[JExStardust] Destination Nowhere
Title: Destination Nowhere
Characters: Nishikido Ryo, some ho, and nonexistent Sawajiri Erika
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryo doesn't like not finishing things he started; for once he is going to do something right.
A/N: A sequel of sorts to Lancelot and Guinevere.
The rhythmic beat of the music in the club seemed to be the beat of his own heart. The lights moved cheerfully overhead, their kaleidoscopic patterns burned into his eyes even behind closed eyelids. Ryo knew it took him a long time before he got drunk; but he'd lost count, lost track of how many different drinks he's already had. He raised his head with a little difficulty--his vision crossing slightly--and looked around for Jin, who'd disappeared into the throng of people on the dance floor with two girls who had attached themselves to him the moment they entered the bar.
The girl sitting beside him wearing an almost nonexistent slip of a dress pressed close, slinging one leg over his and rubbing against him, though Ryo by now had only a vague sense of feeling what she was doing. "Don't you want to dance?" she purred in his ear, giving it a little lick.
"No," he slurred, turning his head to look at her and leaning forward, hooking a hand at the back of her neck, capturing her lips with his in a rough kiss. The girl gave a slight mewl of protest but was soon kissing him back eagerly, taking his hand and placing it on the exposed skin of her waist, urging him to go higher. Ryo ran his fingers upward, slowly, trailing gently down again and over her stomach, "Damn it Ryo, stop teasing," Erika moans, arching into his touch. He ends up tickling her instead and she gasps, laughing, trying to push him off and squirming underneath him; he pins her to the bed and leans down to kiss her, laughing against her lips, his laughter turning into a moan as she slips an expert hand inside his pants and the girl let out a surprised yell as he pushed her away, falling back on her seat. Ryo ignored her outraged shrieks and stood up shakily, beer bottle clutched tightly in one hand--each beat from the music a lead weight on his chest, each glare of the lights blinding, dizzying him--and he somehow managed to stumble to the back of the bar, where the beer bottle is thrown on the nearby wall. The sharp, stinging pain brought by the glass cutting into his palm and wrist was enough to make him feel sober, if only for a little while, sober enough for him to think of leaving and going home.
How he went about it was something he didn't know, couldn't remember. It had begun to rain hard just as he staggered into the building, and how he went up to her floor was something he couldn't remember either. The whole place was dark--Erika clearly wasn't there and he felt a stab of burning jealousy--who was she with now, Pi maybe, that fucking asshole and where, but he told himself it didn't matter, it wasn't as if they've never cheated on each other; he cheated, she cheated, and he cheated more, to hurt her more, he couldn't seem to do anything but hurt her nowadays, and in the end the one who was always hurt the most was him. He came here now because he never liked not finishing things he started, and for once in their dizzying, confusing, roller coaster ride of a relationship, he was going to do something right. The sane part of his mind was telling him he couldn't do it if she wasn't there, but he was here now, and it had to be done.
He knew he really should have done it sooner. Before she destroyed him. Before he broke her.
"Erika," he said out loud, facing the bed, seeing her sitting there, looking up at him with eyes narrowed in defiance, "Listen. I just want to say--"
I love you.
I hate you.
I love you. Too much.
I--
His throat tightened. "I hope you'll be happy," he croaked out, and never has the word sounded so bitter in his ears. Her happiness does not lie in his hands; it never did, perhaps it once did but he had crushed it. They can never be happy together.
He was already destroyed and she was already broken
The last thing he remembered thinking of, consciously, just before his world turned completely black, was how strange it was that he could feel it raining inside her room too.
--
In his alcohol-induced slumber, Ryo dreams.
He dreams that they're married, they have children--six, seven, even eight--she complains, tells him to grow his own uterus and bear them instead and he laughs. Their home is never quiet, never neat; their children have names which are mixtures of Japanese and Western and three different languages are spoken, yelled, laughed out, whined. It is exactly what he wanted, a chaotic, happy household--the opposite of the one she grew up in. He vows that he will never die and leave their children fatherless, the way her father left her. He--
"Ryo? Ryo!"
He curls up inwardly, burrowing further into his subconscious
"Wake up! Ryo! Oh god--"
Dreams are better than reality, in his case--he hopes he never wakes up again.
Characters: Nishikido Ryo, some ho, and nonexistent Sawajiri Erika
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryo doesn't like not finishing things he started; for once he is going to do something right.
A/N: A sequel of sorts to Lancelot and Guinevere.
The rhythmic beat of the music in the club seemed to be the beat of his own heart. The lights moved cheerfully overhead, their kaleidoscopic patterns burned into his eyes even behind closed eyelids. Ryo knew it took him a long time before he got drunk; but he'd lost count, lost track of how many different drinks he's already had. He raised his head with a little difficulty--his vision crossing slightly--and looked around for Jin, who'd disappeared into the throng of people on the dance floor with two girls who had attached themselves to him the moment they entered the bar.
The girl sitting beside him wearing an almost nonexistent slip of a dress pressed close, slinging one leg over his and rubbing against him, though Ryo by now had only a vague sense of feeling what she was doing. "Don't you want to dance?" she purred in his ear, giving it a little lick.
"No," he slurred, turning his head to look at her and leaning forward, hooking a hand at the back of her neck, capturing her lips with his in a rough kiss. The girl gave a slight mewl of protest but was soon kissing him back eagerly, taking his hand and placing it on the exposed skin of her waist, urging him to go higher. Ryo ran his fingers upward, slowly, trailing gently down again and over her stomach, "Damn it Ryo, stop teasing," Erika moans, arching into his touch. He ends up tickling her instead and she gasps, laughing, trying to push him off and squirming underneath him; he pins her to the bed and leans down to kiss her, laughing against her lips, his laughter turning into a moan as she slips an expert hand inside his pants and the girl let out a surprised yell as he pushed her away, falling back on her seat. Ryo ignored her outraged shrieks and stood up shakily, beer bottle clutched tightly in one hand--each beat from the music a lead weight on his chest, each glare of the lights blinding, dizzying him--and he somehow managed to stumble to the back of the bar, where the beer bottle is thrown on the nearby wall. The sharp, stinging pain brought by the glass cutting into his palm and wrist was enough to make him feel sober, if only for a little while, sober enough for him to think of leaving and going home.
How he went about it was something he didn't know, couldn't remember. It had begun to rain hard just as he staggered into the building, and how he went up to her floor was something he couldn't remember either. The whole place was dark--Erika clearly wasn't there and he felt a stab of burning jealousy--who was she with now, Pi maybe, that fucking asshole and where, but he told himself it didn't matter, it wasn't as if they've never cheated on each other; he cheated, she cheated, and he cheated more, to hurt her more, he couldn't seem to do anything but hurt her nowadays, and in the end the one who was always hurt the most was him. He came here now because he never liked not finishing things he started, and for once in their dizzying, confusing, roller coaster ride of a relationship, he was going to do something right. The sane part of his mind was telling him he couldn't do it if she wasn't there, but he was here now, and it had to be done.
He knew he really should have done it sooner. Before she destroyed him. Before he broke her.
"Erika," he said out loud, facing the bed, seeing her sitting there, looking up at him with eyes narrowed in defiance, "Listen. I just want to say--"
I love you.
I hate you.
I love you. Too much.
I--
His throat tightened. "I hope you'll be happy," he croaked out, and never has the word sounded so bitter in his ears. Her happiness does not lie in his hands; it never did, perhaps it once did but he had crushed it. They can never be happy together.
He was already destroyed and she was already broken
The last thing he remembered thinking of, consciously, just before his world turned completely black, was how strange it was that he could feel it raining inside her room too.
--
In his alcohol-induced slumber, Ryo dreams.
He dreams that they're married, they have children--six, seven, even eight--she complains, tells him to grow his own uterus and bear them instead and he laughs. Their home is never quiet, never neat; their children have names which are mixtures of Japanese and Western and three different languages are spoken, yelled, laughed out, whined. It is exactly what he wanted, a chaotic, happy household--the opposite of the one she grew up in. He vows that he will never die and leave their children fatherless, the way her father left her. He--
"Ryo? Ryo!"
He curls up inwardly, burrowing further into his subconscious
"Wake up! Ryo! Oh god--"
Dreams are better than reality, in his case--he hopes he never wakes up again.