come between our love and it will ZAP you!!!!!!!!
for frenchsoap, who asked for rain, and ryuuken, and a;lsdkfj;alsfjka i don't think this is as ryuuken-centric as you might like, but here goes.
rain
Uryuu decides that he likes the rain. The oppressive silence before a storm - it sucks everything up, makes it hard to breathe. Then comes the rain itself - a heavy downpour, drops fat and heavy, on the rooftops, on the tarmac, on the windowpanes. It calms him, somehow, which is why he likes it. Part of why, anyway.
-
He reaches home at around two - he trains at that secret silver-and-glass chamber until dinnertime. Sometimes he can’t decide which is worse. He is driven to exhaustion, running, leaping, dodging. In between there are painful reminders from his father - “slow”, “pathetic”, and his favourite, “Still pining after the shinigami? You’ll never get your powers back at this rate.” He has never been more afraid in his life: he feels like lying down, like sleeping, like clutching at his knees and wailing like a child but the look on his father’s face stops him, the urge to regain his powers stops him, so he endures.
Sometimes he finds himself thinking, “How much longer?” but soon he finds that such thoughts lead to nowhere - survival is most important now: anything beyond that is secondary.
-
He likes walking in the rain, when everything is muffled, drowned out by the steady rush of water. Despite the noise it is quieter, and more peaceful. He wonders, sometimes, if he’s the only one who feels that way - the lack of people on the streets tells him that he is right - he finds nothing wrong with that, but he still puts up an umbrella when there are others around, just in case.
-
He wears a suit to dinner, but without the jacket. His father sits at the head of the table, he himself on his father’s left - he thinks it is because that way Ryuuken didn’t have to look at him directly, but it is okay, because he thinks he will not be able to eat if Ryuuken could.
He is used to cooking his own meals - here, someone else does - used to eating alone, staring at the wall, out the window, in silence. He lets his mind wander - he thinks about school, about work, about his tests the next week. It is a lonely lifestyle, but an independent one, and that was what mattered.
Here he is forced to concentrate on his food. It changes from day to day, Western, Japanese, served on proper china crockery, patternless but for a deep blue ring around the outside edge. He eats quickly, but without haste - to finish before his father is impolite, too late after is a sin - his knife never scrapes the plate, his chopsticks set back down on the table with nary a sound. Ryuuken says nothing during these meals, and although Uryuu knows he should be used to quiet meals, he thinks this is worse than having him say anything at all. The silence presses down on him, and makes him wonder sometimes if Ryuuken knew how to make small talk, or even how to enquire after his son.
But then again, he probably didn’t care.
-
There is a little courtyard just around the corner from Ryuuken’s house. It is small, a lone basketball hoop standing at one end, the netting long gone. It is empty, mostly, every now and then some kids play ball there, but that is all - they do not come when it rains. It is here that Uryuu stops, and leaves his umbrella to one side. The rain strikes his head hard, a random rhythmic thumping. It trickles down his neck into his shirt. His socks are soaked; he tilts back his head and breathes it in, lets the rain drum on his glasses before taking them off, cold water sliding down his face, dripping off his chin.
He spreads out his arms and almost smiles - there is something liberating about this, about letting yourself get wet when everyone hides away, safe and dry but Uryuu knows that he is safe here, alone, cold numbing his bones.
-
Dinner ends at precisely seven-thirty. He does his homework, sleeps for a couple of hours; at three he is up again, and training. His father seems to thrive on this - Uryuu has never seen him sleep - he wonders if Ryuuken is a monster, but Uryuu knows that he wouldn’t mind even if he were. He does not care for his father, after all. Why should he, when his father does not care for him?
-
He hears Inoue talking about Kurosaki’s father, about how nice he is to Kurosaki and Kurosaki protests - “He likes to beat me up, Inoue-san, you call that being nice?” - but Inoue insists, and says that his father loves him, and cares for him, and he should be grateful for that. Kurosaki looks ready to retort, but remembers that Inoue has no father, and settles for grimacing instead, which looks no different from his usual expression, really.
Uryuu spends the walk home thinking about this, about fathers, and loving fathers, and non-existent fathers, and sees little boys holding hands with their fathers, being carried by their fathers, and kissed on the forehead by their fathers, and Uryuu wonders if his father was like that - no, he knows his father never was - he wonders if he would like his father to be like that, but he knows he cannot expect so much of Ryuuken.
It is enough, he decides, just to have a father. He doesn’t need any more.
-
It is the monsoon season, which means it rains more often, for longer. Hardly a day goes by when the clouds do not roil overhead and burst over them as they study, eat, or attempt to take public transport. Most students complain about the terrible weather, but Uryuu does not mind; he likes the rain. The streets are dotted now with colourful umbrellas, but Uryuu’s is sensible, and black, and stands out. Every umbrella is like a little world of its own, enclosed within that small space, sometimes shared by two - friends gossiping as they walked home, mothers with their children, and fathers with little boys perched atop their shoulders, umbrellas sticking out above the rest.
Uryuu chooses to concentrate on what is just ahead of him, step by step - everyone else is a flash of colour, of sound as they walk by but he pays them no heed - a child giggles, hands fisted in his father’s hair - he turns away from the sound and continues, solitary on the packed pavement.
-
He listens as the rain pours down onto the pavement - it washes the windows, rinses the walls and flows down into the drains. A shower, Uryuu decides, sounds just like that.
And then he hears the tap being turned off, hears the door being unlocked and he rises off the bed and stands with his hands by his sides, head down.
Ryuuken does not seem surprised by the fact that Uryuu is in his bedroom - he loops the cord of his terrycloth bathrobe into a knot around his waist, and moves to the closet.
“Father, “Uryuu says. It comes out as a strangled croak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Father, I…” but he is stuck there, and bites his lip.
“What is it, Uryuu? Stammering like that makes you sound like an idiot. Then again, I suppose I should have expected that, coming from you.”
Uryuu flinches - it is barely perceptible, but he knows Ryuuken can sense it; he can tell that Ryuuken is smirking, inside. He opens his mouth again - he knows what he wants to say, needs to say, needs to know - Ryuuken does not care; he removes his bathrobe and begins to dress, seemingly oblivious of his son.
“Father, I… (Will you? Could you just - ? I just want you to - ) Do you love me?” His fingernails are digging into his palms, he tastes blood on his lip, but does not stop biting it, and stares at his feet, body running out of air - he has forgotten to breathe.
Ryuuken turns around and pulls his tie taut, tight - Uryuu sometimes feels he could strangle someone like that - and steps up to Uryuu, a hand under Uryuu’s chin forcing him to look up, and Ryuuken’s eyes bore into his. He snorts: it is a short, succinct expression of derision. Uryuu knows the next line before Ryuuken can say it.
“Please. Don’t make me laugh.” But he laughs anyway - it is this laugh that Uryuu hears as he runs down the corridors, down the stairs, down the street in the pouring rain; it is this laugh that the rain cannot block out, because it is merely echoing in his head. He is on the floor, against the wall surrounding that tiny courtyard, hands around his knees, eyes wide and staring, rocking back and forth.
He should have expected it, really, this is, after all, Ryuuken he is asking. He tells himself he does not care: he has lived most of his life away from his father - he does not need one now. He tells himself that it is okay: he doesn’t need Ryuuken to love him - since when was that important?
So he sits and stares at the little splashes the rain makes as it hits the ground, watches how the drops seem to fall one by one, yet all at once. He does not see Ryuuken at the entrance of the courtyard, black umbrella shadowing his face, but he is only there for a few moments before he moves off, shoes stepping through the puddles on the floor.
-
Uryuu comes back an hour or so later, soaked to the core. He runs up to his room and gets changed into a dry set of clothes, careful not to leave wet footprints around the house.
It is seven o’clock and that is when they have dinner - that is when Uryuu seats himself at the dining table, and they eat. Everything is the same as before: he does his homework and goes to bed. Training at three - he is no less agile, no less responsive, his speed the same as ever, perhaps even increasing, if but by a little. Ryuuken watches him, and taunts him: nothing is new.
They maintain their routine and, as he evades yet another shot, Uryuu decides that he likes it that way.
END
IT IS NOT VERY URYUU/RYUUKEN-ISH A;SLFJ;ALSFKDJ;ALSFKDJA. GAHHHHHHH.
i am supposed to have started on ss, instead, look what i've done. spent my whole afternoon home writinggggg, and tomorrow there is stocktakinggggggg. annoys me. gah. ss. it weighs heavily on my mind, chem less so.
it has just rained, whut. for a grand total of... ten minutes. and the rain has already dried off the tiles on the roof. the weather sucks, but for now it is nice and cool, and i hope it stays that way.
ETA: PHYSICS. IS PURE. CRACK. SO IS THE AIR FORCE.
rain
Uryuu decides that he likes the rain. The oppressive silence before a storm - it sucks everything up, makes it hard to breathe. Then comes the rain itself - a heavy downpour, drops fat and heavy, on the rooftops, on the tarmac, on the windowpanes. It calms him, somehow, which is why he likes it. Part of why, anyway.
-
He reaches home at around two - he trains at that secret silver-and-glass chamber until dinnertime. Sometimes he can’t decide which is worse. He is driven to exhaustion, running, leaping, dodging. In between there are painful reminders from his father - “slow”, “pathetic”, and his favourite, “Still pining after the shinigami? You’ll never get your powers back at this rate.” He has never been more afraid in his life: he feels like lying down, like sleeping, like clutching at his knees and wailing like a child but the look on his father’s face stops him, the urge to regain his powers stops him, so he endures.
Sometimes he finds himself thinking, “How much longer?” but soon he finds that such thoughts lead to nowhere - survival is most important now: anything beyond that is secondary.
-
He likes walking in the rain, when everything is muffled, drowned out by the steady rush of water. Despite the noise it is quieter, and more peaceful. He wonders, sometimes, if he’s the only one who feels that way - the lack of people on the streets tells him that he is right - he finds nothing wrong with that, but he still puts up an umbrella when there are others around, just in case.
-
He wears a suit to dinner, but without the jacket. His father sits at the head of the table, he himself on his father’s left - he thinks it is because that way Ryuuken didn’t have to look at him directly, but it is okay, because he thinks he will not be able to eat if Ryuuken could.
He is used to cooking his own meals - here, someone else does - used to eating alone, staring at the wall, out the window, in silence. He lets his mind wander - he thinks about school, about work, about his tests the next week. It is a lonely lifestyle, but an independent one, and that was what mattered.
Here he is forced to concentrate on his food. It changes from day to day, Western, Japanese, served on proper china crockery, patternless but for a deep blue ring around the outside edge. He eats quickly, but without haste - to finish before his father is impolite, too late after is a sin - his knife never scrapes the plate, his chopsticks set back down on the table with nary a sound. Ryuuken says nothing during these meals, and although Uryuu knows he should be used to quiet meals, he thinks this is worse than having him say anything at all. The silence presses down on him, and makes him wonder sometimes if Ryuuken knew how to make small talk, or even how to enquire after his son.
But then again, he probably didn’t care.
-
There is a little courtyard just around the corner from Ryuuken’s house. It is small, a lone basketball hoop standing at one end, the netting long gone. It is empty, mostly, every now and then some kids play ball there, but that is all - they do not come when it rains. It is here that Uryuu stops, and leaves his umbrella to one side. The rain strikes his head hard, a random rhythmic thumping. It trickles down his neck into his shirt. His socks are soaked; he tilts back his head and breathes it in, lets the rain drum on his glasses before taking them off, cold water sliding down his face, dripping off his chin.
He spreads out his arms and almost smiles - there is something liberating about this, about letting yourself get wet when everyone hides away, safe and dry but Uryuu knows that he is safe here, alone, cold numbing his bones.
-
Dinner ends at precisely seven-thirty. He does his homework, sleeps for a couple of hours; at three he is up again, and training. His father seems to thrive on this - Uryuu has never seen him sleep - he wonders if Ryuuken is a monster, but Uryuu knows that he wouldn’t mind even if he were. He does not care for his father, after all. Why should he, when his father does not care for him?
-
He hears Inoue talking about Kurosaki’s father, about how nice he is to Kurosaki and Kurosaki protests - “He likes to beat me up, Inoue-san, you call that being nice?” - but Inoue insists, and says that his father loves him, and cares for him, and he should be grateful for that. Kurosaki looks ready to retort, but remembers that Inoue has no father, and settles for grimacing instead, which looks no different from his usual expression, really.
Uryuu spends the walk home thinking about this, about fathers, and loving fathers, and non-existent fathers, and sees little boys holding hands with their fathers, being carried by their fathers, and kissed on the forehead by their fathers, and Uryuu wonders if his father was like that - no, he knows his father never was - he wonders if he would like his father to be like that, but he knows he cannot expect so much of Ryuuken.
It is enough, he decides, just to have a father. He doesn’t need any more.
-
It is the monsoon season, which means it rains more often, for longer. Hardly a day goes by when the clouds do not roil overhead and burst over them as they study, eat, or attempt to take public transport. Most students complain about the terrible weather, but Uryuu does not mind; he likes the rain. The streets are dotted now with colourful umbrellas, but Uryuu’s is sensible, and black, and stands out. Every umbrella is like a little world of its own, enclosed within that small space, sometimes shared by two - friends gossiping as they walked home, mothers with their children, and fathers with little boys perched atop their shoulders, umbrellas sticking out above the rest.
Uryuu chooses to concentrate on what is just ahead of him, step by step - everyone else is a flash of colour, of sound as they walk by but he pays them no heed - a child giggles, hands fisted in his father’s hair - he turns away from the sound and continues, solitary on the packed pavement.
-
He listens as the rain pours down onto the pavement - it washes the windows, rinses the walls and flows down into the drains. A shower, Uryuu decides, sounds just like that.
And then he hears the tap being turned off, hears the door being unlocked and he rises off the bed and stands with his hands by his sides, head down.
Ryuuken does not seem surprised by the fact that Uryuu is in his bedroom - he loops the cord of his terrycloth bathrobe into a knot around his waist, and moves to the closet.
“Father, “Uryuu says. It comes out as a strangled croak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Father, I…” but he is stuck there, and bites his lip.
“What is it, Uryuu? Stammering like that makes you sound like an idiot. Then again, I suppose I should have expected that, coming from you.”
Uryuu flinches - it is barely perceptible, but he knows Ryuuken can sense it; he can tell that Ryuuken is smirking, inside. He opens his mouth again - he knows what he wants to say, needs to say, needs to know - Ryuuken does not care; he removes his bathrobe and begins to dress, seemingly oblivious of his son.
“Father, I… (Will you? Could you just - ? I just want you to - ) Do you love me?” His fingernails are digging into his palms, he tastes blood on his lip, but does not stop biting it, and stares at his feet, body running out of air - he has forgotten to breathe.
Ryuuken turns around and pulls his tie taut, tight - Uryuu sometimes feels he could strangle someone like that - and steps up to Uryuu, a hand under Uryuu’s chin forcing him to look up, and Ryuuken’s eyes bore into his. He snorts: it is a short, succinct expression of derision. Uryuu knows the next line before Ryuuken can say it.
“Please. Don’t make me laugh.” But he laughs anyway - it is this laugh that Uryuu hears as he runs down the corridors, down the stairs, down the street in the pouring rain; it is this laugh that the rain cannot block out, because it is merely echoing in his head. He is on the floor, against the wall surrounding that tiny courtyard, hands around his knees, eyes wide and staring, rocking back and forth.
He should have expected it, really, this is, after all, Ryuuken he is asking. He tells himself he does not care: he has lived most of his life away from his father - he does not need one now. He tells himself that it is okay: he doesn’t need Ryuuken to love him - since when was that important?
So he sits and stares at the little splashes the rain makes as it hits the ground, watches how the drops seem to fall one by one, yet all at once. He does not see Ryuuken at the entrance of the courtyard, black umbrella shadowing his face, but he is only there for a few moments before he moves off, shoes stepping through the puddles on the floor.
-
Uryuu comes back an hour or so later, soaked to the core. He runs up to his room and gets changed into a dry set of clothes, careful not to leave wet footprints around the house.
It is seven o’clock and that is when they have dinner - that is when Uryuu seats himself at the dining table, and they eat. Everything is the same as before: he does his homework and goes to bed. Training at three - he is no less agile, no less responsive, his speed the same as ever, perhaps even increasing, if but by a little. Ryuuken watches him, and taunts him: nothing is new.
They maintain their routine and, as he evades yet another shot, Uryuu decides that he likes it that way.
END
IT IS NOT VERY URYUU/RYUUKEN-ISH A;SLFJ;ALSFKDJ;ALSFKDJA. GAHHHHHHH.
i am supposed to have started on ss, instead, look what i've done. spent my whole afternoon home writinggggg, and tomorrow there is stocktakinggggggg. annoys me. gah. ss. it weighs heavily on my mind, chem less so.
it has just rained, whut. for a grand total of... ten minutes. and the rain has already dried off the tiles on the roof. the weather sucks, but for now it is nice and cool, and i hope it stays that way.
ETA: PHYSICS. IS PURE. CRACK. SO IS THE AIR FORCE.