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Entry tags:
(fic) hypnosis mic | gentarou/dice
g, 540 words, in which it's midnight and dice is bleeding.
Gentarou is the only customer in the all-night café when the clock above the counter chimes midnight. The sound of it almost pulls him out of his focus, his second draft sitting in an annotated heap to his left and a strong cup of coffee to his right to pull him through yet another round of revisions.
The café has been quiet for the past couple of hours and Gentarou probably has a few more hours before it starts getting busy again between the disgustingly early morning people and the night owls who are looking for something non-alcoholic to put into themselves on their way home. Right now, it's just Gentarou with his nose buried in his editor's notes, the owner who is playing rhythm games on his phone at the counter, and whoever's just walked in with the light jingle of the bell that lives above the door. The sound tugs at his concentration again, daring it to slip free. Gentarou holds firm, more eager to be done with this than he is for a break.
That all goes to hell the moment he hears a soft exhale and the sound of someone settling into the seat across from him. He tightens his grip on the page he's reading. It's unfair, he thinks, that a simple breath should sound so familiar. Unfairer still that it makes his heart race like this.
"Is it late for you, or is it early?" Gentarou lowers his page slowly like he couldn't care less for the answer. A sharp intake of breath that he doesn't think to hide. "You're bleeding."
Dice grins at him. Another mark on the ledger, another way that the world has deeply wronged Yumeno Gentarou and all the other people he's been before now: nobody should look this good when they're bleeding from the mouth and right through what must truly be the worst bandaging attempt he has ever seen.
"Ran outta money," Dice says, bleeding at him from across the table. "Lost more than I could pay for. Didn't go down well."
"Is Ramuda not home?"
Dice shrugs, then winces at the movement. "I knew I'd find you here."
"You should have taken to yourself to a hospital." Gentarou gathers his papers. "Please don't bleed on these, they're important."
"You were working," Dice says, the beginning of an apology that Gentarou cuts off by getting to his feet and pulling Dice up with him. "Ow, oww. Not so rough."
"This is your own fault." Gentarou places his hand on Dice's back and steers him to the door. Bows his head to the owner on their way out.
"Is that guy playing games on his phone?" Dice asks, craning his head back to look.
"Eyes forward," Gentarou slides his fingers into Dice's hair to turn his head. "Just be grateful he didn't see you bleeding all over the place."
Dice exhales with a pained grunt, leaning his head back into Gentarou's touch. "You takin' me home?"
The injustice of Dice's voice going low and raspy, making Gentarou's thoughts trail off in too many directions, none of which lead to his first aid kit.
"Yes, Dice." Gentarou walks them both forward, and keeps his fingers in Dice's hair. "I'm taking you home."
Gentarou is the only customer in the all-night café when the clock above the counter chimes midnight. The sound of it almost pulls him out of his focus, his second draft sitting in an annotated heap to his left and a strong cup of coffee to his right to pull him through yet another round of revisions.
The café has been quiet for the past couple of hours and Gentarou probably has a few more hours before it starts getting busy again between the disgustingly early morning people and the night owls who are looking for something non-alcoholic to put into themselves on their way home. Right now, it's just Gentarou with his nose buried in his editor's notes, the owner who is playing rhythm games on his phone at the counter, and whoever's just walked in with the light jingle of the bell that lives above the door. The sound tugs at his concentration again, daring it to slip free. Gentarou holds firm, more eager to be done with this than he is for a break.
That all goes to hell the moment he hears a soft exhale and the sound of someone settling into the seat across from him. He tightens his grip on the page he's reading. It's unfair, he thinks, that a simple breath should sound so familiar. Unfairer still that it makes his heart race like this.
"Is it late for you, or is it early?" Gentarou lowers his page slowly like he couldn't care less for the answer. A sharp intake of breath that he doesn't think to hide. "You're bleeding."
Dice grins at him. Another mark on the ledger, another way that the world has deeply wronged Yumeno Gentarou and all the other people he's been before now: nobody should look this good when they're bleeding from the mouth and right through what must truly be the worst bandaging attempt he has ever seen.
"Ran outta money," Dice says, bleeding at him from across the table. "Lost more than I could pay for. Didn't go down well."
"Is Ramuda not home?"
Dice shrugs, then winces at the movement. "I knew I'd find you here."
"You should have taken to yourself to a hospital." Gentarou gathers his papers. "Please don't bleed on these, they're important."
"You were working," Dice says, the beginning of an apology that Gentarou cuts off by getting to his feet and pulling Dice up with him. "Ow, oww. Not so rough."
"This is your own fault." Gentarou places his hand on Dice's back and steers him to the door. Bows his head to the owner on their way out.
"Is that guy playing games on his phone?" Dice asks, craning his head back to look.
"Eyes forward," Gentarou slides his fingers into Dice's hair to turn his head. "Just be grateful he didn't see you bleeding all over the place."
Dice exhales with a pained grunt, leaning his head back into Gentarou's touch. "You takin' me home?"
The injustice of Dice's voice going low and raspy, making Gentarou's thoughts trail off in too many directions, none of which lead to his first aid kit.
"Yes, Dice." Gentarou walks them both forward, and keeps his fingers in Dice's hair. "I'm taking you home."