.” Kamijou’s tone was flat enough to press dried leaves. “Though in return, I would appreciate it if you would avoid meddling in my life in the future, Professor.”

So that was what this was about. “All I did was mention things had been a little rough for you lately, honest!” Though the fact it had been brought up at least meant his instincts were accurate and Kamijou’s friend had acted. “What am I being blamed for, anyway?”

In response, Kamijou slid the form he’d been completing across the desk. Miyagi scanned it and raised an eyebrow. “Change of contact address?”

Kamijou turned back to his desk, gathering his teaching materials for the day. “It’s only temporary. I’d intended to find a new place by now but it’s taking longer than planned.”

“It’s better, though, right? You’re out of the old place.” No more dark apartment full of gaps. “That’s what friends are for, stepping in during the rough times.”

“I’ve had just about enough of people ‘stepping in’ to my business.”

The bitterness in his tone gave Miyagi pause. It was better than the cold neutrality of before, but no less unsettling. Eyeballing his co-worker more carefully… he didn’t actually look much improved. The tell-tale smudge of makeup remained under his eyes, and the hunch to his shoulders looked almost haunted.

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” A lie, as obvious as they got.


His colleague simply tucked his folders under his arm. “Excuse me, Professor, I have class.”

Next chapter


Nov. 24th, 2013 05:42 am (UTC)
I just want to say that my heart is being clawed at and torn away bit by bit with each chapter TvT

Aaaah we've been spoiled, I miss your FF7 works //shot

I'm not as big of a fan of junjou romantica (why did my phone's autocorrect know those words-) but the neat thing about good authors is they get you started in fandoms you previously didn't think about looking through before uvu/

That, and they tend to influence your ships xD

And also egoist has so much angst in the backstory just waiting to be poked at- :DDDD