Work Text:
2012 - Simon & Wilhelm
As it slid open, the door outside made a sound like wet rust. The cat crawled between Simon's legs, its soaked paw pads leaving little round marks on the living room floor. Simon ignored it and turned away, his eyes scanning the garden. It was almost dark. The sun, over the flat roofs of the houses, gave a final sigh that slipped through the fine curtains of drizzle. Everything was smooth and smelled of wet earth. There was no sound, except for the faint trickling of drops against the metal of the veranda. Simon took a long breath. The black tea in the mug in his hand was steaming up to his neck. He felt good, calm. The world seemed so soft in this liquid light.
He stepped back and gently closed the door behind him. In the living room, Komorebi had settled down on the sofa. He was grooming himself, his rough tongue giving his black hair a strangely shaggy appearance. Simon smiled and took a sip of his tea as he approached the kitten.
"Komo... You're making a mess on the sofa."
The kitten barely looked at him, knowing full well that Simon wasn't going to get him off the sofa anyway. And it was true... Simon had given the kitten absolutely everything since he'd found him, skinny and shivering, curled up in a ball under the bonnet of his old red Suzuki. He was barely two months old, according to the vet, and didn't belong to anyone. Simon didn't need much convincing to persuade Wilhelm to adopt him. Since then, Komorebi had been living with them and Mochi, who immediately seemed to appreciate the presence of a new member of the household.
Simon sat down on the sofa, right next to Komo, and put his feet up on the living room table. His eyes wandered outside again. The shadows were now eating away at the walls. The trees seemed to bend under the onslaught of the rain, and all the colours blended into one, a little earthy. The scene could be melancholy.
But Simon found it beautiful and poetic.
He often surprised himself by the way he saw the world.
As a teenager, he remembered hating winter and its gloomy moods... Now he loved the serene calm that came from the mountains when the storm came, or the smell of rain mixed with that of the trees. He could sit for hours at the window, watching the dry branches sway and the long, mournful parade of tear-swollen clouds. Perhaps it was because he had grown up that his temper had softened. Or perhaps it was Wilhelm who soothed him with his big hazel eyes and his intimate, serene smile.
In the darkness, the living room seemed to shrink a little. Komo stretched gracefully and rested his head on his paws with a sharp little sigh. His eyelids grew heavy, already full of sleep. Simon put his mug of tea on the low table et got up to switch on the light.
The house was very small, in a slightly outlying part of Kyoto. The river was only a few metres away. One of the neighbours was a stooped grandmother who always wore the same flowery dress. At first Simon was really intimidated by her dry way of speaking and her stony voice. He didn't always understand her Japanese, which was full of slang and old expressions.
Wilhelm laughed at him when he suggested she might be a witch from a Miyazaki film.
But since the night Simon had helped her put her fuses back in place after they'd blown and left her in the dark, he wasn't really afraid of her anymore.
He knew that her house only smelled of patchouli and dorayaki, and that there were no bottles of toad slime on her shelves. Their other neighbours were a Japanese couple with their two children and dog. Simon didn't see them very often, and only greeted them politely when he passed their house and they were in the garden.
Their life here was quiet, punctuated by a few evenings out with friends, Simon's judo sessions at 5pm on Wednesday afternoons, the market in the small round square in their neighbourhood every Sunday morning, their long walks in the woods and along the river, Komo and Mochi scratching at the kitchen door every evening to go out for a walk, and their hours of work or study mixing in.
Simon took another sip of tea. He yawned, feeling drowsy and lulled by the steady sound of the rain against the windows and the slow purring of the two sleeping cats. He glanced at the clock. 19:34 pm. Wilhelm would be home soon.
He slipped into the kitchen and put the kettle on for dinner. The cupboards were almost empty and there was barely enough to make noodles. Wilhelm always went to the konbini on Saturdays after his lessons anyway. Simon opened a drawer and started to set the table, unconsciously humming some music he kept hearing on the radio. Through the kitchen window he could see the rain-slicked pavement and the people hurrying along under their large umbrellas. Luckily, Wilhelm had taken the car when he left in the morning... Otherwise Simon would have gone straight to the restaurant to get him.
He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and put it on the table. He checked once more that the pasta was cooking properly and left the kitchen after turning off the light. Then he went into the bathroom to get the laundry that had been drying there since this morning, the weather being too damp for him to risk putting it outside.
He was just folding his and Wilhelm's boxers when he heard the front door open. A few seconds later, Wilhelm called out to him, and Simon smiled in spite of himself, something soft warming the pit of his stomach.
"Anata? I'm here."
"I'm in the bathroom!"
Simon stuffed the rest of the underwear into his basket, unapologetically abandoning his folding, and trotted over to Wilhelm, who was taking off his scarf and beanie, the tip of his nose reddened by the cold.
"Hi," he breathed out.
"Hi," Simon replied in the same tone, his eyes smiling.
Wilhelm smiled as he approached and gently hugged Simon around the waist to kiss his lips. Simon closed his eyes. Wilhelm smelled of rain and his whole body felt cold, as if he had been swept off his feet by the icy winter wind. Yet his tongue was still warm and tasted of chocolate.
"I've missed you," Simon murmured against his lips.
After a moment, he added: "The cats have missed you too."
The green, brown and gold in his eyes seemed to sparkle and overflow, as they always did when he was happy, and Simon thought, for the umpteenth time in his life, that he really was very much in love with this man.
-X-
They put the shopping away in a cheerful mess, Simon rummaging through all the bags, grimacing as he found oddly shaped vegetables, while the cats circled around them, meowing for food.
"What's that?"
"Kabochas. They're basically Japanese pumpkins. I'm going to make soup with them... And maybe a cheesecake!"
"What about this?"
"That's something you're going to hate. It's a goya... It's super bitter, you just eat the skin."
"Why did you buy this thing?"
"I have to train... My teacher told me there's bound to be some goya in the exam... Komo, stop running between my legs!"
"I think he smelt the tuna... he probably wants some... Oh, you bought more green tea Pocky!"
"Of course I did. I saw you'd finished the tin."
"Yes, that was last night... It was my little late night snack," Simon grinned guiltily.
"Simon... I thought you'd given up snacking between meals."
"It was in the middle of the night, Wille, it doesn't count!"
They bickered for a while, then Wilhelm went to shower and Simon finished watching the pasta cook, sitting on a stool with a book in his lap.
They ate in front of the news, sitting side by side on the sofa. Simon didn't even have to ask Wilhelm to translate words anymore. They commented on the news in Japanese, sometimes mixing it with their mother tongue, and it all seemed so natural that Simon sometimes forgot that at fifteen he could never have imagined his life like this: Japanese noodles with sweet caramel, in a small house in Kyoto, on a stormy evening, his thigh pressed against the thigh of the boy he loved passionately, their two cats curled up in a ball on the carpet. He felt happy. So, so happy.
When the commercial came on, Wilhelm turned the sound down and Simon went to put their bowls in the sink. When he returned, Wilhelm was yawning, his eyes already heavy with sleep.
"Have you had a tiring day?"
"A bit. Stressful, mostly. I'm a bit afraid I'm going to fail my exam."
Simon smiled gently and sat down beside him, running his hand down the back of his neck to stroke his blond hair.
"It's normal to feel pressure, but you have to believe in yourself... You love to cook and you're lucky to be able to work for your passion. And you're super talented. You even managed to make me love vegetables!"
"You mean some vegetables," Wilhelm corrected with a chuckle.
Simon rolled his eyes in false annoyance.
"Some, if you like. But in any case, I know you're cut out for it. When you graduate, you'll be able to get a job in a restaurant, and one day you'll even open your own..."
"You think so?" Wilhelm murmured, his voice tinged with shy hope.
"Of course... If I can get into a scriptwriting course for an animation studio, even though I still speak very little Japanese, you can become a chef with flying colours. You trained hard for it... You deserve it, Wille."
"Mmmmh... Kiss me?"
Simon laughed softly and shook his head gently:
"Are you trying to avoid the discussion?"
"No. I just really want you to kiss me."
"But we were talking seriously."
"Yes, and it made me want you to kiss me."
So Simon leaned in gently and placed his lips against his neck, inhaling the almost faded scent of his perfume. Wilhelm closed his eyes and breathed out. The kisses Simon planted on his skin were soft, as light as the raindrops rolling down the living room windows. Simon was always like that. Soft and passionate, and Wilhelm always felt that he was the most precious thing in the world under his fingers. The young man moved gently up to his face, his breath landing close to his jaw, his cheekbones, his ear. Then, touching the corner of Wilhelm's lips, he placed his hand gently on his cheek and kissed him. Wilhelm melted into the kiss. Soon they were lying on the sofa, their legs intertwined, Simon's hands running up his shirt, brushing over his ribs and stomach, making his skin tingle. Wilhelm threw his head back. He knew Simon was about to kiss the tender skin of his neck and nibble his chin. His eyelids fluttered slightly. The window of the living room, full of mist, seemed increasingly blurred.
On the surface of the small pond in their garden, the wind and rain were drawing ripples that would spread as far as the dark roots of the reeds.
-X-
Wilhelm didn't know what time it was. It was dark. The storm outside seemed to have died down, and all he could hear was the slightly high-pitched whistle of the wind coming through the corner of the window. He made a mental note to think about re-insulating the windows... Unless they moved during the year. After all, they were only tenants... Sometimes Wilhelm thought he'd like to move closer to the centre and buy a house big enough to run his restaurant on the ground floor and live with Simon upstairs. He'd talk to him about it. Tomorrow. At breakfast. Simon would have his head in his bowl of Nesquik, a chocolate milk moustache over his upper lip, a totally sleepy look on his face, and he'd say, Of course, sweetheart, anything you want...
As if he could hear his thoughts, Simon suddenly mumbled in his sleep and unconsciously rubbed his cheek against Wilhelm's shoulder. He always slept like that, pressed up against him, naked, his arm wrapped around his waist and his legs tangled with his own. His curls were matted, a little damp with sweat. His cheekbones were still pink with pleasure. Wilhelm smiled as he looked at him. The moon, which had finally broken through the clouds, cast a pale, ghostly light over his skin, full of milky shadows. Wilhelm leaned over and kissed Simon's temple, and Simon snuggled closer, his face automatically relaxing.
Wilhelm didn't know why he couldn't sleep. Usually making love left him in a pleasant torpor, but tonight he still felt the vibrations of something beyond him, preventing him from closing his eyes. Gently, he slipped out of Simon's embrace and stood up, taking care not to creak the wooden floor. He closed the bedroom door and walked into the living room. Everything was silent. He saw the silhouettes of the two cats curled up on the sofa. His footsteps led him to the bookshelves. He ran his fingers along the edges of the books until he picked out a small white one. The cover was a little worn now, but the title still stood out in the dark. TRUE COLORS. Wilhelm smiled. He loved those two words, full of meaning and melancholy. Full of honesty and truth. He also loved all the other words in it, the ones that told the story of the first great love of his life. The only one, he was sure. He ran his thumb over Simon's name, written in small print below the title.
A strange emotion gripped him, and slowly he let himself fall against the wall, his legs folded against his chest, the book against him. He stayed like that for a long time, motionless and silent, sobs rising in his throat.
Then he heard the bedroom door open and the wooden floor creak in the hallway. Wilhelm was not surprised. He knew that Simon must have felt his absence in his sleep. He also knew that Simon was always there at the right moment, that the day Wilhelm fell, Simon would be there to catch him, appearing out of nowhere. He trusted him more than anyone. But Wilhelm wasn't going to fall tonight. He wasn't.
Simon approached. His silhouette was blurred, blurred by the tears that filled his eyes.
"Wille? Are you here? What are you...? Are you crying?"
Simon knelt beside him and put his hand on his knee, a worried look on his sleeping features. Wilhelm took his fingers and squeezed them between his own, a sob shaking his chest. And yet, between the tears, he smiled.
"I...I don't know why I'm crying..."
Simon frowned slightly. His eyes fell on the book.
"Are you hurt?"
"No...I...I think I love you..."
"What?"
This time Simon laughed a little. He moved his hand up to Wilhelm's face, wiping away a tear that was rolling down his cheek.
"You've already told me that you're in love with me, Wille... it's been almost five years, I think. And if I'm not mistaken, I think I told you that it was mutual, so you don't have to cry about it..."
"But no, I..."
Wilhelm sniffed and shook his head, unable to get his thoughts in order. The words were all jumbled together. But he knew that Simon understood him. Simon even understood the silence in his eyes.
"It's because... I love you so much... that sometimes it hurts my heart, and... I'm scared."
"Scared?"
This time Simon sat cross-legged in front of him, and Wilhelm slowly unfolded his legs so that he was between them, and the book fell to the floor. Simon picked it up between his fingers. Wilhelm let out a long sigh. He closed his eyes a little and murmured:
"I am scared because you wrote this book to make us immortal, so that our love would never die. But it was the love that bound us together when we were fifteen. The one we failed to protect... The one we let die. And I want everything else to be written, too. Everything we've been through since..."
Simon remained silent. For a long moment. Then he shifted and sat down next to Wilhelm, his back against the wall, his shoulder pressed against his. Their fingers were still intertwined, and Simon stroked the back of his hand gently. When he spoke, his voice was a soft, peaceful whisper:
"Why is this so important to you?"
Wilhelm bit his lips. Simon didn't need to look at him to know what he was doing.
"Because I... There's still this thought in my head that maybe one day you'll leave... And if that day comes, I wish I had a book to remind me that everything I remember is real. That I didn't make it up. That you really were part of my life, that you really made it so beautiful... I'm afraid of the future because I love my present too much. I'm afraid of things changing. I'm afraid of not feeling the same things, of forgetting details, of... I don't know. It scares me. So I tell myself that words could save all that. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I understand," Simon breathed out softly.
He opened his mouth to add something, then closed it again. He didn't know how to express himself either. He wanted to say that he didn't know if it was possible to write such a book. That he thought there were things that people experienced that couldn't be put into words... That he often found it pleasant to know that a moment was only fleeting, that it had counted more than any other, but that it would disappear. Like Wilhelm's gentle hand in his at this moment. Like the sound of the rain falling again, very lightly, on the glass above their heads.
Then he slowly rose to his feet. Wilhelm followed him with his eyes. He didn't look sad. It was something else. And Simon had noticed when he cried that it wasn't just melancholy.
He tugged gently at his hand:
"I'm hungry. Shall we make crepes?"
"Now?"
"Why not?"
Wilhelm laughed. A slightly wet laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
"All right, let's go."
It was three in the morning. The cats were asleep. It would be several hours before daylight. But sitting on the stools in their little kitchen, Simon and Wilhelm laughed as they bit into crepes filled with fig jam. Simon felt good. He knew it was the same for Wilhelm. There was a taste of childhood on their tongues, and their hands constantly searching for each other across the table made him feel like he was fifteen again. With Wilhelm, Simon always had the feeling that he was falling in love. He didn't want it to end. He never wanted it to end.
And suddenly he knew what he had to do about the book. He saw it in the twinkle in his boyfriend's eyes, still red with tears.
He scrambled to his feet and Wilhelm frowned.
"What are you..."
"Come with me."
He left the kitchen, ran to the patio door and pushed it open gently. He was barefoot as he ran out into the garden. The rain was still falling, steady and inexhaustible. The grass was soaked, almost spongy, mixed with the earth. Simon looked up at the bleached sky, probably tired of crying for so long. He could almost make out the stars between the almost transparent clouds.
"Simme?"
Wilhelm stood on the small veranda. He hesitated, Mochi at his feet, clearly annoyed to have been woken. Komo had already ventured into the tall grasses, frolicking happily as he joined Simon, not caring about the rain or the bad weather.
"Come on," Simon repeated.
His eyes were the colour of hope. They were dark and yet full of light. So Wilhelm went out too. The rain was cold and made him shiver. He walked towards Simon, who smiled and held out his hand, and when he reached him, he embraced him. His mouth came to rest against his cheek and he kissed him tenderly until Simon began to murmur into his ear:
"If I wrote the book you wanted, when you opened it you'd see the sand-blue colour of our walk on the beach at Ootsu, when you had your big black scarf and the tip of your nose was red. It would be a book where words would tell of all the eternities I feel when I kiss you, when you put your hands on my chest, when you look at me and smile and your eyes are full of twinkling stars. It would be a book that smelled of your skin, your sweat, the smell of your hair after making love, and also of the miso soup you make when autumn approaches. It would be a book where the sentences would be spoken in your voice, where the full stops would have the sound of your adorable laughter, where every comma would be one of your sighs. It would be a free text that would be you and me mixed together. And it would be a freedom that never stops, never ends, made up of universes that are always reinvented. It would be the book of our lives, of all the others that await us, and of those that are already over."
Wilhelm laughed. He didn't know whether it was his heart or Simon's that was beating so hard between their chests. He held him close, buried his nose in the dampness of his hair and murmured, his voice a little choked with emotion:
"I like this book very much already... What would it be called?"
There was a moment's silence, as if Simon were thinking. Then he moved away and gently cupped Wilhelm's face in his hands. His eyes had that enchantingly serious glow. Wilhelm wanted to kiss the line between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. But he didn't move. He listened to him.
"Something like... A Never Ending Story..."
Wilhelm bit his lip. His eyes sparkled. He felt happy. So, so happy. And suddenly he was no longer afraid. Suddenly he felt fearless. He knew Simon wasn't lying. He would do it. He would make them immortal. Wilhelm would always find him, in this life and the next. Simon would be the other eternal half of his soul. They would never lose each other. They would never lose each other again.
So he leaned down and kissed him. And between two passionate kisses, he breathed against his lips:
"I love you more than anything else in the world."
-X-
The rain continued to fall all around them. Behind the mountains, the sun slowly began to rise. The afternoon would be sunny. Maybe they'd have the courage to get out their bikes and go for a ride in the town centre. They would stop for tea at their favourite tea shop and buy sweets at Haku's konbini. Simon's fingers would be cold and Wilhelm would take his hands between his own to warm them.
On the way home, they would ride across the river and stand for a long time admiring the reflection of the bare branches of the cherry trees on the calm water. The light would be pink and pale, the light of too-short winter evenings, and steam would rise from their lips as they exhaled. They would talk softly, happy and at peace. It would be dark when they finally pushed open the door to their little house. Inside, the cats would greet them, meowing and calling for food. They would eat their meal, chatting away as they watched a humorous old French film, far more busy staring at each other than paying attention to the plot. Then they'd slip into their bedroom, turn on all the little garlands of lights on the furniture, and make love in that cocooning semi-darkness. Their gestures would be tender and slow, and their eyes would tell each other everything that words could never express. They would fall asleep in each other's arms, and in the night the cats would come and snuggle up against them.
And then there would be more days, hundreds and thousands of them. In Japan or elsewhere. There would be two of them, then three, maybe four. The wrinkles in their faces would deepen and the ink would fade. But the book would have more and more pages, and they would add photographs. They would draw on the pages. They would corner the cover and take it everywhere.
Simon would never be able to write it all down. He would make up passages. He would imagine other lives for her. He would let them die and be reborn. But one thing would always remain the same, one thing would never change, one thing would never pass away.
It would be the same in every universe they passed through,
they would love each other. More than anything.