[one-shot] Dear Kazuya
Title: Dear Kazuya
Pairing: RyoKame (Nishikido Ryo x Kamenashi Kazuya)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Letters are the only way Ryo seems to be able to get through to Kazuya
So yayyy, one-shot~ I wrote this for pinkeuphoria1 because it's her birthday today!!!! :DDDDD and this is her birthday gift, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY ISA!!!! ♥ You're an awesome person and a great friend and I hope you have a great birthday today!!!! <3
and *cough* now about the fic. It's set in the future, by maybe like a few years or something idk, but it's not QUITE AU, but kinda is at the same time? Since it's set in the future, it's not considered AU until the future passes? XDDDD
onto the fic~
--
A bookcase sits in the corner of the room, out of place in the room lined with fading wallpaper. The bookcase remains to be the only thing untouched by the pristine cleanliness in the room, as though it has become the only thing worth protecting from change, and from the touch of other people. He sits in the bed, looking out the window, pillows propped up to help him sit up. There’s a lost look in those eyes that soften when they fall upon the rustic bookcase; nobody is allowed to touch the bookcase but him, he puts up a fit that most don’t think him capable of when somebody tries.
And he knows if someone tries; nobody ever touches the bookcase so when someone other than himself does, he knows.
He gets up from the bed, shoulders slumped like the world has already crashed down on his shoulders, and with a tired sigh he heads over to the bookcase. He takes down a book from the very top, and gets back into bed; with a sad look in his eyes, he opens the book.
Looks can be deceiving; there is a rectangular hole cut into the book. It looks like a real book but it really isn’t; like his own appearance, it’s misleading. It hides something far deeper and more powerful than one might think.
Inside the space are papers; they’ve been folded and unfolded so many times that they look fragile. He wonders if that’s how people see him now; he looks strong but maybe some of them see how tired he is inside, how he just wants nothing more than to sleep forever.
His fingers fumble with the sheets of used paper, and they’re all in order, he knows; he reads them from time to time. They’re not dated, but he knows the order they came in just the same.
He presses down on the top of the stack, smoothing the wrinkles that have formed over the years.
Dear Kazuya…
* * *
It was so much simpler to be true to himself when he was a child. He’s thought about that many times, too many times maybe, but he can’t help but continue to let that thought run rampant in his head, wondering if he’ll feel less tired, less exhausted, and less like he’s locking away a part of himself if he manages to find some way to be that child again.
He wants to run through the streets, delighted at the sight of snow - it really his ideal Christmas; it represents something that he’s lost, the desirable innocence of being truly happy without any strings attached. He wants to compete with his brothers over something unimportant, and not feel like he has to hide away a part of himself to keep a pretence of that up. He wants…
He wants to be able to tell this world what he feels like without being condemned for saying it. No one would condemn a child, but he has a feeling they would hesitate only a second before condemning him.
The letters are like a reprieve and a manifestation of his guilt; he can’t stop them from coming, but he probably shouldn’t send one back. Not if he wants to keep that part of him hidden away from the world.
But he can’t help it; from the first letter, he knew it was the only way to hold onto who he truly was, and it was the only way to hold onto what he felt was real within him.
He wanted them, but yet, at the same time, he feared them - for what they made him acknowledge, for the true bliss they gave him when he read each one over and over again like some cherished engraving; they were his salvation, but they were his sin as well.
Yet, as he sits back in his chair, eyes swollen, red and tired - but when are they not when he’s alone and free to be consumed in all those dark emotions that haunt him? - he tilts his head back looking at the light overhead for just a brief moment, before he turns back to the blank sheet of paper in front of him.
Dear Ryo…
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You told me not to write, but I’m not going to listen to you. I don’t care what you think right now; I’m mad at you for telling me not to write, and I’m mad at you for not answering my calls. I don’t care what you think you’re doing, but stop it now. Just because I’m not in the same town, doesn’t mean I still can’t kick your ass. Stop ignoring me, you selfish idiot!
Ryo
* * *
Years ago, Kazuya believed in a story told to him on a drunken night spent in his apartment; that slightly slurred narration and the just-as-drunken, “What else happens?” from himself have stayed with him over the years. Back then, Kazuya believed in that everything in life will turn out happily, even if there are some sad and disappointing moments.
He knows better now.
Happy endings aren’t real; they only exist in stories. They’re there to trick children that if they try hard enough, they can one day have that happy ending. Just because you believe in them, doesn’t mean that they’re real; they were never real, because Kazuya has tried hard, he’s tried so hard, and now, he’s left feeling like he’s lost everything.
He sighs as he sits in a chair in the dressing room, watching as the rest of the band gets attacked with combs and styling irons; in another time, another place, he might have laughed at them, and they would have shot him glares for laughing in the first place.
But these days, all this just reminds him of things he doesn’t want to think about. That smile he manages for the cameras takes all his effort to put on, but once in a while, one of the others will manage to extract a genuine smile from him, and he knows that’s all they ask for. They don’t know the why, or maybe they’ve guessed, but they know that even that is an accomplishment for him these days.
He’s lost hope; he can’t believe in those stories anymore. He can’t believe working hard will get him any happiness anymore.
Kazuya wants nothing more than to believe in those happy endings again. He wants that hope, and what’s more, he wants to know what happens at the end of those drunken stories.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You asshole! You’re still not replying to any of my emails, my calls, or anything else! What is so important that you can’t even pick up the phone? I’m going to keep writing you letters until you give in and reply, I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not getting ignored, especially not by you.
Get a sheet of paper, pick up a pen, and write to me now you goddamn idiot!
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya had once thought that the moment he turned twenty and became a legal adult, a lot of things would make sense; there would be some sort of epiphany and things he couldn’t understand, because before that he was still a teenager - young and immature, would suddenly be clear and he could stop worrying about the things that plagued him; everything would make sense the moment he reached adulthood.
It wasn’t true.
Kazuya wonders how many of his childhood expectations had met their end in the same disappointing way as that one. Too many, he realizes.
He sits inside a coffee shop, sipping at a cup of pure black coffee, looking every bit the part of the professional mature adult, but inside, he still feels like a child.
He wonders if that’s normal, or if he’s just so messed up that he’s feeling this way. He feels like a child that has been let down one too many times, disillusioned with the world and the things he had once believed in.
He wants to make sense of everything so badly, but he can’t quite grasp onto them; they’re like water to him, he can’t hold onto them, it’s impossible.
If anything, the problems have only grown since he was a child. Things that he worried about as a child seem so simple now. Like worrying if he would get a good mark on that next test, or wondering what he wants for a birthday; they’re so simple, and life only gets more and more complicated instead of simpler as he grows older.
He wishes it was the other way around
Back then, back when he was a child, if it was this complicated, he could still turn to his family, to his parents or his brothers; back then, he could do it freely without feeling like the world’s biggest weakling, but now…he can’t do that; he can’t tell them his problems. He’s an adult now and should be able to handle it on his own.
He wonders if it’s normal, wishing to be a child again.
Just for one day.
Just for one day, he wants to be able to smile like that again.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You still haven’t replied. I know you’re getting them, because they haven’t come back; is there something wrong? Is there something I should know about? I’m not worried by the way; I just want to know if someone’s kicked your ass before I get a chance to!
…write me.
Ryo
* * *
The day that Kazuya first gave into replying to those letters, he had been at the end of his rope; he was sick of hiding, he was sick of avoiding, and he was sick of locking away that part of himself that only those letters could bring out of him. He had sat down at his desk, and it took only a minute to start writing furiously like a possessed man.
Since then, the letters have remained a huge part of Kazuya’s life; he awaits each one with dread and bated breath. Often, they just reaffirm those negative emotions that plague him like an incurable disease, but other times, they manage to bring a smile onto his face.
He wishes it was that simple to smile; he wishes he doesn’t need a letter in the mail to smile.
It should be simple to smile, but he can’t bring himself to. Smiling means letting people in, and Kazuya can’t afford to let anyone else in; he already has enough trouble keeping those he’s already let in from finding out the truth behind the exhaustion he feels both physically and emotionally.
Yet, as he sits at the desk and reads over letter after letter, he can’t help that sarcastic smile that crosses his face; it’s only alone when he lets himself smile.
It’s only alone when he feels brave enough to.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I got your letter. Finally, I should say, but getting it doesn’t make me less mad at you. What are you, on some sort of teenage angst high or something?! What is this crap you’re spewing in this letter? Have you gotten stupid without me noticing?
Of course nobody will care. It’s none of their business anyways, so stop being stupid.
You’d better keep writing me.
Ryo
* * *
For all that he hates hiding a part of himself, Kazuya is remarkably good at it. He can fool the cameras just like any other idol, although he wishes he could fool his friends so easily. At first, when all this started, they watched him with concerned looks that he tried to pretend he didn’t see. Now, they’ve either given up or are truly fooled when he plasters on that smile; relieved looks will appear and Kazuya lets them think that for just a moment in time, he’s gone back to the way he was: the one who can smile without a care in the world.
It’s only sometimes that he can fool them though; there are times when it’s so obvious that he’s faking that he hates himself for it. He hates himself for needing to pretend in the first place.
And he hates himself for the voice that sometimes appear in his head, reminiscent of the one he had to let go, that tells him how it’s needed, and how it understands.
He doesn’t want to hear from that voice that’s a reminder of everything he had to give away, of everything he’s lost; he would give anything to hear that voice outside of his head again.
“Kame?” he looks up when Koki peers at him, a concerned and resigned expression on his face. The older man pauses, “We’re on in five minutes.” He says, before pausing, looking at Kame carefully, “Don’t be nervous.” He says cheerfully.
Kazuya knows better though; he knows that Koki knows that it’s not nervousness that’s afflicting Kazuya. He knows that Koki knows that it’s something else.
He also knows that everyone knows that Kame won’t tell a single soul what’s bothering him.
He can’t.
He promised.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I’m going to ignore everything you’ve said in your last letter because you’re a stubborn idiot who won’t listen to reason. Also, you’re wrong and I’m right and we both know it. And as these letters seem to be the only way to get you to reply to me, I’m going to take full advantage of it.
It’s really boring here - nice, but boring. I can’t believe I’m here for another few months; it feels like it’ll be forever before I see the city again. You keep saying you’re fine in your letters, so I’m going to presume that everything is normal - you’re not eating or sleeping, and that you’re overworking again.
I do have a TV available you know. Just because I’m not in the city anymore doesn’t mean I don’t have technology at my fingertips.
Write me soon. (and get those ridiculous ideas out of your head!)
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya shivers under the warm blanket; it’s insane, he thinks, having to do a photoshoot where they get ‘rained on’ when it still feels like it’s winter. He clutches the blanket close to himself, hating how his teeth chatter, but hating how he can’t control his chattering teeth more. He’s freezing, and he knows it’s partly his fault; he didn’t get a proper night’s sleep last night.
On every other night, Kazuya can sleep like he’ll never wake up, but on the night before a photoshoot, he has to be haunted by thoughts that won’t leave him alone until Kazuya finds himself going through his closet, digging out a box hidden deep inside and going through the glossy pictures held within its cardboard walls.
Kazuya both hates and cherishes memories; he hates how they leave him so immobilized, so frozen, like they’re his ultimate weakness, but at the same time, he would be completely lost without memories of everything he loves.
Of everyone he loves.
Of that someone he loves.
Kazuya runs his fingers through his wet hair; he looks over at Koki and Ueda, and he blinks when Koki sees him, smiles and sits down next to him. Ueda follows; they sit further from Kazuya than they used to, or at least Koki does; Kazuya remembers when Koki used to practically hang off of him, so close.
But Koki doesn’t anymore; Kazuya thinks he knows. He knows how he winces every time someone gets so close to him without warning; he knows that Kazuya flinches every time he realizes it’s not the one he wants.
He knows, just knows, that Kazuya is waiting.
Hurt, and waiting.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
One of these days, I’m going to get an actual answer out of you.
How hard is it to tell the truth once in a while, and not lie that you’re fine? You look like a zombie every time I see you on television.
I want an answer, and I’m going to guilt-trip you or blackmail you or whatever until I get one. I’m not going to leave you alone, you jackass. Stop avoiding my questions.
Also, I bought you a postcard. You said you wanted to see snow? Well, here’s a goddamn hell lot of snow. You can have this damn snow - I had to trudge through it during a snowstorm. Never. Again.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya gets drunk one night, alone and in his apartment. There’s no one there for him to be drunk with, but Kazuya doesn’t want anyone there.
Well, he does, but it isn’t possible for that person to be there. Kazuya sits on the floor, leaning against his bed with a beer in his hand, and he wonders at the sheer absurdity of it all. And he remembers.
He remembers a time when he got drunk with someone else; he remembers whispered stories in the dead of night when they’re both barely half awake and definitely more than half wasted, and he remembered the feel of those much too obvious lingering touches as the story goes on.
He remembers sitting in a position just like this one, and he remembers looking over at the other, and his eyes are barely half-open when he asks in a slurred voice, “Then what happens?”
He also remembers the way that the other laughed, a sound that Kazuya cherishes deep in his heart where no one can ever dig deep enough to find out, and there are fingers running through his hair, a bit drunkenly he thinks as those fingers touch lightly upon the side of Kazuya’s face. And the story continues, and Kazuya feels like a child again, waiting for a story to be told, but he doesn’t mind, because at that moment in time, he did feel like a child - there were no worries, no demands and no responsibilities.
It’s a world with just these stories, and the person Kazuya holds close to his heart, so close that not even the band has realized he does.
Kazuya likes this world, he likes how being with this person makes this world possible…
Kazuya wishes more than anything he could have that world.
He wishes being with that person was more than a fleeting dream, an impossible wish.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
It’s only a month or so until I’m back. I got your letter, and if I was allowed to, I’d fly back to Tokyo to hit you until you stopped being stupid.
This isn’t what I want to hear from you. You’re supposed to be the one to believe in happy endings; I’m supposed to be the pessimistic one that ruins your dreams. You’re upsetting the natural order of things.
So stop it!
I don’t know how many times I have to say it. It’s not your fault I’m here; it’s not your fault I can’t come back yet, and most of all, it’s not your fault that this happened.
I don’t blame you, so don’t blame yourself.
I mean it.
Ryo
* * *
Happiness is subjective. That’s what Kazuya has learned; what makes one person happy might not make another happy. When someone acts like they’re happy, they might not be as happy as they seem. There is no such thing as pure happiness, because at one point, someone will be upset because someone else is happy. He learned that one summer, when he thought he had that happiness - when he thought he had it all, and when his band mates tended to tease him about the huge grin he had on his face rather than look at him with concern and worry like they do now.
Kazuya tries not to worry them, but he can’t help it. As the months draw on, it becomes harder, if not impossible, to hide behind a mask of happiness. He can’t do it…
It’s so tiring, being happy.
Being happy, right now, is like lying. At least, it feels like the same thing; he can’t put his heart into it, and if he was true to himself, he doesn’t want to.
It doesn’t feel right to be happy, not when everything is so complicated and his whole presence feels like a goddamn lie.
He’s the reason that he can’t see the one he wants to; he’s the reason for everything that’s happened, for all his sadness, and Kazuya accepts the blame for it.
He’s the reason he can’t see him.
He’s the reason Ryo’s gone.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I can see that nothing will change in that stubborn head of yours until I get back and make sure you actually listen to what I’m saying.
If I blamed you, or was mad at you, would I still be writing to you? Don’t be so quick to blame yourself, idiot.
I’m back in two weeks.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya hates remembering the last month while Ryo was still here with him. He hates remembering it, because when he remembers it, he thinks of nothing but false smiles and an overwhelming sense of guilt - he knows what he did, and he knows that he’s not allowed to talk about it.
When it’s announced that Ryo has gotten an opportunity to work with a world famous composer, to learn from him as well as record with him, the world celebrates.
Except he doesn’t, and neither does Ryo.
They both know what it really is; they know that the company has caught onto the fact that they’re turning from friends into something more than friends. They both know that it was a close call that the photographer who caught Kazuya leaving Ryo’s apartment one early morning didn’t get a good shot of Kazuya, only his form as he leaves wearing Ryo’s sweatshirt and jeans - as tries to pretend to be Ryo so no one sees.
They both know what it really is.
It’s a way for the company to tell them that they had better be careful, or else.
Kazuya remembers all too clearly, although sometimes he wishes he could forget. He wishes he could forget that if he had been a bit more careful leaving that morning, none of this would have happened. Ryo wouldn’t have been punished by being sent away, and Kazuya wouldn’t feel that horrible guilt that he’s the reason Ryo can’t even come back to visit anyone.
Kazuya remembers the promise he made to Ryo before he left; Ryo had refused to let anyone bring him to the airport, choosing to go on his own without ‘girly goodbyes’, except that isn’t all true. Ryo stops by to see Kazuya before he leaves, neither of them caring that his flight is early in the morning.
Calloused hands are running lingeringly through Kazuya’s hair, and he’s trying his best to be strong, when Ryo leans in to whisper something so soft that Kazuya is afraid that he hears wrong.
I’ll come back; I promise not to tell anyone, I won’t give them a reason to send you away too.
And he promises too, promises again and again; he doesn’t know why he keeps promising, but he knows he wants nothing more than for Ryo to stay. If he promises good behaviour, maybe Ryo will be allowed to stay, maybe Ryo won’t be punished for his own carelessness, his own stupidity.
Then a lingering touch of lips on his and Ryo draws away, heading out the door and reluctantly leaving Kazuya.
He promises so much, he wants to promise the world, but Kazuya knows in the end he’s failed Ryo; he’s failed completely, and he doesn’t know how to make it up to him.
He wants to promise him the world again.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya stands with the band as Ryo’s welcome back party takes place; the older man is the center of attention, and he looks good, but Kazuya can’t bring himself to go to him. The party goes on into the night, but Kazuya still doesn’t have the nerve to; he’s afraid of being hated. Ryo talks about the man he worked with, he talks about the new song he has ready, and he talks about so many things, and Kazuya already knows it all from the emails and texts and phone calls Ryo’s sent him.
But despite knowing that he’s the only one in the know about that, he isn’t brave enough to approach Ryo. He doesn’t want to see that his fears have come true.
Kazuya feels like he’s suffocating; he’s watching Ryo almost obsessively and he knows Ryo is looking for him, in the crowd, and when Ryo spots him, his lips twitch a little. But neither of them move.
Hours later, Kazuya ends up just a bit drunk on one of the couches; there are people passed out on the floor around him, and he wonders why he’s not like them when he feels like he should be. All these emotions are like toxin, and they should make him like that too so he can escape from this reality.
Calloused fingers flutter along the side of his face and Kazuya freezes, turning - a bit sluggishly - to his right, where he sees a sight that both breaks his heart and makes it sing.
“Ryo…”
“Hello Kazuya,” Ryo says roughly, a bit breathlessly; he’s not drunk but he’s obviously pretending to be. Kazuya lets him fall against him, as Ryo breathes into his ear, “I’m back.” He announces.
Kazuya reaches out, but Ryo grabs his hand before he can touch him, and he feels his heart break. Then, Ryo uses Kazuya’s hand as leverage to move himself closer; their lips are close, nearly touching, and Kazuya thinks they should be glad that everyone else is either drunk or unconscious right now.
“I’ve missed you,” Ryo says and he brings his lips to Kazuya’s, kissing him intently before drawing away a little; their lips are so close, “Dear Kazuya,” he continues, “I’ve missed you.”
He pauses for a moment, “Love, Ryo,” he says with a bright smile that makes Kazuya smile back.
------- END ---------
That's the end :DDDD I hope you all liked it and that the ending was good, and you know, not disappointing or anything and I especially hope you liked it Isa!!! :DDD
<3
Pairing: RyoKame (Nishikido Ryo x Kamenashi Kazuya)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Letters are the only way Ryo seems to be able to get through to Kazuya
So yayyy, one-shot~ I wrote this for pinkeuphoria1 because it's her birthday today!!!! :DDDDD and this is her birthday gift, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY ISA!!!! ♥ You're an awesome person and a great friend and I hope you have a great birthday today!!!! <3
and *cough* now about the fic. It's set in the future, by maybe like a few years or something idk, but it's not QUITE AU, but kinda is at the same time? Since it's set in the future, it's not considered AU until the future passes? XDDDD
onto the fic~
--
A bookcase sits in the corner of the room, out of place in the room lined with fading wallpaper. The bookcase remains to be the only thing untouched by the pristine cleanliness in the room, as though it has become the only thing worth protecting from change, and from the touch of other people. He sits in the bed, looking out the window, pillows propped up to help him sit up. There’s a lost look in those eyes that soften when they fall upon the rustic bookcase; nobody is allowed to touch the bookcase but him, he puts up a fit that most don’t think him capable of when somebody tries.
And he knows if someone tries; nobody ever touches the bookcase so when someone other than himself does, he knows.
He gets up from the bed, shoulders slumped like the world has already crashed down on his shoulders, and with a tired sigh he heads over to the bookcase. He takes down a book from the very top, and gets back into bed; with a sad look in his eyes, he opens the book.
Looks can be deceiving; there is a rectangular hole cut into the book. It looks like a real book but it really isn’t; like his own appearance, it’s misleading. It hides something far deeper and more powerful than one might think.
Inside the space are papers; they’ve been folded and unfolded so many times that they look fragile. He wonders if that’s how people see him now; he looks strong but maybe some of them see how tired he is inside, how he just wants nothing more than to sleep forever.
His fingers fumble with the sheets of used paper, and they’re all in order, he knows; he reads them from time to time. They’re not dated, but he knows the order they came in just the same.
He presses down on the top of the stack, smoothing the wrinkles that have formed over the years.
Dear Kazuya…
* * *
It was so much simpler to be true to himself when he was a child. He’s thought about that many times, too many times maybe, but he can’t help but continue to let that thought run rampant in his head, wondering if he’ll feel less tired, less exhausted, and less like he’s locking away a part of himself if he manages to find some way to be that child again.
He wants to run through the streets, delighted at the sight of snow - it really his ideal Christmas; it represents something that he’s lost, the desirable innocence of being truly happy without any strings attached. He wants to compete with his brothers over something unimportant, and not feel like he has to hide away a part of himself to keep a pretence of that up. He wants…
He wants to be able to tell this world what he feels like without being condemned for saying it. No one would condemn a child, but he has a feeling they would hesitate only a second before condemning him.
The letters are like a reprieve and a manifestation of his guilt; he can’t stop them from coming, but he probably shouldn’t send one back. Not if he wants to keep that part of him hidden away from the world.
But he can’t help it; from the first letter, he knew it was the only way to hold onto who he truly was, and it was the only way to hold onto what he felt was real within him.
He wanted them, but yet, at the same time, he feared them - for what they made him acknowledge, for the true bliss they gave him when he read each one over and over again like some cherished engraving; they were his salvation, but they were his sin as well.
Yet, as he sits back in his chair, eyes swollen, red and tired - but when are they not when he’s alone and free to be consumed in all those dark emotions that haunt him? - he tilts his head back looking at the light overhead for just a brief moment, before he turns back to the blank sheet of paper in front of him.
Dear Ryo…
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You told me not to write, but I’m not going to listen to you. I don’t care what you think right now; I’m mad at you for telling me not to write, and I’m mad at you for not answering my calls. I don’t care what you think you’re doing, but stop it now. Just because I’m not in the same town, doesn’t mean I still can’t kick your ass. Stop ignoring me, you selfish idiot!
Ryo
* * *
Years ago, Kazuya believed in a story told to him on a drunken night spent in his apartment; that slightly slurred narration and the just-as-drunken, “What else happens?” from himself have stayed with him over the years. Back then, Kazuya believed in that everything in life will turn out happily, even if there are some sad and disappointing moments.
He knows better now.
Happy endings aren’t real; they only exist in stories. They’re there to trick children that if they try hard enough, they can one day have that happy ending. Just because you believe in them, doesn’t mean that they’re real; they were never real, because Kazuya has tried hard, he’s tried so hard, and now, he’s left feeling like he’s lost everything.
He sighs as he sits in a chair in the dressing room, watching as the rest of the band gets attacked with combs and styling irons; in another time, another place, he might have laughed at them, and they would have shot him glares for laughing in the first place.
But these days, all this just reminds him of things he doesn’t want to think about. That smile he manages for the cameras takes all his effort to put on, but once in a while, one of the others will manage to extract a genuine smile from him, and he knows that’s all they ask for. They don’t know the why, or maybe they’ve guessed, but they know that even that is an accomplishment for him these days.
He’s lost hope; he can’t believe in those stories anymore. He can’t believe working hard will get him any happiness anymore.
Kazuya wants nothing more than to believe in those happy endings again. He wants that hope, and what’s more, he wants to know what happens at the end of those drunken stories.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You asshole! You’re still not replying to any of my emails, my calls, or anything else! What is so important that you can’t even pick up the phone? I’m going to keep writing you letters until you give in and reply, I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not getting ignored, especially not by you.
Get a sheet of paper, pick up a pen, and write to me now you goddamn idiot!
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya had once thought that the moment he turned twenty and became a legal adult, a lot of things would make sense; there would be some sort of epiphany and things he couldn’t understand, because before that he was still a teenager - young and immature, would suddenly be clear and he could stop worrying about the things that plagued him; everything would make sense the moment he reached adulthood.
It wasn’t true.
Kazuya wonders how many of his childhood expectations had met their end in the same disappointing way as that one. Too many, he realizes.
He sits inside a coffee shop, sipping at a cup of pure black coffee, looking every bit the part of the professional mature adult, but inside, he still feels like a child.
He wonders if that’s normal, or if he’s just so messed up that he’s feeling this way. He feels like a child that has been let down one too many times, disillusioned with the world and the things he had once believed in.
He wants to make sense of everything so badly, but he can’t quite grasp onto them; they’re like water to him, he can’t hold onto them, it’s impossible.
If anything, the problems have only grown since he was a child. Things that he worried about as a child seem so simple now. Like worrying if he would get a good mark on that next test, or wondering what he wants for a birthday; they’re so simple, and life only gets more and more complicated instead of simpler as he grows older.
He wishes it was the other way around
Back then, back when he was a child, if it was this complicated, he could still turn to his family, to his parents or his brothers; back then, he could do it freely without feeling like the world’s biggest weakling, but now…he can’t do that; he can’t tell them his problems. He’s an adult now and should be able to handle it on his own.
He wonders if it’s normal, wishing to be a child again.
Just for one day.
Just for one day, he wants to be able to smile like that again.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
You still haven’t replied. I know you’re getting them, because they haven’t come back; is there something wrong? Is there something I should know about? I’m not worried by the way; I just want to know if someone’s kicked your ass before I get a chance to!
…write me.
Ryo
* * *
The day that Kazuya first gave into replying to those letters, he had been at the end of his rope; he was sick of hiding, he was sick of avoiding, and he was sick of locking away that part of himself that only those letters could bring out of him. He had sat down at his desk, and it took only a minute to start writing furiously like a possessed man.
Since then, the letters have remained a huge part of Kazuya’s life; he awaits each one with dread and bated breath. Often, they just reaffirm those negative emotions that plague him like an incurable disease, but other times, they manage to bring a smile onto his face.
He wishes it was that simple to smile; he wishes he doesn’t need a letter in the mail to smile.
It should be simple to smile, but he can’t bring himself to. Smiling means letting people in, and Kazuya can’t afford to let anyone else in; he already has enough trouble keeping those he’s already let in from finding out the truth behind the exhaustion he feels both physically and emotionally.
Yet, as he sits at the desk and reads over letter after letter, he can’t help that sarcastic smile that crosses his face; it’s only alone when he lets himself smile.
It’s only alone when he feels brave enough to.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I got your letter. Finally, I should say, but getting it doesn’t make me less mad at you. What are you, on some sort of teenage angst high or something?! What is this crap you’re spewing in this letter? Have you gotten stupid without me noticing?
Of course nobody will care. It’s none of their business anyways, so stop being stupid.
You’d better keep writing me.
Ryo
* * *
For all that he hates hiding a part of himself, Kazuya is remarkably good at it. He can fool the cameras just like any other idol, although he wishes he could fool his friends so easily. At first, when all this started, they watched him with concerned looks that he tried to pretend he didn’t see. Now, they’ve either given up or are truly fooled when he plasters on that smile; relieved looks will appear and Kazuya lets them think that for just a moment in time, he’s gone back to the way he was: the one who can smile without a care in the world.
It’s only sometimes that he can fool them though; there are times when it’s so obvious that he’s faking that he hates himself for it. He hates himself for needing to pretend in the first place.
And he hates himself for the voice that sometimes appear in his head, reminiscent of the one he had to let go, that tells him how it’s needed, and how it understands.
He doesn’t want to hear from that voice that’s a reminder of everything he had to give away, of everything he’s lost; he would give anything to hear that voice outside of his head again.
“Kame?” he looks up when Koki peers at him, a concerned and resigned expression on his face. The older man pauses, “We’re on in five minutes.” He says, before pausing, looking at Kame carefully, “Don’t be nervous.” He says cheerfully.
Kazuya knows better though; he knows that Koki knows that it’s not nervousness that’s afflicting Kazuya. He knows that Koki knows that it’s something else.
He also knows that everyone knows that Kame won’t tell a single soul what’s bothering him.
He can’t.
He promised.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I’m going to ignore everything you’ve said in your last letter because you’re a stubborn idiot who won’t listen to reason. Also, you’re wrong and I’m right and we both know it. And as these letters seem to be the only way to get you to reply to me, I’m going to take full advantage of it.
It’s really boring here - nice, but boring. I can’t believe I’m here for another few months; it feels like it’ll be forever before I see the city again. You keep saying you’re fine in your letters, so I’m going to presume that everything is normal - you’re not eating or sleeping, and that you’re overworking again.
I do have a TV available you know. Just because I’m not in the city anymore doesn’t mean I don’t have technology at my fingertips.
Write me soon. (and get those ridiculous ideas out of your head!)
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya shivers under the warm blanket; it’s insane, he thinks, having to do a photoshoot where they get ‘rained on’ when it still feels like it’s winter. He clutches the blanket close to himself, hating how his teeth chatter, but hating how he can’t control his chattering teeth more. He’s freezing, and he knows it’s partly his fault; he didn’t get a proper night’s sleep last night.
On every other night, Kazuya can sleep like he’ll never wake up, but on the night before a photoshoot, he has to be haunted by thoughts that won’t leave him alone until Kazuya finds himself going through his closet, digging out a box hidden deep inside and going through the glossy pictures held within its cardboard walls.
Kazuya both hates and cherishes memories; he hates how they leave him so immobilized, so frozen, like they’re his ultimate weakness, but at the same time, he would be completely lost without memories of everything he loves.
Of everyone he loves.
Of that someone he loves.
Kazuya runs his fingers through his wet hair; he looks over at Koki and Ueda, and he blinks when Koki sees him, smiles and sits down next to him. Ueda follows; they sit further from Kazuya than they used to, or at least Koki does; Kazuya remembers when Koki used to practically hang off of him, so close.
But Koki doesn’t anymore; Kazuya thinks he knows. He knows how he winces every time someone gets so close to him without warning; he knows that Kazuya flinches every time he realizes it’s not the one he wants.
He knows, just knows, that Kazuya is waiting.
Hurt, and waiting.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
One of these days, I’m going to get an actual answer out of you.
How hard is it to tell the truth once in a while, and not lie that you’re fine? You look like a zombie every time I see you on television.
I want an answer, and I’m going to guilt-trip you or blackmail you or whatever until I get one. I’m not going to leave you alone, you jackass. Stop avoiding my questions.
Also, I bought you a postcard. You said you wanted to see snow? Well, here’s a goddamn hell lot of snow. You can have this damn snow - I had to trudge through it during a snowstorm. Never. Again.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya gets drunk one night, alone and in his apartment. There’s no one there for him to be drunk with, but Kazuya doesn’t want anyone there.
Well, he does, but it isn’t possible for that person to be there. Kazuya sits on the floor, leaning against his bed with a beer in his hand, and he wonders at the sheer absurdity of it all. And he remembers.
He remembers a time when he got drunk with someone else; he remembers whispered stories in the dead of night when they’re both barely half awake and definitely more than half wasted, and he remembered the feel of those much too obvious lingering touches as the story goes on.
He remembers sitting in a position just like this one, and he remembers looking over at the other, and his eyes are barely half-open when he asks in a slurred voice, “Then what happens?”
He also remembers the way that the other laughed, a sound that Kazuya cherishes deep in his heart where no one can ever dig deep enough to find out, and there are fingers running through his hair, a bit drunkenly he thinks as those fingers touch lightly upon the side of Kazuya’s face. And the story continues, and Kazuya feels like a child again, waiting for a story to be told, but he doesn’t mind, because at that moment in time, he did feel like a child - there were no worries, no demands and no responsibilities.
It’s a world with just these stories, and the person Kazuya holds close to his heart, so close that not even the band has realized he does.
Kazuya likes this world, he likes how being with this person makes this world possible…
Kazuya wishes more than anything he could have that world.
He wishes being with that person was more than a fleeting dream, an impossible wish.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
It’s only a month or so until I’m back. I got your letter, and if I was allowed to, I’d fly back to Tokyo to hit you until you stopped being stupid.
This isn’t what I want to hear from you. You’re supposed to be the one to believe in happy endings; I’m supposed to be the pessimistic one that ruins your dreams. You’re upsetting the natural order of things.
So stop it!
I don’t know how many times I have to say it. It’s not your fault I’m here; it’s not your fault I can’t come back yet, and most of all, it’s not your fault that this happened.
I don’t blame you, so don’t blame yourself.
I mean it.
Ryo
* * *
Happiness is subjective. That’s what Kazuya has learned; what makes one person happy might not make another happy. When someone acts like they’re happy, they might not be as happy as they seem. There is no such thing as pure happiness, because at one point, someone will be upset because someone else is happy. He learned that one summer, when he thought he had that happiness - when he thought he had it all, and when his band mates tended to tease him about the huge grin he had on his face rather than look at him with concern and worry like they do now.
Kazuya tries not to worry them, but he can’t help it. As the months draw on, it becomes harder, if not impossible, to hide behind a mask of happiness. He can’t do it…
It’s so tiring, being happy.
Being happy, right now, is like lying. At least, it feels like the same thing; he can’t put his heart into it, and if he was true to himself, he doesn’t want to.
It doesn’t feel right to be happy, not when everything is so complicated and his whole presence feels like a goddamn lie.
He’s the reason that he can’t see the one he wants to; he’s the reason for everything that’s happened, for all his sadness, and Kazuya accepts the blame for it.
He’s the reason he can’t see him.
He’s the reason Ryo’s gone.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I can see that nothing will change in that stubborn head of yours until I get back and make sure you actually listen to what I’m saying.
If I blamed you, or was mad at you, would I still be writing to you? Don’t be so quick to blame yourself, idiot.
I’m back in two weeks.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya hates remembering the last month while Ryo was still here with him. He hates remembering it, because when he remembers it, he thinks of nothing but false smiles and an overwhelming sense of guilt - he knows what he did, and he knows that he’s not allowed to talk about it.
When it’s announced that Ryo has gotten an opportunity to work with a world famous composer, to learn from him as well as record with him, the world celebrates.
Except he doesn’t, and neither does Ryo.
They both know what it really is; they know that the company has caught onto the fact that they’re turning from friends into something more than friends. They both know that it was a close call that the photographer who caught Kazuya leaving Ryo’s apartment one early morning didn’t get a good shot of Kazuya, only his form as he leaves wearing Ryo’s sweatshirt and jeans - as tries to pretend to be Ryo so no one sees.
They both know what it really is.
It’s a way for the company to tell them that they had better be careful, or else.
Kazuya remembers all too clearly, although sometimes he wishes he could forget. He wishes he could forget that if he had been a bit more careful leaving that morning, none of this would have happened. Ryo wouldn’t have been punished by being sent away, and Kazuya wouldn’t feel that horrible guilt that he’s the reason Ryo can’t even come back to visit anyone.
Kazuya remembers the promise he made to Ryo before he left; Ryo had refused to let anyone bring him to the airport, choosing to go on his own without ‘girly goodbyes’, except that isn’t all true. Ryo stops by to see Kazuya before he leaves, neither of them caring that his flight is early in the morning.
Calloused hands are running lingeringly through Kazuya’s hair, and he’s trying his best to be strong, when Ryo leans in to whisper something so soft that Kazuya is afraid that he hears wrong.
I’ll come back; I promise not to tell anyone, I won’t give them a reason to send you away too.
And he promises too, promises again and again; he doesn’t know why he keeps promising, but he knows he wants nothing more than for Ryo to stay. If he promises good behaviour, maybe Ryo will be allowed to stay, maybe Ryo won’t be punished for his own carelessness, his own stupidity.
Then a lingering touch of lips on his and Ryo draws away, heading out the door and reluctantly leaving Kazuya.
He promises so much, he wants to promise the world, but Kazuya knows in the end he’s failed Ryo; he’s failed completely, and he doesn’t know how to make it up to him.
He wants to promise him the world again.
* * *
Dear Kazuya,
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Ryo
* * *
Kazuya stands with the band as Ryo’s welcome back party takes place; the older man is the center of attention, and he looks good, but Kazuya can’t bring himself to go to him. The party goes on into the night, but Kazuya still doesn’t have the nerve to; he’s afraid of being hated. Ryo talks about the man he worked with, he talks about the new song he has ready, and he talks about so many things, and Kazuya already knows it all from the emails and texts and phone calls Ryo’s sent him.
But despite knowing that he’s the only one in the know about that, he isn’t brave enough to approach Ryo. He doesn’t want to see that his fears have come true.
Kazuya feels like he’s suffocating; he’s watching Ryo almost obsessively and he knows Ryo is looking for him, in the crowd, and when Ryo spots him, his lips twitch a little. But neither of them move.
Hours later, Kazuya ends up just a bit drunk on one of the couches; there are people passed out on the floor around him, and he wonders why he’s not like them when he feels like he should be. All these emotions are like toxin, and they should make him like that too so he can escape from this reality.
Calloused fingers flutter along the side of his face and Kazuya freezes, turning - a bit sluggishly - to his right, where he sees a sight that both breaks his heart and makes it sing.
“Ryo…”
“Hello Kazuya,” Ryo says roughly, a bit breathlessly; he’s not drunk but he’s obviously pretending to be. Kazuya lets him fall against him, as Ryo breathes into his ear, “I’m back.” He announces.
Kazuya reaches out, but Ryo grabs his hand before he can touch him, and he feels his heart break. Then, Ryo uses Kazuya’s hand as leverage to move himself closer; their lips are close, nearly touching, and Kazuya thinks they should be glad that everyone else is either drunk or unconscious right now.
“I’ve missed you,” Ryo says and he brings his lips to Kazuya’s, kissing him intently before drawing away a little; their lips are so close, “Dear Kazuya,” he continues, “I’ve missed you.”
He pauses for a moment, “Love, Ryo,” he says with a bright smile that makes Kazuya smile back.
------- END ---------
That's the end :DDDD I hope you all liked it and that the ending was good, and you know, not disappointing or anything and I especially hope you liked it Isa!!! :DDD
<3