An Arrangement
Disclaimer: Characters belong to CLAMP and possibly associates, not me.
Suggested yaoi.
Things aren’t necessarily what they appear to be or whatever it is you think they appear to be.
The background buzz of common
office chatter picks up towards the end of the day. As the clock slowly ticks
it way towards
The women begin to talk a little louder, taking care to mention that they all intend to go for a drink somewhere after work. Their furtive glances become pointed looks in his direction. And Yuuto Kigai smiles while continuing to shuffle papers and rearrange the contents of some draws.
After an intermittent period of time he stops, closes the draws and straightens up. The women now watch him more closely. They exchange knowing looks as he flicks an imaginary piece of dirt off the cuff of his shirt, as he smoothes down his tie and takes a moment to glance at his reflection in the glass of a blank monitor.
He slips on his suit jacket and takes a moment to see how it fits in the monitor’s reflection. The chatter around him has dropped to quick whispered sentences again. He ignores it all, even though he can hear them. Even though they are not being quite as quiet as some of them think. Though he suspects that some of them are not trying to be quite so quiet as they pretend to be.
He sits down at his desk again and inspects the neatly piled papers, making sure that he’s not left anything where it might be misplaced.
He turns the key in the lock for his desk draws, before dropping it into his pocket. As much as he appreciates the company of his co-workers, there’s no need to loose all his stationary to them. And he smiles as he thinks it because everyone else is thinking the same thing.
The nearby cluster of women are looking at him again so he smiles back in their direction. They manage to smile back, in varying degrees of sincerity.
One of the women leans towards him, radiating curiosity. They are going to a bar nearby after work, she tells him. Just for a few drinks.
Would he like to come with them? He makes an apologetic face. He is afraid that he’s already made plans, perhaps some other time? She nods and agrees, yes, some other time.
He stands up and makes his polite goodbyes to his co-workers. The women exchange knowing looks behind his
back. The one that asked if he would
like to join them smiles like the proverbial
Surprisingly, some of those women catch up with him as he exits the building, entering the car-park. The one who spoke to him before begins to ask a second time if perhaps he might like to go with them, briefly before her gaze slides sideways towards the black car parked a little way off. She makes something of a noise that is acquiescence at his polite refusal and a smug knowingness at the same time.
He feels their eyes on his back as he walks away from them, towards the car. And then, once he is seated in those cool confines, with the door closed behind him, it doesn’t matter if they are still staring or not.
The interior of the car smells faintly of cigarettes. He turns that familiar smile on his companion. And Seishiro Sakurazuka smiles back.
He knows that they think this man is his boy-friend? Lover? And he supposes that he could use those terms or something similar to define their relationship. It is a relationship in some sense of the word. The other man seems to enjoy playing the role anyway. Picking him up from work, normally on a Friday. Taking him to some restaurant. Taking him home to bed.
Sometimes he says till the next morning and they might have breakfast together. Oddly enough the Sakurazukamori seems to enjoy cooking. Or other times, when it’s so late that it’s early morning, he will pick up his clothes and be driven home.
Then Monday morning he will find that car parked outside his apartment and will be driven to work. And the women in the office will gossip. Sometimes he finds that he has a late night visitor on a Sunday and if it isn’t too late they might have dinner together. Sometimes on such occasions, when he has had little sleep, he smiles sleepily as he steps out of the car in the car-park where the women linger. And they gossip.
They have something of a relationship. Not hollow enough for it to be called a business transaction but it isn’t what those gossiping women think it is. It isn’t love. Perhaps it isn’t even desire. He can define their relationship by what it isn’t, not what it might be. He doesn’t think that they are searching for comfort or understanding. Whatever understanding they have, it is already there and doesn’t need to be looked for. It isn’t something as simple as fallen angels coming together in mutual annihilation. It isn’t as complicated as a bet where blood replaced blood.
And when the Sakurazukamori kisses him, he doesn’t think about what it might or might not mean. When he surrenders his body to a man who himself would never know how to yield he doesn’t think at all.
It is nothing that it appears to be, nothing that it isn’t. It is an acceptable arrangement between interested parties.
It means nothing when flowers arrive for him in the office. When he is not expected to pay his share for a meal. When he is treated with tenderness and respect in the darkness.
It means nothing because he feels nothing at all. And neither does the Sakurazukamori.
And isn’t that the best arrangement after all?
I’ve been meaning to write something along these lines for a while, though I suspect that it sounds more melancholy that I meant it to be.