[NEWS] Conversation With the Television
Title: Conversation With the Television (o.o;; so like I actually follow capitalization rules for once)
Pairing: Ni-shi-ka-to. >__>
Written by: meeeeeeeee.
ezyls_girl . D:
Rating: Oh God I don't know. PG-13 probably, for character death and my signature angst-that-is-not-angst-but-just-plain-weird thing. You know the one.
Summary: Perfect relationships occur in a world where there isn't any television. As well as saying goodbye, but that's a given for any place and time.
Disclaimer: If the summary hasn't scared you away already. XD
Notes: This was intended to be a NinoSho fic (but no not the slutty one that had been previously mentioned somewhere in a private LJ LOL), but it somehow didn't work that way and I ended up replacing the names because I'm just uncool like that. ALSO WHAT IS WITH ME AND SLIPPING. D8 But anyway I hope you enjoy. This one's exactly 1111 words, yay.
_________________________________________
There had been a point when Shige’s mother had still called, telling him to give her back the old television in his bedroom, but she had stopped after a while, because she must have realized that it was the only friend that her son had had left (Koyama had gone on a three-month filming session in New York).
And it was true.
In another attempt to ward off going back to the jimusho, Shige decides to catch swine flu and ends up spending his two weeks of quarantine doing housework.
And that’s how he finds Ryo’s suicide note. It had somehow escaped the investigation team’s scouring flashlights, trampled at the floor beneath his writing table and collecting dust. A dirty boot-print belonging to one of the police officers from that night was still intact on the back side.
Shige-
I slipped. Couldn’t wait for you any longer, it was too painful.
I love you. Sorry.
-Ryo
Then his eyes glaze over with what-are-possibly-tears, they involuntarily go over the words again and again, and suddenly he’s able to feel the pain in every one of the characters, the fragments of the hurried thoughts passing through Ryo’s rushed, skewed mind. He feels every shake and every tremble that passed through the pen onto the paper, every salty teardrop that balked and disfigured Ryo’s already too-messy script, he felt them like he’d been run through repeatedly by thin pieces of ice. Each time he read the apology, he saw it all over again, the cold smile that had slipped over those lips, the fake-nonchalance that had engulfed all other feelings in those eyes. The same lips that were smooth and hot on his neck and his shoulders when they shared a secluded dining booth, the same eyes once filled with what might-have-been-joy when they fooled around in front of the muted television.
The television isn’t ever on mute, not anymore. No matter how low he turns down the volume-control, the voices of the moody actresses in the dramas and the speed-talking newscasters are loud, mouthing out problems and solutions and taking out his false hope for materialization into a day in the past with a single swipe of a word, a burst of laughter, more cries of disgust.
They were gone.
Ryo was gone.
(He had slipped.)
--
When did it become like this? He asks the actor in the new detective drama. As usual, the only response he gets is a solidly-delivered report of the blood found at the crime scene. But on this day the air takes pity on him by blowing a memory back into his head with a huff.
And so it became easy enough to remember. They had been playing some silly guessing game, and every time Ryo lost he would cheat and plant kisses on Shige’s neck until they ended up groaning and fondling each other on the floor. The last time they had done that, Ryo had felt his way over the younger man’s body and shifted his tongue on Shige’s ear to whisper a demand, jokingly, “Now say you love me. Say it. Do you love me?”
It took both of them a beat to realize that he hadn’t replied and it was like that, with a quaint snap of its minute-hand fingers, time had frozen. He held his breath.
Ryo frowned, sat up on his haunches. “Do you love me, Shige?”
“I-I don’t know,” He admitted. “I like you a lot.”
It was quiet when Ryo left to take a shower.
In that moment, the mute-button on the television had been released.
--
The steel arm of the mechanical grave-digging contraption bends downwards with a giant creak, lifting mounds of dirt off the ground and -with another creak- dropping it into the pile on the left. There wasn’t much to do after that-the coffin was empty, after all. Nishikido Ryo’s body had been torn into shreds by the reservoir fan. Those were advantages to jumping off the bridge of a water dam. He had had a quick death, and there was only a simple removal of debris afterwards. Hydraulic power did most of the work, Iwamura of the funeral staff had mentioned with a laugh to his friend in the background of the mourning relatives.
He decided not to approach the grave. He would go and feel sorry for himself at the hydraulics company instead.
--
“I think I should move out.”
The look on Ryo’s face made him want to take back everything he had said.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” His tone was cool.
“What do you mean?”
“And you call yourself smarter than me? You don’t get it, do you?”
“I-I just felt it’d be better if we could be apart for a little while, that’s all.” He said softly.
“What, so you can jump on the next bed with some slut? Or better, with Koyama?” Ryo’s expression was unreadable.
Shige’s face darkened. “Y-You don’t mean that,” he muttered angrily. “Don’t talk about Kei-chan like that.”
“Oh, but I do! To you…I’m nothing but another guy, aren’t I? Admit it, all you wanted was a quick fuck, didn’t you? I got too boring, didn’t I?” Ryo said.
“You were the one fucking me!” He snorted.
“What difference does it make?”
“Look, I just wanted some time to study alone, okay? My grades were dropping with you. Don’t make such a big deal about it!”
“I’m not the one making a big deal out of it!”
“Yes, you are!”
“That’s because I lo-” he stopped short. “Oh, fuck it. We’re done.”
There was little to say after that.
The TV never shut up about it, either. Where had the remote-control gone, anyway?
--
When he at last pulls his head away from the overflow of broadcast channels with poor taste in cooking shows, he finds himself standing in weeds, sunshine, facing white marble with the words In Memory of carved in classy calligraphy-it’s been a year since his last visit.
I love you, Ryo, he thinks. And to his surprise he doesn’t hear any of the game show hosts agreeing with him in the background. In fact, the whole place is devoid of that noise he had been so desperate to avoid.
“I…love…” he whispers, checking behind his back just in case there was someone from the traveling show with free train tickets to give away for a lucky couple in Kanagawa.
And then he thinks he’s brave enough to say it, now, even though it’s much too late. But he says it anyway, and then breaks down crying for the entire empty field to see.
-end.
_________________________________________
A/N: If you see anything disgusting/requiring-need-of-edit, please do say so I wrote this very late at night. But it's definitely not as disturbing as the Wonderland drabbles, so no need to worry. 8D
THANK YOU FOR READING. I WHORE COMMENTS. It's my birthday in seven days, so don't bring out the guns just yet. ♥
Pairing: Ni-shi-ka-to. >__>
Written by: meeeeeeeee.
ezyls_girl . D:
Rating: Oh God I don't know. PG-13 probably, for character death and my signature angst-that-is-not-angst-but-just-plain-weird thing. You know the one.
Summary: Perfect relationships occur in a world where there isn't any television. As well as saying goodbye, but that's a given for any place and time.
Disclaimer: If the summary hasn't scared you away already. XD
Notes: This was intended to be a NinoSho fic (but no not the slutty one that had been previously mentioned somewhere in a private LJ LOL), but it somehow didn't work that way and I ended up replacing the names because I'm just uncool like that. ALSO WHAT IS WITH ME AND SLIPPING. D8 But anyway I hope you enjoy. This one's exactly 1111 words, yay.
_________________________________________
There had been a point when Shige’s mother had still called, telling him to give her back the old television in his bedroom, but she had stopped after a while, because she must have realized that it was the only friend that her son had had left (Koyama had gone on a three-month filming session in New York).
And it was true.
In another attempt to ward off going back to the jimusho, Shige decides to catch swine flu and ends up spending his two weeks of quarantine doing housework.
And that’s how he finds Ryo’s suicide note. It had somehow escaped the investigation team’s scouring flashlights, trampled at the floor beneath his writing table and collecting dust. A dirty boot-print belonging to one of the police officers from that night was still intact on the back side.
Shige-
I slipped. Couldn’t wait for you any longer, it was too painful.
I love you. Sorry.
-Ryo
Then his eyes glaze over with what-are-possibly-tears, they involuntarily go over the words again and again, and suddenly he’s able to feel the pain in every one of the characters, the fragments of the hurried thoughts passing through Ryo’s rushed, skewed mind. He feels every shake and every tremble that passed through the pen onto the paper, every salty teardrop that balked and disfigured Ryo’s already too-messy script, he felt them like he’d been run through repeatedly by thin pieces of ice. Each time he read the apology, he saw it all over again, the cold smile that had slipped over those lips, the fake-nonchalance that had engulfed all other feelings in those eyes. The same lips that were smooth and hot on his neck and his shoulders when they shared a secluded dining booth, the same eyes once filled with what might-have-been-joy when they fooled around in front of the muted television.
The television isn’t ever on mute, not anymore. No matter how low he turns down the volume-control, the voices of the moody actresses in the dramas and the speed-talking newscasters are loud, mouthing out problems and solutions and taking out his false hope for materialization into a day in the past with a single swipe of a word, a burst of laughter, more cries of disgust.
They were gone.
Ryo was gone.
(He had slipped.)
--
When did it become like this? He asks the actor in the new detective drama. As usual, the only response he gets is a solidly-delivered report of the blood found at the crime scene. But on this day the air takes pity on him by blowing a memory back into his head with a huff.
And so it became easy enough to remember. They had been playing some silly guessing game, and every time Ryo lost he would cheat and plant kisses on Shige’s neck until they ended up groaning and fondling each other on the floor. The last time they had done that, Ryo had felt his way over the younger man’s body and shifted his tongue on Shige’s ear to whisper a demand, jokingly, “Now say you love me. Say it. Do you love me?”
It took both of them a beat to realize that he hadn’t replied and it was like that, with a quaint snap of its minute-hand fingers, time had frozen. He held his breath.
Ryo frowned, sat up on his haunches. “Do you love me, Shige?”
“I-I don’t know,” He admitted. “I like you a lot.”
It was quiet when Ryo left to take a shower.
In that moment, the mute-button on the television had been released.
--
The steel arm of the mechanical grave-digging contraption bends downwards with a giant creak, lifting mounds of dirt off the ground and -with another creak- dropping it into the pile on the left. There wasn’t much to do after that-the coffin was empty, after all. Nishikido Ryo’s body had been torn into shreds by the reservoir fan. Those were advantages to jumping off the bridge of a water dam. He had had a quick death, and there was only a simple removal of debris afterwards. Hydraulic power did most of the work, Iwamura of the funeral staff had mentioned with a laugh to his friend in the background of the mourning relatives.
He decided not to approach the grave. He would go and feel sorry for himself at the hydraulics company instead.
--
“I think I should move out.”
The look on Ryo’s face made him want to take back everything he had said.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” His tone was cool.
“What do you mean?”
“And you call yourself smarter than me? You don’t get it, do you?”
“I-I just felt it’d be better if we could be apart for a little while, that’s all.” He said softly.
“What, so you can jump on the next bed with some slut? Or better, with Koyama?” Ryo’s expression was unreadable.
Shige’s face darkened. “Y-You don’t mean that,” he muttered angrily. “Don’t talk about Kei-chan like that.”
“Oh, but I do! To you…I’m nothing but another guy, aren’t I? Admit it, all you wanted was a quick fuck, didn’t you? I got too boring, didn’t I?” Ryo said.
“You were the one fucking me!” He snorted.
“What difference does it make?”
“Look, I just wanted some time to study alone, okay? My grades were dropping with you. Don’t make such a big deal about it!”
“I’m not the one making a big deal out of it!”
“Yes, you are!”
“That’s because I lo-” he stopped short. “Oh, fuck it. We’re done.”
There was little to say after that.
The TV never shut up about it, either. Where had the remote-control gone, anyway?
--
When he at last pulls his head away from the overflow of broadcast channels with poor taste in cooking shows, he finds himself standing in weeds, sunshine, facing white marble with the words In Memory of carved in classy calligraphy-it’s been a year since his last visit.
I love you, Ryo, he thinks. And to his surprise he doesn’t hear any of the game show hosts agreeing with him in the background. In fact, the whole place is devoid of that noise he had been so desperate to avoid.
“I…love…” he whispers, checking behind his back just in case there was someone from the traveling show with free train tickets to give away for a lucky couple in Kanagawa.
And then he thinks he’s brave enough to say it, now, even though it’s much too late. But he says it anyway, and then breaks down crying for the entire empty field to see.
-end.
_________________________________________
A/N: If you see anything disgusting/requiring-need-of-edit, please do say so I wrote this very late at night. But it's definitely not as disturbing as the Wonderland drabbles, so no need to worry. 8D
THANK YOU FOR READING. I WHORE COMMENTS. It's my birthday in seven days, so don't bring out the guns just yet. ♥