Punching Bag
Flavors: cinnamon swirl 29. long way down. peppermint 10. crate/chest
Characters: Ryou and Kaito
Rating: PG13
Story: Abbadon
Arc: Hands of Snow, Eyes of Ghosts. Follows Quellazaire
Title: Punching Bag
Words: 1055
Note: This is just insanity, most likely pure crap. But I just drove for ten hours and cannot be bothered to do anything about it, so I apologize.
Following Ryou’s recovery, there was a lengthy period of silence between Kaito and Ryou. The calendar claimed two weeks had passed, but Kaito was certain it was years - perhaps even decades or centuries. It was miraculous that at the end of the chasm in the heart of time, he remained fourteen and just as highly dramatic as he had been before. Logic quietly reminded Kaito that not speaking to Ryou was far from exceptional - Ryou habitually stood behind the school and chain smoked with a dead expression, and Kaito actually attended classes regularly. Ryou had a mother and two brothers and a comfortable home, and Kaito slept in the alley and made things bleed. Although these days, “things” was usually just himself. Logic, he decided, was only good for tearing others apart. It should never be applied to him personally. And two weeks was as good as an eternity when deprived of his dim-witted punching bag.
And by “punching bag” he meant “person he punched once, but frequently abused verbally.”
Regardless, when the two finally did find one another it was fortunate that Kaito was, for once, conscious. And conveniently lurking in the shadows.
“Ryou.”
Ryou didn’t jump like he was supposed to. He acted like hearing his name spoken from an empty alley was a completely normal event, turning slowly to face the source of the sound. Kaito remained in the shadows but really, it wasn’t that dark.
“Are you following me?” Ryou asked. By following, he meant stalking.
“What if I was?”
Ryou shrugged. “You can if you want to.”
“I’m not,” Kaito leapt neatly from the stack of boxes he’d been perched on, coming about one step closer than what would have been a comfortable distance from Ryou. Ryou didn’t budge. “I was here first,” Kaito pointed out.
“Okay,” said Ryou. Kaito noticed his gift was dangling between the other boy’s fingers, but said nothing of it.
“You know I still hate you, right?” Kaito asked.
Ryou took a long time to answer, watching Kaito carefully in thought. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t think you do.”
Kaito frowned. “Why not?”
“I never want to talk to you, but we’re always talking. So you must like me.”
“Fuck you, Ryou,” Kaito hid the initial moment of hurt, from Ryou but mostly from himself, curling his mouth into a wolfish smile that he knew looked more like a growl.
“If you hit me, I’ll hit you back this time,” warned Ryou.
Kaito didn’t care. Hate, fury - or something hot and overwhelming - boiled, seethed, churned, and destroyed him every time he saw the damn kid’s face. There was something that was still animal in him, some smouldering, brutal embers that still burned in his blood. It wasn’t voices - not quite voices yet (though he was fairly sure his mental state was going that way soon enough), but instincts. His instincts raged against - or for - this slow, useless boy. Who was also a pervert, he reminded himself.
Honestly, Kaito had no idea what the fuck was going on in his head anymore. He launched himself at the larger boy, a furious mess of fists, nails, and teeth. But he never made it there. Ryou - the slow moving, slow talking, slow brained walking zombie - as it turned out, was fast as hell. Kaito hit the snow with a low thud and felt his consciousness slipping away. The last thing before the darkness was Ryou’s warm hands lifting him with great difficultly and the feel of Ryou’s sigh where Kaito was held against his chest and carried - he assumed - back to Ryou’s house.
“This really has got to stop happening.” Then, for a time, there was blackness.
Kaito awoke, shrouded in a strange warmth that wasn’t strange at all, just horridly unfamiliar to the little skeleton who spent most of his time pretending not to shiver in alleys and shooing away the scraps of his sanity. He was wrapped in a thick woven blanket that smelled strongly of stale smoke and nightmares, and found this strangely comforting. So, maybe he really was losing it. Before he remembered what had happened, he knew where he was.
“I’m pretty filthy,” he said, venturing a guess that the quiet breaths that came about half as often as his own quick, hoarse breathing belonged to Ryou. Indeed, the hair that flopped in front of his face in his sleep left actual traces of dirt on his hands when he pushed it away. He wasn’t sure if this was something to be ashamed or proud of.
“Last time I washed your hair you called me a pervert,” Ryou pointed out from perch in the window. Kaito looked up and frowned. Ryou was reading.
“I didn’t think you could read.”
Ryou didn’t bother looking up from volume balancing precariously in his lap. “Picture book.”
Kaito snorted derisively. “Seriously?”
This time Ryou did look up, however briefly, with a slight flicker of incredulity and humour tinting his expression. “No.”
Kaito blinked. It was entirely possible that Yamada Ryou had just made a joke. The absolute indifference on his face as he continued to read offered no evidence that any conversation at all had just occurred, however. And at this point, Kaito wouldn’t be surprised if it was all a figment of his over active imagination.
“Did you just-”
Ryou cut him off, eyes still glued to the book. “You shouldn’t hang out in alleys all the time.”
“Why not?”
After a few moments of consideration, Ryou answered. “It’s stupid.”
“I, uh,” Kaito wasn’t sure how to explain. “I usually sleep there.”
“For fun?” asked Ryou. His ability to read while carrying conversation was more than slightly unnerving.
“No.”
Finally, he closed the book and looked at Kaito, which made Kaito really want to break eye contact. Because he was really looking at him, not just taking in his admittedly creepy appearance. It had been a long time since anyone had done that. This lasted for many moments, in which most of the various bits of Kaito really wanted to squirm.
“Um,” he said. “I should go now.”
“No,” said Ryou, dropping from his spot on the windowsill and sliding the window shut behind him. “It’s fucking cold out.”
Before Kaito could object, Ryou was gone and the door was gliding shut behind him.
--------
NOTE: I don't know why Ryou acts completely ridiculous in this. Presumably when I'm drunk, he is too.
“I’m sleeping here,” said Ryou.
“But-”
“Akihijiro. I love you. You are my brother. Shut the fuck up.”
“Fine.”
Ryou pulled blankets and spare sheets from his brother’s closet and piled them on the ground, creating a small space somewhat resembling a nest for himself.
It looked ridiculous.
“What’s wrong with your bedroom?” Akihijiro asked.
Ryou paused for a moment, wondering if honestly really was the best policy. “There’s a homeless kid who keeps trying to beat me up in there,” he said, deciding that at this point it probably was.
Akihijiro offered him a moment’s incredulous glance. “Who is he?”
“Nakahara Kaito.”
“No shit.”
Ryou nodded solemnly, opening his book in his lap.
“Mom’s gonna kill you, Ryou. D’you think she’ll be mad at me too?”
“I’ll tell her you didn’t know,” said Ryou without looking up.
“You should stay in Soseki’s room” suggested Akihijiro.
“It’s smaller,” Ryou pointed out.
“He’s cuter.”
“If mom knew Kaito was here she wouldn’t care how cute any of us are. We’ll get him out before she knows.”
“Why is he even here?” Asked Akihijiro.
Ryou shrugged.
“Are you friends?”
“No.”
“Is it a sleepover?”
“Don’t people normally stay in the same room for a sleep over?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you?”
“We hate each other.”
“O rly.”
“Im going to sleep now.”
“Okay (but I think you want to fuck Kaito broski),”
THE END.
Characters: Ryou and Kaito
Rating: PG13
Story: Abbadon
Arc: Hands of Snow, Eyes of Ghosts. Follows Quellazaire
Title: Punching Bag
Words: 1055
Note: This is just insanity, most likely pure crap. But I just drove for ten hours and cannot be bothered to do anything about it, so I apologize.
Following Ryou’s recovery, there was a lengthy period of silence between Kaito and Ryou. The calendar claimed two weeks had passed, but Kaito was certain it was years - perhaps even decades or centuries. It was miraculous that at the end of the chasm in the heart of time, he remained fourteen and just as highly dramatic as he had been before. Logic quietly reminded Kaito that not speaking to Ryou was far from exceptional - Ryou habitually stood behind the school and chain smoked with a dead expression, and Kaito actually attended classes regularly. Ryou had a mother and two brothers and a comfortable home, and Kaito slept in the alley and made things bleed. Although these days, “things” was usually just himself. Logic, he decided, was only good for tearing others apart. It should never be applied to him personally. And two weeks was as good as an eternity when deprived of his dim-witted punching bag.
And by “punching bag” he meant “person he punched once, but frequently abused verbally.”
Regardless, when the two finally did find one another it was fortunate that Kaito was, for once, conscious. And conveniently lurking in the shadows.
“Ryou.”
Ryou didn’t jump like he was supposed to. He acted like hearing his name spoken from an empty alley was a completely normal event, turning slowly to face the source of the sound. Kaito remained in the shadows but really, it wasn’t that dark.
“Are you following me?” Ryou asked. By following, he meant stalking.
“What if I was?”
Ryou shrugged. “You can if you want to.”
“I’m not,” Kaito leapt neatly from the stack of boxes he’d been perched on, coming about one step closer than what would have been a comfortable distance from Ryou. Ryou didn’t budge. “I was here first,” Kaito pointed out.
“Okay,” said Ryou. Kaito noticed his gift was dangling between the other boy’s fingers, but said nothing of it.
“You know I still hate you, right?” Kaito asked.
Ryou took a long time to answer, watching Kaito carefully in thought. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t think you do.”
Kaito frowned. “Why not?”
“I never want to talk to you, but we’re always talking. So you must like me.”
“Fuck you, Ryou,” Kaito hid the initial moment of hurt, from Ryou but mostly from himself, curling his mouth into a wolfish smile that he knew looked more like a growl.
“If you hit me, I’ll hit you back this time,” warned Ryou.
Kaito didn’t care. Hate, fury - or something hot and overwhelming - boiled, seethed, churned, and destroyed him every time he saw the damn kid’s face. There was something that was still animal in him, some smouldering, brutal embers that still burned in his blood. It wasn’t voices - not quite voices yet (though he was fairly sure his mental state was going that way soon enough), but instincts. His instincts raged against - or for - this slow, useless boy. Who was also a pervert, he reminded himself.
Honestly, Kaito had no idea what the fuck was going on in his head anymore. He launched himself at the larger boy, a furious mess of fists, nails, and teeth. But he never made it there. Ryou - the slow moving, slow talking, slow brained walking zombie - as it turned out, was fast as hell. Kaito hit the snow with a low thud and felt his consciousness slipping away. The last thing before the darkness was Ryou’s warm hands lifting him with great difficultly and the feel of Ryou’s sigh where Kaito was held against his chest and carried - he assumed - back to Ryou’s house.
“This really has got to stop happening.” Then, for a time, there was blackness.
Kaito awoke, shrouded in a strange warmth that wasn’t strange at all, just horridly unfamiliar to the little skeleton who spent most of his time pretending not to shiver in alleys and shooing away the scraps of his sanity. He was wrapped in a thick woven blanket that smelled strongly of stale smoke and nightmares, and found this strangely comforting. So, maybe he really was losing it. Before he remembered what had happened, he knew where he was.
“I’m pretty filthy,” he said, venturing a guess that the quiet breaths that came about half as often as his own quick, hoarse breathing belonged to Ryou. Indeed, the hair that flopped in front of his face in his sleep left actual traces of dirt on his hands when he pushed it away. He wasn’t sure if this was something to be ashamed or proud of.
“Last time I washed your hair you called me a pervert,” Ryou pointed out from perch in the window. Kaito looked up and frowned. Ryou was reading.
“I didn’t think you could read.”
Ryou didn’t bother looking up from volume balancing precariously in his lap. “Picture book.”
Kaito snorted derisively. “Seriously?”
This time Ryou did look up, however briefly, with a slight flicker of incredulity and humour tinting his expression. “No.”
Kaito blinked. It was entirely possible that Yamada Ryou had just made a joke. The absolute indifference on his face as he continued to read offered no evidence that any conversation at all had just occurred, however. And at this point, Kaito wouldn’t be surprised if it was all a figment of his over active imagination.
“Did you just-”
Ryou cut him off, eyes still glued to the book. “You shouldn’t hang out in alleys all the time.”
“Why not?”
After a few moments of consideration, Ryou answered. “It’s stupid.”
“I, uh,” Kaito wasn’t sure how to explain. “I usually sleep there.”
“For fun?” asked Ryou. His ability to read while carrying conversation was more than slightly unnerving.
“No.”
Finally, he closed the book and looked at Kaito, which made Kaito really want to break eye contact. Because he was really looking at him, not just taking in his admittedly creepy appearance. It had been a long time since anyone had done that. This lasted for many moments, in which most of the various bits of Kaito really wanted to squirm.
“Um,” he said. “I should go now.”
“No,” said Ryou, dropping from his spot on the windowsill and sliding the window shut behind him. “It’s fucking cold out.”
Before Kaito could object, Ryou was gone and the door was gliding shut behind him.
--------
NOTE: I don't know why Ryou acts completely ridiculous in this. Presumably when I'm drunk, he is too.
“I’m sleeping here,” said Ryou.
“But-”
“Akihijiro. I love you. You are my brother. Shut the fuck up.”
“Fine.”
Ryou pulled blankets and spare sheets from his brother’s closet and piled them on the ground, creating a small space somewhat resembling a nest for himself.
It looked ridiculous.
“What’s wrong with your bedroom?” Akihijiro asked.
Ryou paused for a moment, wondering if honestly really was the best policy. “There’s a homeless kid who keeps trying to beat me up in there,” he said, deciding that at this point it probably was.
Akihijiro offered him a moment’s incredulous glance. “Who is he?”
“Nakahara Kaito.”
“No shit.”
Ryou nodded solemnly, opening his book in his lap.
“Mom’s gonna kill you, Ryou. D’you think she’ll be mad at me too?”
“I’ll tell her you didn’t know,” said Ryou without looking up.
“You should stay in Soseki’s room” suggested Akihijiro.
“It’s smaller,” Ryou pointed out.
“He’s cuter.”
“If mom knew Kaito was here she wouldn’t care how cute any of us are. We’ll get him out before she knows.”
“Why is he even here?” Asked Akihijiro.
Ryou shrugged.
“Are you friends?”
“No.”
“Is it a sleepover?”
“Don’t people normally stay in the same room for a sleep over?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you?”
“We hate each other.”
“O rly.”
“Im going to sleep now.”
“Okay (but I think you want to fuck Kaito broski),”
THE END.