fic: Acoustic Silence/Guitar Strings (2/2)
--
You walk through the pale white corridors, passing people by with a few silly flowers in your hand and a guitar in another. And you feel ridiculous, utterly ridiculous as people stare at you. Not that you really care.
You stop at his door and wait there quietly, standing. Opening the door feels scary.
You wonder if he can see you. You really do.
You know you can never ask it aloud.
Courage. You needed it. Courage. You needed courage to go and face him. You grip your guitar tighter and close your eyes, breathing heavily for a while. If he can face himself everyday, you should be able to face him too. If he has the will and power, so should you.
You had gone looking for him. Not knowing where to start, you had sent his number to a search engine that had provided you with an address. It was a good thing Yuuki hadn’t hidden his contact information from them.
When you had reached the door a woman had opened it.
And now you are there again, there at the hospital. And it is so fucking scary.
You step in quietly. No reaction. His eyes stare into nothingness before him, the look in his eyes harsh and bitter. Almost as if he wanted to cry out of anger. Frustration.
You hate the cruelty of the world.
“Yuu-”
He jumps violently and almost falls over from his bed, fumbling for a grip of the mattress as he stares somewhere at your direction with darting and empty eyes.
It feels as if you would’ve disappeared.
Or maybe he’s just on the wrong frequency now.
“Natsu?” he presses, breathing hitched. He wipes his forehead that still has bandages around it and gulps. Caught and cornered. “Oh god you just scared me. Don’t come in so quietly!”
He laughs but it’s too soon, you know it. It’s too soon and his voice cracks. And you wonder if you always catch him when he’s at his weakest or why is it that his pretences seem so futile around you. You don’t really dare to think it’s really because of you. It’s probably not.
“Ah, shut up, don’t complain immediately,” you groan as you sit on the chair next to him. It feels like something’s stuck in your throat. You hawk. “Flowers,” you mutter as you set your guitar down, take the flowers in your healthier hand and give them to him, waiting for him to realise the soft brush on his shoulders. He holds them stupidly. Confused.
“This doesn’t seem like a one time thing,” he notes, an unsure and nervous smile on his lips. “What was that sound? The thing you set down.”
“Oh,” you mumble as you pick your guitar up again. “Guitar.”
“Eh? You brought your guitar in here?” Yuuki asks, slowly gathering his energy and good mood back. It’s probably forced somewhat but it’s still genuine.
Yuuki is so much stronger than you can ever be.
He’s smiling again. Excitedly.
“Can I play?” he asks and you grimace. No fucking way.
“Maybe later,” you grumble and hold it tighter in your arms. “I thought you might actually want to hear something that doesn’t give you a headache. You’re a terrible guitarist.”
Yuuki laughs and he looks beautiful when his cheeks rise so high his eyes narrow so you can barely detect the glazed stare darting around. The blind man’s stare.
You feel butterflies in your stomach as you stand up, sit by his bedside and kiss him on the lips. He withdraws, covering his mouth and becoming quiet again.
“What?” you pressure him, feeling like you need to have a mocking tone to protect yourself from seeming like a lovesick fool. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I was under the impression I mentioned I have a disease that’s trying to kill me,” he answers, shoulders tense. His laughter hasn’t yet sounded so strained, and that’s really something. “Don’t break your heart by clinging to me.”
“Well that’s some motivation for you,” you argue, squeezing your guitar. “Because you got already something of mine?”
“What? Your heart?” Yuuki grins, a smile threatening to tuck his smile. “That’s incredibly corny.”
“It’s true,” you answer. Being corny sometimes did the job. You don’t trust in your creative ability enough to try to get your point across in some uniquely beautiful way. Yukiya and Arumi were the ones who held that power. Not that Arumi would’ve ever directed it at anyone softly, the mental image is ridiculous. Yukiya? Not that much hope either. But they held the power to succeed.
You force your arm around his shoulders and pull him in another forceful kiss, insisting. You don’t want to go home empty-handed, you don’t want to fail. You want what you want and if you can’t even get Yuuki then what? That sure as hell seemed to conclude everything on that area.
“I think it’s better not now,” Yuuki suggests, fidgeting. You shut him up with another kiss. You don’t know any other way. And a hand… would Yuuki feel threatened now that he was blind?
“Then when?” you pressure him, voice hoarse and warm breaths tickling his face. He smells like the hospital and sweat. “Fuck waiting. Fuck everything. Now is good.”
“I can die as a friend among the others but dying as a lover would be too cruel,” Yuuki mumbles, voice bitter and pained. “I can’t be the thing that ruins your life, anyone’s life. The timing is wrong. Just go.”
“No,” you refuse and shake your head. “No. I’m not going. I don’t care if you die in a month. I don’t care. Just stay by my side. And I’ll stay by yours.”
Your hands fumble to find his and your grip is tight. You’re afraid you’ll break his fingers. Delicate fingers.
“Why do you insist on being so unhappy?” he groans, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. You keep blinking your eyes. Tears. “You need a scolding if something. I don’t understand you. You’re out of control.”
“Let me try to be happy,” you hoarsely mumble in his ear, pressing your lips against his temple. “Don’t make us miserable.”
You leave later. After playing with your guitar and mumbling nonsense with him.
Lululalala, Yuuki.
--
Yuuki refuses to see you on his birthday. Says his parents are coming over and he’s going to spend it with them. It stings a bit but you comply, going in only the following day.
A lot of little stuff has appeared on the table next to him and he’s wearing a new shirt, you notice. A smile tucks your lips as you follow how he has wrapped a pink and simple scarf on his head to cover the bald spots from the surgery. It’s somehow nicer than the cosies.
“Pink?” you chuckle as you bounce your way in and crash on the chair. He turns at you and pushes you, a happy smile on his lips. It seems to be a good day.
“I do know it’s pink, it’s not a prank someone pulled on me,” he snorts. “And no, no matter how much you hate it you can’t pull it off.”
“I could,” you note him and grasp a hold of it. His hands shoot up to protect his scarf, fingers grasping around the material. He wails.
“Ahhh let go let go!” he demands. “Stop being a brat!”
You do after stealing a good smooch from his lips, proud of yourself.
“I thought I’d make your day interesting,” you note him as you get up and sit by his bedside, forcing your way behind him. His unseeing eyes try to follow you and he turns his neck. You nib at his ear and put the guitar in his hands.
He grins happily. “Oh, you’ll let me play it? Is this my present? Playing an instrument I don’t even know how to play? Thank you, it’s a very nice thought. I doubt it’ll keep me entertained for long though, you have to fill in the rest of the day.”
“I’m going to teach you,” you insist. “Something simple at first, though.”
“So no nice acoustic guitar riffs?” he complains and purses his lips. “Ah, I was looking forward to that!”
You laugh and help him find the right spots with his fingers, giving him a plectrum in one hand.
He isn’t a natural born talent or even a promising case. But he struggles to learn.
You wonder if one day the two of you will sit side by side in your apartment and play your own guitars. If he’ll one day get over his tone-deaf ears.
You can wonder.
--
Yuuki masters the art of playing the guitar within a year.
--
“You look exceptionally down today,” Yuuki interrupts you one day after a rather long silence. You lean to his bed and hold his hand as he lies down. He seems a bit tired that day. He doesn’t let it show too much though, acts as if he’d be following the calm and quiet atmosphere.
“…I’ve been just thinking,” you answer him, sighing deep with a distant and cool frown on your face. Walls up but anxiety leaking through. You’re not good at holding it in, you aren’t Yuuki.
Maybe if you were you could’ve been more respectable.
You shift tensely and glare out of the window. You wonder why you even came. Yuuki doesn’t need your problems, he has his own ones. And that’s already fucking plenty of problems.
“Come on, what is it?” Yuuki presses, running his fingers repeatedly through your tresses, caressing you softly. You look down at the mattress. Everything feels so heavy you just want to break.
“…I’m really good at nothing, am I?” you ask him, grimacing hatefully at yourself. Disgusted. “I’m completely worthless and my existence is just as good as nothing. I’m not particularly good at anything, I’m just a pawn.”
“What are you talking about?” Yuuki groans. “Get up. Get on me.”
You don’t look at him as you climb on the bed and on him, lying down, your face lying on his chest, ears and hair tickling his collarbone. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on top of your head.
“You have a big heart,” he tells you with a confident and smiling murmur, tightening his hold briefly as he exhales deep. “You have strength and a big heart to give, you have talent. You have so much to give to the world. You know what’s your problem?” he continues, forcing your head up to look at him in the eyes. “You don’t set yourself to it. You let people convince you you’re going to fail. You need to show them how wrong they are.”
“I’m not like Yukiya or Arumi. It’s not like I can make it on my own,” you tell him hoarsely, still a glare in your eyes. Withdrawn.
“You don’t know if you don’t give it your everything,” Yuuki insists. “That band is what you want, Natsu. So work for it. Show them your importance, get some respect for yourself. Write a song. Write a song and compete with them. You can fail but if you don’t even try you just give up without a fight. If you want it then go for it!”
You cry a bit. Just a few teardrops that hit his neck. No more.
Yuuki is struggling too. Struggling and fighting for what he wants.
It’s cowardly to run away when he works so hard.
--
It’s been a couple of years since Yuuki was confined to the hospital. You hate seeing him wither away. You hate seeing how his muscles wear out and how he becomes pale and fragile.
“I’ve been writing songs,” you tell him, trying your best to sound enthusiastic. He pulls the guitar from your arms with a wide and excited smile and for a while you wrestle for it.
“I want to play!” he complains loudly. “Come on, you have it with you all day long! Let me play! Teach it to me!”
“At least let me play it first!” you object. “You’re supposed to sound excited and ask me to sing it to you! Do you even want to hear it?!”
Yuuki laughs and his laughter echoes in the room. Such a beautiful tone.
You have tried to play it with your guitar, the little notes. You never can.
It was a stupid thought in the first place. You didn’t really expect it to work from the beginning…
“Play it to me,” Yuuki asks and bows a bit. “Show me how you’re planning to beat Yukiya-san and Arumi-san.”
You smile stupidly to yourself, somewhat embarrassed. You feel like a child about to play for his crush. Too bad you have several years of dating behind you.
Yuuki is the strongest person you know and will probably ever know.
“It’s called ‘Genki’,” you hawk and give him a brief introduction. He looks like he’s trying really hard to keep his mocking and amused laughter in.
And then you play your guitar and sing. And he listens quietly.
He finds it beautiful.
Yuuki demands you to teach it to him.
--
‘Genki’ gets picked as the next single to release.
It hits #1 in the music charts.
--
You buy Yuuki a guitar as a thank-you gift.
--
You lie on your bed and stare at the plain ceiling. The roar of the midnight traffic keeps you awake. Or so you want to believe as you try your hardest to drown yourself in the sound. Cars and horns and engines. People. Please let it be just traffic sounds that ring in your ears.
“Why can’t I meet your mother or father? Or friends? Why do you always drive me away when they’re around?”
It had been a simple question. So painfully simple. It had been simple enough to break your heart. Shatter the confidence.
“I don’t want them to know I can do something this cruel to anyone.”
“Yuuki,” you whisper hoarsely. Your arm hangs weakly over the bed, holding the bottle of scotch from its neck. Your throat burns the way your eyes do. Stinging.
He’s not perfect. He’s not as strong as people think. Even he can’t be.
And you’ll be the only one to know.
“Yuuki.”
--
“Yuuki?” you chirp happily as you peek in his room. “…Yuuki?”
You watch his empty bed quietly. The curtain flutters in the window.
You walk in slowly and sit by his bedside. Wait.
You watch the board with the pictures of his friends. There has been an addition, you notice. You don’t know for how long. Yuuki never mentioned it to you.
An hour passes. A nurse peeks in and sees you.
“Are you here for Yuuki-san?” she asks and you nod and bow your head slightly. She looks at you apologetically.
“I’m sorry, he’s out with some friends today. But he should be here tomorrow. Will I leave a message?” she offers politely. It’s her job. Maybe she means it too. But it’s her job.
“No need,” you state as you get on your feet. “It was just on a whim.”
Sometimes you feel so far from his other life.
--
How Yuuki talks about his experience with his friends with a genuine, wide and sunny smile on his lips makes you secretly sick to your stomach.
It wasn’t you. It’s never you.
--
The day is very still. The world outside is a dull colour of gray. It isn’t raining but it’s daring to. You stay in. Yuuki always stays in lately. He looks very tired with dark bags under his unseeing eyes. You swear he looks frailer each passing day.
“Don’t be so down,” you croak at him, sitting by his bed and rubbing his hand absentmindedly. “It will affect your health. You should be smiling. You look beaten down. You need to get healthy, Yuuki.”
“It’s been years,” he answers you. He isn’t smiling, nor does he look depressed. His expression looks like nothing at all. Paused.
“Cancer can take years too. People make it, Yuuki, people with your illness are living out there right now too,” you insist, gritting your teeth. You hate the attitude. It’s unlike him.
“It’s never going to be the same,” he answers you, face towards the window even though he isn’t able to see it with his dull eyes. There isn’t even as much as a breeze. The air is still. “Even if I get out, I can never live like I wanted to, can I?”
“I’ll take you to Australia,” you insist. “I’ll fucking get a motorcycle licence and drive you around the world if that’s what you want! Get a grip for god’s sake…”
“I’m tired of thinking about Australia,” Yuuki answers him with a steady voice and an unsure ghost of a smile. Too tired to cover up completely. “I just… I’m too tired thinking about healing completely. Overcoming this.”
“…Don’t say that,” you croak and shake your head numbly. “Yuuki, don’t say that. Don’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” he answers and straightens up, hands on his lap. His smile looks like a tic. Maybe it is. It shakes so badly. “I’m just… alright with breathing for now. Just staying alive. With what I have. That’s… that’s enough. Having dreams is too heavy of a task. I’ve held my dreams for years and them coming true… it’s still nowhere in sight. I’m tired. I just want to live for now.”
Your world is upside down. All courage seems worthless and weak.
You take the guitar you got for him from the floor and sit by his bedside, playing a few sad notes. He rests his forehead against your arm and you cry. Just a couple of tears. You don’t cry buckets at a time.
“…Yuuki…” you start singing, voice shaking. “Yuuki…”
He listens to the guitar and your voice and doesn’t say a word.
He’s too tired to fight the depression behind his million watt smiles.
“G-ganbare yo, ganbare yo…”
He bites his lip and wraps his arms around your stomach. You don’t think you’ve seen him pained like that in a while. If ever.
“Mada kitto yareru...”
--
Last time you see him he sits on his bed and plays the guitar with well-learned, skilful fingers. You watch him sing, stumbling with the notes he’s supposed to hit and having to stop sometimes to really search for the right note in the guitar.
He’s smiling, though. He sings to himself and smiles, a few already dried lines from tears on his cheeks. He seems gentle.
You don’t really want to interrupt him. So you just watch. Lean against the doorframe with your arms crossed and watch him.
And he’s still the strongest person you have ever known.
(The phone call stops your life the next day.)
--
Dirty little secrets don’t attend funerals.
You stay the day in with a bottle of scotch. And when the night comes you stumble your way up the stairs all the way to the rooftop.
You had been hoping somewhere in your drunken mind that the fresh air would hold Yuuki in it, that it would be Yuuki now. But now that you’re out it’s Yuuki-less. The whole world has a little less courage in it.
You stand on the edge and want to go down. Dive down to the lights.
You don’t. They aren’t your lights.
Instead you cry and laugh helplessly so that the whole city can hear.
Not that anyone would listen or care.
--
‘Yuuki’ only reaches the ranking of #48 when it’s debuted.
You walk through the pale white corridors, passing people by with a few silly flowers in your hand and a guitar in another. And you feel ridiculous, utterly ridiculous as people stare at you. Not that you really care.
You stop at his door and wait there quietly, standing. Opening the door feels scary.
You wonder if he can see you. You really do.
You know you can never ask it aloud.
Courage. You needed it. Courage. You needed courage to go and face him. You grip your guitar tighter and close your eyes, breathing heavily for a while. If he can face himself everyday, you should be able to face him too. If he has the will and power, so should you.
You had gone looking for him. Not knowing where to start, you had sent his number to a search engine that had provided you with an address. It was a good thing Yuuki hadn’t hidden his contact information from them.
When you had reached the door a woman had opened it.
And now you are there again, there at the hospital. And it is so fucking scary.
You step in quietly. No reaction. His eyes stare into nothingness before him, the look in his eyes harsh and bitter. Almost as if he wanted to cry out of anger. Frustration.
You hate the cruelty of the world.
“Yuu-”
He jumps violently and almost falls over from his bed, fumbling for a grip of the mattress as he stares somewhere at your direction with darting and empty eyes.
It feels as if you would’ve disappeared.
Or maybe he’s just on the wrong frequency now.
“Natsu?” he presses, breathing hitched. He wipes his forehead that still has bandages around it and gulps. Caught and cornered. “Oh god you just scared me. Don’t come in so quietly!”
He laughs but it’s too soon, you know it. It’s too soon and his voice cracks. And you wonder if you always catch him when he’s at his weakest or why is it that his pretences seem so futile around you. You don’t really dare to think it’s really because of you. It’s probably not.
“Ah, shut up, don’t complain immediately,” you groan as you sit on the chair next to him. It feels like something’s stuck in your throat. You hawk. “Flowers,” you mutter as you set your guitar down, take the flowers in your healthier hand and give them to him, waiting for him to realise the soft brush on his shoulders. He holds them stupidly. Confused.
“This doesn’t seem like a one time thing,” he notes, an unsure and nervous smile on his lips. “What was that sound? The thing you set down.”
“Oh,” you mumble as you pick your guitar up again. “Guitar.”
“Eh? You brought your guitar in here?” Yuuki asks, slowly gathering his energy and good mood back. It’s probably forced somewhat but it’s still genuine.
Yuuki is so much stronger than you can ever be.
He’s smiling again. Excitedly.
“Can I play?” he asks and you grimace. No fucking way.
“Maybe later,” you grumble and hold it tighter in your arms. “I thought you might actually want to hear something that doesn’t give you a headache. You’re a terrible guitarist.”
Yuuki laughs and he looks beautiful when his cheeks rise so high his eyes narrow so you can barely detect the glazed stare darting around. The blind man’s stare.
You feel butterflies in your stomach as you stand up, sit by his bedside and kiss him on the lips. He withdraws, covering his mouth and becoming quiet again.
“What?” you pressure him, feeling like you need to have a mocking tone to protect yourself from seeming like a lovesick fool. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I was under the impression I mentioned I have a disease that’s trying to kill me,” he answers, shoulders tense. His laughter hasn’t yet sounded so strained, and that’s really something. “Don’t break your heart by clinging to me.”
“Well that’s some motivation for you,” you argue, squeezing your guitar. “Because you got already something of mine?”
“What? Your heart?” Yuuki grins, a smile threatening to tuck his smile. “That’s incredibly corny.”
“It’s true,” you answer. Being corny sometimes did the job. You don’t trust in your creative ability enough to try to get your point across in some uniquely beautiful way. Yukiya and Arumi were the ones who held that power. Not that Arumi would’ve ever directed it at anyone softly, the mental image is ridiculous. Yukiya? Not that much hope either. But they held the power to succeed.
You force your arm around his shoulders and pull him in another forceful kiss, insisting. You don’t want to go home empty-handed, you don’t want to fail. You want what you want and if you can’t even get Yuuki then what? That sure as hell seemed to conclude everything on that area.
“I think it’s better not now,” Yuuki suggests, fidgeting. You shut him up with another kiss. You don’t know any other way. And a hand… would Yuuki feel threatened now that he was blind?
“Then when?” you pressure him, voice hoarse and warm breaths tickling his face. He smells like the hospital and sweat. “Fuck waiting. Fuck everything. Now is good.”
“I can die as a friend among the others but dying as a lover would be too cruel,” Yuuki mumbles, voice bitter and pained. “I can’t be the thing that ruins your life, anyone’s life. The timing is wrong. Just go.”
“No,” you refuse and shake your head. “No. I’m not going. I don’t care if you die in a month. I don’t care. Just stay by my side. And I’ll stay by yours.”
Your hands fumble to find his and your grip is tight. You’re afraid you’ll break his fingers. Delicate fingers.
“Why do you insist on being so unhappy?” he groans, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. You keep blinking your eyes. Tears. “You need a scolding if something. I don’t understand you. You’re out of control.”
“Let me try to be happy,” you hoarsely mumble in his ear, pressing your lips against his temple. “Don’t make us miserable.”
You leave later. After playing with your guitar and mumbling nonsense with him.
Lululalala, Yuuki.
--
Yuuki refuses to see you on his birthday. Says his parents are coming over and he’s going to spend it with them. It stings a bit but you comply, going in only the following day.
A lot of little stuff has appeared on the table next to him and he’s wearing a new shirt, you notice. A smile tucks your lips as you follow how he has wrapped a pink and simple scarf on his head to cover the bald spots from the surgery. It’s somehow nicer than the cosies.
“Pink?” you chuckle as you bounce your way in and crash on the chair. He turns at you and pushes you, a happy smile on his lips. It seems to be a good day.
“I do know it’s pink, it’s not a prank someone pulled on me,” he snorts. “And no, no matter how much you hate it you can’t pull it off.”
“I could,” you note him and grasp a hold of it. His hands shoot up to protect his scarf, fingers grasping around the material. He wails.
“Ahhh let go let go!” he demands. “Stop being a brat!”
You do after stealing a good smooch from his lips, proud of yourself.
“I thought I’d make your day interesting,” you note him as you get up and sit by his bedside, forcing your way behind him. His unseeing eyes try to follow you and he turns his neck. You nib at his ear and put the guitar in his hands.
He grins happily. “Oh, you’ll let me play it? Is this my present? Playing an instrument I don’t even know how to play? Thank you, it’s a very nice thought. I doubt it’ll keep me entertained for long though, you have to fill in the rest of the day.”
“I’m going to teach you,” you insist. “Something simple at first, though.”
“So no nice acoustic guitar riffs?” he complains and purses his lips. “Ah, I was looking forward to that!”
You laugh and help him find the right spots with his fingers, giving him a plectrum in one hand.
He isn’t a natural born talent or even a promising case. But he struggles to learn.
You wonder if one day the two of you will sit side by side in your apartment and play your own guitars. If he’ll one day get over his tone-deaf ears.
You can wonder.
--
Yuuki masters the art of playing the guitar within a year.
--
“You look exceptionally down today,” Yuuki interrupts you one day after a rather long silence. You lean to his bed and hold his hand as he lies down. He seems a bit tired that day. He doesn’t let it show too much though, acts as if he’d be following the calm and quiet atmosphere.
“…I’ve been just thinking,” you answer him, sighing deep with a distant and cool frown on your face. Walls up but anxiety leaking through. You’re not good at holding it in, you aren’t Yuuki.
Maybe if you were you could’ve been more respectable.
You shift tensely and glare out of the window. You wonder why you even came. Yuuki doesn’t need your problems, he has his own ones. And that’s already fucking plenty of problems.
“Come on, what is it?” Yuuki presses, running his fingers repeatedly through your tresses, caressing you softly. You look down at the mattress. Everything feels so heavy you just want to break.
“…I’m really good at nothing, am I?” you ask him, grimacing hatefully at yourself. Disgusted. “I’m completely worthless and my existence is just as good as nothing. I’m not particularly good at anything, I’m just a pawn.”
“What are you talking about?” Yuuki groans. “Get up. Get on me.”
You don’t look at him as you climb on the bed and on him, lying down, your face lying on his chest, ears and hair tickling his collarbone. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on top of your head.
“You have a big heart,” he tells you with a confident and smiling murmur, tightening his hold briefly as he exhales deep. “You have strength and a big heart to give, you have talent. You have so much to give to the world. You know what’s your problem?” he continues, forcing your head up to look at him in the eyes. “You don’t set yourself to it. You let people convince you you’re going to fail. You need to show them how wrong they are.”
“I’m not like Yukiya or Arumi. It’s not like I can make it on my own,” you tell him hoarsely, still a glare in your eyes. Withdrawn.
“You don’t know if you don’t give it your everything,” Yuuki insists. “That band is what you want, Natsu. So work for it. Show them your importance, get some respect for yourself. Write a song. Write a song and compete with them. You can fail but if you don’t even try you just give up without a fight. If you want it then go for it!”
You cry a bit. Just a few teardrops that hit his neck. No more.
Yuuki is struggling too. Struggling and fighting for what he wants.
It’s cowardly to run away when he works so hard.
--
It’s been a couple of years since Yuuki was confined to the hospital. You hate seeing him wither away. You hate seeing how his muscles wear out and how he becomes pale and fragile.
“I’ve been writing songs,” you tell him, trying your best to sound enthusiastic. He pulls the guitar from your arms with a wide and excited smile and for a while you wrestle for it.
“I want to play!” he complains loudly. “Come on, you have it with you all day long! Let me play! Teach it to me!”
“At least let me play it first!” you object. “You’re supposed to sound excited and ask me to sing it to you! Do you even want to hear it?!”
Yuuki laughs and his laughter echoes in the room. Such a beautiful tone.
You have tried to play it with your guitar, the little notes. You never can.
It was a stupid thought in the first place. You didn’t really expect it to work from the beginning…
“Play it to me,” Yuuki asks and bows a bit. “Show me how you’re planning to beat Yukiya-san and Arumi-san.”
You smile stupidly to yourself, somewhat embarrassed. You feel like a child about to play for his crush. Too bad you have several years of dating behind you.
Yuuki is the strongest person you know and will probably ever know.
“It’s called ‘Genki’,” you hawk and give him a brief introduction. He looks like he’s trying really hard to keep his mocking and amused laughter in.
And then you play your guitar and sing. And he listens quietly.
He finds it beautiful.
Yuuki demands you to teach it to him.
--
‘Genki’ gets picked as the next single to release.
It hits #1 in the music charts.
--
You buy Yuuki a guitar as a thank-you gift.
--
You lie on your bed and stare at the plain ceiling. The roar of the midnight traffic keeps you awake. Or so you want to believe as you try your hardest to drown yourself in the sound. Cars and horns and engines. People. Please let it be just traffic sounds that ring in your ears.
“Why can’t I meet your mother or father? Or friends? Why do you always drive me away when they’re around?”
It had been a simple question. So painfully simple. It had been simple enough to break your heart. Shatter the confidence.
“I don’t want them to know I can do something this cruel to anyone.”
“Yuuki,” you whisper hoarsely. Your arm hangs weakly over the bed, holding the bottle of scotch from its neck. Your throat burns the way your eyes do. Stinging.
He’s not perfect. He’s not as strong as people think. Even he can’t be.
And you’ll be the only one to know.
“Yuuki.”
--
“Yuuki?” you chirp happily as you peek in his room. “…Yuuki?”
You watch his empty bed quietly. The curtain flutters in the window.
You walk in slowly and sit by his bedside. Wait.
You watch the board with the pictures of his friends. There has been an addition, you notice. You don’t know for how long. Yuuki never mentioned it to you.
An hour passes. A nurse peeks in and sees you.
“Are you here for Yuuki-san?” she asks and you nod and bow your head slightly. She looks at you apologetically.
“I’m sorry, he’s out with some friends today. But he should be here tomorrow. Will I leave a message?” she offers politely. It’s her job. Maybe she means it too. But it’s her job.
“No need,” you state as you get on your feet. “It was just on a whim.”
Sometimes you feel so far from his other life.
--
How Yuuki talks about his experience with his friends with a genuine, wide and sunny smile on his lips makes you secretly sick to your stomach.
It wasn’t you. It’s never you.
--
The day is very still. The world outside is a dull colour of gray. It isn’t raining but it’s daring to. You stay in. Yuuki always stays in lately. He looks very tired with dark bags under his unseeing eyes. You swear he looks frailer each passing day.
“Don’t be so down,” you croak at him, sitting by his bed and rubbing his hand absentmindedly. “It will affect your health. You should be smiling. You look beaten down. You need to get healthy, Yuuki.”
“It’s been years,” he answers you. He isn’t smiling, nor does he look depressed. His expression looks like nothing at all. Paused.
“Cancer can take years too. People make it, Yuuki, people with your illness are living out there right now too,” you insist, gritting your teeth. You hate the attitude. It’s unlike him.
“It’s never going to be the same,” he answers you, face towards the window even though he isn’t able to see it with his dull eyes. There isn’t even as much as a breeze. The air is still. “Even if I get out, I can never live like I wanted to, can I?”
“I’ll take you to Australia,” you insist. “I’ll fucking get a motorcycle licence and drive you around the world if that’s what you want! Get a grip for god’s sake…”
“I’m tired of thinking about Australia,” Yuuki answers him with a steady voice and an unsure ghost of a smile. Too tired to cover up completely. “I just… I’m too tired thinking about healing completely. Overcoming this.”
“…Don’t say that,” you croak and shake your head numbly. “Yuuki, don’t say that. Don’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” he answers and straightens up, hands on his lap. His smile looks like a tic. Maybe it is. It shakes so badly. “I’m just… alright with breathing for now. Just staying alive. With what I have. That’s… that’s enough. Having dreams is too heavy of a task. I’ve held my dreams for years and them coming true… it’s still nowhere in sight. I’m tired. I just want to live for now.”
Your world is upside down. All courage seems worthless and weak.
You take the guitar you got for him from the floor and sit by his bedside, playing a few sad notes. He rests his forehead against your arm and you cry. Just a couple of tears. You don’t cry buckets at a time.
“…Yuuki…” you start singing, voice shaking. “Yuuki…”
He listens to the guitar and your voice and doesn’t say a word.
He’s too tired to fight the depression behind his million watt smiles.
“G-ganbare yo, ganbare yo…”
He bites his lip and wraps his arms around your stomach. You don’t think you’ve seen him pained like that in a while. If ever.
“Mada kitto yareru...”
--
Last time you see him he sits on his bed and plays the guitar with well-learned, skilful fingers. You watch him sing, stumbling with the notes he’s supposed to hit and having to stop sometimes to really search for the right note in the guitar.
He’s smiling, though. He sings to himself and smiles, a few already dried lines from tears on his cheeks. He seems gentle.
You don’t really want to interrupt him. So you just watch. Lean against the doorframe with your arms crossed and watch him.
And he’s still the strongest person you have ever known.
(The phone call stops your life the next day.)
--
Dirty little secrets don’t attend funerals.
You stay the day in with a bottle of scotch. And when the night comes you stumble your way up the stairs all the way to the rooftop.
You had been hoping somewhere in your drunken mind that the fresh air would hold Yuuki in it, that it would be Yuuki now. But now that you’re out it’s Yuuki-less. The whole world has a little less courage in it.
You stand on the edge and want to go down. Dive down to the lights.
You don’t. They aren’t your lights.
Instead you cry and laugh helplessly so that the whole city can hear.
Not that anyone would listen or care.
--
‘Yuuki’ only reaches the ranking of #48 when it’s debuted.