shameBox

The house came up almost as quickly as it imploded. Zoisite had insisted on watching from the safety of the front seat of Nephrite’s car, punching the air excitedly as the house was collapsed by the contractors Nephrite had hired out. In light of what he had found after five years, Nephrite took pains to ensure his next home would age more gracefully in his absence. He built himself a glass and brick fortress, lining the insides with stone and mortar. All memories of the haunted victorian were replaced by a sterile “contemporary” house, which must’ve been code for composing a house only of right angles. Even sweet Ami

Kunzite sat on the edge of their bed with a grim expression and his arms folded defensively across his stomach. His usually proud profile was hunched over, allowing for strands of wet hair to frame either side of his tightly clenched jaw. He had caught Zoisite just as he was leaving. He had a small box in his hands full of clothing and clearly thought he had more time to further fill it before Kunzite exited the shower wrapped in a thick grey dressing gown. Kunzite’s appearance had forced Zoisite to turn around and face him, to carefully place the box atop a dresser and force a smile at his boyfriend. “No... this is better. May w

It was not so much a question of keeping the house but what condition to keep it in. Mamoru had argued a case against the possession of a car as flashy as Nephrite’s beloved ferrari, but there had been no question of selling what Nephrite was expecting to be his new maison d’etre. Besides, any mention of a plan that included Nephrite spending more time on Kunzite’s floor made Kunzite’s stomach turn with the thought of eight more months it would likely take to pry Nephrite off his floor. Zoisite seemed happy to see the old place out of some strange, warped sense of nostalgia. In any case, Nephrite hadn’t heard any

Kunzite had mentioned it over his morning paper as if ticking off the football scores. That morning had marked the eighth month Nephrite had spent sleeping on the floor of his pre-furnished apartment. It was a nice enough as much as either of them cared, especially for it’s size alone. The sofa was of the overstuffed variety, over-embroidered to the point of abrasivity and host to a mountain of tiny, useless pillows. In good faith Nephrite had given the couch an honest-to-Earth try his first night, but one offhand, accurate observation made the next day by Kunzite that suggested Nephrite’s irregular posture was the result of rigor