[Rave] Coconut Pie
Fandom: Rave
Disclaimer: Umi still can’t make Hiro Mashima sell Rave to her.
Author’s Note: I believe that this certain fic, the story about the Ars Arcanum’s reason for going international and why the town’s local monastery’s head monk became a… well, a monk, is very late. So, if the first four one-shots have been all about two kids doing their damnedest to stay together, then this one-shot in the series is about two adult men being very mature and stupid.
Summary: It’s been ten years since they last saw each other, and it’s been ten years since they pretend there’s nothing between them-except for a local pie.
A/N: Edited some parts, but mostly just technical stuffs. Going through it again... reminds me why this is the one of my few favorite works.
Coconut Pie
Hunger, Not Anger
They all decided to make their hometown the last stop of their tour as some sort of tribute. They all grew up there, even the band itself, all thanks to Old Haja’s coconut pie.
To Sieg, it had been three years since he last visited the town, the last being a gig in some club all the teens and the adults would go; he could barely remember its name. It was their last local performance as well before they hit international waves. Oh, the band would go back to their hometown; Sieg just didn’t tag along and no one asked why. He always had some sort of excuse with him, the most usual being the need to visit his real home up in the north together with his cousin, Niebel. Poor boy had to disentangle himself from the rest of the band to accompany Sieg in his moments of hermitage.
They all have their dark secrets, and Sieg intends to take his to the grave. And maybe Niebel’s too, but then he never told his sixteen year old cousin. The kid had just figured it out one rainy night, when the kid caught him tearful over a worn picture.
Yes, one more step, and you’re there, but I won’t be
He dropped his guitar next to the amplifier, relieving a sigh. He was tired, so bloody tired. His fingers had begun cramping minutes ago, but they were already three songs away before end of rehearsal and he just-damn it.
“Niebel! Pass me my splint!” He yelled over his shoulder, bony fingers clutching his left wrist tightly. This was the last one. He couldn’t trip over it now. After this, they will have their well-deserved break, and he can go back to therapy or maybe even an operation to get rid of this bloody wrist disorder.
The boy ran to his side with the splint on hand, slipping the glove-like material over his hand and making sure not to tighten the belt too much.
“You should take a break,” the boy muttered to him. But Sieg ignored him, fingers already beginning to itch from the glove’s course texture around knuckles, wrist unable to bend to relieve the tension accumulated. “You don’t have to do all the chords. Hilda can back them up, you know that. And tomorrow’s our last performance. After tomorrow, I promised Uncle Mildeus we’re gonna go back home, all of us, and you wouldn’t want to go back to visit the hospital, too.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“But it is! You’re just being difficult.”
Sieg sighed. “With some of Haja’s pie?”
Niebel grinned. “Yeah. I think Uncle Mildeus would like some.”
Yeah, with some of his pies.
But I never go back, will never go back
“By the way…”
Sieg looked up. Niebel had already stood up, bottled water on one hand. “Iulius wants to go out tonight, with the band. He wants you guys to catch up.”
He frowned. Iulius was an old friend, a fellow DC alumnus, and ‘catch up’ was the least he wanted to do when he arrived here.
“For once, please go. This may be our really last stop here. I’m going solo once Ars Arcanum disbands and I know you’re going to accept Fairy Tail’s proposal. You don’t have to do it for yourself. You can do it for us, as a parting gift.”
A moment of silence passed. Sieg didn’t even bothered to look away, which only aggravated Niebel until the boy whined his name annoyingly.
“Alright,” he finally relented. And like those flash bulbs they use on stage, Niebel smiled at him, that young, boyish and innocent smile of his, that no matter how cold he tries to make himself be, he can’t deny any wish it demands. So he smiled back as well, although it was his own sad and morose brand of smile. It was the most he could give now, after so many years of living alone yet sharing the roof with his bandmates.
But you know wherever you go, I’ll be around you
They all headed straight to Club Sion after dinner. It was where Iulius worked as a barista in daytime, bartender in nighttime.
“Oi, Chibini. Are you sure you’re invited, too?”
“Felicia’s in, so I’m in too!”
“I’m eighteen and legal. You’re just a kid.”
“Chibini!”
Three of the band’s four members looked up and greeted their host’s warm smile, Niebel pouncing on him over the counter with an affectionate hug.
“Haha, I can’t believe Mr. Grouch actually let you to be his vocalist.”
“That’s ‘cause no one can say no to Chibini!”
Pretending Niebel wasn’t acting like the 16-years-old teenage heartrob was easy if you could ignore someone a nancy like Iulius. And he pretended there was no calculating gaze on him, not even when he pulled a high stool and asked for his old college friend to make him a dry martini.
“Isn’t that too bitter for you?”
“I’m not paying you to be my therapist.” He glared at those dark, brown eyes watching him amusedly.
“Why are you still so grouchy? I thought seeing the outside world should make you… gayer.”
He growled, intensifying his glare. Iulius only gave him a cryptic smile before sliding the cocktail over the counter.
Then round and round we’ll always be like this
“And look who’s here,” he heard Iulius drawled. Soon, he heard the high-pitched cry of Iulius’ name, that richly sophisticated El Nadian accent still wrung around the voice despite so many years of living in foreign lands.
“Reina! Here, here!”
“Uwa! Iulius! Look at you! Bowtie and tux and apron!”
“And you’re still wearing red! Hide your bleeding spots, doesn’t it?”
And when he felt the slide of soft skin against the back of his neck, an onslaught of a rich and heavy perfume invading his senses, Sieg gulped down his drink, closing his eyes as he drowned the image of the woman’s quirked red-painted lips with alcohol.
“I’m surprised, Sieg,” she said, her accented voice dropping an octave. “You usually avoid our reunions.”
“Niebel insisted. I’d be glad to stay at our hotel and finish my job instead,” he answered back.
“We all know you’ll be leaving Ars Arcanum for Fairy Tail soon, Sieg. No need to pretend…”
“And I won’t be playing any major role in that amateur band at all,” he snapped, glaring at the woman sitting next to him. But Reina kept her smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as the smug mirth remained.
“So why are you leaving your band for a bunch of amateurs? Ars Arcanum is at its peak right now, and you’re all friends and families from your motherland.”
“I wonder how you managed to know my band’s matter when you have your stocks to worry about.”
Reina shrugged, biting the olive skewered in its pick.
“I watch The Insider, Sieg. You guys are always in the news.”
“Hey, Sieg.”
Both looked up from their conversation, Sieg still glaring. Iulius pointed at the door with a frown. “You might want to move over to Chibini’s table.”
“Wh-”
“Aiya! Shuda!”
Round and round, we’ll always be like this
“Hey, snake-bint.”
“I should’ve called you damned monk.”
“Already one, babe.” Then, a chuckle resonated deeply behind him that sent his nonexistent heart breaking. Ten years ago, he would’ve melted at the sound of that voice. Now, it was nothing. Nothing, and only nothing. “By the way, Jegan is outside waiting for Belial to finish his fag…”
He moved away from the bar, leaving a skewered olive on an empty cocktail glass, before not a single piece of his broken heart was left.
Until one of us stops, until one of us breaks
He didn’t know which part of him told him to just leave the place and get the hell away from everything. He couldn’t even recall stopping by his band’s table to grab his coat and leave the damned bar without a single word to any of his bandmates. He must’ve said something like ‘Leaving’ when Hilda asked him why in surprise, but he honestly didn’t have much memory of it nor anything else that followed. He wasn’t even certain of the hazy memories of screaming arguments, of tears and angry red eyes, or even a slap that made his palm sting a little. Or was it his cheek that stung? He honestly couldn’t tell.
All he remembered was that his head was pounding, and that the sun was worse more than anything else, and he knew he couldn’t ignore that throbbing pain in his lower back. Something must’ve happened after he left the bar, but he couldn’t remember what exactly had happened. He couldn’t, for the better of him, and he wouldn’t for the sake of his sanity or the little that remained of it. He had come this far already, and he wasn’t willing to lose everything he had build in those ten years, everything he had forsaken and forgotten and ignored and pretended not to exist at all-
“When are you going to stop living in denial?”
And then we’ll see who the better fuck is
He groaned at the sudden searing pain in his head. God damned voice and one night stands. He buried his head deeper under the pillows, drowning out whatever sound his previous fuck (they had fucked, right, or his ass wouldn’t be stinging and his back wouldn’t be sore) was making.
Then suddenly his phone rang and he couldn’t help but growl and scream ‘Fuck’ loudly, wincing at the sudden pain that shot up his spine. They must’ve skipped preparation for his body to hurt this much after a night, and he prayed there was at least some form of protection used.
“Still eloquent, I see.”
Bloody bastard was just standing by the doorway, leaning against it as he watched him with a wry grin, probably rejoicing in having one up him again. Ten years and Sieg still can’t beat the man in his own game.
“And you’re still a god damned bastard,” he gritted out, glaring as hard as he could at Shuda. “Fraud of a monk.”
“Painkillers?” Shuda offered instead, throwing a bottle of Advil towards him. But Sieg flung the battle away, scowling darkly at the redhead. No way in hell he was going to accept something from him, not after ten years of successfully ignoring his existence.
“Fuck off.”
He gathered the sheets around his naked and sore body. But he could barely stand, could barely make himself stand, when every move he made had his back screaming in pain; had his head reeling nausea. Suddenly, he wanted to throw up, to vomit his intestines out and maybe even his heart and see if he could die that way and not from embarrassment. Definitely not of this kind.
He ignored the approaching footsteps and the looming shadow over him. There was no way he would take that outstretched hand and throw himself onto the other’s open arms, and there was totally no way he’d let himself succumb to the other’s warm embrace and his sandalwood scent no matter how hard he tried to forget that smell, because he left him, and he’s not going back to people who left him for other people only to end up crawling back to him asking for forgiveness. No, no, no, no, no, no…
And who has the better luck
“I don’t need your fucking sympathy,” he growled, slapping the hand away just as easily as he had pushed away every help offered to him. He didn’t need it, doesn’t need and will never need it, not even after a thousand years. “I don’t fucking need you.”
“Why are you so god damned difficult? I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need your fucking help!”
He never needed help, never asked for it. He wanted it, but he never cried for it.
“You’re such a bastard and god damn it-DON’T TOUCH ME!” He screamed and dimly, on the back of his mind, he remembered he had a concert today, the very last one. He could barely stand, his wrist was burning again, fucking bitch, and now… and now, he had to deal with the biggest monster in his life, his worst nightmare, the fucking bastard. What the fuck had happened to all those years of avoidance?
“Funny.” He heard a snort, as if someone wanted to spit at him for being so ludicrous. “You were asking for it last night, crying out in that wanton voice-”
“Shut up.”
“Begging me to take you and-”
“Shut up!”
“Fuck you harder and harder-”
“SHUT UP!”
And just like that, he stopped and choked on his own breath as his mind shut down, everything exploding before his eyelids as bile rose out of him. This sucks, he told himself. Nothing could be better than ending up in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment with the worst hangover, crippled by the arse, and then throwing up on his floor after being reminded of how bad he had wanted it, had deserved it.
“Painkillers?”
He glared at the redhead and at the bottle of Advil that this time he caught.
“I’ve called Hilda to pick you up. If I were you, I would hide from that kid cousin of yours and wear something that’ll hide…” the redhead trailed off as he pointed at him warily, and instantly, his hand flew to the juncture between his shoulder and neck.
Without another word, Shuda turned away, leaving him alone in the bedroom. He stared at the door, and when his eyes fell to the painkillers on his hand, he idly wandered if he could kill himself with painkillers.
‘Cause I know somewhere in between
“Shuda.”
He heard his own voice resonating loudly in the room and out of it. His throat was scratchy; he shouldn’t be calling out to anyone, especially not to his ex-boyfriend.
“Yeah?”
He heard the echo, loud and clear and almost hopeful. So much for being a monk.
Forget it, he told himself. And that was what he did. He forgot about it, about everything.
“Let’s go out to Haja’s.”
And maybe somewhere in between, they’d finally have that chance to fulfill at least one tiny promise from ten years ago.
We’ll see each other again
END
Disclaimer: Umi still can’t make Hiro Mashima sell Rave to her.
Author’s Note: I believe that this certain fic, the story about the Ars Arcanum’s reason for going international and why the town’s local monastery’s head monk became a… well, a monk, is very late. So, if the first four one-shots have been all about two kids doing their damnedest to stay together, then this one-shot in the series is about two adult men being very mature and stupid.
Summary: It’s been ten years since they last saw each other, and it’s been ten years since they pretend there’s nothing between them-except for a local pie.
A/N: Edited some parts, but mostly just technical stuffs. Going through it again... reminds me why this is the one of my few favorite works.
Coconut Pie
Hunger, Not Anger
They all decided to make their hometown the last stop of their tour as some sort of tribute. They all grew up there, even the band itself, all thanks to Old Haja’s coconut pie.
To Sieg, it had been three years since he last visited the town, the last being a gig in some club all the teens and the adults would go; he could barely remember its name. It was their last local performance as well before they hit international waves. Oh, the band would go back to their hometown; Sieg just didn’t tag along and no one asked why. He always had some sort of excuse with him, the most usual being the need to visit his real home up in the north together with his cousin, Niebel. Poor boy had to disentangle himself from the rest of the band to accompany Sieg in his moments of hermitage.
They all have their dark secrets, and Sieg intends to take his to the grave. And maybe Niebel’s too, but then he never told his sixteen year old cousin. The kid had just figured it out one rainy night, when the kid caught him tearful over a worn picture.
Yes, one more step, and you’re there, but I won’t be
He dropped his guitar next to the amplifier, relieving a sigh. He was tired, so bloody tired. His fingers had begun cramping minutes ago, but they were already three songs away before end of rehearsal and he just-damn it.
“Niebel! Pass me my splint!” He yelled over his shoulder, bony fingers clutching his left wrist tightly. This was the last one. He couldn’t trip over it now. After this, they will have their well-deserved break, and he can go back to therapy or maybe even an operation to get rid of this bloody wrist disorder.
The boy ran to his side with the splint on hand, slipping the glove-like material over his hand and making sure not to tighten the belt too much.
“You should take a break,” the boy muttered to him. But Sieg ignored him, fingers already beginning to itch from the glove’s course texture around knuckles, wrist unable to bend to relieve the tension accumulated. “You don’t have to do all the chords. Hilda can back them up, you know that. And tomorrow’s our last performance. After tomorrow, I promised Uncle Mildeus we’re gonna go back home, all of us, and you wouldn’t want to go back to visit the hospital, too.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“But it is! You’re just being difficult.”
Sieg sighed. “With some of Haja’s pie?”
Niebel grinned. “Yeah. I think Uncle Mildeus would like some.”
Yeah, with some of his pies.
But I never go back, will never go back
“By the way…”
Sieg looked up. Niebel had already stood up, bottled water on one hand. “Iulius wants to go out tonight, with the band. He wants you guys to catch up.”
He frowned. Iulius was an old friend, a fellow DC alumnus, and ‘catch up’ was the least he wanted to do when he arrived here.
“For once, please go. This may be our really last stop here. I’m going solo once Ars Arcanum disbands and I know you’re going to accept Fairy Tail’s proposal. You don’t have to do it for yourself. You can do it for us, as a parting gift.”
A moment of silence passed. Sieg didn’t even bothered to look away, which only aggravated Niebel until the boy whined his name annoyingly.
“Alright,” he finally relented. And like those flash bulbs they use on stage, Niebel smiled at him, that young, boyish and innocent smile of his, that no matter how cold he tries to make himself be, he can’t deny any wish it demands. So he smiled back as well, although it was his own sad and morose brand of smile. It was the most he could give now, after so many years of living alone yet sharing the roof with his bandmates.
But you know wherever you go, I’ll be around you
They all headed straight to Club Sion after dinner. It was where Iulius worked as a barista in daytime, bartender in nighttime.
“Oi, Chibini. Are you sure you’re invited, too?”
“Felicia’s in, so I’m in too!”
“I’m eighteen and legal. You’re just a kid.”
“Chibini!”
Three of the band’s four members looked up and greeted their host’s warm smile, Niebel pouncing on him over the counter with an affectionate hug.
“Haha, I can’t believe Mr. Grouch actually let you to be his vocalist.”
“That’s ‘cause no one can say no to Chibini!”
Pretending Niebel wasn’t acting like the 16-years-old teenage heartrob was easy if you could ignore someone a nancy like Iulius. And he pretended there was no calculating gaze on him, not even when he pulled a high stool and asked for his old college friend to make him a dry martini.
“Isn’t that too bitter for you?”
“I’m not paying you to be my therapist.” He glared at those dark, brown eyes watching him amusedly.
“Why are you still so grouchy? I thought seeing the outside world should make you… gayer.”
He growled, intensifying his glare. Iulius only gave him a cryptic smile before sliding the cocktail over the counter.
Then round and round we’ll always be like this
“And look who’s here,” he heard Iulius drawled. Soon, he heard the high-pitched cry of Iulius’ name, that richly sophisticated El Nadian accent still wrung around the voice despite so many years of living in foreign lands.
“Reina! Here, here!”
“Uwa! Iulius! Look at you! Bowtie and tux and apron!”
“And you’re still wearing red! Hide your bleeding spots, doesn’t it?”
And when he felt the slide of soft skin against the back of his neck, an onslaught of a rich and heavy perfume invading his senses, Sieg gulped down his drink, closing his eyes as he drowned the image of the woman’s quirked red-painted lips with alcohol.
“I’m surprised, Sieg,” she said, her accented voice dropping an octave. “You usually avoid our reunions.”
“Niebel insisted. I’d be glad to stay at our hotel and finish my job instead,” he answered back.
“We all know you’ll be leaving Ars Arcanum for Fairy Tail soon, Sieg. No need to pretend…”
“And I won’t be playing any major role in that amateur band at all,” he snapped, glaring at the woman sitting next to him. But Reina kept her smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as the smug mirth remained.
“So why are you leaving your band for a bunch of amateurs? Ars Arcanum is at its peak right now, and you’re all friends and families from your motherland.”
“I wonder how you managed to know my band’s matter when you have your stocks to worry about.”
Reina shrugged, biting the olive skewered in its pick.
“I watch The Insider, Sieg. You guys are always in the news.”
“Hey, Sieg.”
Both looked up from their conversation, Sieg still glaring. Iulius pointed at the door with a frown. “You might want to move over to Chibini’s table.”
“Wh-”
“Aiya! Shuda!”
Round and round, we’ll always be like this
“Hey, snake-bint.”
“I should’ve called you damned monk.”
“Already one, babe.” Then, a chuckle resonated deeply behind him that sent his nonexistent heart breaking. Ten years ago, he would’ve melted at the sound of that voice. Now, it was nothing. Nothing, and only nothing. “By the way, Jegan is outside waiting for Belial to finish his fag…”
He moved away from the bar, leaving a skewered olive on an empty cocktail glass, before not a single piece of his broken heart was left.
Until one of us stops, until one of us breaks
He didn’t know which part of him told him to just leave the place and get the hell away from everything. He couldn’t even recall stopping by his band’s table to grab his coat and leave the damned bar without a single word to any of his bandmates. He must’ve said something like ‘Leaving’ when Hilda asked him why in surprise, but he honestly didn’t have much memory of it nor anything else that followed. He wasn’t even certain of the hazy memories of screaming arguments, of tears and angry red eyes, or even a slap that made his palm sting a little. Or was it his cheek that stung? He honestly couldn’t tell.
All he remembered was that his head was pounding, and that the sun was worse more than anything else, and he knew he couldn’t ignore that throbbing pain in his lower back. Something must’ve happened after he left the bar, but he couldn’t remember what exactly had happened. He couldn’t, for the better of him, and he wouldn’t for the sake of his sanity or the little that remained of it. He had come this far already, and he wasn’t willing to lose everything he had build in those ten years, everything he had forsaken and forgotten and ignored and pretended not to exist at all-
“When are you going to stop living in denial?”
And then we’ll see who the better fuck is
He groaned at the sudden searing pain in his head. God damned voice and one night stands. He buried his head deeper under the pillows, drowning out whatever sound his previous fuck (they had fucked, right, or his ass wouldn’t be stinging and his back wouldn’t be sore) was making.
Then suddenly his phone rang and he couldn’t help but growl and scream ‘Fuck’ loudly, wincing at the sudden pain that shot up his spine. They must’ve skipped preparation for his body to hurt this much after a night, and he prayed there was at least some form of protection used.
“Still eloquent, I see.”
Bloody bastard was just standing by the doorway, leaning against it as he watched him with a wry grin, probably rejoicing in having one up him again. Ten years and Sieg still can’t beat the man in his own game.
“And you’re still a god damned bastard,” he gritted out, glaring as hard as he could at Shuda. “Fraud of a monk.”
“Painkillers?” Shuda offered instead, throwing a bottle of Advil towards him. But Sieg flung the battle away, scowling darkly at the redhead. No way in hell he was going to accept something from him, not after ten years of successfully ignoring his existence.
“Fuck off.”
He gathered the sheets around his naked and sore body. But he could barely stand, could barely make himself stand, when every move he made had his back screaming in pain; had his head reeling nausea. Suddenly, he wanted to throw up, to vomit his intestines out and maybe even his heart and see if he could die that way and not from embarrassment. Definitely not of this kind.
He ignored the approaching footsteps and the looming shadow over him. There was no way he would take that outstretched hand and throw himself onto the other’s open arms, and there was totally no way he’d let himself succumb to the other’s warm embrace and his sandalwood scent no matter how hard he tried to forget that smell, because he left him, and he’s not going back to people who left him for other people only to end up crawling back to him asking for forgiveness. No, no, no, no, no, no…
And who has the better luck
“I don’t need your fucking sympathy,” he growled, slapping the hand away just as easily as he had pushed away every help offered to him. He didn’t need it, doesn’t need and will never need it, not even after a thousand years. “I don’t fucking need you.”
“Why are you so god damned difficult? I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need your fucking help!”
He never needed help, never asked for it. He wanted it, but he never cried for it.
“You’re such a bastard and god damn it-DON’T TOUCH ME!” He screamed and dimly, on the back of his mind, he remembered he had a concert today, the very last one. He could barely stand, his wrist was burning again, fucking bitch, and now… and now, he had to deal with the biggest monster in his life, his worst nightmare, the fucking bastard. What the fuck had happened to all those years of avoidance?
“Funny.” He heard a snort, as if someone wanted to spit at him for being so ludicrous. “You were asking for it last night, crying out in that wanton voice-”
“Shut up.”
“Begging me to take you and-”
“Shut up!”
“Fuck you harder and harder-”
“SHUT UP!”
And just like that, he stopped and choked on his own breath as his mind shut down, everything exploding before his eyelids as bile rose out of him. This sucks, he told himself. Nothing could be better than ending up in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment with the worst hangover, crippled by the arse, and then throwing up on his floor after being reminded of how bad he had wanted it, had deserved it.
“Painkillers?”
He glared at the redhead and at the bottle of Advil that this time he caught.
“I’ve called Hilda to pick you up. If I were you, I would hide from that kid cousin of yours and wear something that’ll hide…” the redhead trailed off as he pointed at him warily, and instantly, his hand flew to the juncture between his shoulder and neck.
Without another word, Shuda turned away, leaving him alone in the bedroom. He stared at the door, and when his eyes fell to the painkillers on his hand, he idly wandered if he could kill himself with painkillers.
‘Cause I know somewhere in between
“Shuda.”
He heard his own voice resonating loudly in the room and out of it. His throat was scratchy; he shouldn’t be calling out to anyone, especially not to his ex-boyfriend.
“Yeah?”
He heard the echo, loud and clear and almost hopeful. So much for being a monk.
Forget it, he told himself. And that was what he did. He forgot about it, about everything.
“Let’s go out to Haja’s.”
And maybe somewhere in between, they’d finally have that chance to fulfill at least one tiny promise from ten years ago.
We’ll see each other again
END