Tohma never liked spiders.
He wasn't sure exactly what it was that he detested about them so much, he just knew that whenever he saw one crawling near him, it's spindly legs arching and lowering to the floor in a stiff staccato, he lost his mind. It was a coalescence of bad feelings, the shock that hit his body at the first sight of one, then horror washed over him when he realized what he was looking at. Horror soon melted into thorough disgust when it moved with such ease and speed instead of being hindered by it's eight thin legs, and disgust eventually gave way to fright. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of something that was less than a fiftieth of his size, knew that, in all honesty, it couldn't hurt him. It didn't stop him from feeling it.
And every time, the reaction was the same. His body would spasm and curl in on itself, eyes widened and pupils dilated to a pinpoint. The healthy flush of his cheeks would bleed away until his face faintly resembled the color of white in his newspaper, and the first and foremost action to take in his mind was to scream. He couldn't utter a sound, however, as his throat closed painfully and the muscles strained.
Tohma was a logical man. He was aware what he was experiencing was most likely arachnephobia, and had seen a few psychiatrists about treatment. Their usual response was a perscription for tranquilizers and a cheerful comment to not let it bother him so much. He suspected that was what decent people did to the ones they thought were crazy, just gave them a pat on the head and an asinine smile in hopes for their own pitiful existances to be more enlightened. That was their ulterior motive, he mused, claiming to help people in need because that was what they believed in doing and enjoyed doing it. In reality it was a tangled cobweb of twisted humor and lies, behind every glittering eye and thin smile there was a spider. Their movements were for their own purposes and their own feelings, not out of concern for the less fortunate. What they did was purely to appease their own conscience so they could go home every night, face their family and believe that what they did for the day was good.
Right now, he was staring one in the face. One of the biggest, most hideous spiders he'd ever seen in his life.
"Seguchi-san? Are you okay? Do you need water, or something?"
It came in the form of an adorable, pink-haired boy. "I'm fine, thank you. You'll have the track recorded by tomorrow, won't you, Shindou-san?" The voice wasn't his own, whispy with a sort of petrified edge even though he was sure the emotion didn't leak through. Tohma was experienced in hiding from things he was afraid of. It was better to allow the people around him to believe they have full control over their own lives, instead of them knowing that he tinkered with every string, manipulated every situation to his own means even though the whole time he stood over them, ready to pounce, he was frightened.
And the only way to kill a spider was to trick it.
Otherwise, you disrupt the calm sense of security it wraps around itself, serene in the knowledge that nothing could harm it. And then it would scatter away with all the strength in it's short legs, and you would miss your chance. Bloody bastards.
"Yeah. Can I go now?" The eager glint in Shuichi's eyes was the only proof Tohma needed to know that he'd be going home to Eiri tonight. Every time he saw the singer, he wanted that particular sparkle in his eyes to fade. It would mean the most threatening spider in his life would be crushed under the novelist's foot, squirming and writhing in unadulterated agony. Divine justice.
As he dismissed the smaller boy, the only thought going through his mind was that he was sending him right into Eiri's arms. By telling him to go, he was allowing him another night to pull the most precious thing in his life further away from him.
It was terribly late, and he knew by now that Mika would be cleaning away the neglected dinner plates, leaving his meal in a covered container in the microwave. As many years as they'd been married, she'd realized that if her husband wasn't home by dinner time, then he would most likely be gone all night.
For a long time he just sat there, staring blankly at the closed door in front of him. There was no existance, just the still air and the persistant clicking of the clock on his desk. He imagined that, also, at this very moment, Shuichi would be bursting through the door and into his lover's arms. And Eiri wouldn't resist him, he knew, because there was no one else he would rather embrace.
There was a pinch at one of the major veins in the crook of his arm.
He felt like he was looking out of the eyes of a puppet, because in reality, that's exactly what he was. He was a puppet that pretended to be a puppetmaster, unaware that he was the controlled party. Because Seguchi Tohma was motivated by spiders.
People often compare being sad to a lowered state, where one's emotional state is "down" or "in the pits". Those people didn't know true pain, because right then, he was being lifted.
It was a roaring sensation that tore at every vital part of his body in a fit of rage, it filled his physical being until he was overflowing. The clock beside him ticked maddeningly, mockingly, the pace and volume wobbling at intervals and pounding away at his skull with every tiny pestering noise--
It crashed against the door Shuichi had recently walked out of.
It was that door, at times like these, that Tohma hated. He could have been the one to walk out of that door and leave behind hours of countless frustrations and needy people seeking his advice. He could have been the one on his way home to a lover. He could have been...the one Eiri held so tightly.
Pain was a feeling that didn't come alone. The beginnings were almost unnoticeable to the blonde, but he caught them, right in the middle of his chest above his heart. There was a pattering sensation and then the distinct shock of being attacked. It was a spider, the round, grotesque body about the size of his closed fist, he imagined, extending into eight twig-like legs. It was feasting on his insides, scratching, pulling him apart and raising him for that spider to eat. He didn't need to know what it looked like, but he knew-- he knew it was blacker than the bottom of the ocean at midnight, that every tiny eye was a menacing, demonic red. It skittered inside of him, and he spasmed, trying to get away even though it was as much a part of him as his hand, his hand that was grasping thin plastic.
It passed, and he gradually sank into the chair beneath him. The relief didn't last long, as once again he felt detached from himself, but it was a different sensation. It felt good.
A dull ache settled in his body, not entirely unpleasant. It was a strange feeling that he couldn't identify at first, but he soon discovered what it was. It was sex, pure and untainted, but it was sex without hands and lips and slick skin, sex without feeling, sex without love. His hands snapped out and clung to the edges of his desk, upper body curling forward against it as it rose higher, past the point of excitement that Tohma would consider orgasm, his body warming until he felt like his entire body was nothing more than a conduit of heat. The pressure of it startled the spider in his chest and it writhed inside of him.
There was a raw, dreadfully pitiful sound that escaped his throat. He wanted to get away, push away from that wonderful feeling. In his mind, Eiri was kissing him, holding him like a lover would, pulling his body tightly against him.
The image faded and he was replaced by Shuichi, and no longer were those loving gazes and gentle touches directed at him. He was a spectator in his own fantasy. No! His mind rejected, you can't take this one away from me! Eiri is yours, so just let me keep..
Eiri is yours.
Yours.
I can't have him.
He wouldn't be happy with me.
His body loosened, defeated, and he threw his head back against the chair. The spider receded, the pretend sex faded from his mind. His neck was arched, green eyes unfocused and directed at the ceiling. His expression suddenly went blank, and for the first time in his life, Tohma broke inside.
There were no spiders to kill this time.
The needle slipped from limp fingers, and thudded faintly against carpeted floor.
He wasn't sure exactly what it was that he detested about them so much, he just knew that whenever he saw one crawling near him, it's spindly legs arching and lowering to the floor in a stiff staccato, he lost his mind. It was a coalescence of bad feelings, the shock that hit his body at the first sight of one, then horror washed over him when he realized what he was looking at. Horror soon melted into thorough disgust when it moved with such ease and speed instead of being hindered by it's eight thin legs, and disgust eventually gave way to fright. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of something that was less than a fiftieth of his size, knew that, in all honesty, it couldn't hurt him. It didn't stop him from feeling it.
And every time, the reaction was the same. His body would spasm and curl in on itself, eyes widened and pupils dilated to a pinpoint. The healthy flush of his cheeks would bleed away until his face faintly resembled the color of white in his newspaper, and the first and foremost action to take in his mind was to scream. He couldn't utter a sound, however, as his throat closed painfully and the muscles strained.
Tohma was a logical man. He was aware what he was experiencing was most likely arachnephobia, and had seen a few psychiatrists about treatment. Their usual response was a perscription for tranquilizers and a cheerful comment to not let it bother him so much. He suspected that was what decent people did to the ones they thought were crazy, just gave them a pat on the head and an asinine smile in hopes for their own pitiful existances to be more enlightened. That was their ulterior motive, he mused, claiming to help people in need because that was what they believed in doing and enjoyed doing it. In reality it was a tangled cobweb of twisted humor and lies, behind every glittering eye and thin smile there was a spider. Their movements were for their own purposes and their own feelings, not out of concern for the less fortunate. What they did was purely to appease their own conscience so they could go home every night, face their family and believe that what they did for the day was good.
Right now, he was staring one in the face. One of the biggest, most hideous spiders he'd ever seen in his life.
"Seguchi-san? Are you okay? Do you need water, or something?"
It came in the form of an adorable, pink-haired boy. "I'm fine, thank you. You'll have the track recorded by tomorrow, won't you, Shindou-san?" The voice wasn't his own, whispy with a sort of petrified edge even though he was sure the emotion didn't leak through. Tohma was experienced in hiding from things he was afraid of. It was better to allow the people around him to believe they have full control over their own lives, instead of them knowing that he tinkered with every string, manipulated every situation to his own means even though the whole time he stood over them, ready to pounce, he was frightened.
And the only way to kill a spider was to trick it.
Otherwise, you disrupt the calm sense of security it wraps around itself, serene in the knowledge that nothing could harm it. And then it would scatter away with all the strength in it's short legs, and you would miss your chance. Bloody bastards.
"Yeah. Can I go now?" The eager glint in Shuichi's eyes was the only proof Tohma needed to know that he'd be going home to Eiri tonight. Every time he saw the singer, he wanted that particular sparkle in his eyes to fade. It would mean the most threatening spider in his life would be crushed under the novelist's foot, squirming and writhing in unadulterated agony. Divine justice.
As he dismissed the smaller boy, the only thought going through his mind was that he was sending him right into Eiri's arms. By telling him to go, he was allowing him another night to pull the most precious thing in his life further away from him.
It was terribly late, and he knew by now that Mika would be cleaning away the neglected dinner plates, leaving his meal in a covered container in the microwave. As many years as they'd been married, she'd realized that if her husband wasn't home by dinner time, then he would most likely be gone all night.
For a long time he just sat there, staring blankly at the closed door in front of him. There was no existance, just the still air and the persistant clicking of the clock on his desk. He imagined that, also, at this very moment, Shuichi would be bursting through the door and into his lover's arms. And Eiri wouldn't resist him, he knew, because there was no one else he would rather embrace.
There was a pinch at one of the major veins in the crook of his arm.
He felt like he was looking out of the eyes of a puppet, because in reality, that's exactly what he was. He was a puppet that pretended to be a puppetmaster, unaware that he was the controlled party. Because Seguchi Tohma was motivated by spiders.
People often compare being sad to a lowered state, where one's emotional state is "down" or "in the pits". Those people didn't know true pain, because right then, he was being lifted.
It was a roaring sensation that tore at every vital part of his body in a fit of rage, it filled his physical being until he was overflowing. The clock beside him ticked maddeningly, mockingly, the pace and volume wobbling at intervals and pounding away at his skull with every tiny pestering noise--
It crashed against the door Shuichi had recently walked out of.
It was that door, at times like these, that Tohma hated. He could have been the one to walk out of that door and leave behind hours of countless frustrations and needy people seeking his advice. He could have been the one on his way home to a lover. He could have been...the one Eiri held so tightly.
Pain was a feeling that didn't come alone. The beginnings were almost unnoticeable to the blonde, but he caught them, right in the middle of his chest above his heart. There was a pattering sensation and then the distinct shock of being attacked. It was a spider, the round, grotesque body about the size of his closed fist, he imagined, extending into eight twig-like legs. It was feasting on his insides, scratching, pulling him apart and raising him for that spider to eat. He didn't need to know what it looked like, but he knew-- he knew it was blacker than the bottom of the ocean at midnight, that every tiny eye was a menacing, demonic red. It skittered inside of him, and he spasmed, trying to get away even though it was as much a part of him as his hand, his hand that was grasping thin plastic.
It passed, and he gradually sank into the chair beneath him. The relief didn't last long, as once again he felt detached from himself, but it was a different sensation. It felt good.
A dull ache settled in his body, not entirely unpleasant. It was a strange feeling that he couldn't identify at first, but he soon discovered what it was. It was sex, pure and untainted, but it was sex without hands and lips and slick skin, sex without feeling, sex without love. His hands snapped out and clung to the edges of his desk, upper body curling forward against it as it rose higher, past the point of excitement that Tohma would consider orgasm, his body warming until he felt like his entire body was nothing more than a conduit of heat. The pressure of it startled the spider in his chest and it writhed inside of him.
There was a raw, dreadfully pitiful sound that escaped his throat. He wanted to get away, push away from that wonderful feeling. In his mind, Eiri was kissing him, holding him like a lover would, pulling his body tightly against him.
The image faded and he was replaced by Shuichi, and no longer were those loving gazes and gentle touches directed at him. He was a spectator in his own fantasy. No! His mind rejected, you can't take this one away from me! Eiri is yours, so just let me keep..
Eiri is yours.
Yours.
I can't have him.
He wouldn't be happy with me.
His body loosened, defeated, and he threw his head back against the chair. The spider receded, the pretend sex faded from his mind. His neck was arched, green eyes unfocused and directed at the ceiling. His expression suddenly went blank, and for the first time in his life, Tohma broke inside.
There were no spiders to kill this time.
The needle slipped from limp fingers, and thudded faintly against carpeted floor.