PLEDGE - Uruha/Reita - 1/1
Title: PLEDGE
Chapters: Oneshot
Author: raindigo
Genre: Romance, slight angst, drama, AU. Gender bender.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and death.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Uruha/Reita.
Synopsis: A solemn binding promise to do, give, or refrain from doing something.
Comments: Am I the only one who wants to rip off Uruha's ugly shoulder pads and feed them to a paper shredder? Anywho, somehow inspired by the new PV... (God that guitar duo was beautiful <3) I actually wrote this before reading the lyrics, and I found them oddly fitting. So then I went back and inserted them in.
PLEDGE
this is a love song we won’t live to hear.
~
"Suzuki!"
She whipped around and glared at him, kohl-lined eyes narrowing into slits.
"What do you want, Takashima?" It came out a hiss, like a lioness defending her cubs.
Uruha smiled. "Let's go for a walk."
She snorted. "Make me."
He sighed and swiftly climbed onto the wall where she was standing, latching his hands onto her wrists.
"What are you doing?!" she protested, indignant, and tried to pry herself away.
Uruha just chuckled. "What you told me to do."
"Sly bastard."
He laughed some more. "I love you too."
She turned her head away, preferring to focus on gravel and stones than his triumphant smirk; looking down on her, was he, eh? Her mind was on the verge of elaborating some escape plan when, unexpectedly, brutally, he smashed their lips together.
It was a sloppy, clumsy first kiss.
She pushed him back, almost toppling him off the wall, and he let out a panicked scream. It was her turn to laugh.
"You scream like a girl, Takashima!"
"Shut up," he grumbled, but by the way the corner of his mouth was quirking up, she could instinctively tell he wasn't angry.
Later on, she'd tell him it didn't count because kisses were supposed to be between human beings, and he'd push her into a fountain.
It was a first, and by the way she felt her stomach twist, she could tell it wasn't going to be the last.
x-x-x
He thinks he's seen an angel fall from heaven.
He admits it, sometimes he can be cheesy too, but Kouyou has always prided himself at being a romantic.
And this is definitely romantic:
Early morning sunshine is pouring through the dusty window, tipping their world into hues of sepia and light blue. The sheets are pooled around his naked waist where he sits, contemplating the sky, still unaware of the other's presence. Shadows cast from the leaves outside are tracing shapeless and incoherent patterns on his face, but serenity has already painted itself on his features.
This is a 'morning-after', and Kouyou wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
(Too bad this is the only one they ever had.)
x-x-x
He brushed her arm as he passed and his lips folded into a smirk when he felt her tense.
"Morning, Suzuki," he greeted, putting on an air of great joy at facing the newborn day, though they both knew Uruha was the one who hated school most, between them.
She snorted as any form of reply.
He pouted. "How cold."
"Coming from the guy who ignored my calls yesterday," she shot back, rapid-fire, tongue clicking and knuckles snapping.
Uruha could sense the edge of reproach in her voice and took it into account. "Sorry, Rei-chan. I was busy."
She glared at him. "Who gave you permission to call me that?"
He inched forward, and they were merely a breath's width apart. His answer ghosted against her cheek as he leaned down to whisper,
"You."
And he claimed her lips again.
She didn't resist so much, today. She told herself she'd get back at him tomorrow. Bastard.
x-x-x
If I flip a coin, what are my chances of getting head?
Kouyou is secretly eying Akira from across the table, lips curled into a smile around his wine glass. Takanori is babbling on about a stranger hitting on him in the bus, Yuu is listening to him like a child does his mother, Yutaka is conversing with their manager in a hushed voice, and Akira, well, Kouyou can already see the redness creeping onto his cheeks.
He hopes Akira likes his birthday card. Kouyou put a damn lot of effort in it, searching up a million pick-up lines during his spare time, when he could have been sleeping.
Why don’t you come here, sit on my lap, and we’ll talk about the first thing that pops up?
He sees Akira shift in his seat and lift his head to stare back-electricity courses through the space separating them-and Kouyou evilly flicks out his tongue to lick the glass’s rim.
Akira blushes and excuses himself, claiming he needs to use the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he’s still nowhere to be seen.
Kouyou follows, fingers tracing the contour of a condom in the back pocket of his jeans. He knew it’d end up like this.
Oh, he’s not complaining.
The only reason I would kick you out of bed is to fuck you on the floor.
x-x-x
"I never knew you liked playgrounds."
Rei huffed. "What, something wrong with that?"
Uruha suppressed a chuckle. "Of course not."
A moment of nothing. Chains creaked and wind swept. They felt comfortable, basked in this inactivity. There were no awkward moments in their relationship-if you could call it one at all.
"I heard you play the guitar," Rei interjected out of the blue, crossing an invisible line.
Uruha smiled. "Yeah. I should probably settle myself under your window someday and sing you a cheesy ballad."
Rei refused to blush and pushed Uruha off his swing. "Shut up. That's stupid."
He laughed. "I'm a hopeless romantic. Don't judge."
The unspoken words were: for you, but they'd both heard them.
x-x-x
"Shit, Reita, don't fucking-"
"Shut the fuck up, 'Ruha, I'm tired of-“
"-get away from the fucking door-"
Bodies slam and dreams collapse; the apartment is moist with heated arguments and balled fists, tension rising and hopes drowning. It is almost like the long awaited conclusion to a spar; they've forced their cutting jabs onto each other and sharp consonants dye the curses they spew. Love will never comply with their selfish requests-there is no love to begin with.
Kouyou tries again. His voice is louder, this is an order, he will not take no for an answer.
"Get away from the door!"
"Make me."
Silence crashes onto the room. The atmosphere stills. Nothing but beating hearts and cracking patience beneath inattentive fingers but experienced palms. Their reality is breaking.
Kouyou doesn't know what to say, so he lets him go.
Akira's back is the last thing he sees before this encounter ends.
He’ll come back, eventually. This is where the waiting starts.
x-x-x
"You're late."
Uruha frowned. "Sorry. Got caught in traffic."
She diverted her gaze and ignored his excuses.
"Oh, come on," he whined. "I'm here now, am I not?"
She stood her ground, crossing her arms and stubbornly feigning anger. He knew, by now, to read her expressions and watch out for the telltale signs of lying; a bite of her lip, fidgeting with her hair, shifting her feet, exhaling noisily.
He relented after another five minutes of nonsense. "Alright. I'm sorry. Can we go on our date now?"
She examined him, in that meticulous way only she managed, eyes trailing along his shoulders for a while. He'd never felt so pressured before, like a criminal awaiting his verdict.
"Fine. But it better be good."
His tense body relaxed and he offered her his hand.
"Only the best for you, baby."
She brought her purse down on him, and he nursed a bruise for the rest of the evening.
Love hurts, he reassured himself as they shared a wine-laced kiss (kudos to fake IDs, kudos, kudos...) and her fingers twine with his hair.
He didn't know but, at that moment, she'd told herself, without a hint of hesitation, that love wasn't so bad, after all.
x-x-x
Akira's back arches and Kouyou's eyes devour. His lips are sewn onto the other's shoulder and familiar hands meld into his back. His name rolls out of Akira's mouth-U ru ha-in watery syllables, tastes vaguely sweet in the air surrounding them. He chokes onto a shuddery breath and bites down, hard, watches delightfully as Akira's eyes roll back in their sockets and a moan spirals from his chest.
"S-stop."
Kouyou freezes.
"We should stop."
He ignores him. "Shut up and fuck."
He doesn't give him another chance to intervene; the room is filled with pants and pleads, but no space of innovation.
He'll blindfold him to the world if he has to; Kouyou is not losing Akira again.
x-x-x
They were on their way home, Uruha with two book bags swung over his shoulder, Rei humming cheerfully to some tune from the radio, scabs of spring clawing at their hair. Uruha was overtaken by a sudden urge to sing, and so he opened his mouth, but not two verses later Rei shut him up with a jab to his side.
“You can’t sing,” she explained, dodging a fist flying in her direction (which she knew would soon uncurl into tickling fingers).
Uruha growled and lunged at her, but she deftly sidestepped him, and laughed when he almost stumbles face first onto the cement.
“You can’t fight either.”
Now he just looked frustrated, and she felt a little guilty. She walked towards him, sliding a hand down his forearm.
“But here’s something you can do.”
And kissed him.
x-x-x
Kouyou dreams of names.
Names with stiff vowels and inept pronunciations, falling a bit over the edge or leaving too much space for imagination. Nothing is right, nothing frames them well enough, and he’s about to give up trying to define himself when one day, Akira and Takanori are talking, and something snaps at the back of his mind.
“Taka,” he says. “I’ve got an idea for our names.”
Takanori looks at him, doubt ruffling his feathers, but he shrugs and lets him speak.
“Uruha.” He points to himself.
“Reita.” He points to Akira.
Takanori opens his mouth to protest. Nothing comes out, though. Kouyou decides he’s won the battle. (But not the war.)
Akira just blinks and gapes, as if Kouyou has suddenly morphed into someone else and he has to get to know him all over again.
Kouyou reassures him with a pat to the back. He’s not going anywhere.
When he wakes up, he’s panting and sweating, fright injected skin-deep and keeping him from remembering exactly why.
Maybe memories are what everyone says they are; sad fragments of the past you don’t want to remember.
x-x-x
They were on the hill behind the school and the sun was setting.
Uruha, being the cheesy romantic he was, had made the first step.
“Hey, wanna watch the sunset after school?”
Rei, being the hopeless lover she was, had accepted.
So that was how they ended here, arm to arm, elbow to elbow, legs crossed among the other’s and bleeding sunshine dying their world golden. Prussian blue swept in around the horizon, unveiling clouds and planting stars. He kissed her temple and she nuzzled his neck, and everything was perfect.
The grass drew sharp green and blazing orange borders around them, a fence against the outside world, and for a moment they let their insecurities melt away. No pressuring families or demanding teachers, no textbook perfect smiles for strangers or pencil clean stabs into a pulsing arrogance. No need to fold into elitists; they only had each imperfect other.
But the truth, the truth, the truth was existent, and even dazzling sunsets couldn’t make it less ugly.
Cold night installed itself between them and ran shivers through their veins. Taken by a sudden gush of realism, Uruha wryly croaks,
“Don’t ever fall in love.”
It’s too late, she wanted to say, but nodded anyways. At least this gave him something to believe in.
x-x-x
Kouyou had a dream. It’s been a long time since they’ve visited him.
He dreamt of yellow dandelions, so yellow it makes his teeth ache just at the thought, and desert dust, so dry his palate still taste of bones, and sparkling hopes and porcelain childhood. He dreamt of Akira pulling his tongue at him, dreamt of pebbles knocking at his window and crickets singing him to sleep, dreamt of band-aids and cuts and smudged bruises, dreamt of someone called Ue-chan hugging someone called Shima and they were happy, if he recalls it right.
He wakes up without a sound, a shudder, a thought. He’s empty.
Not quite; for some reason, he has a name he doesn’t recognize.
Rei-chan.
x-x-x
He’d blown it. (to pieces.)
They were seated in his car, the rain an umbrella of blurry ignorance around them, sliding down the windows and creating a wall to divide. Silence slid through the cracks of their uniformity and pinches them back to reality. This was awkward and they’d never been.
Uruha remembered.
It was a sunny afternoon and school was almost over. Exams were lining up before them, like children waiting for candy, and Rei was submerged under a sea of studies with no time to fly by him.
It was between periods and Uruha, bored out of his brains, had been numbly flipping through a dictionary for the last forty minutes. Something caught his eye.
Rei frowned as she saw Uruha appear in her field of vision; she had notes to revise, didn’t he see? Already that she had to quit the Prom Committee-she didn’t do it to give Uruha more time to nag her.
He shoved the thick book under her nose.
“Pledge,” she read the highlighted word aloud. “What do you want?”
Uruha rolled his eyes. “Read the definition.”
“A solemn binding promise to do, give, or refrain from doing something.”
He smiled and she was just puzzled. “Uh, okay, can you leave me be now?”
He sighed, exasperated.
“Promise me you’ll spend summer with me, if I do.”
She blinked. “Sure.”
“Swear,” he said, holding out his pinky finger.
She hooked hers around it. “I swear.”
He heard the car door slam, and she was out under the rain.
She left a message, letters curvy and feminine.
PLEDGE.
~
the end is beginning and they need to start believing.
~
Love is like firing a gun at your legs, handicaps and little holes, living to watch the blood gush out and feel pain gnaw at your insides, roughly grab at your intestines.
Kouyou drowns his suffering in glasses of clear alcohol, music turned onto maximum, who gives a shit if the neighbors complain? He'll be out of here by morning, anyways.
He glances groggily over the suitcases, all packed and neat, lining the hallway towards the entrance. Typical Akira. The bastard still has to do everything for him, even when he’s the one throwing him out.
Kouyou groans and rests his head against the couch's back. So, it's over, eh? Took Akira long enough to speak up. Maybe it's because Kouyou couldn't stop shutting him down. Maybe it's because all this time he's shoved the barrel of a gun down Akira's throat and taunted him, dared him to protest, to wrench free.
Love hurts like a knee to the gut, and Kouyou's inhibitions are splayed out before him, bare and exposed for the world to see.
They spell out a simple warning: Don't ever fall in love.
x-x-x
Fear was strewn across every muscle of his constitution and his throat was too hoarse to scream. His vocal chords might rip if he tried to call out. But right-
-right now she was unconscious on his back drooling over his shirt eyes shut into her skull life leaking out her pores and she was getting too heavy for him to carry her limbs were made of lead weighted a ton two tons even three-
He hailed a taxi and barked the address to the nearest hospital in a broken tone, the driver shooting a glance in the rear-view mirror to check if everything was alright (no it's not nothing is just drive bastard) and, upon seeing her limp form cushioned against Uruha's, kicked the gas pedal as if his life depended on it (hers undeniably did).
He whispered to her all the way under flashing streetlights and over glistening roads, told her stories and retold them once he'd run out of things to say.
Remember when we first met at the Prom Planning Committee meeting? You were glaring at me the whole time. It's like you had something against my laugh or whatever, though you probably did. I was the one who talked to you. I asked your name. Remember what you did? You just turned on your heel and ran away. I thought you were cute.
The car flew onto the highway, crowded even at this hour of the night.
I decided I'd conquer you, then. I asked all my friends if they knew you and finally Aoi told me you took the same road to school as him. I was so intent on 'accidentally' bumping into you that I slept at his house on a weekday, and that's when we had our first conversation.
Horns beeped and the driver cursed and Uruha cursed and Rei, well, she stayed deathly immobile and marble cold, and he felt his common sense start to slip through his fingers, seep into the uncomfortable leather seats. His throat was tight as a vice.
I fell in love, you know. Head over heels, tipsy, drunk, whatever. Aoi teased me for a week after that, but then he got tired and moved on to his next unfortunately victim. I continued stalking you. You didn't get annoyed at me, remember? After the tenth morning in a row we walked to school together, still on our separate sidewalks, you hadn't bashed me in the head yet.
Uruha felt the first tear spill.
Somehow, we became friends. I still don't know why you'd have a pitiful bastard like me as a friend while you were bright, top of the class Suzuki Rei, but you didn't judge me nor shun me. And then we kissed. Well, more like I kissed you, but whatever. You taste sweet.
His cheeks were damp and humid. He unstuck a strand of hair from his face and carefully replaced it by her side, squeezing a moment before letting go.
Remember that time you went to cut your hair and I came along? When we got out, you told me the guy touched you weirdly, and I was ready to go back in and punch his nose into his face. I ended up being the one beat up, though. Instead of apologizing, you said you could have handled it yourself. I thought you were so bitchy then. And until now I’ve acted like I didn’t now you were the one stashing cookies into my locker until the marks fell away.
The car was sweeping off the highway, now, back onto unwelcoming and red-yellow-green asphalt.
And remember when I told you to never fall in love-
They swerved at a corner, so abruptly it sent Rei careening onto Uruha’s lap.
-but the truth was that I wanted you to only love me-
Tires screeched at an intersection, barely missing a large truck by a mere foot, red flashing into his irises-
-and I made you promise your summer to me-
-the driver cursed again Uruha could feel his heart ready to skip out of his chest (but he couldn’t hear hers at all)-
-and I’d take it all back to tell you I love you, and have you believe.
-and finally when they reached the parking lot of the hospital, Rei shook awake. Creaked to life. Pulled Uruha close and mouthed, I know, before unconsciously slipping back into his arms.
x-x-x
Band practice is always awkward, nowadays. When Akira enters the room, Kouyou falls silent, and as soon as he leaves, Akira speaks. It’s like Kouyou’s permanently gagged him, stifled his opinions until they are nil.
Kouyou hates the world and his life and his pride and Akira’s stubbornness and his laugh and his docile acceptance and their relationship and their inability to unhook themselves from one another. He blames this hate on love, that twisted little thing, honey-cruel and peppermint-sweet, a slap to the tongue and a punch to the heel, you’ve lost balance and you’re stumbling to the ground.
But he loves, he loves, he loves, and Akira doesn’t, flees, runs away, flashes and shifts and disappears.
Kouyou finally manages to get him alone after all the members have said their good-byes. Akira’s packing his things when Kouyou enters. He pretends he didn’t hear the door open.
“Reita.”
No reply. Not even a glare.
“Akira.”
Desperation pries open the gates of his lungs and floods them to the brim.
“Rei!”
He screamed and now he’s pulling Akira back by the waist and the other’s struggling against his grip-flails and flaps his wings like a startled pigeon deprived of liberty-but their lips still end up locked together.
“You just want sex.”
Kouyou feels devastated but guilty.
“I don’t. You’re wrong.”
“Shut up and fuck.” Akira (takes a bat to his nape) knocks him over and straddles him on the studio floor, breath ghosting Kouyou’s nose as he slides the other in.
No speaking is done.
x-x-x
Hospital days were always bleak.
The room smelled like disinfectant, the air was flavored stale bread and the metal bar surrounding her bed felt finger-numbingly cold.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Sorry wasn’t enough.
“It’s a terminal illness. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
It’s too late, he wanted to say, but nodded anyways. At least she wouldn’t have anything to regret.
Uruha didn’t recognize her anymore. She was like a bleached photograph, the colors paled away from exposure and the corners dog-eared. Rough to the touch but still as pleasing to the eye. And then her elbows started poking out and her eyes wrinkled; her straw-textured hair loosened and lost until there was nothing left but skin. Her cheeks dug sickening crevices into her face from lack of nutrition; she’d given up her sense of taste too-the only thing keeping her alive was the IV plugged into her wrist (the same he'd held such a long time ago).
They didn’t talk anymore. The few hours they shared per week were spent scrawling empty promises onto temporary scraps of paper, transient as their relationship was even though they wanted it to seem ceaseless, just another ephemeral story to tell.
I (don’t) need “I love you” (anymore)
If only you’d stay by my side for(n)ever
I won’t lose you once (again)
Would you be sad you couldn’t save me if you were to see me die?
Don’t forget
Uruha blinked tears behind his eye sockets and stuffed each note into his back pocket. He’s afraid of cutting the last connection he has with her. He’d plug the other end of the IV into himself, if he could. But for now, all he had to give was this:
If we are reborn, let’s meet again.
x-x-x
They’re a messy tangle of sheets and legs and arms and foolishness when they wake, not to crickets singing but a ringing sound from their hangovers. Akira showers and dresses in ten minutes, and Kouyou eats breakfast alone.
He throws it up in the bathroom, three hours later, when he sees Akira pushing himself onto Yuu and kicking the door close in his face.
x-x-x
It was the end of summer and the morning was crisp with back-to-school notebooks, so new they smelled artificial. Uruha had Homeroom first period, but it didn’t matter. He was walking in the opposite direction.
Rounded a corner and came to a stop; ugly, wind-eroded, once-green block letters spelt out the forbidden word: HOSPITAL.
He didn’t have roses (/beautiful things) or get well cards (/fake hope) or chocolates (/things with taste), just himself and an uncertain whim. He waited impatiently as the elevator counted the floors, and finally the doors slid open to reveal a desolate hallway, tiled floor and plain white walls. He knocked on door 574, waited for a weak ‘come in’, and entered even without having received permission.
“Hey, Rei.”
She turns her head to face him, shriveled and weak and dyingdyingdying, his stomach was ripping, sinking, he felt a needle go through his temples, she was killing him.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
She obediently lifted her arms and hooked them around his neck as he heaved her onto his back and hauled her out of the hospital. They stopped numerous times to let staff pass, hid in washrooms and behind corners to prevent being found out.
When they reached the exit and Uruha felt cool wind hit his face, he knew they’d made it, and broke into a crazy run down the sidewalk, paying no heed to his sick girlfriend clinging onto him for dear life (the irony).
After they’d gone a considerable distance and no longer needed to fear getting caught, Rei rested her chin on his shoulder and started talking. It felt like a warm wave had curled onto his bare toes and wet the sand around them, like they were in a freeze frame and they’d never need to come out.
“I missed you.”
Uruha hummed his agreement.
“I can’t live without you, which is why I’m dying.”
He protested by halting in his tracks, a sudden jerk almost sending her flying off.
But she knew the truth.
“I love you.”
He was unable to say anything until they’d reached the hill behind their school. After the sun had set, he found his voice again.
“I love you too.”
She fell asleep, her head resting against his chest, his arms around her waist, and they never spoke again.
He whispered to the sky, “I never played that cheesy ballad.”
x-x-x
Kouyou sends him a million texts and receives a million ‘no’s.
Calls him a million times and is directed to voicemail every single one of them.
It’s the middle of the night and he’s half-hanging off the balcony, drunk and dizzy and directionless, but for once Akira picks up and his world spins a hundred-eighty degrees.
“What do you want?”
“Are you sleeping with Aoi?”
“…No.”
“I saw you.”
“I’m not. I just kissed him. I’m not like you.”
Butterflies birth in his stomach to die in his throat, and he soldiers on.
“Of course you’re not like me, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s not too late to start.”
“You never listen to me. You don’t know anything.”
“I’m sorry. I understand. Please give me a second chance.”
“No.”
“I’ll wait anyways.”
“Shut up-”
“I’m sorry.”
Akira hangs up.
Three days later, Kouyou’s knotting his fingers in soft hair again, lips searching for another’s and clothes tossed carelessly aside. Names he recognizes resonate through the living room over the sound of evening news, and if it takes a million years to rebuild trust, it’s okay, because now they have their forevers back between their cupped hands and they have each other.
And if promises are what it needs to pull through, they’ll not toss them like nickels into fountains but they’ll grasp them preciously and fill the open cavities in their hearts. It’s never too late to start and Kouyou knows they’ve put this off for too long. Between kisses he clears his message once and for all.
“I love you,” Kouyou says.
“I love you too,” and Akira believes.
x-x-x
A year had passed. He’d finally summoned enough courage to visit her grave. He found himself face to face with her tombstone, placid and polished where she was rippled and colorful and jagged and (only stray pieces could fit together, perfection stood alone) Uruha could no longer meld his fingers around her form.
Rei Suzuki. He didn't read any further. It was becoming unbearable.
He settled down before the grave and strummed his guitar, trying to reassemble his thoughts.
“I know you think I can’t sing, so I won’t,” he said, and suddenly he felt at ease again. His fingers easily found their way through the strings and nothing clumsy came out.
“I haven’t decided on a name yet. I won’t. You can have that honor.”
Crickets sang in the distance, and half an hour later, as he was throwing the last folded piece of paper into the fire, he let his last love go.
it’s okay to not cry anymore
x-x-x
The rain just finished falling, and the weather is perfect for songwriting. Kouyou’s never been good with lyrics so he’ll let Takanori deal with that. He slides onto the piano bench and lifts the lid; it feels comfortingly heavy. The slate for the partition is empty and he’s ready to fill it with a million shades of summer, but instead only a steady autumn sweeps by. He’s not satisfied, and starts over.
A few experimental notes until he catches a melody. This time, there are no seasons in his hands as they waltz along the keys, only a timeless setting of forever and sweet memories to paint their frame.
“Pledge.”
Kouyou startles and turns around to see Akira walking up to him.
(This is perfection standing together.)
“Let’s call it Pledge.”
~
this is a story that will live to tell.
n o t h i n g w i l l e v e r e n d.
PS: This thing took me a hell lot of time. I edited it over and over again, switched parts and cut and pasted, and I'm still not quite satisfied. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed <3 LYRIC TRANSLATIONS CREDIT TO gazette_lyrics . Also, if anyone didn't catch on, this is about reincarnation. Though I don't believe in it xD It seemed like a lovely context.
Chapters: Oneshot
Author: raindigo
Genre: Romance, slight angst, drama, AU. Gender bender.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and death.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Uruha/Reita.
Synopsis: A solemn binding promise to do, give, or refrain from doing something.
Comments: Am I the only one who wants to rip off Uruha's ugly shoulder pads and feed them to a paper shredder? Anywho, somehow inspired by the new PV... (God that guitar duo was beautiful <3) I actually wrote this before reading the lyrics, and I found them oddly fitting. So then I went back and inserted them in.
PLEDGE
this is a love song we won’t live to hear.
~
"Suzuki!"
She whipped around and glared at him, kohl-lined eyes narrowing into slits.
"What do you want, Takashima?" It came out a hiss, like a lioness defending her cubs.
Uruha smiled. "Let's go for a walk."
She snorted. "Make me."
He sighed and swiftly climbed onto the wall where she was standing, latching his hands onto her wrists.
"What are you doing?!" she protested, indignant, and tried to pry herself away.
Uruha just chuckled. "What you told me to do."
"Sly bastard."
He laughed some more. "I love you too."
She turned her head away, preferring to focus on gravel and stones than his triumphant smirk; looking down on her, was he, eh? Her mind was on the verge of elaborating some escape plan when, unexpectedly, brutally, he smashed their lips together.
It was a sloppy, clumsy first kiss.
She pushed him back, almost toppling him off the wall, and he let out a panicked scream. It was her turn to laugh.
"You scream like a girl, Takashima!"
"Shut up," he grumbled, but by the way the corner of his mouth was quirking up, she could instinctively tell he wasn't angry.
Later on, she'd tell him it didn't count because kisses were supposed to be between human beings, and he'd push her into a fountain.
It was a first, and by the way she felt her stomach twist, she could tell it wasn't going to be the last.
x-x-x
He thinks he's seen an angel fall from heaven.
He admits it, sometimes he can be cheesy too, but Kouyou has always prided himself at being a romantic.
And this is definitely romantic:
Early morning sunshine is pouring through the dusty window, tipping their world into hues of sepia and light blue. The sheets are pooled around his naked waist where he sits, contemplating the sky, still unaware of the other's presence. Shadows cast from the leaves outside are tracing shapeless and incoherent patterns on his face, but serenity has already painted itself on his features.
This is a 'morning-after', and Kouyou wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
(Too bad this is the only one they ever had.)
x-x-x
He brushed her arm as he passed and his lips folded into a smirk when he felt her tense.
"Morning, Suzuki," he greeted, putting on an air of great joy at facing the newborn day, though they both knew Uruha was the one who hated school most, between them.
She snorted as any form of reply.
He pouted. "How cold."
"Coming from the guy who ignored my calls yesterday," she shot back, rapid-fire, tongue clicking and knuckles snapping.
Uruha could sense the edge of reproach in her voice and took it into account. "Sorry, Rei-chan. I was busy."
She glared at him. "Who gave you permission to call me that?"
He inched forward, and they were merely a breath's width apart. His answer ghosted against her cheek as he leaned down to whisper,
"You."
And he claimed her lips again.
She didn't resist so much, today. She told herself she'd get back at him tomorrow. Bastard.
x-x-x
If I flip a coin, what are my chances of getting head?
Kouyou is secretly eying Akira from across the table, lips curled into a smile around his wine glass. Takanori is babbling on about a stranger hitting on him in the bus, Yuu is listening to him like a child does his mother, Yutaka is conversing with their manager in a hushed voice, and Akira, well, Kouyou can already see the redness creeping onto his cheeks.
He hopes Akira likes his birthday card. Kouyou put a damn lot of effort in it, searching up a million pick-up lines during his spare time, when he could have been sleeping.
Why don’t you come here, sit on my lap, and we’ll talk about the first thing that pops up?
He sees Akira shift in his seat and lift his head to stare back-electricity courses through the space separating them-and Kouyou evilly flicks out his tongue to lick the glass’s rim.
Akira blushes and excuses himself, claiming he needs to use the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he’s still nowhere to be seen.
Kouyou follows, fingers tracing the contour of a condom in the back pocket of his jeans. He knew it’d end up like this.
Oh, he’s not complaining.
The only reason I would kick you out of bed is to fuck you on the floor.
x-x-x
"I never knew you liked playgrounds."
Rei huffed. "What, something wrong with that?"
Uruha suppressed a chuckle. "Of course not."
A moment of nothing. Chains creaked and wind swept. They felt comfortable, basked in this inactivity. There were no awkward moments in their relationship-if you could call it one at all.
"I heard you play the guitar," Rei interjected out of the blue, crossing an invisible line.
Uruha smiled. "Yeah. I should probably settle myself under your window someday and sing you a cheesy ballad."
Rei refused to blush and pushed Uruha off his swing. "Shut up. That's stupid."
He laughed. "I'm a hopeless romantic. Don't judge."
The unspoken words were: for you, but they'd both heard them.
x-x-x
"Shit, Reita, don't fucking-"
"Shut the fuck up, 'Ruha, I'm tired of-“
"-get away from the fucking door-"
Bodies slam and dreams collapse; the apartment is moist with heated arguments and balled fists, tension rising and hopes drowning. It is almost like the long awaited conclusion to a spar; they've forced their cutting jabs onto each other and sharp consonants dye the curses they spew. Love will never comply with their selfish requests-there is no love to begin with.
Kouyou tries again. His voice is louder, this is an order, he will not take no for an answer.
"Get away from the door!"
"Make me."
Silence crashes onto the room. The atmosphere stills. Nothing but beating hearts and cracking patience beneath inattentive fingers but experienced palms. Their reality is breaking.
Kouyou doesn't know what to say, so he lets him go.
Akira's back is the last thing he sees before this encounter ends.
He’ll come back, eventually. This is where the waiting starts.
x-x-x
"You're late."
Uruha frowned. "Sorry. Got caught in traffic."
She diverted her gaze and ignored his excuses.
"Oh, come on," he whined. "I'm here now, am I not?"
She stood her ground, crossing her arms and stubbornly feigning anger. He knew, by now, to read her expressions and watch out for the telltale signs of lying; a bite of her lip, fidgeting with her hair, shifting her feet, exhaling noisily.
He relented after another five minutes of nonsense. "Alright. I'm sorry. Can we go on our date now?"
She examined him, in that meticulous way only she managed, eyes trailing along his shoulders for a while. He'd never felt so pressured before, like a criminal awaiting his verdict.
"Fine. But it better be good."
His tense body relaxed and he offered her his hand.
"Only the best for you, baby."
She brought her purse down on him, and he nursed a bruise for the rest of the evening.
Love hurts, he reassured himself as they shared a wine-laced kiss (kudos to fake IDs, kudos, kudos...) and her fingers twine with his hair.
He didn't know but, at that moment, she'd told herself, without a hint of hesitation, that love wasn't so bad, after all.
x-x-x
Akira's back arches and Kouyou's eyes devour. His lips are sewn onto the other's shoulder and familiar hands meld into his back. His name rolls out of Akira's mouth-U ru ha-in watery syllables, tastes vaguely sweet in the air surrounding them. He chokes onto a shuddery breath and bites down, hard, watches delightfully as Akira's eyes roll back in their sockets and a moan spirals from his chest.
"S-stop."
Kouyou freezes.
"We should stop."
He ignores him. "Shut up and fuck."
He doesn't give him another chance to intervene; the room is filled with pants and pleads, but no space of innovation.
He'll blindfold him to the world if he has to; Kouyou is not losing Akira again.
x-x-x
They were on their way home, Uruha with two book bags swung over his shoulder, Rei humming cheerfully to some tune from the radio, scabs of spring clawing at their hair. Uruha was overtaken by a sudden urge to sing, and so he opened his mouth, but not two verses later Rei shut him up with a jab to his side.
“You can’t sing,” she explained, dodging a fist flying in her direction (which she knew would soon uncurl into tickling fingers).
Uruha growled and lunged at her, but she deftly sidestepped him, and laughed when he almost stumbles face first onto the cement.
“You can’t fight either.”
Now he just looked frustrated, and she felt a little guilty. She walked towards him, sliding a hand down his forearm.
“But here’s something you can do.”
And kissed him.
x-x-x
Kouyou dreams of names.
Names with stiff vowels and inept pronunciations, falling a bit over the edge or leaving too much space for imagination. Nothing is right, nothing frames them well enough, and he’s about to give up trying to define himself when one day, Akira and Takanori are talking, and something snaps at the back of his mind.
“Taka,” he says. “I’ve got an idea for our names.”
Takanori looks at him, doubt ruffling his feathers, but he shrugs and lets him speak.
“Uruha.” He points to himself.
“Reita.” He points to Akira.
Takanori opens his mouth to protest. Nothing comes out, though. Kouyou decides he’s won the battle. (But not the war.)
Akira just blinks and gapes, as if Kouyou has suddenly morphed into someone else and he has to get to know him all over again.
Kouyou reassures him with a pat to the back. He’s not going anywhere.
When he wakes up, he’s panting and sweating, fright injected skin-deep and keeping him from remembering exactly why.
Maybe memories are what everyone says they are; sad fragments of the past you don’t want to remember.
x-x-x
They were on the hill behind the school and the sun was setting.
Uruha, being the cheesy romantic he was, had made the first step.
“Hey, wanna watch the sunset after school?”
Rei, being the hopeless lover she was, had accepted.
So that was how they ended here, arm to arm, elbow to elbow, legs crossed among the other’s and bleeding sunshine dying their world golden. Prussian blue swept in around the horizon, unveiling clouds and planting stars. He kissed her temple and she nuzzled his neck, and everything was perfect.
The grass drew sharp green and blazing orange borders around them, a fence against the outside world, and for a moment they let their insecurities melt away. No pressuring families or demanding teachers, no textbook perfect smiles for strangers or pencil clean stabs into a pulsing arrogance. No need to fold into elitists; they only had each imperfect other.
But the truth, the truth, the truth was existent, and even dazzling sunsets couldn’t make it less ugly.
Cold night installed itself between them and ran shivers through their veins. Taken by a sudden gush of realism, Uruha wryly croaks,
“Don’t ever fall in love.”
It’s too late, she wanted to say, but nodded anyways. At least this gave him something to believe in.
x-x-x
Kouyou had a dream. It’s been a long time since they’ve visited him.
He dreamt of yellow dandelions, so yellow it makes his teeth ache just at the thought, and desert dust, so dry his palate still taste of bones, and sparkling hopes and porcelain childhood. He dreamt of Akira pulling his tongue at him, dreamt of pebbles knocking at his window and crickets singing him to sleep, dreamt of band-aids and cuts and smudged bruises, dreamt of someone called Ue-chan hugging someone called Shima and they were happy, if he recalls it right.
He wakes up without a sound, a shudder, a thought. He’s empty.
Not quite; for some reason, he has a name he doesn’t recognize.
Rei-chan.
x-x-x
He’d blown it. (to pieces.)
They were seated in his car, the rain an umbrella of blurry ignorance around them, sliding down the windows and creating a wall to divide. Silence slid through the cracks of their uniformity and pinches them back to reality. This was awkward and they’d never been.
Uruha remembered.
It was a sunny afternoon and school was almost over. Exams were lining up before them, like children waiting for candy, and Rei was submerged under a sea of studies with no time to fly by him.
It was between periods and Uruha, bored out of his brains, had been numbly flipping through a dictionary for the last forty minutes. Something caught his eye.
Rei frowned as she saw Uruha appear in her field of vision; she had notes to revise, didn’t he see? Already that she had to quit the Prom Committee-she didn’t do it to give Uruha more time to nag her.
He shoved the thick book under her nose.
“Pledge,” she read the highlighted word aloud. “What do you want?”
Uruha rolled his eyes. “Read the definition.”
“A solemn binding promise to do, give, or refrain from doing something.”
He smiled and she was just puzzled. “Uh, okay, can you leave me be now?”
He sighed, exasperated.
“Promise me you’ll spend summer with me, if I do.”
She blinked. “Sure.”
“Swear,” he said, holding out his pinky finger.
She hooked hers around it. “I swear.”
He heard the car door slam, and she was out under the rain.
She left a message, letters curvy and feminine.
PLEDGE.
~
the end is beginning and they need to start believing.
~
Love is like firing a gun at your legs, handicaps and little holes, living to watch the blood gush out and feel pain gnaw at your insides, roughly grab at your intestines.
Kouyou drowns his suffering in glasses of clear alcohol, music turned onto maximum, who gives a shit if the neighbors complain? He'll be out of here by morning, anyways.
He glances groggily over the suitcases, all packed and neat, lining the hallway towards the entrance. Typical Akira. The bastard still has to do everything for him, even when he’s the one throwing him out.
Kouyou groans and rests his head against the couch's back. So, it's over, eh? Took Akira long enough to speak up. Maybe it's because Kouyou couldn't stop shutting him down. Maybe it's because all this time he's shoved the barrel of a gun down Akira's throat and taunted him, dared him to protest, to wrench free.
Love hurts like a knee to the gut, and Kouyou's inhibitions are splayed out before him, bare and exposed for the world to see.
They spell out a simple warning: Don't ever fall in love.
x-x-x
Fear was strewn across every muscle of his constitution and his throat was too hoarse to scream. His vocal chords might rip if he tried to call out. But right-
-right now she was unconscious on his back drooling over his shirt eyes shut into her skull life leaking out her pores and she was getting too heavy for him to carry her limbs were made of lead weighted a ton two tons even three-
He hailed a taxi and barked the address to the nearest hospital in a broken tone, the driver shooting a glance in the rear-view mirror to check if everything was alright (no it's not nothing is just drive bastard) and, upon seeing her limp form cushioned against Uruha's, kicked the gas pedal as if his life depended on it (hers undeniably did).
He whispered to her all the way under flashing streetlights and over glistening roads, told her stories and retold them once he'd run out of things to say.
Remember when we first met at the Prom Planning Committee meeting? You were glaring at me the whole time. It's like you had something against my laugh or whatever, though you probably did. I was the one who talked to you. I asked your name. Remember what you did? You just turned on your heel and ran away. I thought you were cute.
The car flew onto the highway, crowded even at this hour of the night.
I decided I'd conquer you, then. I asked all my friends if they knew you and finally Aoi told me you took the same road to school as him. I was so intent on 'accidentally' bumping into you that I slept at his house on a weekday, and that's when we had our first conversation.
Horns beeped and the driver cursed and Uruha cursed and Rei, well, she stayed deathly immobile and marble cold, and he felt his common sense start to slip through his fingers, seep into the uncomfortable leather seats. His throat was tight as a vice.
I fell in love, you know. Head over heels, tipsy, drunk, whatever. Aoi teased me for a week after that, but then he got tired and moved on to his next unfortunately victim. I continued stalking you. You didn't get annoyed at me, remember? After the tenth morning in a row we walked to school together, still on our separate sidewalks, you hadn't bashed me in the head yet.
Uruha felt the first tear spill.
Somehow, we became friends. I still don't know why you'd have a pitiful bastard like me as a friend while you were bright, top of the class Suzuki Rei, but you didn't judge me nor shun me. And then we kissed. Well, more like I kissed you, but whatever. You taste sweet.
His cheeks were damp and humid. He unstuck a strand of hair from his face and carefully replaced it by her side, squeezing a moment before letting go.
Remember that time you went to cut your hair and I came along? When we got out, you told me the guy touched you weirdly, and I was ready to go back in and punch his nose into his face. I ended up being the one beat up, though. Instead of apologizing, you said you could have handled it yourself. I thought you were so bitchy then. And until now I’ve acted like I didn’t now you were the one stashing cookies into my locker until the marks fell away.
The car was sweeping off the highway, now, back onto unwelcoming and red-yellow-green asphalt.
And remember when I told you to never fall in love-
They swerved at a corner, so abruptly it sent Rei careening onto Uruha’s lap.
-but the truth was that I wanted you to only love me-
Tires screeched at an intersection, barely missing a large truck by a mere foot, red flashing into his irises-
-and I made you promise your summer to me-
-the driver cursed again Uruha could feel his heart ready to skip out of his chest (but he couldn’t hear hers at all)-
-and I’d take it all back to tell you I love you, and have you believe.
-and finally when they reached the parking lot of the hospital, Rei shook awake. Creaked to life. Pulled Uruha close and mouthed, I know, before unconsciously slipping back into his arms.
x-x-x
Band practice is always awkward, nowadays. When Akira enters the room, Kouyou falls silent, and as soon as he leaves, Akira speaks. It’s like Kouyou’s permanently gagged him, stifled his opinions until they are nil.
Kouyou hates the world and his life and his pride and Akira’s stubbornness and his laugh and his docile acceptance and their relationship and their inability to unhook themselves from one another. He blames this hate on love, that twisted little thing, honey-cruel and peppermint-sweet, a slap to the tongue and a punch to the heel, you’ve lost balance and you’re stumbling to the ground.
But he loves, he loves, he loves, and Akira doesn’t, flees, runs away, flashes and shifts and disappears.
Kouyou finally manages to get him alone after all the members have said their good-byes. Akira’s packing his things when Kouyou enters. He pretends he didn’t hear the door open.
“Reita.”
No reply. Not even a glare.
“Akira.”
Desperation pries open the gates of his lungs and floods them to the brim.
“Rei!”
He screamed and now he’s pulling Akira back by the waist and the other’s struggling against his grip-flails and flaps his wings like a startled pigeon deprived of liberty-but their lips still end up locked together.
“You just want sex.”
Kouyou feels devastated but guilty.
“I don’t. You’re wrong.”
“Shut up and fuck.” Akira (takes a bat to his nape) knocks him over and straddles him on the studio floor, breath ghosting Kouyou’s nose as he slides the other in.
No speaking is done.
x-x-x
Hospital days were always bleak.
The room smelled like disinfectant, the air was flavored stale bread and the metal bar surrounding her bed felt finger-numbingly cold.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Sorry wasn’t enough.
“It’s a terminal illness. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
It’s too late, he wanted to say, but nodded anyways. At least she wouldn’t have anything to regret.
Uruha didn’t recognize her anymore. She was like a bleached photograph, the colors paled away from exposure and the corners dog-eared. Rough to the touch but still as pleasing to the eye. And then her elbows started poking out and her eyes wrinkled; her straw-textured hair loosened and lost until there was nothing left but skin. Her cheeks dug sickening crevices into her face from lack of nutrition; she’d given up her sense of taste too-the only thing keeping her alive was the IV plugged into her wrist (the same he'd held such a long time ago).
They didn’t talk anymore. The few hours they shared per week were spent scrawling empty promises onto temporary scraps of paper, transient as their relationship was even though they wanted it to seem ceaseless, just another ephemeral story to tell.
I (don’t) need “I love you” (anymore)
If only you’d stay by my side for(n)ever
I won’t lose you once (again)
Would you be sad you couldn’t save me if you were to see me die?
Don’t forget
Uruha blinked tears behind his eye sockets and stuffed each note into his back pocket. He’s afraid of cutting the last connection he has with her. He’d plug the other end of the IV into himself, if he could. But for now, all he had to give was this:
If we are reborn, let’s meet again.
x-x-x
They’re a messy tangle of sheets and legs and arms and foolishness when they wake, not to crickets singing but a ringing sound from their hangovers. Akira showers and dresses in ten minutes, and Kouyou eats breakfast alone.
He throws it up in the bathroom, three hours later, when he sees Akira pushing himself onto Yuu and kicking the door close in his face.
x-x-x
It was the end of summer and the morning was crisp with back-to-school notebooks, so new they smelled artificial. Uruha had Homeroom first period, but it didn’t matter. He was walking in the opposite direction.
Rounded a corner and came to a stop; ugly, wind-eroded, once-green block letters spelt out the forbidden word: HOSPITAL.
He didn’t have roses (/beautiful things) or get well cards (/fake hope) or chocolates (/things with taste), just himself and an uncertain whim. He waited impatiently as the elevator counted the floors, and finally the doors slid open to reveal a desolate hallway, tiled floor and plain white walls. He knocked on door 574, waited for a weak ‘come in’, and entered even without having received permission.
“Hey, Rei.”
She turns her head to face him, shriveled and weak and dyingdyingdying, his stomach was ripping, sinking, he felt a needle go through his temples, she was killing him.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
She obediently lifted her arms and hooked them around his neck as he heaved her onto his back and hauled her out of the hospital. They stopped numerous times to let staff pass, hid in washrooms and behind corners to prevent being found out.
When they reached the exit and Uruha felt cool wind hit his face, he knew they’d made it, and broke into a crazy run down the sidewalk, paying no heed to his sick girlfriend clinging onto him for dear life (the irony).
After they’d gone a considerable distance and no longer needed to fear getting caught, Rei rested her chin on his shoulder and started talking. It felt like a warm wave had curled onto his bare toes and wet the sand around them, like they were in a freeze frame and they’d never need to come out.
“I missed you.”
Uruha hummed his agreement.
“I can’t live without you, which is why I’m dying.”
He protested by halting in his tracks, a sudden jerk almost sending her flying off.
But she knew the truth.
“I love you.”
He was unable to say anything until they’d reached the hill behind their school. After the sun had set, he found his voice again.
“I love you too.”
She fell asleep, her head resting against his chest, his arms around her waist, and they never spoke again.
He whispered to the sky, “I never played that cheesy ballad.”
x-x-x
Kouyou sends him a million texts and receives a million ‘no’s.
Calls him a million times and is directed to voicemail every single one of them.
It’s the middle of the night and he’s half-hanging off the balcony, drunk and dizzy and directionless, but for once Akira picks up and his world spins a hundred-eighty degrees.
“What do you want?”
“Are you sleeping with Aoi?”
“…No.”
“I saw you.”
“I’m not. I just kissed him. I’m not like you.”
Butterflies birth in his stomach to die in his throat, and he soldiers on.
“Of course you’re not like me, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s not too late to start.”
“You never listen to me. You don’t know anything.”
“I’m sorry. I understand. Please give me a second chance.”
“No.”
“I’ll wait anyways.”
“Shut up-”
“I’m sorry.”
Akira hangs up.
Three days later, Kouyou’s knotting his fingers in soft hair again, lips searching for another’s and clothes tossed carelessly aside. Names he recognizes resonate through the living room over the sound of evening news, and if it takes a million years to rebuild trust, it’s okay, because now they have their forevers back between their cupped hands and they have each other.
And if promises are what it needs to pull through, they’ll not toss them like nickels into fountains but they’ll grasp them preciously and fill the open cavities in their hearts. It’s never too late to start and Kouyou knows they’ve put this off for too long. Between kisses he clears his message once and for all.
“I love you,” Kouyou says.
“I love you too,” and Akira believes.
x-x-x
A year had passed. He’d finally summoned enough courage to visit her grave. He found himself face to face with her tombstone, placid and polished where she was rippled and colorful and jagged and (only stray pieces could fit together, perfection stood alone) Uruha could no longer meld his fingers around her form.
Rei Suzuki. He didn't read any further. It was becoming unbearable.
He settled down before the grave and strummed his guitar, trying to reassemble his thoughts.
“I know you think I can’t sing, so I won’t,” he said, and suddenly he felt at ease again. His fingers easily found their way through the strings and nothing clumsy came out.
“I haven’t decided on a name yet. I won’t. You can have that honor.”
Crickets sang in the distance, and half an hour later, as he was throwing the last folded piece of paper into the fire, he let his last love go.
it’s okay to not cry anymore
x-x-x
The rain just finished falling, and the weather is perfect for songwriting. Kouyou’s never been good with lyrics so he’ll let Takanori deal with that. He slides onto the piano bench and lifts the lid; it feels comfortingly heavy. The slate for the partition is empty and he’s ready to fill it with a million shades of summer, but instead only a steady autumn sweeps by. He’s not satisfied, and starts over.
A few experimental notes until he catches a melody. This time, there are no seasons in his hands as they waltz along the keys, only a timeless setting of forever and sweet memories to paint their frame.
“Pledge.”
Kouyou startles and turns around to see Akira walking up to him.
(This is perfection standing together.)
“Let’s call it Pledge.”
~
this is a story that will live to tell.
n o t h i n g w i l l e v e r e n d.
PS: This thing took me a hell lot of time. I edited it over and over again, switched parts and cut and pasted, and I'm still not quite satisfied. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed <3 LYRIC TRANSLATIONS CREDIT TO gazette_lyrics . Also, if anyone didn't catch on, this is about reincarnation. Though I don't believe in it xD It seemed like a lovely context.