[HayaRyu] [Just to get high]
Title: Just to get high
Pairing: HayaRyu
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Sad but true.
Rating: R for drug usage, violence and probably more.
A/N: Part of a series of drabbles/oneshots based on Nickelback's "Dark Horse" album. Lyrics here and song here. First time ever I tried to write like this, betaed by the always awesome nubello
Prisons, you think as the door slams closed behind you, are scary places- You aren’t one to be easily scared. But this place always makes you shiver, even if just slightly. Everytime the metal door closes you want to turn around and run away from there. Yet you always stay and go through all the annoying procedures, cross through all the doors to see him.
You still remember the day you found him laying in an alley near your house in the middle of the night. There were bruises around his lips and nose, but most of all you remember the fear when his empty eyes met yours. You brought him up to your house, dragged him to the bathroom. You called for him, shook him, splashed cold water at his face, but anything worked. He looked like all but a broken doll and you remember wanting to cry and the mixed emotions - surprise, anger, sadness, desperation, too many to count them - when you undressed him and found the little wounds on his arm. He started to cry when you shoved him into the shower and opened the cold water. He reached for you, and somehow managed to pull you down against him until you were entagled on the shower plate, cold and wet. He fell asleep, after a while, but you remember staying awake, fighting back the sobs trying to leave your throat. You don’t remember it, but you must had cried yourself to sleep, because the next morning you woke up in the same place you had fell, naked and wrapped in a thick blanket, and he was gone.
The next months are a blur in your mind. You know you went to see him, tried to talk with him, explain him that what he was doing was only going to destroy him. Then it all went wrong, and there were screams and words never meant to be said , and you fought. He slammed you against the door and you remember seeing in his eyes he was on drugs as he fucked you hard and fast right there. You remember the pain and the frustrated tears when you made it back home, the pressure on your chest making you feel about to explode. The wounds on your hands healed after a couple of weeks, but the punch marks on the wall are still there, mocking you.
There was a time when you managed to make him accede to get help. He refused to go to an hospital, and you offered yourself to help him. He moved in with you, you made sure he was clean and everything seemed to be fine. He was smiling, and for a moment you believed you could be happy again.
However, it didn’t last long. Soon he started throwing up up his food, and before long he stopped eating altogether. You remember the impredictable mood swings and the sleepless nights, hearing him scream and cry in the room next to yours. After a few days you were unable to make him get up from bed or force as much as some water into him. There was a day when you insisted more than usual and got mad. He got up with a strength you had thought he had lost, and you remember being afraid of him, wanting to run and away yet being rooted to the floor. His blow sent you to the floor, and his kick made you scream in pain as your arm cracked broken. He shouted something the blood rushing in your ears didn’t let you hear, and then your empty wallet fell to the floor before you, the sound of the door closing a moment later painfully loud and clear. When you met Tsucchi a few days after that, he asked you about the cast around your arm. You lied, told him you had fallen down the stairs, and he nodded, saying nothing. The next time you met Hayato, he had a black eye; “courtesy of a common friend, Ryu-chan”.
You don’t remember exactly when you decided to break all contact with him, but you stopped seeing him after the incident. You remember the endless nights trying to convince yourself it was for the best, that you would get over it and would be able to fight back the sobs someday. You think it worked, because at some point the overwhelming lonliness grew into a numb aching in your chest.
It was useless, though, as a few months after regaining a more or less normal life he called you again. His voice was hoarse and broken and he was in trouble, he said. He was at the police station, and they were going to send him to prison. He sounded afraid as he pleaded you to help him. Next thing you remember is being there with him after a crazy drive, holding him close and letting him break down crying against your chest.
At the end you couldn’t do anything but paying him the best lawyer you could afford, who in turn could only reduce Hayato’s condemn alleging he had been under the influence of drugs. Robbery and threatening with a knife were too serious to get anything better, he said, and what he had managed was already a great success. Hayato, he added, could reduce his condemn further if he agreed to get help to disitoxicate himself. It was you who explained it all to him, and the one who called the guards when he broke his hand against the metal bars of the cell.
You sigh as the guard finishes checking you’re clean and lets you into the visits room. Hayato is there, sitting alone behind the glass, and he grabs the phone as soon as you step in. He’s smiling, but you notice something wrong when you sit down. There are bruises again around his mouth and his eyes are cloudy. You can see a tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, but what catches your attention are the wounds in his arms. You feel anger spreading through your body and you can barely stop yourself from screaming
“What the hell, Hayato?! Why are you doing this again?!”
Hayato doesn’t answer, just looks dumbly at you. It makes you mad, how he is throwing all you were down the drain. You smash your fist against the glass and Hayato yelps, surprised. The noise makes a guard come running into the room. He grabs you, tries to pull you away, and you barely have the time to shout a last question through the phone before letting go.
“Are you getting what you want like this, Hayato?! What is it that you’re trying to get?!”
When Hayato answers you’re already too far to hear him, but you see his lips moving, and read them.
“You.”
Pairing: HayaRyu
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Sad but true.
Rating: R for drug usage, violence and probably more.
A/N: Part of a series of drabbles/oneshots based on Nickelback's "Dark Horse" album. Lyrics here and song here. First time ever I tried to write like this, betaed by the always awesome nubello
Prisons, you think as the door slams closed behind you, are scary places- You aren’t one to be easily scared. But this place always makes you shiver, even if just slightly. Everytime the metal door closes you want to turn around and run away from there. Yet you always stay and go through all the annoying procedures, cross through all the doors to see him.
You still remember the day you found him laying in an alley near your house in the middle of the night. There were bruises around his lips and nose, but most of all you remember the fear when his empty eyes met yours. You brought him up to your house, dragged him to the bathroom. You called for him, shook him, splashed cold water at his face, but anything worked. He looked like all but a broken doll and you remember wanting to cry and the mixed emotions - surprise, anger, sadness, desperation, too many to count them - when you undressed him and found the little wounds on his arm. He started to cry when you shoved him into the shower and opened the cold water. He reached for you, and somehow managed to pull you down against him until you were entagled on the shower plate, cold and wet. He fell asleep, after a while, but you remember staying awake, fighting back the sobs trying to leave your throat. You don’t remember it, but you must had cried yourself to sleep, because the next morning you woke up in the same place you had fell, naked and wrapped in a thick blanket, and he was gone.
The next months are a blur in your mind. You know you went to see him, tried to talk with him, explain him that what he was doing was only going to destroy him. Then it all went wrong, and there were screams and words never meant to be said , and you fought. He slammed you against the door and you remember seeing in his eyes he was on drugs as he fucked you hard and fast right there. You remember the pain and the frustrated tears when you made it back home, the pressure on your chest making you feel about to explode. The wounds on your hands healed after a couple of weeks, but the punch marks on the wall are still there, mocking you.
There was a time when you managed to make him accede to get help. He refused to go to an hospital, and you offered yourself to help him. He moved in with you, you made sure he was clean and everything seemed to be fine. He was smiling, and for a moment you believed you could be happy again.
However, it didn’t last long. Soon he started throwing up up his food, and before long he stopped eating altogether. You remember the impredictable mood swings and the sleepless nights, hearing him scream and cry in the room next to yours. After a few days you were unable to make him get up from bed or force as much as some water into him. There was a day when you insisted more than usual and got mad. He got up with a strength you had thought he had lost, and you remember being afraid of him, wanting to run and away yet being rooted to the floor. His blow sent you to the floor, and his kick made you scream in pain as your arm cracked broken. He shouted something the blood rushing in your ears didn’t let you hear, and then your empty wallet fell to the floor before you, the sound of the door closing a moment later painfully loud and clear. When you met Tsucchi a few days after that, he asked you about the cast around your arm. You lied, told him you had fallen down the stairs, and he nodded, saying nothing. The next time you met Hayato, he had a black eye; “courtesy of a common friend, Ryu-chan”.
You don’t remember exactly when you decided to break all contact with him, but you stopped seeing him after the incident. You remember the endless nights trying to convince yourself it was for the best, that you would get over it and would be able to fight back the sobs someday. You think it worked, because at some point the overwhelming lonliness grew into a numb aching in your chest.
It was useless, though, as a few months after regaining a more or less normal life he called you again. His voice was hoarse and broken and he was in trouble, he said. He was at the police station, and they were going to send him to prison. He sounded afraid as he pleaded you to help him. Next thing you remember is being there with him after a crazy drive, holding him close and letting him break down crying against your chest.
At the end you couldn’t do anything but paying him the best lawyer you could afford, who in turn could only reduce Hayato’s condemn alleging he had been under the influence of drugs. Robbery and threatening with a knife were too serious to get anything better, he said, and what he had managed was already a great success. Hayato, he added, could reduce his condemn further if he agreed to get help to disitoxicate himself. It was you who explained it all to him, and the one who called the guards when he broke his hand against the metal bars of the cell.
You sigh as the guard finishes checking you’re clean and lets you into the visits room. Hayato is there, sitting alone behind the glass, and he grabs the phone as soon as you step in. He’s smiling, but you notice something wrong when you sit down. There are bruises again around his mouth and his eyes are cloudy. You can see a tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, but what catches your attention are the wounds in his arms. You feel anger spreading through your body and you can barely stop yourself from screaming
“What the hell, Hayato?! Why are you doing this again?!”
Hayato doesn’t answer, just looks dumbly at you. It makes you mad, how he is throwing all you were down the drain. You smash your fist against the glass and Hayato yelps, surprised. The noise makes a guard come running into the room. He grabs you, tries to pull you away, and you barely have the time to shout a last question through the phone before letting go.
“Are you getting what you want like this, Hayato?! What is it that you’re trying to get?!”
When Hayato answers you’re already too far to hear him, but you see his lips moving, and read them.
“You.”