ReitaxRuki - Behind Closed Eyes [1/?]
Title: Behind Closed Eyes - [1/?]
Author: ccgensou
Genre: Angst
Rating: R
Warning: Eating Disorders, Self-Injury, Gore, Language, Violence.
Band: The GazettE
Pairing: Reita/Ruki
Summary: We're all blind.
Comments: It is very uncomfortable for me to write this fanfiction, so I beg you to please keep that in mind when you read it. If someone is against the content of this fanfiction, I apologise. Okay. Let's get this done. *hides*
Previous:
Prologue
~
there was a man in love,
with the owner of an ethereal voice.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through song.
there was a man in love,
with the creator of words of mighty power.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through writing.
there was a man in love,
with a heart so vibrant that everything else paled.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through colourful flowers.
there was a man in love,
with a restless spirit seeking the ultimate perfection.
the man decided that he would proclaim his love by devotion, never leaving its side.
Chapter 1 .
Such is life, that fairness cannot be expected.
And though his warmth is right next to me if I only close my eyes, it is merely a fool’s memory. His independence is as fake as my indifference, and I wonder how many times we will have to fall before we will break. Because break we will. I’m afraid that things aren’t as easy as I wish they were; I’m afraid that, unless things change, this warped up reality will become a life-long history of failure and misery. That is no life.
When I turn the key to open the door to my apartment, it is an hour before midday. The sun is rising higher with every turn of the clock, and I am more tired now, even, than I were back in Ruki’s apartment at the break of dawn, before getting any sleep. Back there, with him, I was driven by my need to protect him. And now, later, as I close the door behind me and put the keys in the bowl on the hallway table, I feel like I could as well be dead. How much different could it feel, really? My mind goes whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, swaying with me as I stagger towards the living room couch. Practise is an hour away, and I know that everyone will be there; even Ruki will be there, hangover hidden with double or perhaps triple doses of painkillers, and… not having any idea of how he got from the bathroom to the bedroom the night before.
And they will ask each other, where is Reita? Where is that blasted bassist?
Because I will not go to practise, today.
-
The pen scribbles over the paper.
It’s too late for words of this kind, but I wish it weren‘t. (If I’m supposed to continuously be your cane of support, holding you upright -) I wish it were still a matter of choice. (- then how come you still refuse to acknowledge -) That way perhaps we could work on it together. (- and see -) That way we wouldn’t be two strangers, working towards the same goal. (- that I’m always the one to help you -) We’d be united. (- when you can’t help yourself?) Just like my heart wishes for it to be.
I let the pen rest on the paper, taking my time to light up a cigarette as I watch the passing of time on the clock hanging on the wall. Four in the afternoon. The answering machine says twelve messages are waiting. Through the window, the sun is glaring at me; I soak the warmth in, letting myself be lazy. As I blow out the first cloud of smoke, my eyes dart in the direction of the hallway, from where an unmistakeable knocking is breaking the silence. If it is who I think it is, he will have a key. He will let himself in. And… if it’s not, I want to see nobody. I want to be alone with my thoughts. Admittedly, this is true even if it is him, but… I trusted him, once, with a copy of my key. And sure enough, the metallic rattling of that very key can be heard. I lean back in the couch and look away, out, towards the brilliant sun.
"Goddamn it…" a familiar voice mutters as the door to my apartment swings open. "Reita!" Shoes being kicked off. Feet tapping over the floor, closing in on me. I breathe in deeply through my nose and close my eyes for a second to brace myself. And then, "Where the hell have you been?"
Slowly, I open my eyes and look up, watching in a kind of numb haze as he comes to stand in front of me, the sun hitting his short frame from the side. Lighting him up. Such an ironic serenity over his annoyed stance, and beautiful, yet frowning face. And my answer is lost to me as I gaze into those eyes. But the lack of reply is fuel to his fire, and the next thing I know is that he’s pacing back and forth before me, talking about this and that, telling me how worried they were when I did not come to practise, and wouldn’t answer their calls, and now here I am, just sitting in my apartment, perfectly unharmed, clearly not sick nor hurt, just… sitting on my couch smoking?
Slightly unsure of myself, I take a few moments to search his face; those dark orbs staring straight back at me, the dark shadows underneath, the frown between his eyebrows, the lips, ever so little parted in frustration. And then I look away. With a needle of sadness pinning my heart to the base of my spine, I suppress a shiver the best I can as I avert my eyes, staring down at my lap. Ruki tries to question me further, his frustration morphing into angry desperation, but I cannot take it, cannot bear to listen to the words cutting open my heart and consciousness… so I reach out a hand, patting lightly on the seat beside me. He quiets. Sits down. Waits. What do I say? The end of my cigarette flares fiery bright; I’m chasing time by smoking. Ah, chasing time with a torn net, the seagulls must be laughing at me. What do I do?
"Reita", he says, and this time, this time his voice is low, so low, so soft and concerned that for a moment I am horror-struck, wondering what betrayal my stupid face has done to me now. He asks: "Is something, you know… wrong?"
I smile. "No." He doesn’t believe me. I knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t keep me from hoping. He’s looking at me with questioning eyes, begging me to give him something to pick up on. I glance back with steady reassurance. I’m a liar and he’s a cheat. I’m a cheat and he’s a liar. Dance, little cheetah, dance. The next second I have to avert my eyes in a rush of shame; a move that is immediately noted by Ruki’s attentiveness.
"No?" he echoes.
"No", I repeat.
Silence. And then:
"I don’t believe you."
"You don’t have to."
-
Tap, tap, tap.
While he rushed up the stairs, two steps at a time, the door to the apartment building slammed shut down behind him. Pain was stabbing at his side, but Ruki ignored his body’s complaints the best he could, continuing to run up the stairs while gasping for breath. Tap, tap, tap. And there it was: the door, his door, his apartment and his safety. Yet, his hands were shaking so much that it took several moments before he managed to fish up the key from his pocket, but when he had, it was only a moment later that this door, too, slammed shut behind him. He broke. Staggering into his bedroom, he threw himself onto the bed, hiding his face in his pillow with a frustrated groan.
There was no way to understanding. What had he done wrong now? Head spinning, he stayed still, face still buried into his pillow. In the silence, seconds passed by as he took in the sensations running through him as he slowly deprived himself of air. The pressure, the instinctive panic, the pain of his lungs contorting. He imagined this to be the sign telling him that he was very much still alive, and as spasms ran through him he wondered why being deprived of air could be so much like being deprived of happiness. It was when dizzy blots and spots and funny little stars danced before his closed eyes that Ruki lifted his head, letting his body heave as gasps escaped lips bitten red. Tears stung eyes lined with pitch-black eyeliner. Oh, God forbid. What was it this time that he had done so wrong, why was Reita not acting like himself, why was he not acting like he should be? Why couldn’t he just… trust him.
When his tortured lungs were done making him fight down gulp after desperate gulp of air, Ruki sighed, lowering his head onto the pillow once again. Staring to the side; towards the window covered with heavy curtains. Reita. The handsome man’s avoidant, fleeting smiles flashed in his memory, pictures with sharp cut edges. Ruki frowned at his wall, clutching his pillow close to his chest. Fuck Reita, right? It wasn’t as if his life depended on the stupid, annoying, infuriating and goddamn sexy bassist’s willingness to talk. Was it? One man, he was only one freaking man, surely that could not be enough to ruin him. Right?
Ruki sat up with a frustrated groan, running a hand through messy hair. Tired eyes wandered around the bedroom. Oh, he was so doomed. Bitten lips were chewed to the point of drawing blood. Pretty taunting voices sang in his head a stupid melody, and he wondered, silently to himself, if he had gone insane. If anything, that would certainly explain a lot.
With a sigh, he went for a drink.
-
Midnight found Ruki sitting on the balcony.
On the table beside him was an empty bottle of red wine. He felt drained. The night’s air was humid on his skin, yet a lighter flashed on and off before him, flickering, dancing over the delicate skin of his arm. The world was really just like one big theatre, wasn’t it. Fire - pain. The flame licking his skin was just another of his many means of proving himself of his existence. With eyes slightly unfocused, he stared as his instinctive reflexes made his arm twitch away repeatedly. Scaredy cat. Fucking scaredy cat. How could he possibly live properly if he couldn’t even handle a little bit of pain? Enraged with himself, he clenched his fist and slammed it down onto his arm; one, two, three time’s the lucky charm. It didn’t do him a thing. A temporary, muted pain offered for an equally temporary distraction. It was nothing worth, yet at the same time, it was. Because Ruki’s life was made out of distractions.
A near-crushed packet of cigarettes was grabbed from where they had lain almost forgotten on the floor of the balcony. Soon enough, a cigarette was perched between his fingers while he stared out at the dark, starless sky. So the filthy, wormy, crawling freak part of him that should be dead, was, in fact, not dead. Instead, this filthy, wormy, crawling freak part of him was currently eating away at his silly little heart. Ruki flicked his lighter on and off, on and off, the little flame creating a rhythmic SOS signal. Mesmerising little devil’s light. The cigarette was put between his bitten lips as he held out his arm and held the lighter underneath it. If he did this, would it be a part of him? He signalled SOS onto his skin. Would someone, anyone, notice? The flame kept flickering as he signalled once, twice, three times and more, holding the flames metallic touches for longer and longer, closer and closer. Oh, his childish ideas, his childish mind. But faintly, Ruki still wondered if burning his skin would burn off fat.
-
Stephanotis Japonica.
That’s what the tag attached to it says. A Japanese Jasmine flower perched upon the small, round table on my balcony. Kai gave it to me, although, God only knows why. He might have said something about it being a thank-you gift, but to be honest, I wasn’t really… listening. The water from my extremely unused watering can is soaked up by the soil - a black, mushy sponge of hunger. Plants are strange things; I think this is why there are so few, or should I say not any, in my apartment. Except this one. I stare at it in silence as I use it as an ashtray, tapping the ash from my cigarette into the pot. Well, I guess that at least there is some use for it, besides just making my balcony a slightly prettier sight than before.
I don’t like making important decisions. And especially, I hate it when they are linked to Ruki, the one and only. While idly bringing the cigarette to my mouth, I turn towards the balcony rail, the pitch-black sky and the pulsating life of the city spreading everywhere I look. It’s hot; too hot, to the point where the sheer humidity makes your skin sticky, and your clothes seem almost damp. I lean towards the rail with a sigh. It’s difficult. Staying indifferent, that is; it’s a freak-show endurance test that I am clearly failing. I stare down at the street below. The old lady in the apartment below mine has had visitors earlier this evening, and the aroma of the food is still making the air rich. In the distance there are shouts and laughter, cars and motorcycles, music playing. There are nine floors separating the dirty asphalt and me. It would be a sure death, jumping from here. But I don’t think I want to die. Not really. I want a life, but the dilemma is that I want it with Ruki - Ruki who has no idea, Ruki who probably doesn’t even care.
-
There is not a trace of happiness in his face.
I watch as Ruki paces back and forth, over by the window in the practise studio, his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed. The rest of us are wise enough to stay clear of his path, but I wish he would break out of it and lend us a helping hand. It’s his song. The one we’re working at, it’s his and all he does is ignore us as we make futile attempts at cleaning up the guitar scores. Sitting to my left, Uruha’s cheerful mood is turning uncertain, restlessly frustrated. Opposite of me, Aoi is looking annoyed enough to scream his head off. I believe Kai is trying to keep the peace but he seems more at a loss every second that passes by. And me?
I honestly have no idea. I would like to think that I do, but I am fooling myself, because all I feel is helplessness. Ruki is frustrating me just as much - if not even more - than he is frustrating the others. Yet, the conflict lies in that at the same time, as much as he frustrates me, I still love him. I still want to ask him what is wrong, want to tell everyone to cut out of it, want to defend him. I might be a fool, but I’m a fool in love.
"Are we eating anything, or are we supposed to sit through all lunch?"
Our eyes turn to Kai. Uruha looks like he is about to say something, but a movement by the window catches everyone’s attention. I look up and, together with the rest, I watch in quiet surprise as today’s antisocial, moody vocalist shuffles over to our table. Ruki ends up being the one to speak first. Resting his hands on the tabletop, he asks: "Eeh… Lunch, huh? What’re we having?" And at first, no one says anything. Perhaps because we don’t have a straight answer or perhaps they, like me, are afraid of saying anything that would agitate him. We have become afraid of our vocalist, much like little children fussing around their pissed off father to avoid getting hurt. My defences are up, caution high as I finally straighten from my slouch.
"We’re not sure", I start. And when his tired gaze lands on me, I find myself in a split second’s hesitation, coming to stare into eyes that are frighteningly lifeless. I rush to continue; "What… what would you want, Ruki… san?" But the moment the words leave my lips I find myself regretting them, because in the wake of my question is a moment that I cannot quite figure out. Those eyes that appeared almost lifeless a moment ago blaze up sharply when he hears the honorific. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have done that, but uncertainty was what made me do it. In self-defence, I quickly avert my eyes, hoping that by doing so I can close the book in which my feelings can be read. But too late do I realise that perhaps I did so a bit too pointedly. He crosses his arms over his chest once more. Closed books. We all are.
"Get the… um, what about some sushi from the corner?" Ruki asks, while starting to pace back and forth once again. "And… tempura, and go to teriyaki burger perhaps, and we should get some teriyaki salmon, fried rice, curry, udon, ramen, and oh, what about some soba noodles?" He pauses. We stare. "And we should get ice cream for dessert. What kind of flavours do you want? I - I think I’m going to get some of the pistachio flavoured kind, and maybe that stuff where there’s little pieces of chocolate chip cookies in it, you know?"
-
His heart was racing.
His mind was screaming stop, stop it right now, please just stop it, but he didn‘t. Soba noodles. Down. Ruki suppressed a whimper. Fried rice. Down. He caught dearest Reita staring and wanted to cry. Teriyaki salmon. Down. Fucking stop it you idiot, stop it, stop it, STOP IT! With shaking hands he briskly put down the udon he had picked up to eat next. The others were quiet around him and Ruki knew, he just knew they were thinking that he was a freak, he just knew that behind their averted eyes there was nothing but pure disgust. And Reita. Oh, Reita. Blindly, Ruki’s self-control faltered again as he reached out for some sushi, pushing it into his mouth without a blink of hesitation. Reita looked like he wished he could be somewhere else, it seemed like he was embarrassed to be sitting beside him. Stealing glances, face tight with something - some… some emotion Ruki just couldn’t read and it was killing him.
There was a loud buzzing noise in his head, like hundreds of bees, gathered up in his mind, stopping all of his coherent thoughts. Or perhaps, maybe it was like waves on a beach, the way everything swayed along with these noises. Curry. Down. This was sick. He felt sick, he was sick. While running a trembling hand though his hair and tapping his foot against the floor restlessly, nervously, he watched the others in an attempt to distract from the food that was still left on the table. He caught Reita’s eyes. Beautiful eyes. At first he saw nothing but a frown of disapproval, but then, he caught a glimmer of concern. Ruki’s heart contorted in pain. In a blurry haze, he grabbed the pistachio ice cream and pushed himself up from the chair, stumbling in his efforts. A hand took hold of his elbow, and Ruki froze. Reita. Reita’s hand. Strong yet gentle fingers holding him upright. Too much.
"Ruki -" the bassist started, but Ruki wanted to hear nothing.
"I forgot to do something", he mumbled, tearing himself free. "Why don’t you guys… finish up without me, okay? Okay. Good. ‘Bye." And while clutching the ice cream to his chest, he bolted for the bathrooms.
-
He looked wasted.
A flushed, puffy face was staring straight back at him from the mirror with eyes red and swollen. The reflection was a humiliating sight. Leaning forward, he searched his eyes and realised that he’d burst a vein in his left eye. If you didn’t know better, you could have thought that he just emerged from a cry-your-eyes-out cubicle session. A miserable sight; a pathetic sight. Ruki took a shuddering breath and leaned down to splash his face with cold water - a futile, somewhat vain attempt to lessen the signs of his behaviour. Wake up, fuckface. Regret and guilt was screaming through every part of his shaking body, dread in his mind. A numb heart was thudding in his chest, each heartbeat hurting him the more. He couldn’t believe what he had done. He couldn’t understand how he could have let himself go in front of them.
"Disgusting freak", he hissed at his reflection as fresh tears began to spill down his flushed cheeks. His body convulsed as bitterly acid bile shot up in his mouth; an aftermath of what he had done. Turning the water running again proved to be a task in itself, as his hands trembled violently. But when, at last, it was pouring down, he spat into the sink and cupped his hands under the water, bringing it to his mouth to wash away the unwelcome taste; a substitute for the preferable bottle of mouthwash that he kept in the bathroom cabinet at his apartment. It would have to do. Ruki took a deep breath, eyes starting to roam over his clothes to inspect whether or not he had messed up.
He felt his skin prickle in unease when he noticed the stain on the left sleeve of his black shirt. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. A small whimper escaped him as he hurriedly reached his hands towards the plastic tissue dispenser on the wall. Useless. He was nothing but a little dot of useless nothing in the bigger picture. A useless nothing whose frantic efforts to clean vomit off of his shirt were unsuccessful. The more he tried, the worse it seemed to get, giving him no choice but to stop. Exhausted, Ruki let his body slide to the cold, tiled floor, creased tissues falling down lifelessly beside him. Now what? He couldn’t possibly leave looking like this.
-
"Do you have a shirt I could borrow?"
Did my heart just stop or is it still beating? In stunned silence, I stare at Ruki, standing before me, shirtless, puffy-eyed, blushing and looking more embarrassed than I can ever recall seeing him be. I find myself speechless when I should be giving him an answer. My hand comes to rest over my heart as the awkward silence stretches between us. Alarm makes my mind spin, but I’m forced to focus as he retreats to staring down at the carpet, shoulders hunched in defence, arms folded. Through the mud of my confused mind, I struggle to find something comprehensible to say as I straighten from my slouch. At last, I blurt out, "R - Ruki, what the… What’re you - what happened, where’s your shirt?"
His eyes become vacant and I can’t help but to flush in embarrassment, my incapability to react normally to his question seemingly never-ending. But even so, when Ruki replies he sounds equally embarrassed. "It got dirty", he explains, somewhat sheepishly. "So have you got any I could borrow or what?" A little bit of impatience, frustration mixed with desperation. I manage one brisk nod, and stumble up on my feet, carefully keeping my eyes away from his milky pale chest. I’m thankful when I’m able to face away from him as I lean down to dig through my bag for a spare shirt, feeling my face flush hotly. It’s not that I haven’t seen him without a shirt before, so it’s not like it should make this much difference, but somehow, it does. Ever since I took that one step too far, sleeping in his bed when he was passed out, somehow it has changed; in my heart, he’s taken one step closer to forbidden territory.
Rising and turning around, I look at him. His awkward stance. The alert yet avoidant gaze darting around the room restlessly, nervously. The way his arms are folded over his chest as he tries to hide himself the best he can. Nails with what's left of chipped, black nail polish. Digging into the skin of his arms. With a sigh, I offer him a shirt and - I yank it back when my eyes realise what they see. "Ruki!" I exclaim, horror-struck as I take in the sight of red marks all over him. "What the hell is that on your arm!" My heart is beating wildly and I barely know why, but Ruki, he - he only stands there, looking mildly surprised at this exclamation, his gaze slowly moving down to the pale skin with its irritated discolouration. He looks almost as if he’s never seen them before, like he’s as bewildered as I am. Almost.
Then he says: "Oh. I was cooking yesterday, and the frying pan went insane." He looks up at me, suddenly like a personification of calmness… And that’s how I know that he’s not telling me the truth. Hurt by his inability to trust me with the truth, frustrated by his secluded manner - I find myself angry. Ignoring his undignified yelp, I grasp his arm, pull him towards me and examine the marks the best I can. Cooking? I scowl. Unless his frying pan is designed to give perfect rows of red marks, that is no cooking accident. "Let go of me!" he demands. "Fucking hell, Reita, let go!" I do not let go.
That’s when he takes to more drastic methods of getting free; trying to pry my fingers open to make me let go of his arm, trying to tear himself free, and in the end resulting to pounding his first against my hand, over and over. The more he’s trying to get away, the more worried do I get. "Ruki", I let out, and my words come out strangely pleading. "Ruki, calm down, please!" And before I know what I’m doing, I have pulled him towards me, releasing my grip around his arm only to put my arms protectively around him, holding him against me. His struggles start to slowly fade. "Ruki", I repeat, this time trying my best to sound as calming and reassuring as I can be despite the fact that my own heart is ready to break through my ribcage at any given second. "Hey", I whisper, running my hand up and down his back, hoping to somehow, please, be able to soothe him. "Calm down."
Yet, his breathing is erratic and his eyes refuse to look up at me. His body is rigid in my arms, and there is nothing I want more than for him to tell me what is wrong so I can help him, but offering help to someone that refuses it is not easy. That’s what makes me cling onto him even more, but not only because he needs it but also because I do. I need it. I need him. And that’s what hurts.
With a whimper, he finally gives in, slumping into my embrace, exhausted at last, too tired to struggle any longer. Yet, I know he won’t talk to me. I know that he won’t explain, and I know that if I try to get him to, all it will do is to make him shy away from me even more. This is why I let the matter rest. That’s why I accept the silence as I gently lead him towards the couch, wordlessly helping him to put the clean shirt on. And as we sit there, in our tired, mutual silence, I search his face for traces of truth, watch the red-rimmed eyes, the flushed cheeks, the way strands of hair sticks to his skin as evidence that he has recently washed his face. I try to understand, I really do, but… nothing makes sense.
At least, not anymore.
To be continued. ♡
Author: ccgensou
Genre: Angst
Rating: R
Warning: Eating Disorders, Self-Injury, Gore, Language, Violence.
Band: The GazettE
Pairing: Reita/Ruki
Summary: We're all blind.
Comments: It is very uncomfortable for me to write this fanfiction, so I beg you to please keep that in mind when you read it. If someone is against the content of this fanfiction, I apologise. Okay. Let's get this done. *hides*
Previous:
Prologue
~
there was a man in love,
with the owner of an ethereal voice.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through song.
there was a man in love,
with the creator of words of mighty power.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through writing.
there was a man in love,
with a heart so vibrant that everything else paled.
the man found that he could not proclaim his love through colourful flowers.
there was a man in love,
with a restless spirit seeking the ultimate perfection.
the man decided that he would proclaim his love by devotion, never leaving its side.
Chapter 1 .
Such is life, that fairness cannot be expected.
And though his warmth is right next to me if I only close my eyes, it is merely a fool’s memory. His independence is as fake as my indifference, and I wonder how many times we will have to fall before we will break. Because break we will. I’m afraid that things aren’t as easy as I wish they were; I’m afraid that, unless things change, this warped up reality will become a life-long history of failure and misery. That is no life.
When I turn the key to open the door to my apartment, it is an hour before midday. The sun is rising higher with every turn of the clock, and I am more tired now, even, than I were back in Ruki’s apartment at the break of dawn, before getting any sleep. Back there, with him, I was driven by my need to protect him. And now, later, as I close the door behind me and put the keys in the bowl on the hallway table, I feel like I could as well be dead. How much different could it feel, really? My mind goes whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, swaying with me as I stagger towards the living room couch. Practise is an hour away, and I know that everyone will be there; even Ruki will be there, hangover hidden with double or perhaps triple doses of painkillers, and… not having any idea of how he got from the bathroom to the bedroom the night before.
And they will ask each other, where is Reita? Where is that blasted bassist?
Because I will not go to practise, today.
-
The pen scribbles over the paper.
It’s too late for words of this kind, but I wish it weren‘t. (If I’m supposed to continuously be your cane of support, holding you upright -) I wish it were still a matter of choice. (- then how come you still refuse to acknowledge -) That way perhaps we could work on it together. (- and see -) That way we wouldn’t be two strangers, working towards the same goal. (- that I’m always the one to help you -) We’d be united. (- when you can’t help yourself?) Just like my heart wishes for it to be.
I let the pen rest on the paper, taking my time to light up a cigarette as I watch the passing of time on the clock hanging on the wall. Four in the afternoon. The answering machine says twelve messages are waiting. Through the window, the sun is glaring at me; I soak the warmth in, letting myself be lazy. As I blow out the first cloud of smoke, my eyes dart in the direction of the hallway, from where an unmistakeable knocking is breaking the silence. If it is who I think it is, he will have a key. He will let himself in. And… if it’s not, I want to see nobody. I want to be alone with my thoughts. Admittedly, this is true even if it is him, but… I trusted him, once, with a copy of my key. And sure enough, the metallic rattling of that very key can be heard. I lean back in the couch and look away, out, towards the brilliant sun.
"Goddamn it…" a familiar voice mutters as the door to my apartment swings open. "Reita!" Shoes being kicked off. Feet tapping over the floor, closing in on me. I breathe in deeply through my nose and close my eyes for a second to brace myself. And then, "Where the hell have you been?"
Slowly, I open my eyes and look up, watching in a kind of numb haze as he comes to stand in front of me, the sun hitting his short frame from the side. Lighting him up. Such an ironic serenity over his annoyed stance, and beautiful, yet frowning face. And my answer is lost to me as I gaze into those eyes. But the lack of reply is fuel to his fire, and the next thing I know is that he’s pacing back and forth before me, talking about this and that, telling me how worried they were when I did not come to practise, and wouldn’t answer their calls, and now here I am, just sitting in my apartment, perfectly unharmed, clearly not sick nor hurt, just… sitting on my couch smoking?
Slightly unsure of myself, I take a few moments to search his face; those dark orbs staring straight back at me, the dark shadows underneath, the frown between his eyebrows, the lips, ever so little parted in frustration. And then I look away. With a needle of sadness pinning my heart to the base of my spine, I suppress a shiver the best I can as I avert my eyes, staring down at my lap. Ruki tries to question me further, his frustration morphing into angry desperation, but I cannot take it, cannot bear to listen to the words cutting open my heart and consciousness… so I reach out a hand, patting lightly on the seat beside me. He quiets. Sits down. Waits. What do I say? The end of my cigarette flares fiery bright; I’m chasing time by smoking. Ah, chasing time with a torn net, the seagulls must be laughing at me. What do I do?
"Reita", he says, and this time, this time his voice is low, so low, so soft and concerned that for a moment I am horror-struck, wondering what betrayal my stupid face has done to me now. He asks: "Is something, you know… wrong?"
I smile. "No." He doesn’t believe me. I knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t keep me from hoping. He’s looking at me with questioning eyes, begging me to give him something to pick up on. I glance back with steady reassurance. I’m a liar and he’s a cheat. I’m a cheat and he’s a liar. Dance, little cheetah, dance. The next second I have to avert my eyes in a rush of shame; a move that is immediately noted by Ruki’s attentiveness.
"No?" he echoes.
"No", I repeat.
Silence. And then:
"I don’t believe you."
"You don’t have to."
-
Tap, tap, tap.
While he rushed up the stairs, two steps at a time, the door to the apartment building slammed shut down behind him. Pain was stabbing at his side, but Ruki ignored his body’s complaints the best he could, continuing to run up the stairs while gasping for breath. Tap, tap, tap. And there it was: the door, his door, his apartment and his safety. Yet, his hands were shaking so much that it took several moments before he managed to fish up the key from his pocket, but when he had, it was only a moment later that this door, too, slammed shut behind him. He broke. Staggering into his bedroom, he threw himself onto the bed, hiding his face in his pillow with a frustrated groan.
There was no way to understanding. What had he done wrong now? Head spinning, he stayed still, face still buried into his pillow. In the silence, seconds passed by as he took in the sensations running through him as he slowly deprived himself of air. The pressure, the instinctive panic, the pain of his lungs contorting. He imagined this to be the sign telling him that he was very much still alive, and as spasms ran through him he wondered why being deprived of air could be so much like being deprived of happiness. It was when dizzy blots and spots and funny little stars danced before his closed eyes that Ruki lifted his head, letting his body heave as gasps escaped lips bitten red. Tears stung eyes lined with pitch-black eyeliner. Oh, God forbid. What was it this time that he had done so wrong, why was Reita not acting like himself, why was he not acting like he should be? Why couldn’t he just… trust him.
When his tortured lungs were done making him fight down gulp after desperate gulp of air, Ruki sighed, lowering his head onto the pillow once again. Staring to the side; towards the window covered with heavy curtains. Reita. The handsome man’s avoidant, fleeting smiles flashed in his memory, pictures with sharp cut edges. Ruki frowned at his wall, clutching his pillow close to his chest. Fuck Reita, right? It wasn’t as if his life depended on the stupid, annoying, infuriating and goddamn sexy bassist’s willingness to talk. Was it? One man, he was only one freaking man, surely that could not be enough to ruin him. Right?
Ruki sat up with a frustrated groan, running a hand through messy hair. Tired eyes wandered around the bedroom. Oh, he was so doomed. Bitten lips were chewed to the point of drawing blood. Pretty taunting voices sang in his head a stupid melody, and he wondered, silently to himself, if he had gone insane. If anything, that would certainly explain a lot.
With a sigh, he went for a drink.
-
Midnight found Ruki sitting on the balcony.
On the table beside him was an empty bottle of red wine. He felt drained. The night’s air was humid on his skin, yet a lighter flashed on and off before him, flickering, dancing over the delicate skin of his arm. The world was really just like one big theatre, wasn’t it. Fire - pain. The flame licking his skin was just another of his many means of proving himself of his existence. With eyes slightly unfocused, he stared as his instinctive reflexes made his arm twitch away repeatedly. Scaredy cat. Fucking scaredy cat. How could he possibly live properly if he couldn’t even handle a little bit of pain? Enraged with himself, he clenched his fist and slammed it down onto his arm; one, two, three time’s the lucky charm. It didn’t do him a thing. A temporary, muted pain offered for an equally temporary distraction. It was nothing worth, yet at the same time, it was. Because Ruki’s life was made out of distractions.
A near-crushed packet of cigarettes was grabbed from where they had lain almost forgotten on the floor of the balcony. Soon enough, a cigarette was perched between his fingers while he stared out at the dark, starless sky. So the filthy, wormy, crawling freak part of him that should be dead, was, in fact, not dead. Instead, this filthy, wormy, crawling freak part of him was currently eating away at his silly little heart. Ruki flicked his lighter on and off, on and off, the little flame creating a rhythmic SOS signal. Mesmerising little devil’s light. The cigarette was put between his bitten lips as he held out his arm and held the lighter underneath it. If he did this, would it be a part of him? He signalled SOS onto his skin. Would someone, anyone, notice? The flame kept flickering as he signalled once, twice, three times and more, holding the flames metallic touches for longer and longer, closer and closer. Oh, his childish ideas, his childish mind. But faintly, Ruki still wondered if burning his skin would burn off fat.
-
Stephanotis Japonica.
That’s what the tag attached to it says. A Japanese Jasmine flower perched upon the small, round table on my balcony. Kai gave it to me, although, God only knows why. He might have said something about it being a thank-you gift, but to be honest, I wasn’t really… listening. The water from my extremely unused watering can is soaked up by the soil - a black, mushy sponge of hunger. Plants are strange things; I think this is why there are so few, or should I say not any, in my apartment. Except this one. I stare at it in silence as I use it as an ashtray, tapping the ash from my cigarette into the pot. Well, I guess that at least there is some use for it, besides just making my balcony a slightly prettier sight than before.
I don’t like making important decisions. And especially, I hate it when they are linked to Ruki, the one and only. While idly bringing the cigarette to my mouth, I turn towards the balcony rail, the pitch-black sky and the pulsating life of the city spreading everywhere I look. It’s hot; too hot, to the point where the sheer humidity makes your skin sticky, and your clothes seem almost damp. I lean towards the rail with a sigh. It’s difficult. Staying indifferent, that is; it’s a freak-show endurance test that I am clearly failing. I stare down at the street below. The old lady in the apartment below mine has had visitors earlier this evening, and the aroma of the food is still making the air rich. In the distance there are shouts and laughter, cars and motorcycles, music playing. There are nine floors separating the dirty asphalt and me. It would be a sure death, jumping from here. But I don’t think I want to die. Not really. I want a life, but the dilemma is that I want it with Ruki - Ruki who has no idea, Ruki who probably doesn’t even care.
-
There is not a trace of happiness in his face.
I watch as Ruki paces back and forth, over by the window in the practise studio, his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed. The rest of us are wise enough to stay clear of his path, but I wish he would break out of it and lend us a helping hand. It’s his song. The one we’re working at, it’s his and all he does is ignore us as we make futile attempts at cleaning up the guitar scores. Sitting to my left, Uruha’s cheerful mood is turning uncertain, restlessly frustrated. Opposite of me, Aoi is looking annoyed enough to scream his head off. I believe Kai is trying to keep the peace but he seems more at a loss every second that passes by. And me?
I honestly have no idea. I would like to think that I do, but I am fooling myself, because all I feel is helplessness. Ruki is frustrating me just as much - if not even more - than he is frustrating the others. Yet, the conflict lies in that at the same time, as much as he frustrates me, I still love him. I still want to ask him what is wrong, want to tell everyone to cut out of it, want to defend him. I might be a fool, but I’m a fool in love.
"Are we eating anything, or are we supposed to sit through all lunch?"
Our eyes turn to Kai. Uruha looks like he is about to say something, but a movement by the window catches everyone’s attention. I look up and, together with the rest, I watch in quiet surprise as today’s antisocial, moody vocalist shuffles over to our table. Ruki ends up being the one to speak first. Resting his hands on the tabletop, he asks: "Eeh… Lunch, huh? What’re we having?" And at first, no one says anything. Perhaps because we don’t have a straight answer or perhaps they, like me, are afraid of saying anything that would agitate him. We have become afraid of our vocalist, much like little children fussing around their pissed off father to avoid getting hurt. My defences are up, caution high as I finally straighten from my slouch.
"We’re not sure", I start. And when his tired gaze lands on me, I find myself in a split second’s hesitation, coming to stare into eyes that are frighteningly lifeless. I rush to continue; "What… what would you want, Ruki… san?" But the moment the words leave my lips I find myself regretting them, because in the wake of my question is a moment that I cannot quite figure out. Those eyes that appeared almost lifeless a moment ago blaze up sharply when he hears the honorific. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have done that, but uncertainty was what made me do it. In self-defence, I quickly avert my eyes, hoping that by doing so I can close the book in which my feelings can be read. But too late do I realise that perhaps I did so a bit too pointedly. He crosses his arms over his chest once more. Closed books. We all are.
"Get the… um, what about some sushi from the corner?" Ruki asks, while starting to pace back and forth once again. "And… tempura, and go to teriyaki burger perhaps, and we should get some teriyaki salmon, fried rice, curry, udon, ramen, and oh, what about some soba noodles?" He pauses. We stare. "And we should get ice cream for dessert. What kind of flavours do you want? I - I think I’m going to get some of the pistachio flavoured kind, and maybe that stuff where there’s little pieces of chocolate chip cookies in it, you know?"
-
His heart was racing.
His mind was screaming stop, stop it right now, please just stop it, but he didn‘t. Soba noodles. Down. Ruki suppressed a whimper. Fried rice. Down. He caught dearest Reita staring and wanted to cry. Teriyaki salmon. Down. Fucking stop it you idiot, stop it, stop it, STOP IT! With shaking hands he briskly put down the udon he had picked up to eat next. The others were quiet around him and Ruki knew, he just knew they were thinking that he was a freak, he just knew that behind their averted eyes there was nothing but pure disgust. And Reita. Oh, Reita. Blindly, Ruki’s self-control faltered again as he reached out for some sushi, pushing it into his mouth without a blink of hesitation. Reita looked like he wished he could be somewhere else, it seemed like he was embarrassed to be sitting beside him. Stealing glances, face tight with something - some… some emotion Ruki just couldn’t read and it was killing him.
There was a loud buzzing noise in his head, like hundreds of bees, gathered up in his mind, stopping all of his coherent thoughts. Or perhaps, maybe it was like waves on a beach, the way everything swayed along with these noises. Curry. Down. This was sick. He felt sick, he was sick. While running a trembling hand though his hair and tapping his foot against the floor restlessly, nervously, he watched the others in an attempt to distract from the food that was still left on the table. He caught Reita’s eyes. Beautiful eyes. At first he saw nothing but a frown of disapproval, but then, he caught a glimmer of concern. Ruki’s heart contorted in pain. In a blurry haze, he grabbed the pistachio ice cream and pushed himself up from the chair, stumbling in his efforts. A hand took hold of his elbow, and Ruki froze. Reita. Reita’s hand. Strong yet gentle fingers holding him upright. Too much.
"Ruki -" the bassist started, but Ruki wanted to hear nothing.
"I forgot to do something", he mumbled, tearing himself free. "Why don’t you guys… finish up without me, okay? Okay. Good. ‘Bye." And while clutching the ice cream to his chest, he bolted for the bathrooms.
-
He looked wasted.
A flushed, puffy face was staring straight back at him from the mirror with eyes red and swollen. The reflection was a humiliating sight. Leaning forward, he searched his eyes and realised that he’d burst a vein in his left eye. If you didn’t know better, you could have thought that he just emerged from a cry-your-eyes-out cubicle session. A miserable sight; a pathetic sight. Ruki took a shuddering breath and leaned down to splash his face with cold water - a futile, somewhat vain attempt to lessen the signs of his behaviour. Wake up, fuckface. Regret and guilt was screaming through every part of his shaking body, dread in his mind. A numb heart was thudding in his chest, each heartbeat hurting him the more. He couldn’t believe what he had done. He couldn’t understand how he could have let himself go in front of them.
"Disgusting freak", he hissed at his reflection as fresh tears began to spill down his flushed cheeks. His body convulsed as bitterly acid bile shot up in his mouth; an aftermath of what he had done. Turning the water running again proved to be a task in itself, as his hands trembled violently. But when, at last, it was pouring down, he spat into the sink and cupped his hands under the water, bringing it to his mouth to wash away the unwelcome taste; a substitute for the preferable bottle of mouthwash that he kept in the bathroom cabinet at his apartment. It would have to do. Ruki took a deep breath, eyes starting to roam over his clothes to inspect whether or not he had messed up.
He felt his skin prickle in unease when he noticed the stain on the left sleeve of his black shirt. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. A small whimper escaped him as he hurriedly reached his hands towards the plastic tissue dispenser on the wall. Useless. He was nothing but a little dot of useless nothing in the bigger picture. A useless nothing whose frantic efforts to clean vomit off of his shirt were unsuccessful. The more he tried, the worse it seemed to get, giving him no choice but to stop. Exhausted, Ruki let his body slide to the cold, tiled floor, creased tissues falling down lifelessly beside him. Now what? He couldn’t possibly leave looking like this.
-
"Do you have a shirt I could borrow?"
Did my heart just stop or is it still beating? In stunned silence, I stare at Ruki, standing before me, shirtless, puffy-eyed, blushing and looking more embarrassed than I can ever recall seeing him be. I find myself speechless when I should be giving him an answer. My hand comes to rest over my heart as the awkward silence stretches between us. Alarm makes my mind spin, but I’m forced to focus as he retreats to staring down at the carpet, shoulders hunched in defence, arms folded. Through the mud of my confused mind, I struggle to find something comprehensible to say as I straighten from my slouch. At last, I blurt out, "R - Ruki, what the… What’re you - what happened, where’s your shirt?"
His eyes become vacant and I can’t help but to flush in embarrassment, my incapability to react normally to his question seemingly never-ending. But even so, when Ruki replies he sounds equally embarrassed. "It got dirty", he explains, somewhat sheepishly. "So have you got any I could borrow or what?" A little bit of impatience, frustration mixed with desperation. I manage one brisk nod, and stumble up on my feet, carefully keeping my eyes away from his milky pale chest. I’m thankful when I’m able to face away from him as I lean down to dig through my bag for a spare shirt, feeling my face flush hotly. It’s not that I haven’t seen him without a shirt before, so it’s not like it should make this much difference, but somehow, it does. Ever since I took that one step too far, sleeping in his bed when he was passed out, somehow it has changed; in my heart, he’s taken one step closer to forbidden territory.
Rising and turning around, I look at him. His awkward stance. The alert yet avoidant gaze darting around the room restlessly, nervously. The way his arms are folded over his chest as he tries to hide himself the best he can. Nails with what's left of chipped, black nail polish. Digging into the skin of his arms. With a sigh, I offer him a shirt and - I yank it back when my eyes realise what they see. "Ruki!" I exclaim, horror-struck as I take in the sight of red marks all over him. "What the hell is that on your arm!" My heart is beating wildly and I barely know why, but Ruki, he - he only stands there, looking mildly surprised at this exclamation, his gaze slowly moving down to the pale skin with its irritated discolouration. He looks almost as if he’s never seen them before, like he’s as bewildered as I am. Almost.
Then he says: "Oh. I was cooking yesterday, and the frying pan went insane." He looks up at me, suddenly like a personification of calmness… And that’s how I know that he’s not telling me the truth. Hurt by his inability to trust me with the truth, frustrated by his secluded manner - I find myself angry. Ignoring his undignified yelp, I grasp his arm, pull him towards me and examine the marks the best I can. Cooking? I scowl. Unless his frying pan is designed to give perfect rows of red marks, that is no cooking accident. "Let go of me!" he demands. "Fucking hell, Reita, let go!" I do not let go.
That’s when he takes to more drastic methods of getting free; trying to pry my fingers open to make me let go of his arm, trying to tear himself free, and in the end resulting to pounding his first against my hand, over and over. The more he’s trying to get away, the more worried do I get. "Ruki", I let out, and my words come out strangely pleading. "Ruki, calm down, please!" And before I know what I’m doing, I have pulled him towards me, releasing my grip around his arm only to put my arms protectively around him, holding him against me. His struggles start to slowly fade. "Ruki", I repeat, this time trying my best to sound as calming and reassuring as I can be despite the fact that my own heart is ready to break through my ribcage at any given second. "Hey", I whisper, running my hand up and down his back, hoping to somehow, please, be able to soothe him. "Calm down."
Yet, his breathing is erratic and his eyes refuse to look up at me. His body is rigid in my arms, and there is nothing I want more than for him to tell me what is wrong so I can help him, but offering help to someone that refuses it is not easy. That’s what makes me cling onto him even more, but not only because he needs it but also because I do. I need it. I need him. And that’s what hurts.
With a whimper, he finally gives in, slumping into my embrace, exhausted at last, too tired to struggle any longer. Yet, I know he won’t talk to me. I know that he won’t explain, and I know that if I try to get him to, all it will do is to make him shy away from me even more. This is why I let the matter rest. That’s why I accept the silence as I gently lead him towards the couch, wordlessly helping him to put the clean shirt on. And as we sit there, in our tired, mutual silence, I search his face for traces of truth, watch the red-rimmed eyes, the flushed cheeks, the way strands of hair sticks to his skin as evidence that he has recently washed his face. I try to understand, I really do, but… nothing makes sense.
At least, not anymore.
To be continued. ♡