Voice (One-shot)
Title: Voice
Chapters: N/A
Author: konicoffee
Genre: Drama, some angst
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story.
Warnings: Nothing
Rating: G
Pairings/Characters: Aoi/Uruha
Synopsis: He clutched his guitar, as he would have done so with his heart, praying that someone, anyone, would listen to him. Just once.
Comments: Written for aoinoringo (I haven't forgotten about request fics)! As requested, this was written with the song Falling Slowly by Glenn Hansard and Markéta Irglová in mind. I hope you like it.
“Good evening.”
Yuu’s voice was but a whisper against the jangling echoes of Tokyo Station. He strummed his guitar, his melody battling the cacophony of drifting strangers. Footsteps, conversations, laughter, weeping, sighs - they all drowned out Yuu’s song. Vanish, his words went, and fade, fade did his melody.
He clutched his guitar, as he would have done so with his heart, praying that someone, anyone, would listen to him. Just once.
During the day, Yuu was no different from these hurried, indifferent souls. Every morning, he would drag himself off bed to wash up and dress himself in clothing that he learned to accept was made of more expensive thread. He would then hurry to his office, fooling the rest of the world into thinking that he was a powerful man. No one else knew how weak he was before his superiors. They didn’t know how he cowered before them, fearing for his job and his life. They had no idea that these important men never seemed to agree with how he did his work. They saw his point of view only whenever they took praises for his efforts.
At night, still clad in his corporate disguise, he sang. His story floated into the small, small empty spaces between the many people chattering, stomping, and sighing away their own tales. His lyrics vanished into a void in these people’s minds, never acknowledged to be forgotten. And once he told his story, he went home to his wife. He listened to how her day went, how her friends’ days went, and how she wanted her next days to go just like theirs did. His turn to talk about the future came as soon as she fell asleep.
Three childless years later, the lack of growth in his career and the financial problems that came with it drove her away.
Gripping on his guitar, he sang against a faceless, heartless crowd. He told them of his heartbreak, of the dreams he still hung on to, and of how he wished he could share them with someone. Someone he could go home to. Singing louder to momentarily forget about the bottle of sleeping pills in his pocket, he closed his eyes and prayed for someone to listen to his last song. This was his last show. This was his last night on Earth.
As he strummed his last chord, he knew his life was over.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Yuu opened his eyes and found him, a warm, solitary figure of golden hair and peach skin underneath the station's cold, unfriendly light. The man’s applause only but tapped away against the rest of the world’s dissonance, yet it was all Yuu could hear. He was all Yuu could see; he was the only face in the crowd, the only light in the world.
And somehow, that was enough for Yuu to discard the bottle of sleeping pills on his way home.
The next night, Yuu saw the man again. Once more, the blond stood completely still before him, listening to him while he sang. Yuu threw his words and his voice and his guitar chords into the air, faintly hoping they would reach another soul, another pair of ears. But it really didn’t matter to Yuu; this man, his audience, his only friend for tonight, had caught every fragment of his song.
A few nights later, the man had caught every fragment of Yuu’s heart.
Not long after he realized this, Yuu finally used spoken words on the man. “What’s your name?” He mouthed his words slowly and hoped that his voice was loud enough for him to be heard through the station’s noise.
The response was not loud by any means, but it was clear as day. Yuu felt a crack in his heart as he watched the man merely smile and slowly move his hands, gesticulating his answer.
Kouyou.
The clamor surrounding them seemed so much louder as it sank deeper and deeper into Yuu’s head that all this time, this man could not have heard him.
I can’t hear them, but I know your songs are beautiful.
This was the man who listened, the only one who did. Yuu was so sure his words reached Kouyou; he smiled during happy songs, and watched sadly during sad songs. But Kouyou couldn’t have heard anything, not even the noise he fought so hard to compete with.
“How,” Yuu paused to gather a coherent sentence. “How was it…how did you hear-”
Kouyou responded in hand gestures, once more seemingly able to understand what Yuu was saying. It was Kouyou telling his story now, and Yuu watched. He listened. Kouyou’s voiceless words struggled its way against the noise in Yuu’s head that was his inability to fully understand sign language. But the fragments of Kouyou’s message did reach Yuu. Those little pieces were more than enough to move Yuu to believe in love again.
What drew me in was not your voice, but your soul.
Chapters: N/A
Author: konicoffee
Genre: Drama, some angst
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story.
Warnings: Nothing
Rating: G
Pairings/Characters: Aoi/Uruha
Synopsis: He clutched his guitar, as he would have done so with his heart, praying that someone, anyone, would listen to him. Just once.
Comments: Written for aoinoringo (I haven't forgotten about request fics)! As requested, this was written with the song Falling Slowly by Glenn Hansard and Markéta Irglová in mind. I hope you like it.
“Good evening.”
Yuu’s voice was but a whisper against the jangling echoes of Tokyo Station. He strummed his guitar, his melody battling the cacophony of drifting strangers. Footsteps, conversations, laughter, weeping, sighs - they all drowned out Yuu’s song. Vanish, his words went, and fade, fade did his melody.
He clutched his guitar, as he would have done so with his heart, praying that someone, anyone, would listen to him. Just once.
During the day, Yuu was no different from these hurried, indifferent souls. Every morning, he would drag himself off bed to wash up and dress himself in clothing that he learned to accept was made of more expensive thread. He would then hurry to his office, fooling the rest of the world into thinking that he was a powerful man. No one else knew how weak he was before his superiors. They didn’t know how he cowered before them, fearing for his job and his life. They had no idea that these important men never seemed to agree with how he did his work. They saw his point of view only whenever they took praises for his efforts.
At night, still clad in his corporate disguise, he sang. His story floated into the small, small empty spaces between the many people chattering, stomping, and sighing away their own tales. His lyrics vanished into a void in these people’s minds, never acknowledged to be forgotten. And once he told his story, he went home to his wife. He listened to how her day went, how her friends’ days went, and how she wanted her next days to go just like theirs did. His turn to talk about the future came as soon as she fell asleep.
Three childless years later, the lack of growth in his career and the financial problems that came with it drove her away.
Gripping on his guitar, he sang against a faceless, heartless crowd. He told them of his heartbreak, of the dreams he still hung on to, and of how he wished he could share them with someone. Someone he could go home to. Singing louder to momentarily forget about the bottle of sleeping pills in his pocket, he closed his eyes and prayed for someone to listen to his last song. This was his last show. This was his last night on Earth.
As he strummed his last chord, he knew his life was over.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Yuu opened his eyes and found him, a warm, solitary figure of golden hair and peach skin underneath the station's cold, unfriendly light. The man’s applause only but tapped away against the rest of the world’s dissonance, yet it was all Yuu could hear. He was all Yuu could see; he was the only face in the crowd, the only light in the world.
And somehow, that was enough for Yuu to discard the bottle of sleeping pills on his way home.
The next night, Yuu saw the man again. Once more, the blond stood completely still before him, listening to him while he sang. Yuu threw his words and his voice and his guitar chords into the air, faintly hoping they would reach another soul, another pair of ears. But it really didn’t matter to Yuu; this man, his audience, his only friend for tonight, had caught every fragment of his song.
A few nights later, the man had caught every fragment of Yuu’s heart.
Not long after he realized this, Yuu finally used spoken words on the man. “What’s your name?” He mouthed his words slowly and hoped that his voice was loud enough for him to be heard through the station’s noise.
The response was not loud by any means, but it was clear as day. Yuu felt a crack in his heart as he watched the man merely smile and slowly move his hands, gesticulating his answer.
Kouyou.
The clamor surrounding them seemed so much louder as it sank deeper and deeper into Yuu’s head that all this time, this man could not have heard him.
I can’t hear them, but I know your songs are beautiful.
This was the man who listened, the only one who did. Yuu was so sure his words reached Kouyou; he smiled during happy songs, and watched sadly during sad songs. But Kouyou couldn’t have heard anything, not even the noise he fought so hard to compete with.
“How,” Yuu paused to gather a coherent sentence. “How was it…how did you hear-”
Kouyou responded in hand gestures, once more seemingly able to understand what Yuu was saying. It was Kouyou telling his story now, and Yuu watched. He listened. Kouyou’s voiceless words struggled its way against the noise in Yuu’s head that was his inability to fully understand sign language. But the fragments of Kouyou’s message did reach Yuu. Those little pieces were more than enough to move Yuu to believe in love again.
What drew me in was not your voice, but your soul.