(part 1, cw: implied death in this one)
"Kenta?"
"Hm?"
He sat up slowly toward the sound of Taki's voice, kneeling beside him in the bedroom. Gentle rain fell on the roof of their cottage, having blown in from the sea early that morning. He had been napping to the noise of it, for lack of much else to do. His fingers were too stiff to play music, and he'd had no appetite for breakfast.
Kenta felt familiar fingertips cup under his chin, and he wrapped his own around the wrist bearing them. Taki's skin was as smooth and unworked as the day they met. He didn't bother with the illusion of age when it was just the two of them alone.
"Why have you never asked me to grant you more time?" he asked. His voice was quiet and somber. "I am a god. You could live as long as you wanted, if you only asked."
Kenta smiled. He leaned his head into Taki's touch, and let him bear his weight. "Why should I have asked you for that?"
"Why? So you could live! So you could be with me, and the world, and everyone! Why shouldn't you have asked!" Taki exclaimed, and his voice was raw with pain. "I wish you had asked."
Kenta gently stroked Taki's arm, and felt his lover tremble from a stifled sob. He thought of their life together, and of all the places they had traveled, and the people they had met and loved. He thought of the music he had learned and made, the feasts he'd eaten, and joys he'd shared. He thought of their students, the young men he had taught all his songs, and Taki had taught to dance, who would sing and perform them and teach them again.
He thought of the changes in their lives, the march of time and his aching feet, and the dangers, the excitements, and the losses. He thought of how difficult it was to sit up in bed, even now, especially now, with the air so heavy with rain.
And he thought of Taki, quietly weeping at his bedside, who had been there with him through all of it, always free to go his own way, and always refusing.
"I never needed it," said Kenta. He searched for Taki's face, and stroked his cheek when he found it. "I did live. I lived as well as any man could ask for."
"But you have never asked anything of me! Not for sight, not for time, not for blessings! I could have given you anything you wanted, but you never asked!"
"I told you Taki, dear," said Kenta, as he leaned forward to press his lips to his lover's forehead. "I never needed it."
