Somewhat Clear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu
Relationship: Sukeroku/Kikuhiko
Tags: pre-slash, missing moment
Wordcount: 500
Notes: Questa storia partecipa alla sesta settimana del COWT di landedifandom per la missione di salvataggio.

Summary:
Sukeroku might have lost Kikuhiko before he could meet him.

Excerpt:

Kikuhiko takes a drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke almost in his face and smiles; he looks so different from that unsecure kid crying in the bath Sukeroku met so long ago. Older.

{ Read on AO3 | read here }

The streets are dark and quiet when Sukeroku starts walking home, an old song stuck on his tongue, steps liquid and uncertain because of the alcohol. Drinking with the apprentices after the performance was his favorite part of the study meetings; it was when the real studying started. Sukeroku watched as the liquor loosened the rejected lovers, the dumb customers and the witty conmen from his fellow storytellers’ souls, and carefully collected them, ready to wear their skins for the amusement of his audience. That is his rakugo.

Strangely, the lights in the house at the end of the street are still on. Sukeroku keeps going, silent, thinking of the theater. How different it has been; the audience, the general mood—Kikuhiko.

He usually found the kid in bed, curled up on his side with his back to the entrance, lights off, pretending to be asleep; but tonight the light filters from under the door. When he slides it open, warmth pools in his gut.

Kikuhiko is sitting with his back relaxed against the windowsill, a cigarette smoked down to the filter between his slender, pale fingers; his long legs, loosely wrapped in his usual night clothes, are crossed at the ankle, a disregard for composure that feels decadent, in comparison to his usually put-together persona. His cheeks still red from the chilly air, there is almost a glow about him; gone is the sickly gauntness brought about by one too many sleepless night. Satisfaction looks good on his sharp features; not for the first time, he marvels at his beauty.

Then Kikuhiko looks up at him, and Sukeroku feels like he just entered the fox’s den.

“Look at you, still up at this hour. What about your beauty sleep?” He sits down and reaches for the teapot sitting in the embers. The water inside is still mostly clear, a hint of dark leaves swirling at the bottom.

“I just came back,” Kikuhiko answers, voice strangely dark. He carelessly throws the butt of his smoke in the hearth. “We finished later than usual.”

“That we did.” Sukeroku waits for Kikuhiko to pour the tea and to light himself another cigarette before speaking again. “Your rakugo was different, tonight,” he tells him. “I think I never laughed so hard in my life.”

A demon peeks from behind the human mask in the corner of Sukeroku’s eye, but when he looks up at Kikuhiko the pleasure in his expression is genuine. There’s still color high in his cheeks. “That kind of story works better for my voice, like you said. That’s all.”

Sukeroku grins and scoots closer. “Did you figure out what your rakugo is about, at last?”

Kikuhiko takes a drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke almost in his face and smiles; he looks so different from that unsecure kid crying in the bath Sukeroku met so long ago. Older.

A picture suddenly comes to Sukeroku’s mind, and regret fills his lungs; he asked, but he doesn’t want to hear it.