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For Narumi, sleep isn’t something that’s necessary—not something he wishes for either. For he finds his sleep, in many of his nights, drives him to sudden awakeness, feeling his heart beating aloud against his ribcage and cold sweat breaking out of his skin. Sleep, for Narumi, is something he ignores until his body screams at him to take a break—yet without rest, anxiety colours the quietude of his nights, easily muddling his thoughts.
Game starts as his sanctuary, a background noise to fill in the silence of his room and to distract his racing thoughts—however, sleep is now something of a necessity for Narumi to do, ever since he was forced to enter the JAKDF. No matter how much he doesn’t want it, Narumi has to make sure his condition is good enough when the world needs him to take action.
Despite that, dreams have always been a thorn in his side, disrupting his rest by eating away his heart and mind. In comparison to being awake, his nightmare is much worse in making him feel lonely.
And thus, Narumi comes to hate the nights where his dream pays a visit.
But when Narumi met Hoshina Sōshirō, he finds himself going through some changes—strangers to bickering acquaintances, their casual banters transforming into silly jokes, and finally, humours turning into whisper of affection—until it ends with Narumi laying his head on Hoshina’s laps every night, hands around his slender waist, all the while the owner of the wine-shade eyes lovingly strokes down his dual-tone hair, his smile and his focus on the book in his hand unwavering.
“Lost in the memories, of times we loved, as the first goose weeping, one should wonder if you knew.”
Hoshina’s voice fills in his ears—barely above whisper—tenderly, in a slow tone that carries his melancholy.
“The poems you read always sounds weird, Hoshina,” Narumi scoffs, closing his eyes in an attempt to savour the sensation of Hoshina’s fingers threading along his hair. “Explain it to me.”
Hoshina chuckles then, filling Narumi with comforting warmth in sync with the loudness of his heart beating. “The essence of a poem lies within its implication and beauty.”
“What’s the use if no one understands it?”
A soft kiss on the cheek and Narumi opens his eyes, meeting the smile Hoshina wears on his countenance.
“As the spring showers, one's falling—” Hoshina expresses, another line of poetry slipping out from his lips, “—are they tears or blossoms.”
Narumi’s hands find themselves against Hoshina’s cheeks—pulling their faces together until the peak of their noses touch, “You haven’t answered my question. I’m not someone who understand things like these, Hoshina.”
Refusing to answer with words, Hoshina decides to kiss him lightly on the lips—a gesture that tugs his heart to wish for more of that love; hence, he listens to what his heart wants, getting up only to push Hoshina and pin him down against the bed.
Narumi kisses as if it is an urgency—neither too tender nor too rough, filled with unspoken emotion and passion, yet careful all the while. He kisses as if time they share is an ephemerality, a frail and narrow thing that is capable of escaping his grasp. He kisses as if Hoshina will be gone, should he not hold him tightly and closely with affection.
The laughter Hoshina gives is tinted with breathlessness when Narumi allows him to take a break. His dark purplish hair splay against the pillow, framing his face—a pretty display that makes Narumi’s gaze soften, etching a thin smile against the tiredness of his face.
As the laughter rounds up to a stop, Hoshina drags Narumi into his embrace, letting his head rest on the hollow of his neck and shoulder—the open poetry book is left forgotten and Narumi hears how Hoshina’s hum morphs, from a wordless tune to a foreign song he never hear before.
“My intention to read you a poem is not for you to understand it, Narumi-san.” Hoshina then explains, “Think of it as a bedtime story.”
“You should’ve just read to me a poem I can understand easily.” Narumi mumbles—not wanting to crush Hoshina under his weight, he changes their positions. Side by side, they lay down, just the two of them with no audience to bother. “That way, I won’t end up being haunted by it.”
Humours fill Hoshina’s laughter once more and Narumi can feel the tremor left by it as he hugs the fox-eyed man, “Isn’t that good, Narumi-san? That means I’ll always be in your dreams.”
“Hmm,” Narumi hums, letting the scent of Hoshina dance over his olfactory sense—purposely, he brings himself closer in order to tightly embrace Hoshina. “I would rather have my dreams not filled with poems I can’t grasp, Hoshina.”
Carefully pulling away Narumi’s face, Hoshina lets his sight meet Narumi’s—deep amethyst mixed with sanguine meeting bright roseate—eyes, asking, “Do you want me to read you something else for tonight?”
“What kind?” Narumi replies in query, his idle hands worming themselves to the inside of Hoshina’s clothes, to feel more of Hoshina’s body heat.
“Beats me,” There goes Hoshina’s chuckle as he answers, “Whatever it is that can help you sleep fitfully.”
Then stay here and speak nothing, Narumi wishes to say—Hoshina’s presence is more than enough for him to slumber without an ounce of worry, after all.
Stay here with me, speak of nothing, and let the silence fill in.
Hoshina understands fluently in the wordless language Narumi speaks in, giving a tender peck over Narumi’s forehead in lieu of a verbal answer. Hoshina’s hands then move around Narumi’s head, gently putting it back to the crook of his neck.
Hoshina continues to speak of nothing, humming softly the tune Narumi has sworn over his heart to never forget.
The quietude and the thrum of melody from Hoshina manages to make Narumi’s heart beat steadily, closing his eyes to relish in the peaceful atmosphere between them.
For Narumi, sleep isn’t something that’s necessary for him—yet in the wake of Hoshina’s existence, sleep is what he longed for every nightfall.