[30_angsts challenge!fic: Phone Calls]
Fandom: Yoroiden Samurai Troopers
Title: Phone Calls
Author: Trahn
Theme(s): #18B (lost you forever), #23B (red funeral)
Pairing/Characters: Date Seiji / Hashiba Touma, Mouri Shin, Shuu Rei Faun.
Rating: PG-13 (Dark, DEATHFIC, psychological)
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I just torture them a lot.
Summary: They have their own ways of dealing with loss. Phone calls they never answer, morning rituals ignored. DEATHFIC. Read at your own risk.
So we're speeding towards that time of year
to the day that marks that you're not here
and I think I'll want to be alone
so please understand if I don't answer the phone
-- Azure Ray, "November"
They tried hard, they really did. It took so much effort, though, for Touma to untangle himself from the sheets and from Seiji in the morning, though, knowing full-well that he would rather stay there and sleep through the day and knowing, too, that he couldn't, that no matter what personal strife he was going through, what happened had gone on a year ago, and his professors would still expect him to show up to class, and that editor woman had given him that day as a deadline when he wasn't paying attention. He always remembered dates more clearly as they came - numbers like that held nothing for him. Seiji seemed unaffected by the early waking, but his style of grief was utterly different from Touma's - he would stay as busy as possible, with university and lessons and meditation.
The phone rang first at eight o' clock, as Touma was pulling on a pair of jeans after dragging himself in and out of the shower. He hadn't bothered to dry his hair, and bangs he had long neglected cutting stuck to his forehead - 'like a drowning cat' would have been a charitable comparison. He glanced at Seiji, the jeans halfway up one leg and around the ankle of the other, pausing mid-action at the first ring. The blonde - impeccably dressed, hair damp but not completely dry - said nothing, the simple sending of feeling down their bond a wordless no.
It rang three more times before the voicemail picked up. They hadn't changed the message in more than six months, just long enough for there to be cheer back in Touma's voice when he recorded it, "Hey, you've reached Seiji and Touma, but we're either not here or otherwise occu-- ow! Hey! I wasn't gonna say anything! Leave a message, okay?" Seiji had been telling him for ages that they should change it to something more professional, but today he didn't mention it.
They went through the motions of breakfast with little feeling, Touma foregoing his usual toast in favor of a cup of coffee and a couple of crackers he stole from the box he kept on the counter for quick snacks. Seiji had a cup of strong green tea, no sweetener added, bitter as blood, and a roll from the bag that he had picked up the other day. He went to hand one to Touma, but the archer held up his hand - he wasn't hungry. On a day like this, it wasn't unusual. He put it back in the bag, that back in the cupboard next to the sink. The wrong place, according to his usual system, but he didn't notice.
The phone rang for the second time at nine o' clock, as Touma was getting ready for his morning class at the university. He was taking his time finding his textbook on the sturdy wooden shelf they'd put up in December, when they realized that both of them had far too many books for the one shelf they'd had when they moved in. The new one, made with a dark wood that matched nearly exactly the headboard on their bed, was already nearly full, stuffed with textbooks from their various classes (and textbooks neither of them had classes to match), and Touma's bargain bin detective story finds. He let the phone keep ringing while he searched.
Seiji was still sitting at the counter - their apartment didn't have the space for a kitchen table, so they improvised by adding chairs around the kitchen island - about four feet from the phone, sipping his tea. He didn't answer it, either, and heard in what he felt was a distant way the answering machine pick up again. When he finished with his tea, he set the mug down in the sink, leaving it there for once; usually he cleaned his dishes (and sometimes Touma's, as well) as soon as he was done with them.
Touma left just as the phone let out another shrill call at ten, exchanging a brief kiss with Seiji on his way out the door. They didn't embrace, because the archer knew that if they did, he wouldn't be able to leave. It was for the best, as far as their respective abilities to function, if he didn't stop long enough to be comforted. He had read somewhere about how pain could keep you awake, provided it wasn't sufficient pain to cause unconsciousness or shock.
The blonde didn't leave until nearly eleven, waiting through another round of rings on the phone before he put on his coat. He was quite sure that he wouldn't make it to his literature class, but it felt necessary to go through the motions, even if he ended up, as he had so many times during the weeks following this date the previous year, sitting at the cafe across from campus with a cup of warm ginger tea waiting for Touma's class to let out. Iemoto-sensei would be disappointed, but there were things more important now than grades - always had been. He liked to stay busy, but slowly, ever so slowly, he would find himself slowing down, until the almost manic energy of the early morning hours slowed to an afternoon crawl, and he hadn't the strength to go to classes and pretend nothing was wrong anymore.
It was only once he was on the train that Touma was forcefully reminded of the navy blue cell phone he carried with him almost by instinct now, as it rang with a force that belied its size. He took it out of his pocket and flipped it open one-handed, holding his school bag with the other, glancing briefly at the display, the characters announcing the caller's name. He shut the phone again after turning it to the 'vibrate' function, sighing almost audibly. He got off of the bus at his school, frowning at the verdant growth in the small plot of trees and bushes that someone had decided to plant near the entrance to the school, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and walking past it, careful not to look too closely. Anything so riotously alive tempted his temper today.
Seiji didn't think to check his cell, the dark green device he disliked so much, until nearly noon. He had it on silent today. He only ever carried it because it made the others feel better to know that they could contact him anytime if there was an emergency, unhindered by the physical limitations of their armor bond. It registered two calls - neither left voicemail messages, but if they had he wouldn't have checked them, anyway; he merely slipped the machine back into his pocket and went back to his tea, sitting at a back window table in the cafe, watching the passersby with impartial gray eyes. He reflected absently that if it had been any other day, Touma would have torn him a new one for shutting off his cell. But it wasn't any other day, and so he kept it off, keeping a silent watch for the familiar blue hair on the street.
By the time he got to the cafe, there was another unanswered call on his cell's display, registering in the cartoony, slanted characters his phone displayed everything in. It was twelve thirty, and class had run late, but he spotted Seiji instantly, pausing only to ask for a hot chocolate on his way to the seat, paying as quickly as he could, speaking in a clipped tone that the barista probably mistook for irritation. He took his seat across from his lover in silence, a hesitant and ill-fitting smile his greeting, though it faded entirely too quickly.
At one o' clock, Touma's cell buzzed angrily, still on vibrate. Seiji had no doubt that his, too, was registering a call. Neither answered. Seiji got up to go to his class, taking Touma's hand briefly first, squeezing it reassuringly, and letting go. The archer watched him leave until he couldn't see him anymore, and finished his cocoa before he left for his own class.
Touma returned to the apartment four unanswered phone calls later, re-shelving his book and sitting down on the couch. His stomach complained for the lack of food, but he wouldn't eat, and he didn't even turn on the television, staring at the pictures lined up on the wall shelf and waiting. The apartment phone rang again, a sharp sound like a knife cutting through his contemplative silence. Seiji opened the door moments later, nearly wincing at the audible reminder of the hour, setting his bag down by the door as Touma pulled himself to his feet.
"Are you ready?" Seiji asked, the first words he had uttered to his lover all day, his tone more hushed than it typically would have been, gray-violet eyes searching azure. The archer nodded once, walking to the door that Seiji was still holding open. They left together, Seiji locking the apartment door behind them.
They couldn't walk to their destination, so Seiji drove - Touma, stubborn as always, was still learning, and while he likely knew all of the names of the parts of the vehicle, he still had trouble using the turn signal. The lightly used silver sportscar had been the only one on the lot they could both agree on, as it was both very sleek and fast (Seiji's requirement) and had a CD player (Touma's). It flew on the highway, as one and then two phone calls passed by, neither young men even reaching for their phones.
The Yagyuu house looked almost the same as it had when they had lived there, and it was both relieving and painful to see it again. They pulled in just as Touma's phone voiced the passing of the hour in the form of another purposely-missed call. They got out of the car almost in unison, the doors closing with a thumping noise. Walking into the house was much more difficult than they had anticipated, and both paused at the doorway before Touma, with a glance to Seiji, pulled it open, stepping inside and hearing Seiji follow, closing the door behind them.
In the foyer, they were met by two other young men, both of whom seemed to have just stepped in from the other room, timing perfect as a clock themselves. "Fifteen," Shin told them, a black cell phone sporting a light blue star sticker in his hand. "Exactly on time." He was as grim as the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a sweater to ward off the chills that sorrow always brought for him, even in this warm late-spring weather.
"Shall we?" Seiji's voice, then, and they followed Shin and Shuu into the living room, where the mahogany coffee table had already been pushed to the side, blocking the unused fireplace. They sat in a rough circle, facing each other, Seiji next to Touma next to Shuu next to Shin. It felt strange to see them all so solemn. Before the last year, all of their meetings here had been occasions for celebration, joi d'vivre. Now it had warped into something else, foreign and sad, like a melody you hear on the wind during a foggy day.
Each of them, as if one entity, produced their small armor orbs. Touma thought that these objects, bearers of immense power and responsibility, were very small to his eyes. They set them in the center of their circle, and Shuu, whom they had decided unanimously would hold it for the first year, took out the reddish marble that glowed now with a permanent light, the kanji on its face bright - Jin. He placed it in the very middle, within the circle created by their own armor orbs.
They say like that for a long time, their private ritual of mourning, for a life that had burned bright as a forest fire and died to ash far too soon, a life they never stopped grieving the loss of. It had been a year, but here in this place, it felt like lifetimes. None of them so much as moved, closing their eyes or focusing on the marble-like orbs between them. This was their ritual, their funeral that they kept holding for their fallen friend - they would not let ashes go to ashes, refusing to forget, commemorating the day with Shin's ceaseless phone calls to count down the hours, Shuu's careful cleaning of the photographs they kept, Seiji's strong tea and skipped class, Touma's silence and fasting... and their ritual.
An hour later, by the alarm on Shin's phone, they parted ways, and Shuu pressed the red armor orb to Touma's hand, answering his perplexed look with, "It's your turn, now, so keep it safe, okay?" The blue-haired boy nodded, catching the seriousness behind the forced-light tone in Shuu's voice. It was his turn now.
It was his turn to carry their personal, unending funeral; his turn to bear the burden of their memories.
Until the next year, when Seiji would make the fifteen phone calls, and he would pass the Rekka armor orb to someone else, and it would begin all over again.
Title: Phone Calls
Author: Trahn
Theme(s): #18B (lost you forever), #23B (red funeral)
Pairing/Characters: Date Seiji / Hashiba Touma, Mouri Shin, Shuu Rei Faun.
Rating: PG-13 (Dark, DEATHFIC, psychological)
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I just torture them a lot.
Summary: They have their own ways of dealing with loss. Phone calls they never answer, morning rituals ignored. DEATHFIC. Read at your own risk.
So we're speeding towards that time of year
to the day that marks that you're not here
and I think I'll want to be alone
so please understand if I don't answer the phone
-- Azure Ray, "November"
They tried hard, they really did. It took so much effort, though, for Touma to untangle himself from the sheets and from Seiji in the morning, though, knowing full-well that he would rather stay there and sleep through the day and knowing, too, that he couldn't, that no matter what personal strife he was going through, what happened had gone on a year ago, and his professors would still expect him to show up to class, and that editor woman had given him that day as a deadline when he wasn't paying attention. He always remembered dates more clearly as they came - numbers like that held nothing for him. Seiji seemed unaffected by the early waking, but his style of grief was utterly different from Touma's - he would stay as busy as possible, with university and lessons and meditation.
The phone rang first at eight o' clock, as Touma was pulling on a pair of jeans after dragging himself in and out of the shower. He hadn't bothered to dry his hair, and bangs he had long neglected cutting stuck to his forehead - 'like a drowning cat' would have been a charitable comparison. He glanced at Seiji, the jeans halfway up one leg and around the ankle of the other, pausing mid-action at the first ring. The blonde - impeccably dressed, hair damp but not completely dry - said nothing, the simple sending of feeling down their bond a wordless no.
It rang three more times before the voicemail picked up. They hadn't changed the message in more than six months, just long enough for there to be cheer back in Touma's voice when he recorded it, "Hey, you've reached Seiji and Touma, but we're either not here or otherwise occu-- ow! Hey! I wasn't gonna say anything! Leave a message, okay?" Seiji had been telling him for ages that they should change it to something more professional, but today he didn't mention it.
They went through the motions of breakfast with little feeling, Touma foregoing his usual toast in favor of a cup of coffee and a couple of crackers he stole from the box he kept on the counter for quick snacks. Seiji had a cup of strong green tea, no sweetener added, bitter as blood, and a roll from the bag that he had picked up the other day. He went to hand one to Touma, but the archer held up his hand - he wasn't hungry. On a day like this, it wasn't unusual. He put it back in the bag, that back in the cupboard next to the sink. The wrong place, according to his usual system, but he didn't notice.
The phone rang for the second time at nine o' clock, as Touma was getting ready for his morning class at the university. He was taking his time finding his textbook on the sturdy wooden shelf they'd put up in December, when they realized that both of them had far too many books for the one shelf they'd had when they moved in. The new one, made with a dark wood that matched nearly exactly the headboard on their bed, was already nearly full, stuffed with textbooks from their various classes (and textbooks neither of them had classes to match), and Touma's bargain bin detective story finds. He let the phone keep ringing while he searched.
Seiji was still sitting at the counter - their apartment didn't have the space for a kitchen table, so they improvised by adding chairs around the kitchen island - about four feet from the phone, sipping his tea. He didn't answer it, either, and heard in what he felt was a distant way the answering machine pick up again. When he finished with his tea, he set the mug down in the sink, leaving it there for once; usually he cleaned his dishes (and sometimes Touma's, as well) as soon as he was done with them.
Touma left just as the phone let out another shrill call at ten, exchanging a brief kiss with Seiji on his way out the door. They didn't embrace, because the archer knew that if they did, he wouldn't be able to leave. It was for the best, as far as their respective abilities to function, if he didn't stop long enough to be comforted. He had read somewhere about how pain could keep you awake, provided it wasn't sufficient pain to cause unconsciousness or shock.
The blonde didn't leave until nearly eleven, waiting through another round of rings on the phone before he put on his coat. He was quite sure that he wouldn't make it to his literature class, but it felt necessary to go through the motions, even if he ended up, as he had so many times during the weeks following this date the previous year, sitting at the cafe across from campus with a cup of warm ginger tea waiting for Touma's class to let out. Iemoto-sensei would be disappointed, but there were things more important now than grades - always had been. He liked to stay busy, but slowly, ever so slowly, he would find himself slowing down, until the almost manic energy of the early morning hours slowed to an afternoon crawl, and he hadn't the strength to go to classes and pretend nothing was wrong anymore.
It was only once he was on the train that Touma was forcefully reminded of the navy blue cell phone he carried with him almost by instinct now, as it rang with a force that belied its size. He took it out of his pocket and flipped it open one-handed, holding his school bag with the other, glancing briefly at the display, the characters announcing the caller's name. He shut the phone again after turning it to the 'vibrate' function, sighing almost audibly. He got off of the bus at his school, frowning at the verdant growth in the small plot of trees and bushes that someone had decided to plant near the entrance to the school, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and walking past it, careful not to look too closely. Anything so riotously alive tempted his temper today.
Seiji didn't think to check his cell, the dark green device he disliked so much, until nearly noon. He had it on silent today. He only ever carried it because it made the others feel better to know that they could contact him anytime if there was an emergency, unhindered by the physical limitations of their armor bond. It registered two calls - neither left voicemail messages, but if they had he wouldn't have checked them, anyway; he merely slipped the machine back into his pocket and went back to his tea, sitting at a back window table in the cafe, watching the passersby with impartial gray eyes. He reflected absently that if it had been any other day, Touma would have torn him a new one for shutting off his cell. But it wasn't any other day, and so he kept it off, keeping a silent watch for the familiar blue hair on the street.
By the time he got to the cafe, there was another unanswered call on his cell's display, registering in the cartoony, slanted characters his phone displayed everything in. It was twelve thirty, and class had run late, but he spotted Seiji instantly, pausing only to ask for a hot chocolate on his way to the seat, paying as quickly as he could, speaking in a clipped tone that the barista probably mistook for irritation. He took his seat across from his lover in silence, a hesitant and ill-fitting smile his greeting, though it faded entirely too quickly.
At one o' clock, Touma's cell buzzed angrily, still on vibrate. Seiji had no doubt that his, too, was registering a call. Neither answered. Seiji got up to go to his class, taking Touma's hand briefly first, squeezing it reassuringly, and letting go. The archer watched him leave until he couldn't see him anymore, and finished his cocoa before he left for his own class.
Touma returned to the apartment four unanswered phone calls later, re-shelving his book and sitting down on the couch. His stomach complained for the lack of food, but he wouldn't eat, and he didn't even turn on the television, staring at the pictures lined up on the wall shelf and waiting. The apartment phone rang again, a sharp sound like a knife cutting through his contemplative silence. Seiji opened the door moments later, nearly wincing at the audible reminder of the hour, setting his bag down by the door as Touma pulled himself to his feet.
"Are you ready?" Seiji asked, the first words he had uttered to his lover all day, his tone more hushed than it typically would have been, gray-violet eyes searching azure. The archer nodded once, walking to the door that Seiji was still holding open. They left together, Seiji locking the apartment door behind them.
They couldn't walk to their destination, so Seiji drove - Touma, stubborn as always, was still learning, and while he likely knew all of the names of the parts of the vehicle, he still had trouble using the turn signal. The lightly used silver sportscar had been the only one on the lot they could both agree on, as it was both very sleek and fast (Seiji's requirement) and had a CD player (Touma's). It flew on the highway, as one and then two phone calls passed by, neither young men even reaching for their phones.
The Yagyuu house looked almost the same as it had when they had lived there, and it was both relieving and painful to see it again. They pulled in just as Touma's phone voiced the passing of the hour in the form of another purposely-missed call. They got out of the car almost in unison, the doors closing with a thumping noise. Walking into the house was much more difficult than they had anticipated, and both paused at the doorway before Touma, with a glance to Seiji, pulled it open, stepping inside and hearing Seiji follow, closing the door behind them.
In the foyer, they were met by two other young men, both of whom seemed to have just stepped in from the other room, timing perfect as a clock themselves. "Fifteen," Shin told them, a black cell phone sporting a light blue star sticker in his hand. "Exactly on time." He was as grim as the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a sweater to ward off the chills that sorrow always brought for him, even in this warm late-spring weather.
"Shall we?" Seiji's voice, then, and they followed Shin and Shuu into the living room, where the mahogany coffee table had already been pushed to the side, blocking the unused fireplace. They sat in a rough circle, facing each other, Seiji next to Touma next to Shuu next to Shin. It felt strange to see them all so solemn. Before the last year, all of their meetings here had been occasions for celebration, joi d'vivre. Now it had warped into something else, foreign and sad, like a melody you hear on the wind during a foggy day.
Each of them, as if one entity, produced their small armor orbs. Touma thought that these objects, bearers of immense power and responsibility, were very small to his eyes. They set them in the center of their circle, and Shuu, whom they had decided unanimously would hold it for the first year, took out the reddish marble that glowed now with a permanent light, the kanji on its face bright - Jin. He placed it in the very middle, within the circle created by their own armor orbs.
They say like that for a long time, their private ritual of mourning, for a life that had burned bright as a forest fire and died to ash far too soon, a life they never stopped grieving the loss of. It had been a year, but here in this place, it felt like lifetimes. None of them so much as moved, closing their eyes or focusing on the marble-like orbs between them. This was their ritual, their funeral that they kept holding for their fallen friend - they would not let ashes go to ashes, refusing to forget, commemorating the day with Shin's ceaseless phone calls to count down the hours, Shuu's careful cleaning of the photographs they kept, Seiji's strong tea and skipped class, Touma's silence and fasting... and their ritual.
An hour later, by the alarm on Shin's phone, they parted ways, and Shuu pressed the red armor orb to Touma's hand, answering his perplexed look with, "It's your turn, now, so keep it safe, okay?" The blue-haired boy nodded, catching the seriousness behind the forced-light tone in Shuu's voice. It was his turn now.
It was his turn to carry their personal, unending funeral; his turn to bear the burden of their memories.
Until the next year, when Seiji would make the fifteen phone calls, and he would pass the Rekka armor orb to someone else, and it would begin all over again.