Drabble: Car Rides and Boxing Match
Title: Car Rides and Boxing Match
Pairing: Ryo/ Ohkura
Rating: G
Summary: Sometimes, Ryo just wants someone to notice him.
Disclaimer: Entirely a work of fiction.
He looks around but his vision is blurred. He can see the crowd cheering for him - a rowdy bunch of blue-collared workers - but all he can hear is a loud buzzing sound. He tries to cover his gloved hands over his ears but the referee grabs them instead and brings it up to the air, signaling the conclusion of the match.
He tries to focus back on the crowd, squinting to find that particular face. It doesn’t take long to spot him; the man sticks out like a sore thumb. He was taller than anyone there but what made him different was the way he dresses; a dark blue suit made up of what he can only guess as the finest quality of silk, his hair cut in a fashionable manner, and it’s just the way he carries himself that sets him apart from everyone else.
He gives the man a smile, baring his bloodied teeth; he gets a nod in return. And that feels much better than winning the match.
The crowd grows wilder as he steps out of the ring and makes his way to the locker room, patting his back too hard and shouting words of congratulations. He nods in acknowledgement, keeping his head as low as he possibly can at the same time, trying to fight back the dull throbbing that’s starting up at the back of his head.
The calm silence of the locker room greets him the moment he steps inside, the thick wooden door effectively silencing the noise from the crowd outside. He walks along the row of rust-decorated lockers, looking straight at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. He stops just a few feet away from it, inspecting his injuries from the night’s match - a swollen right eye, a bruised jaw, and a couple of bruises on his ribs as well. He’s a sight for sore eyes, but it isn’t that bad compared to the previous match he had. That match had landed him in the hospital with a few broken bones and worst still, a broken ego. He doesn’t like to be defeated.
He quickly puts on his sleeveless white shirt and a maroon hoodie over it; and he’s out of the building in minutes, going through the back door to avoid the crowd.
As usual, the man is waiting for him by the road, leaning against his gleaming black BMW.
He doesn’t say anything as he gets in the front passenger seat. They ride in comfortable silence for a while and only when they finally reached their destination - his one-room apartment in the dodgy side of town - does the man finally speak.
“Rest well.”
His voice is soft, full of concern that’s constantly missing in his life. He likes him for that. He likes having someone that actually cares if he gets to live another day.
“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the ride.”
The man smiles back at him. He likes that too - the way it spreads across his mole-ridden face, the way his eyes turn into little slits and the wrinkles that appear next to them. He likes it very much.
With a huge grin, he steps out of the car, walking towards his apartment, never looking back until he’s standing in his living room, looking out of the window. The black BMW is still there and only when he switches on the light does it drive off.
That night he dreams of long, peaceful car rides with a certain tall man with a soothing quiet aura around him. It makes him feel at peace. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Pairing: Ryo/ Ohkura
Rating: G
Summary: Sometimes, Ryo just wants someone to notice him.
Disclaimer: Entirely a work of fiction.
He looks around but his vision is blurred. He can see the crowd cheering for him - a rowdy bunch of blue-collared workers - but all he can hear is a loud buzzing sound. He tries to cover his gloved hands over his ears but the referee grabs them instead and brings it up to the air, signaling the conclusion of the match.
He tries to focus back on the crowd, squinting to find that particular face. It doesn’t take long to spot him; the man sticks out like a sore thumb. He was taller than anyone there but what made him different was the way he dresses; a dark blue suit made up of what he can only guess as the finest quality of silk, his hair cut in a fashionable manner, and it’s just the way he carries himself that sets him apart from everyone else.
He gives the man a smile, baring his bloodied teeth; he gets a nod in return. And that feels much better than winning the match.
The crowd grows wilder as he steps out of the ring and makes his way to the locker room, patting his back too hard and shouting words of congratulations. He nods in acknowledgement, keeping his head as low as he possibly can at the same time, trying to fight back the dull throbbing that’s starting up at the back of his head.
The calm silence of the locker room greets him the moment he steps inside, the thick wooden door effectively silencing the noise from the crowd outside. He walks along the row of rust-decorated lockers, looking straight at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. He stops just a few feet away from it, inspecting his injuries from the night’s match - a swollen right eye, a bruised jaw, and a couple of bruises on his ribs as well. He’s a sight for sore eyes, but it isn’t that bad compared to the previous match he had. That match had landed him in the hospital with a few broken bones and worst still, a broken ego. He doesn’t like to be defeated.
He quickly puts on his sleeveless white shirt and a maroon hoodie over it; and he’s out of the building in minutes, going through the back door to avoid the crowd.
As usual, the man is waiting for him by the road, leaning against his gleaming black BMW.
He doesn’t say anything as he gets in the front passenger seat. They ride in comfortable silence for a while and only when they finally reached their destination - his one-room apartment in the dodgy side of town - does the man finally speak.
“Rest well.”
His voice is soft, full of concern that’s constantly missing in his life. He likes him for that. He likes having someone that actually cares if he gets to live another day.
“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the ride.”
The man smiles back at him. He likes that too - the way it spreads across his mole-ridden face, the way his eyes turn into little slits and the wrinkles that appear next to them. He likes it very much.
With a huge grin, he steps out of the car, walking towards his apartment, never looking back until he’s standing in his living room, looking out of the window. The black BMW is still there and only when he switches on the light does it drive off.
That night he dreams of long, peaceful car rides with a certain tall man with a soothing quiet aura around him. It makes him feel at peace. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.