Gotou's mouth was on his hand – he kissed slowly from Masayoshi's wrist to his palm. Masayoshi blushed scarlet as Gotou traced across the inside of his hand to his knuckles, kissing each slowly in turn. They were bruised and healing still, the skin rough but Gotou's lips were(more) not. Masayoshi watched him, eyes wide and silent, the breath thudding out of his lungs as Gotou hesitated, and then very tenderly kissed the ring Masayoshi wore.
“Never in a million years,” Gotou breathed, staring at Masayoshi's hand. “Would I have imagined marrying you.”
Masayoshi inhaled those words and almost choked on them. Gotou's eyes flickered up to his face and saw the damage done before Masayoshi could fully digest them. “I'm so glad I did, 'yoshi,” Gotou said. He rested his other hand on Masayoshi's knee and squeezed it. “You saved me. Do you understand that?”
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi whispered. Gotou tugged Masayoshi forward, off the edge of the bed and into his arms. Masayoshi buried his face in Gotou's shoulder, digging his fingers into his back. He smelled of warmth and just a hint of stale smoke, like Gotou was supposed to smell. Gotou rubbed his back encouragingly, and Masayoshi sighed into his neck. “I love you, Gotou-san.”
“I love you too,” Gotou murmured, his hand tracing up Masayoshi's back until it firmly cradled his head. Masayoshi blinked a little when Gotou tilted him back - but then he was kissing Masayoshi, his mouth over Masayoshi's own, hot and familiar and it was all he could do not to groan in satisfaction.
He did grind down into Gotou's lap, though - and Gotou laughed, breaking away from Masayoshi to grin. "Mine," he rumbled, hands dragging down Masayoshi's back to grip his ass and shift him forward.
there are stupid things to say
but in your
heart soul lifeblood true self holy guardian angel
i'm looking for laughter
my eyes aren't very good
so i wouldn't deny myself a peep
i'm looking for religion
i'm a twenty year old seeker
i hate religion
because i can't laugh at christ
i sense with my ascension
i should give the proper attention to
the raging drunk monkey
at the foot of this poem
he angers us all
he'll fuck up the sensational
of worship and light
and careful prayer
saying stupid things
the drunk monkey screams at me
we scream at each other stupid things
when i laugh
and it is hearty
it is hard to speak(less)
"so, working here, you're not like, a coffee snob, are you?"
aiden glanced back at the barista who just took over verbena's shift, who meticulously measured beans before putting them into the grinder.
"no, that's just quinn," she said, a tinge of annoyance coming through with her(more) laugh. "he's anal retentive, to put it lightly. but, yeah, to a degree i suppose. i boycott starbucks' brown-dyed piss and have a preference, but its not as if i have a holier-than-thou barista complex."
aiden eyed the boy behind the counter as he re-measured the coffee after scooping it out of the grinder, his hands shaking. "and you guys get free coffee? he clearly needs to lay off it"
"shifts are long enough to merit it. though he's been cut off before." she jerked her chin at quinn who was sipping away.
"so, what's the worst cup you've ever had?"
"hm." verbena paused, looked at the ceiling. she closed her eyes. "probably when my grandmother made it. when her mind went, so did her ability to count. i swear she made me coffee once with a six to one ratio. it poured like tar and didn't even change color when i put cream in it."
aiden blinked. "wait, weren't you eight when she was alive at the oldest?"
"a mature eight." verbena laughed again, clearer. "well, coffee is part of a plant. and anything that was minimally processed after being derived from the earth was okay in her book. pretty sure she smoked back in the day; there were cannabis books on her shelf."
she lapsed into silence, then. the murmur of conversation droned on as verbena kept her head tilted towards the florescent lights, forming shadows that made her look exhausted. aiden placed his hand over hers, and squeezed. (less)
how is it?
i always ask
it tastes old
can i try it?
(more) this taste for coffee
is newly developed
first, the worst
i ask you how it is
i still try
one year i was afraid of you
and not the next
and after having
i meet you freshly
with every best sandwich
and every worst cup of coffee(less)
"Hey babe. We going to the cafe today, right?" Rankin asks Bass over the phone.
"Yeah. Yeah. Totally." He says.
"Cool. Meet you there at 5?" She asks to confirm.
"Yeah. At 5."
She puts the phone down and goes back to playing Tek(more)ken 5 on her PS2. She has been trying to learn Heihachi's moveset and is getting her ass kicked by the CPU's Hwoarang. The last red sliver of life flashes on her health bar as Hwoarang launches into a combo. But before the kick connects and she officially loses the match, she manually resets the console. This is the 67th time since morning that she has hit reset.
She looks at the clock and the time is 2 pm. The game boots up and she picks Heihachi again.
The next time she checks the clock, it reads 4.10 pm. She gets up and starts getting ready for her date. 50 minutes later, she's sitting alone in the cafe on her favorite table. She calls the waiter and orders two cups of coffee.
At 5 pm, Bass walks in. They wave to each other and he sits down opposite to Rankin.
"So, what'd you do today?" Rankin asks.
"Not much. Prepared for the test. Watched a documentary."
"Cool. I played Tekken all day."
"Yeah. That's been a trend this week."
"It's awesome! There's this guy with a sword who does this sword spin that-"
"Rankin, we should break up."
"Nope. Doesn't work like that. Both parties have to agree."
"Rankin, it's not working."
"It's working for me!"
"Maybe that's the reason why this is happening. Just... accept it."
The waiter comes and serves them coffee.
She shakes her head in disagreement but says "Fine."
She sips the coffee. "This is the worst coffee ever made."(less)
Their sign said "Worlds Best Coffee." Sitting down at the counter I put my order in for this famous cuppa Joe. After a short wait the suspense is over, the champion arrives!
With pinky out its down the hatch. That was the worse coffee ever! I need something to(more) get this horrible taste out of my mouth. Back out on the street I see a bright red neon sign with some inticing words....
It seemed ordinary enough, mundane even. It had all the qualities that it should have: four sides, four corners. Yet, this square was different. This one was following him. Not just in a metaphorical way like how you see the word you just learnt everywhere afterwards. This square was(more) literally hovering behind him and it wasn't giving up. He had tried to outrun it, but it had been fast. He had tried to hide from it, but it had found him. He had even tried to reason with it, but as we all know, squares do not have ears. Or at least he thought they didn't.
By now it was time for some drastic action.
He had purchased the biggest, baddest, most woodenest cricket bat that he could find from a sport shop and intended to smack he square thoroughly in it's single face.
This plan was flawless, he imagined. It had been hovering there in the same place, he was sure to hit it. When the time came for his plan to come into action he had waited until he thought the square was most unaware. He was unsure whether squares had any concept of being aware but this one was hovering so it may have been a special case.
He tensed his grip around the handle of his weapon and with one swift movement, flipping battered it.
Finally! The square had subsided! It hovered closer to the ground now and if possible looked hurt, though no aspect of it's appearance had changed. But slowly, a strange shimmer grew over the form of the square. A line grew out of a corner and soon became a corner itself.
This was no longer a square problem, it was a pentagonal one...(less)
"So, how did you get here?" the bearded man asks me.
"Um... I woke up in the middle of the night because I had to pee. It was dark and I was still half-asleep when I entered the bathroom. A second before I turned the light on, I(more) realized that the air smelled weird. A second later, everything caught fire and I was... well, you know. It was a gas leak that killed me, sir." I say. In my head, I sound like a child being publicly interrogated by his teacher.
"You're a gasser, huh?" He says. "You meet the rest of the gassers yet? You'd like them, all of you share the same cause of death. And knock it off with that "Sir" shit."
"But you're a senior, I just want to be respectful." I lean on my well honed apologizing skills.
"This is not life, dude. Time is irrelevant here. Doesn't matter if you're 200 year old or recently deceased. Nobody ages, there's no need for niceties. Everything will always be like it always was. Relax." He says. This is new information. I didn't know about the timey-wimey stuff.
"Right. I was confused because this wasn't covered in the orientation. They should make it thorough." I quickly realize that getting burnt alive hasn't stopped me from nitpicking.
"Why? You can figure that stuff out on your own. You literally have the rest of eternity." He takes out two cigarettes and offers me one. "Here."
"What? No, thanks. I don't...I don't smoke."
"Why? You afraid of cancer?" He has a point.
"No." I say reluctantly, "I guess I'll have one."
"Can we do that, though? Can ghosts smoke?" I say, as I light my cigarette.
"We are dead, buddy. We can do anything." He says, as he lights his.(less)
You go the kitchen table. You know it's a bad idea. There's a pile of empty dishes left over from last night, with traces of crumbs and stickiness. There's a swarm of flies descending upon it. Ick. Across from that unsightly mess, there's a pile of papers. One's a(more) letter from your ex-boyfriend, who left in the middle of night. What a cliche. Another is a postcard from your mom, telling you she's okay and loving Nevada. Another's a takeout menu. Typical. The rest of the room is just as bad. There's too much furniture, not enough life. You turn off the light, heading back up to bed. You're overstuffed, on empty.(less)
"Where did you leave them?" John shouted from the top of the stairs.
"On the bedside table!" Carol's pitch and tone said a lot more that the words.
(more) "Ok" John headed into the bedroom, out of earshot. "Alright like, take it easy. I'm not the one who didn't put the asprin back in the medicine drawer last night. I'm not the one who drank two bottles of red wine. I'm not the one who made a total disgrace of herself. Again."
"Found them." John thumped his way slowly down the stairs. He was taking his time, while rattling the pills a bit too much.
"Can you quit it?" Again with the tone.
"Making so much noise!"
"Oh I'm so sorry love. I forgot."
He threw the container towards Carol. She was never a great one for sports and especially now with slightly slower reactions. Also given that he was aiming the lob as well, it struck her squarely between the eyes.
"Jesus John!! For fuck sake!"
"Oh no! Sorry!" He covered his grin with an attempt at fake empathy.
"I know you meant that."
John sat back down and picked up his book. The TV was on but was muted, like the mood in the room. He checked the score. Still nil nil. He wasn't too interested in the game but he knew the flickering images would be difficult for her. Keeping the sound off helped maintain his facade of consideration.
"I'm never drinking again." Carol moaned, one arm draped across her closed eyes.
John started page 143 for the fifth time.
"Why do you let me drink so much?"
"I don't know love."
"You don't care do you. You probably think I deserve this."
Yesterday I woke up early to work out, but ended up just stretching because I had a headache. The night before, my boyfriend and I stayed up late drinking and playing music together and talked about the future. He'd been unsure about moving to LA recently, but felt inspired(more) last night and promised me again that he would come with me.
I ran for the bus, watched relaxation YouTube videos during the ride, and bought petroleum-strong coffee, which I didn't get for free this time because my usual barista was taking his break. He is very short and looks like a distant relative of John Belushi, but better-looking. I saw a member of my boyfriend's former band and pretended I didn't notice him.
At work, I G-chatted with my sister and my best friend from high school, who recently moved to LA. He told me about all the food he wanted to eat with me there. I texted my boyfriend at least twenty times.
I went to three meetings, wrote a lot of things for different clients, and bought lunch for the second time this week, which isn't that bad for me. Halfway through the day, I realized there were two tiny holes on the seat of my leggings and made sure my oversize sweater covered my butt like a diaper. I didn't take my scarf off once.
When I got home, I lied in bed with my boyfriend and rubbed his head. Then we got Chipotle, after much debate. I sent a few emails and edited things for my magazine, and worked out while we watched the Office together. Then we started kissing, which led to other things, and then I passed out on the couch. I don't remember how I got into bed.
It was near impossible to think about- just how much had his life changed over such a short period of time? Just one day ago the most Enuma had had to worry about was the old lady who was always(more) on the bus trying to strike up a conversation with him (it was exactly the twenty third most terrifying regular experience in Enuma's familiar, predictable everyday life. The twenty two more terrifying things included vegetable peelers and having to care for small children) and now here he was clutching an honest-to-goodness bloody lightning bolt.
If there was one thing Enuma should have learned from all the 80s fantasy movies he had seen, it was that when he found that extremely ornate looking old box in the attic, he really, really shouldn't have opened it.(less)
There you are, like quicksand. Hands standing behind backs and lips immersed in something strange. The words leak out and I am in love and if no one hears nothing else I want you all to know that I am lost but searching.
(more) There are clues and angles, there is an unemployed angel and the words of too many poets. Where do you go from here? What are the words that exist to push you beyond the place of ignorance?
I miss meeting people. I miss being a human, all the life and all the words. Like quicksand things drop and they lose and things slip into something strange. I miss being a live human being. All the things in the future seemed encouraging but strange and sad and weird.
Oh the life. Oh the edge of things that leave and left and age beyond oak and thoughts. Thank you for listening. Thank you for worrying. I miss you most. (less)