Takin' a Chance on Love 1/?
It's unbetaed so I hope I didn't make many mistakes ^.^'
Fanfiction: Takin' a Chance on Love
Pairing: HayaRyu
Genre: Romance, Angst, Comedy
Rating: NC-17ish, it depends on the chapters.
Disclaimer: No, they are not mine. Sadly T-T
Part 1
"I thought that cards were a frame-up
I never would try
Now I'm taking that game up
And the ace of hearts is high"
Frank Sinatra, "Takin' a Chance on Love"
He was in a peaceful haze when he woke up. There was a warm body pressed up against his side, strands of longish hair were tickling his nose and an arm kept him close, his face snug against a pale neck.
He blinked the fog away. A hand rose from his hip to softly tread through his hair, bringing him even closer to the other.
He knew this scent. “Ryu? Why are you here?” he asked.
The other boy looked down at him curiously, like all those times when Ryu thought he was being silly; except this time he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Should I be somewhere else?”
You wake up with a start. The alarm clock is ringing, its shrill sound piercing the air. You stop it, glancing at the time, and climb out of bed hurriedly, out of breath, teary-eyed. A sound of thunder rumbles outside as you make your way in the dim hallway to the kitchen, and you try to not think.
Fuck, you are going to be late. Again.
For some reason, Mondays are tougher on you than you would have expected back in high school, when you’d rather drop out and just get a damn job.
Your mind is fuzzy from sleep as you make coffee, and you almost manage to pour it over yourself. Then you glance out of the window and fuck again, it’s raining cats and dogs. Oh, how you hate Mondays.
You really do. Only you don’t have exactly a reason. It’s not like you are going back to work after a holiday, you have work on Sunday, too.
It was Monday that day.
As you take a fast shower, you keep praying the rain will stop before you have to get out of the house, but of course no such luck. The sky is an annoying shade of purple; if you didn’t have to be outside in the storm you would have enjoyed sipping your coffee on the windowsill, watching the rain wash everything anew.
Maybe for a couple of days the air will retain that fresh after-rain smell. Summers are lovely if you are on holiday, much less if you are in the city working your ass off to save up a little, and these days the heat has been alarmingly unbearable.
Not that you have any idea what to do with the money. Only, there’s an itch you’ve been dying to scratch, an idea you won’t let yourself indulge on.
Maybe I’ll buy a plane ticket just to go and smash your pretty, pretty face.
Except you won’t, you’re not that stupid, not anymore. Some time ago you wouldn’t have hesitated to charge head-first into a fight, but what good would it do now?
It wouldn’t change the facts. Reality is a harsh place to live in, but it’s better than to delude yourself, anyway.
Coffee, and you’re ready to go. You go into the kitchen, grab the thermos and on your way out you turn off the lights.
You’re in the genkan when the doorbell rings. You groan. It can’t be!
Of all mornings, this has to be the worst in weeks.
First the dream, which you’re trying desperately to avoid thinking about, then being late, then the storm, and now you’ll probably have to deal with some delivery guy who rung at the wrong door.
“I’m coming!” You put on your shoes, your jacket and take the umbrella. Then you open the door.
The silence in the hallway is deafening.
You blink, open your mouth to say something, What are you going to say?, close it again.
You stand still for the longest of moments, until Ryu speaks up. “Tadaima.” You barely hear it, so focused on the other’s presence.
For a split-second you almost think this is all a continuation of this morning’s dream ( nightmare), but it’s not. Oh, how you wish it was.
Ryu is here, in front of you, his downcast eyes refusing to meet yours. He seems embarrassed to be here, and mortified.
You feel deflated, exhausted. And it’s only seven-thirty in the morning.
How much since you last saw him?
Your heart skip a beat but you refuse to acknowledge it. You feel self-conscious as he watches you, and suddenly you’re ashamed of your reaction.
His hair’s shorter, darker. He looks mature, while you, you are the same, old Hayato. Except you’re not.
“I don’t have time for this.” He almost seems to expect it; but you’re too spent even to be surprised, at this point. You’re tired of dreaming about him, you’re tired of pretending everything’s going to be fine. But most of all, you’re sick that it takes so little for your heart to be soaring through the sky. And you ask yourself, when did I realize it was going to be this way?
You don’t look at him in the eye as you move from the door frame, don’t look back as you pass him. You hear him catch the door before it closes (you seldom lock it when you go out), and you realize you’re holding your breath.
“Ok.” You hear him say at your back, as softly as before, and you will yourself not to turn, not to give in.
By the stairs, you finally risk a peek, but the door of your apartment’s closed, and you allow yourself to exhale. As you exit the building, even later than before, you look up at your windows, but the light’s off.
You open the umbrella, and dash under the rain to the train station.
This is hell.
***
This is really hell.
It’s a wonder you managed not to drop expensive equipment on the floor, because all day long you’ve been a mess. You found out a while ago that you’re quite good at taking photographs, so when you read about an apprenticeship offer on a newspaper you thought it would be actually a good idea to try. There wasn’t anything else you’d like to do more anyway,
and you needed a job.
You refrain yourself from checking the time, hell, you forbid yourself from checking your watch. You’re so intent on convincing yourself you’re perfectly fine you don’t pay attention to anything else, including your job. Including your boss. It’s a wonder you still have one.
In truth, you’re fuming. How dare he?!
How dare he come to your house, at that ungodly hour no less, after all you’ve been through? If you weren’t so goddamn furious, you probably would find the situation curious, to say the least. Odagiri, looking miserable, in front of you, after a fucking year. Tsucchi would find it hilarious, that he managed to show his face.
But Tsucchi’s not here, he doesn’t know. You suppose, and you know you suppose right, that Ryu hasn’t told anyone he was coming back from frickin’ Canada. And you know, because Ryu’s always been a coward. Could never bear to face things straight-on. Things like his old man. Things like you.
Why are you here now?
You picked up the pieces, and moved on. What could he possibly want, now, after all that’s happened?
Your mind goes on and on like this all day long. You try to say to yourself that’s normal, this is what you feel when an old love shows up, you’re confused. Except you’re not, not really. And this fact, that after all this time he still makes you feel like your heart is going to explode, drives you insane with fury.
You can’t believe yourself.
You were through, that’s what you promised yourself. But you’re not. And seeing him on your doorstep feels like he’s
rubbing you in the face with it, that you did need him. But he didn’t. It feels like he doesn’t get how much hurt you are-were.
And you can’t do fucking nothing about it.
You briefly entertain yourself with the idea of asking Tsucchi to borrow his couch for the night, but you decide against it right away. He would ask questions, and you probably wouldn’t stand to stretch this maddening wait until tomorrow. You’ve been a wreck all day long. It’s time to face him.
You don’t realize it’s time to go home, until the lighting technician dismisses you. You exit the building slowly, dreading the moment you’ll be home, but the slower you walk, the faster time seems to go and before you know it, you’re there.
You carefully insert the key in the lock, trying stupidly not to make yourself heard. The living room is dimly lit by a floor lamp in the corner near the window, and as you wonder where the hell he is, you see the lump on the sofa and realize he’s probably asleep.
You don’t wake him. You wouldn’t know what to say to him; the rage is still there, but so is a sort of guarded concern for his wellbeing, so despite your instincts suggesting you to kick him out you don’t.
You pretend you’re behaving like an adult would, but in truth you are not really keen on watching him opening his damned pretty mouth, on listening to his excuses right now.
You enter the kitchen and open the fridge, occupy your mind with making dinner. You prepare for two, there’s enough of one cold-hearted bastard in the apartment and you never were for petty paybacks anyway. Or maybe you were once, but now you’d rather not be.
When it’s done, some twenty minutes and a pan of fried rice later, there’s still no sound coming from the other room, so you put off the fire and pad silently towards the bathroom for a quick shower.
You look outside and the rain has gone. The sky would be lovely, were he in the country; in Tokyo, even after the sun has gone down, it retains a faint luminescence that keeps total darkness at bay. You used to wonder what it could be like far away from the city, but now that feeble light soothes your nerves after a long day, keeps you company. You like living alone, wouldn’t trade it with going back home, but sometimes you wonder how would it be to live with somebody, share that space with another person. Most of the time, though, you try not to think about anything, don’t allow yourself to meander through memories or hopes for the future. Because usually that’s when you wind up with Ryu-thoughts.
“Hayato.”
Speak of the devil.
Ryu is in the dark hallway. He nears the door of your bedroom and watches you as you put on a sweater and comfortable pants, watches you as you dry your hair with a towel, keeps watching you even if you give no signs of wanting to look back.
“I don’t blame you for being mad.” He says in the end.
How kind of you, you think instantly.
You keep your mouth resolutely closed, say to yourself you’re not affected by how dejected Ryu sounds. You spare him a glance, but turn away before he has a chance of noticing.
“’Mad’ doesn’t exactly cover it.” you can’t help but murmur after a few moments of tense silence. And you hate how fragile your voice sounds, how tender the wound still is.
“I know.” For the first time after one whole year you look at each other in the eye. It’s a powerful feeling, and you feel breathless, on the edge of a cliff.
“I called you so many times.” You take a soundless breath, your throat burns. “I texted, emailed, called. I lost count of all the ways I tried to reach you. But never in my life I thought you would leave everything behind like this, like there was nothing important you could lose.” You can’t stop now, you can’t stop talking. Ryu is watching you like he knows he deserves everything that’s coming out of your mouth, but you don’t care. You’re not talking because you want to forgive him. You’re talking because you need to take a load off of your shoulders, because you couldn’t talk to him for a year, because he left and didn’t look back once.
Because you feel betrayed by him. It’s the Ara High fight all over again.
“Maybe there really wasn’t. “ You pause, and he meets your stare. His eyes look haunted, but you don’t feel remorse at all for spitting those last words out. You want to hurt him back, and this at least hasn’t changed. You always had this urgency, this need to pay him back for all the stupid things you thought he did sometimes.
“お前の事は緩しないから。” I’m not going to forgive you. You have said that in the past, just to spite him, to hurt him back.
It felt true then, even if you forgave him in the end. Or, more like you realized the reason to his behavior. But it feels like that fight, all over again. And somehow, you find yourself kind of hoping he’ll have a valid explanation this time, too.
“You don’t believe that.” He finally interjects, incredulous, but his reaction only fuels yours, and your hands reach out on their own, slam him against the doorframe. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“What kind of friend leaves everyone behind like that? I can only assume we were never friends in the first place.” You feel cruel, saying things like that. You know very well how much Ryu cared about you then. All of you. But sometimes, when you lie in your bed at night your past feels like a lie, and remembering is like a blow in the face. You can’t accept it.
Ryu closes his eyes, inhales. “I’m sorry I screwed out. I... if you don’t ever want to see me again, I’ll understand. I just need a chance to explain. Please, Hayato.” He’s pleading, but there’s a fierce, raw anxiety in his eyes that catches you by surprise and you lean back, let him go. You can’t look at him in the eyes any longer and you drag your gaze to the floor.
Of course he’s sorry. You know he is, yet you don’t think you have the courage to face him. A lot happened, and the prospect of him wanting to be friends again is not appealing at all. It would mean more heartache, more hiding, and you know by experience how wearing that can be.
“So talk.” You tonelessly utter at last, and your eyes climb back to his face. You don’t really want to listen but you know you will anyway. He’s the person that managed to make you blind with fury, ache with despair and glow with a joy you didn’t think you could feel. There’s no way he won’t manage to make you listen now.
He wets his lips slightly, avoids your stare like it’s scorching him. “I… left really quickly, didn’t I? I’ve been an idiot and I don’t know how I could think that everything would go back to normal acting the way I did.”
You see him swallow painfully, you acknowledge his fear, but you do nothing. As every time you see him this vulnerable, a vicious burning claws at your insides and you just want to hold him, make him realize your feelings for him, but you never did and you most certainly won’t. Not now, not ever. After all, a small thing made him flee like that a year ago, what would he do if you were to confess?
You wonder if he knows you know the reason why he left. If he’s realized you would put two and two together and figure it out. But you don’t have the guts to pick up an annoying- embarrassing topic just to satisfy your curiosity.
“I don’t know either. Anyway, I hope you found what you were looking for in Canada.” You turn around, you don’t want to see his eyes anymore, don’t want to hear the slight, barely perceptible tremble in his voice, don’t want to surrender again to this ache. You need time to digest that he’s back, that he will probably start to hang out again with you and the others, that you won’t have the luxury of having him out of your life anymore.
This love hurts, you think bitterly. It always did.
“I’m sorry I let you down.” Again resounds in the silence and for a moment you don’t talk, just watch him, his head lowered and his fists still at his sides.
“I made dinner for you too. So stay for now.” You don’t know where the hell did you come up with this, surely you know this way you’re going to go mad. Yet you invited him to eat with you.
Maybe you just need an excuse to stay with him a little bit longer. To look at how his features softened a bit in the year he’s been away, at his pretty hair. You realize he put on weight since he left, there’s something powerful about his stance, and now you find yourself staring. Ashamed with yourself, you tear your gaze away from his well-built chest and arms. Your face feels hot and you rub your eyes, feeling once more weary.
You had forgotten this feeling after all. When he was still here, you had to fight with yourself every day not to look at him for too long. You had to improvise goukons, and generally act like a clown addicted to mini-skirts and all, to be able to get away with things like resting your chin on his shoulder or inviting him to sleepovers when it had gotten late and you knew he didn’t particularly want to go home and face his father.
You figured he wouldn’t ask himself why sometimes you were so touchy-feely if you kept up with faking extreme interest in boobs and pretty high school girls. And you probably were successful, until the night you were so drunk you managed to blow up the whole act AND drive him off the country.
He looks up abruptly, surprise clearly in his eyes as he looks at you, and then he looks visibly relieved. “Thank you.” He breathes. Ryu’s eyes are so full of emotion, so alive. You remember now what they used to do to your composure, how they affected you. Maybe because Ryu has never been very talkative, his eyes were precious to you. Through them, you could see most of the things Ryu tried to hide from the world.
You don’t say anything more, your head feels light and suddenly you realize that you’re offering an olive branch. The whole situation feels so ridiculous, you feel like you’re going ‘round in circles. Isn’t it absurd that you know he knows, but you won’t say anything all the same?
***
Dinner is a very quiet affair. You don’t question him no more - you are so afraid of his answer that suddenly pretending nothing happened seems the perfect solution, but you sense his uneasiness anyway, which is stupid because everything is fine now, right?
You watch TV on the couch with your dishes on your lap, barely talk, and when midnight’s passed you decide together that Ryu will sleep on the couch. You found out earlier that he came straight to you after a twelve hours flight, therefore he napped on your sofa the whole day while you were at work. Now he doesn’t seem sleepy at all, but tells you not to worry and almost pushes you toward your bedroom while remarking that he will manage to fall asleep somehow. You have work the next morning, so you don’t resist much and after a few minutes you’re in your bed.
Sleep fails you. Obviously.
The blinds are open, you didn’t bother with closing them since you’ll be up early anyway, and you watch the rare visible stars in the Tokyo sky. The city is far too polluted to see much, but it’s a sight anyway.
You spend an hour looking outside your window, before sleep claims you.
***