The Hollow, Chapter 9
Title: The Hollow
Author: Toryavi (one half of it)
Pairing: Tora/Miyavi
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Psychological disorders and institutions.
Disclaimer: The people belong to themselves, the story and plot belongs to me.
Summary: Sometimes, everyone needs a little crazy in their life.
Notes: This is the second to last chapter so the next one is the last! I'm really sorry for taking so long, but it's been a very busy time for me (aka: finals). This chapters in a really different style, I don't know why but I felt like it just fit. It's almost vignette like, but either, I hope you enjoy it and I'll hopefully have the last chapter up soon!
[Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]
Tora had decided a long time ago, when his brother had first died, that therapy was simply not for him. He found it completely useless for a stranger to sit there and listen to him talk. He hated the soft spoke words that were full of subtle encouragement and the way they always looked at him, sympathy with that little nod that said they understood. Even as he sat across from the man now, all Tora really wanted to do was get out of the room and just go back to his book, maybe with Miyavi taking a nap on his lap and making those soft little noises he made when he was dozing.
“You’ve made great progress with your stay so far, wonderful really.”
A vague nod.
“In fact, speaking with the nurses, you’ve even started sleeping at a normal schedule, which is just fantastic really. You haven’t thrown a temper fit in over a month, Tora it just astounds me how far you’ve come along.”
Again, another vague nod. Tora’s too busy thinking about how soft and warm Miyavi felt against him that morning when he woke up.
“You know, at this rate, you’ll even be able to get out of here by the beginning of next month.”
Tora’s eyes narrow almost immediately at that.
“I’ve already run your file past the board and they said it sounds reasonable and I’ve contacted your mother and she certainly seemed eager enough to have you back home.” With a smile, the therapist is staring at him like he just delivered the best news of the century.
“Congratulations, Tora, you’ll be going home soon.”
Tora doesn’t have to look back over his shoulder to know that when he storms out of the therapist’s office, the man has a look of utter confusion on his face.
When Tora runs into Miyavi’s room and finds him there, sitting on the bed, looking like he’s waiting for Tora, he can’t help but just hold Miyavi tight to him and bury his face into the other’s hair and just breathe in the smell of Miyavi. “I won’t leave you, I promised it’d be us, together, I won’t do it. I won’t leave alone.”
But when Tora pulls back, Miyavi has this smile on his face that’s utterly serene and calm. “You’ll leave and you’ll leave alone.” Rough, calloused fingers gently skim his cheek and Tora just leans into that touch, like he’s already missing it. “And you’ll come back for me and we’ll leave together then. You and me.”
Tora just swallows back the tears, finding it almost ironic that for once, it’s him that has to rely on Miyavi for support. Clutching onto the fingers that are stroking his face, Tora pulls them close for a kiss. “I promise.”
As much as Tora tries to cling to the days and make them pass by slower, between all the paper and meetings and doctor visits, it seems like he can’t even get a single day to himself, Nevermind a single moment with Miyavi. It’s only during the quiet of the nights when everyone else is asleep and it’s just the two of them lying in bed, side by side, breathing in slow steady patterns that fall in together that Tora appreciates each moment. He likes to hold Miyavi close and studying the way each lock of hair falls against his cheek and the way his lashes lie against his cheeks.
“Would you leave me here?”
“No, I told you, I’m not leaving without you.”
Miyavi just shrugs, face so deceptively relaxed and at ease. There isn’t a trace of tension in his forehead and his body’s soft and complaint against Tora’s. “It’s not your choice.”
“I’d break you out if I had to and we’d run away together. To that place you told me about, where the stars shine just for us.”
The silence falls heavy between them, like they’ve both fallen asleep and that’s that.
“It’s nice to dream, isn’t it?”
Tora just holds Miyavi closer and sighs.
It’s during one of Miyavi’s better days sometime that week, when they’re both sitting outside in the sun, lying out on the grass and smiling just because they can that Miyavi rolls over and onto Tora and stares down at him so intently Tora isn’t quite sure what to make of it.
When he opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, Miyavi just quiets him with a finger to his mouth. “Shh. I’m memorizing your face so that when you come back for me, I’ll remember every single detail about you.”
And Tora has to smile at that, a thumb reaching up to affectionately swiping at the soft skin under Miyavi’s eye. “You saying you going to forget me when I leave?”
“No, but this way, when I dream, I’ll know that when you smile, your eyes crinkle up a little more on this side than the other.”
“That’s almost creepy.”
“Yeah, I know. But isn’t it endearing?”
“I guess it sorta is.”
And they roll around in the grass and laugh at that and Tora has an armful of warm Miyavi that smells like the sun and nature and finds he can’t ask for anything in his life right now.
It’s two weeks before he’s released that he has to meet with some sort of board of doctors and such to ensure that he’s actually going home, that he’s sane enough for the normal world. For some reason, Tora’s nervous and his palms sweat slightly and he knows that it makes his palms clammy and most likely uncomfortable for Miyavi to be holding, but Miyavi does it anyways.
It’s kind of strange how he feels everything now. Nervousness. Fear. Eagerness. Joy. All those emotions that plagued a normal person on a day to day, moment to moment basis. Tora had forgotten how anxious it was to feel emotions again. But it was good, right? It meant he was okay again, that he was fixed.
Miyavi smiles at him and squeezes his hand and then nearly shoves him towards the door where they’re waiting for him. “You’ll be fine, you’re guaranteed to leave anyways, so stop worrying, so get in there already.”
Tora just sighs and gives Miyavi a look before entering the room and for once, he wishes he wasn’t better, because back then, his stomach wouldn’t have felt like it was flip flopping and he most certainly wouldn’t give a damn about something like this.
All for the better, right?
Right. Right.
Who was he trying to convince again?
They’re lying in bed together, eyes closed and bodies pressed so close they can feel when one of them breathes in and the other breathes out. They’re lying there, pretending to be sleeping, pretending that things are normal, but it’s not. It’s in the way Tora’s got his arm wrapped around Miyavi’s waist tight and the way Miyavi has his fingers twisted, tangled, trapped in the folds of Tora’s shirt.
All they do is they lie there and breath in an odd off beat syncopation, pretending to sleep, ignoring that in exactly 8 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes, and 23, 22, 21 seconds, Tora’s going to be gone and Miyavi isn’t going to have anyone to hold at night for God knows how long. Because the truth is they don’t really know if Miyavi’s actually going to be leaving ever.
And as many times Tora whispers the promise of freedom and being together, they both know it’s possible that it won’t happen and it could all just be another dream waiting to be shattered.
But they don’t think about that.
No, they think about counting each breath and soaking in each other’s warmth and just pretending that for right now, in this very moment, everything is normal and okay. For right now, everything is perfect.
“You know, when you get out, you won’t have to eat any of this crap anymore.”
Tora just stares at his plate and shrugs, poking at the runny mess of scrambled eggs that’s supposed to be his breakfast. “You can eat real eggs. Or rice and soup. Or cotton candy, if you want.”
“I suppose.”
“You should consider yourself a lucky bastard.”
“I know.”
Silence lulls between them and when a fork clatters onto a plate and Miyavi holds onto Tora’s hand so hard that his knuckles turn white and Tora’s fingers turn red, they just ignore the prickling sensations.
“When you come visit me, eat a lot of cotton candy so that when I kiss you, I can taste what the world tastes like.”
Tora tries to laugh, but it’s stiff and almost automatic. “The world tastes like cotton candy?”
“Sometimes. But right now, my world tastes like you.”
“What do I taste like?”
“Cigarettes.”
Another stiff laugh. “If you die of lung cancer before I get you out of here…”
The silence fills in between them again and they just sit there, hands held and avoiding each other’s eyes and they both ignore the fact that Miyavi has tears glimmering in his eyes as they pick up their forks again and eat their bland breakfast and dream about eating cotton candy instead.
Miyavi watches every little detail of Tora. He watches the way he lights his cigarette, ingrains into his memory the way that Tora always has to fiddle with the cancer stick first, then put it between his lips, flick the lighter once, twice, three times before bringing the flame to the end and taking in a deep inhale. Memorizes the way the smoke swirls around his head like a grey haze and how Tora sucks in the secondhand smoke too, like he can’t get enough of the tobacco and nicotine and tar.
Watches how he carefully has the cigarette between two fingers and always waits until the fourth drag to flick the ash collecting at the tip.
And when Tora asks what he’s doing, Miyavi just smiles and says nothing and kisses Tora and tastes the nicotine lingering there and wonders, is it possible that it’s because of the nicotine there that he’s addicted to each little kiss from Tora?
He doubts it.
“Don’t forget about me, don’t forget about our place, the place where the stares shine for us and we’re going to spend eternity at.”
“I won’t.”
“I know. But don’t forget.”
“Only if you won’t forget that you’re living for me, for us. We’re living for eternity.”
“…I know.”
The sun spills over the window and slowly the golden rays light up the crevices and shadows and they’re sitting on the bed, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Miyavi has his head tilted down so that it’s resting against Tora’s shoulder and their fingers are twined together. Just touching each other like the slight contact is all they need.
Together they watch the sun change the sky from midnight to navy to indigo to a brilliant purple that’s chased away by glowing oranges and faint light pinks and finally the clear blue. And when Miyavi lifts his head from Tora’s shoulder, he smiles up at him with just a hint of sadness at the corner of his lips and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Tora’s eye and somehow, he isn’t surprised when he can taste a salty tear kiss him back.
Sitting there, hands touching and shoulders meeting, they don’t wait for that hour to strike when they’ll have to say their farewells and press their last kisses to wet cheeks and wet lips. No, right now, they sit there and just breathe.
Author: Toryavi (one half of it)
Pairing: Tora/Miyavi
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Psychological disorders and institutions.
Disclaimer: The people belong to themselves, the story and plot belongs to me.
Summary: Sometimes, everyone needs a little crazy in their life.
Notes: This is the second to last chapter so the next one is the last! I'm really sorry for taking so long, but it's been a very busy time for me (aka: finals). This chapters in a really different style, I don't know why but I felt like it just fit. It's almost vignette like, but either, I hope you enjoy it and I'll hopefully have the last chapter up soon!
[Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]
Tora had decided a long time ago, when his brother had first died, that therapy was simply not for him. He found it completely useless for a stranger to sit there and listen to him talk. He hated the soft spoke words that were full of subtle encouragement and the way they always looked at him, sympathy with that little nod that said they understood. Even as he sat across from the man now, all Tora really wanted to do was get out of the room and just go back to his book, maybe with Miyavi taking a nap on his lap and making those soft little noises he made when he was dozing.
“You’ve made great progress with your stay so far, wonderful really.”
A vague nod.
“In fact, speaking with the nurses, you’ve even started sleeping at a normal schedule, which is just fantastic really. You haven’t thrown a temper fit in over a month, Tora it just astounds me how far you’ve come along.”
Again, another vague nod. Tora’s too busy thinking about how soft and warm Miyavi felt against him that morning when he woke up.
“You know, at this rate, you’ll even be able to get out of here by the beginning of next month.”
Tora’s eyes narrow almost immediately at that.
“I’ve already run your file past the board and they said it sounds reasonable and I’ve contacted your mother and she certainly seemed eager enough to have you back home.” With a smile, the therapist is staring at him like he just delivered the best news of the century.
“Congratulations, Tora, you’ll be going home soon.”
Tora doesn’t have to look back over his shoulder to know that when he storms out of the therapist’s office, the man has a look of utter confusion on his face.
When Tora runs into Miyavi’s room and finds him there, sitting on the bed, looking like he’s waiting for Tora, he can’t help but just hold Miyavi tight to him and bury his face into the other’s hair and just breathe in the smell of Miyavi. “I won’t leave you, I promised it’d be us, together, I won’t do it. I won’t leave alone.”
But when Tora pulls back, Miyavi has this smile on his face that’s utterly serene and calm. “You’ll leave and you’ll leave alone.” Rough, calloused fingers gently skim his cheek and Tora just leans into that touch, like he’s already missing it. “And you’ll come back for me and we’ll leave together then. You and me.”
Tora just swallows back the tears, finding it almost ironic that for once, it’s him that has to rely on Miyavi for support. Clutching onto the fingers that are stroking his face, Tora pulls them close for a kiss. “I promise.”
As much as Tora tries to cling to the days and make them pass by slower, between all the paper and meetings and doctor visits, it seems like he can’t even get a single day to himself, Nevermind a single moment with Miyavi. It’s only during the quiet of the nights when everyone else is asleep and it’s just the two of them lying in bed, side by side, breathing in slow steady patterns that fall in together that Tora appreciates each moment. He likes to hold Miyavi close and studying the way each lock of hair falls against his cheek and the way his lashes lie against his cheeks.
“Would you leave me here?”
“No, I told you, I’m not leaving without you.”
Miyavi just shrugs, face so deceptively relaxed and at ease. There isn’t a trace of tension in his forehead and his body’s soft and complaint against Tora’s. “It’s not your choice.”
“I’d break you out if I had to and we’d run away together. To that place you told me about, where the stars shine just for us.”
The silence falls heavy between them, like they’ve both fallen asleep and that’s that.
“It’s nice to dream, isn’t it?”
Tora just holds Miyavi closer and sighs.
It’s during one of Miyavi’s better days sometime that week, when they’re both sitting outside in the sun, lying out on the grass and smiling just because they can that Miyavi rolls over and onto Tora and stares down at him so intently Tora isn’t quite sure what to make of it.
When he opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, Miyavi just quiets him with a finger to his mouth. “Shh. I’m memorizing your face so that when you come back for me, I’ll remember every single detail about you.”
And Tora has to smile at that, a thumb reaching up to affectionately swiping at the soft skin under Miyavi’s eye. “You saying you going to forget me when I leave?”
“No, but this way, when I dream, I’ll know that when you smile, your eyes crinkle up a little more on this side than the other.”
“That’s almost creepy.”
“Yeah, I know. But isn’t it endearing?”
“I guess it sorta is.”
And they roll around in the grass and laugh at that and Tora has an armful of warm Miyavi that smells like the sun and nature and finds he can’t ask for anything in his life right now.
It’s two weeks before he’s released that he has to meet with some sort of board of doctors and such to ensure that he’s actually going home, that he’s sane enough for the normal world. For some reason, Tora’s nervous and his palms sweat slightly and he knows that it makes his palms clammy and most likely uncomfortable for Miyavi to be holding, but Miyavi does it anyways.
It’s kind of strange how he feels everything now. Nervousness. Fear. Eagerness. Joy. All those emotions that plagued a normal person on a day to day, moment to moment basis. Tora had forgotten how anxious it was to feel emotions again. But it was good, right? It meant he was okay again, that he was fixed.
Miyavi smiles at him and squeezes his hand and then nearly shoves him towards the door where they’re waiting for him. “You’ll be fine, you’re guaranteed to leave anyways, so stop worrying, so get in there already.”
Tora just sighs and gives Miyavi a look before entering the room and for once, he wishes he wasn’t better, because back then, his stomach wouldn’t have felt like it was flip flopping and he most certainly wouldn’t give a damn about something like this.
All for the better, right?
Right. Right.
Who was he trying to convince again?
They’re lying in bed together, eyes closed and bodies pressed so close they can feel when one of them breathes in and the other breathes out. They’re lying there, pretending to be sleeping, pretending that things are normal, but it’s not. It’s in the way Tora’s got his arm wrapped around Miyavi’s waist tight and the way Miyavi has his fingers twisted, tangled, trapped in the folds of Tora’s shirt.
All they do is they lie there and breath in an odd off beat syncopation, pretending to sleep, ignoring that in exactly 8 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes, and 23, 22, 21 seconds, Tora’s going to be gone and Miyavi isn’t going to have anyone to hold at night for God knows how long. Because the truth is they don’t really know if Miyavi’s actually going to be leaving ever.
And as many times Tora whispers the promise of freedom and being together, they both know it’s possible that it won’t happen and it could all just be another dream waiting to be shattered.
But they don’t think about that.
No, they think about counting each breath and soaking in each other’s warmth and just pretending that for right now, in this very moment, everything is normal and okay. For right now, everything is perfect.
“You know, when you get out, you won’t have to eat any of this crap anymore.”
Tora just stares at his plate and shrugs, poking at the runny mess of scrambled eggs that’s supposed to be his breakfast. “You can eat real eggs. Or rice and soup. Or cotton candy, if you want.”
“I suppose.”
“You should consider yourself a lucky bastard.”
“I know.”
Silence lulls between them and when a fork clatters onto a plate and Miyavi holds onto Tora’s hand so hard that his knuckles turn white and Tora’s fingers turn red, they just ignore the prickling sensations.
“When you come visit me, eat a lot of cotton candy so that when I kiss you, I can taste what the world tastes like.”
Tora tries to laugh, but it’s stiff and almost automatic. “The world tastes like cotton candy?”
“Sometimes. But right now, my world tastes like you.”
“What do I taste like?”
“Cigarettes.”
Another stiff laugh. “If you die of lung cancer before I get you out of here…”
The silence fills in between them again and they just sit there, hands held and avoiding each other’s eyes and they both ignore the fact that Miyavi has tears glimmering in his eyes as they pick up their forks again and eat their bland breakfast and dream about eating cotton candy instead.
Miyavi watches every little detail of Tora. He watches the way he lights his cigarette, ingrains into his memory the way that Tora always has to fiddle with the cancer stick first, then put it between his lips, flick the lighter once, twice, three times before bringing the flame to the end and taking in a deep inhale. Memorizes the way the smoke swirls around his head like a grey haze and how Tora sucks in the secondhand smoke too, like he can’t get enough of the tobacco and nicotine and tar.
Watches how he carefully has the cigarette between two fingers and always waits until the fourth drag to flick the ash collecting at the tip.
And when Tora asks what he’s doing, Miyavi just smiles and says nothing and kisses Tora and tastes the nicotine lingering there and wonders, is it possible that it’s because of the nicotine there that he’s addicted to each little kiss from Tora?
He doubts it.
“Don’t forget about me, don’t forget about our place, the place where the stares shine for us and we’re going to spend eternity at.”
“I won’t.”
“I know. But don’t forget.”
“Only if you won’t forget that you’re living for me, for us. We’re living for eternity.”
“…I know.”
The sun spills over the window and slowly the golden rays light up the crevices and shadows and they’re sitting on the bed, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Miyavi has his head tilted down so that it’s resting against Tora’s shoulder and their fingers are twined together. Just touching each other like the slight contact is all they need.
Together they watch the sun change the sky from midnight to navy to indigo to a brilliant purple that’s chased away by glowing oranges and faint light pinks and finally the clear blue. And when Miyavi lifts his head from Tora’s shoulder, he smiles up at him with just a hint of sadness at the corner of his lips and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Tora’s eye and somehow, he isn’t surprised when he can taste a salty tear kiss him back.
Sitting there, hands touching and shoulders meeting, they don’t wait for that hour to strike when they’ll have to say their farewells and press their last kisses to wet cheeks and wet lips. No, right now, they sit there and just breathe.