love songs for broken hearts
Title: love songs for broken hearts
Pairing: Koyama x Ryo, Ryo x Yamapi, hinted Koyama x Yamapi
Word Count: 3900+
Rating: R
Notes: Angst. Written in response to gothicauthor's prompt.
Summary: AU. Ryo is Koyama's secretary, and he loves a little too much.
love songs for broken hearts
Koyama calls Ryo into his office, voice innocuous and soft. Ryo prepares a cup of tea before he enters, places it on the mahogany surface of Koyama’s desk. Koyama’s lips curve as he glances at Ryo. He takes the cup and leaves a gaping wet 'O' imprinted on the desktop.
“Sit down,” Koyama says, gesturing in front of him, and Ryo follows the routine. He perches himself on the edge of the desk, fingers smudging the polished wood as he balances himself. His feet dangle idly between Koyama’s knees, lazily kicking back and forth. Koyama’s fingers curl around the back of Ryo’s left calf, thumb rubbing circles into his kneecap. It feels a little odd and a little intimate, and Ryo fights a reflexive spasm-kick.
“You have a meeting at ten today, and then you’re scheduled to have lunch with your parents,” Ryo says. Koyama hums, bringing his hands up to grip the edge of the desk around Ryo’s thighs. Prickles of heat and too-close fingers make Ryo shudder, his muscles tighten minutely at the proximity. “Also,” and his throats sticks a little, but Ryo swallows it down as he always does, “your wife called. She wants you home at seven.”
At that, Koyama’s eyes slant downward, lashes long and stark against his cheekbones. Ryo breathes in the sight greedily, stares and stares and wills Koyama not to look up. After all, this is the only chance Ryo has to view Koyama like this, to look down at Koyama in such a fragile state. Only here, as Koyama’s secretary on the edge of his desk, as Koyama’s fingers drift forward to hook Ryo’s belt loops and as he rasps in Ryo’s ear, asking if the door is locked. Only then is Ryo allowed to see this.
“I think I will have you on my desk today,” Koyama murmurs, clumsily yet effectively evading the topic.
Ryo flushes, but doesn’t say no. It’s not like he doesn’t want this either.
Ryo gets the job because his roommate has connections. They used to go to school together or something, and Ryo thinks they may’ve slept together once. All Ryo gets from Yamapi is mumbling about a college party and one too many vodka shots, and then Yamapi clears his throat awkwardly and tells him to “just fucking apply and I’ll put in a good word. Not that you deserve it, you dumbass.”
But Ryo thinks it's guilt that eats away at Yamapi, that this is what makes Yamapi so desperate to find Ryo a job. After all, he is the one who lured Ryo to the big city in the first place, with tales of fame and fortune, promises that things are easier here, somehow. Ryo had believed him, trusted so simply, and now here he is, a year later, weary, so weary, without any money and desperate desperate desperate.
But the job opening is for a secretarial position, and as strapped for cash as Ryo is, he does have his limits, pride even. There’s no way in hell Ryo is going to agree to this, isn’t a secretary a girl’s job?
Yamapi rolls his eyes. “You’re a sexist bitch,” he says, and before Ryo can retort, Yamapi kicks him. “Just go for the damn interview already, I’m not the one who’s behind on our rent.” And behind his words are pleading eyes, round almonds that have always made Ryo’s breath catch, agree to anything, like every other time.
So with gritted teeth, he does.
The next thing he knows, some guy with the longest fucking legs ever hello is showing him around the office and Ryo can barely keep his eyes off him. The face isn’t too bad either, curved lashes and pink lips but. Hell. He’s always had a thing for legs - Yamapi ribs him about it a lot, something about compensation for Ryo’s stumps - and good lord, those lithe legs are now crossing, one over the other, and Ryo has to force his jaw shut. It takes him a while to realize the leggy man, his gorgeous boss, Koyama Keiichiro, all of the above, is speaking.
“So I trust Yamapi,” Koyama notes, and he rakes a glance over Ryo that Ryo would like to think is appreciative but he tends to imagine these things (Yamapi calls it his boulder-sized ego but Ryo claims it’s just self confidence). Ryo slowly wonders what he’s getting himself into, if someone this pretty will be the end of him. Ryo is all too aware of his attraction, and knows that if it were just attraction then it would be okay. But it’s not, because he knows himself. Knows that he has a track record, a notebook filled with lines and lines of love songs for broken hearts, knows that he falls in love a little too easily. He knows, knows that this may be his downfall.
But then, Koyama smiles, lips lilting and eyes bright, and Ryo forgets.
“He has good taste,” Koyama says.
Ryo can’t help but agree.
Yamapi’s key clicks in the keyhole angrily before Yamapi stumbles in. When he reaches the foyer, Ryo can hear Yamapi let out a soft swear. Ryo is in a faded wife beater and sweats, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a myriad of wires at his feet. The television is pulled out from its position against the wall, and Ryo has begun to wrap any and all wires calmly around his arm to arrange them. Yamapi’s lived with Ryo long enough to see the signs for what they are and they both know it. Organizing wires is a coping mechanism for Ryo, and it usually means something fucking awful has occurred.
Yamapi crouches next to Ryo, laying a hand on Ryo’s shoulder, but Ryo shoves him off and Yamapi sighs. “Was the interview really that bad?” Ryo doesn’t answer and Yamapi moves to sit next to him. He looks so worried, even more so than when he had first brought Ryo to his apartment, first taken him busking that one chilly November night that had gone nowhere. More so than every night after the first. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”
At that, Ryo lets out a dry bark, “I got the job, you dumbass. Give me a little credit.” Yamapi pauses and Ryo takes his time to arrange the wires behind the television. “But thanks for not telling me that my boss was going to be sex on miles-long legs, I hate you so fucking much.”
It takes a while, but in the minute it takes for Ryo to flop onto the couch in dismay, Yamapi’s laughter comes out in wheezes and barks, relief painting each harsh breath. “So, you’re taking the job then?” Ryo nods, and Yamapi stills. He pokes Ryo before sitting next to him. “Are you going to be one of those secretaries? Oh baby baby.”
Ryo snorts, “Fuck you. I’m a personal assistant.”
Yamapi smirks. “Why? Does saying that make you feel manlier?” His smirk widens as sheepishness flashes across Ryo’s features. “Right, because you’re such a manly guy, I almost forgot.”
“Your boobs are bigger than mine,” Ryo retorts, “so I don’t really think you have any say.”
Yamapi shrugs. “I’m bigger than you in all the important areas. You’re just jealous.”
Ryo chucks a pillow at Yamapi’s face and Ryo throws it right back. This degenerates into a very immature pillow fight that isn’t really a pillow fight because Yamapi rips out the seat cushion from underneath Ryo to smother him and Ryo knees Yamapi in the groin leading to his victory; Yamapi accuses Ryo of being a vagina and a cheater and Ryo feels like king of the world.
It almost feels normal.
Ryo’s job is pretty easy considering the fat paycheck he gets at the end of the month. All he does is make a few phone calls and write a few notes. He’s also in charge of organizing Koyama’s schedule and his contacts but that’s about it. It’s time consuming and hardly thought-provoking, but hey, at least it pays the bills.
Still, as easy as the job is, it becomes apparent quite quickly that he is working for someone who holds a lot of power. Koyama, it turns out, is the heir to Koyama Ramen©, the ramen conglomerate that, in the past twenty years with its fast-growing chain of restaurants, has taken Japan by storm. Ryo supposes it shouldn’t surprise him, but he can’t really process it. Ryo is a poor guy with stereotypes and he likes them that way. But it’s hard when Koyama goes completely against his pre-conceived assumptions, not acting like the uber rich jerk he should be. Instead, he’s sweet and harmlessly boring, dorky, clumsy, awkward and so, so friendly.
And it doesn’t help that Ryo is so completely, physically attracted to his boss. Worse, he thinks they both know it.
So at first, Ryo clams up. He’s painfully shy, stupidly so, and it takes a couple of really awkward weeks before Koyama has to call him into his office and nearly order him to be more informal and comfortable. And even then, it takes months before they both loosen up. But when they do, it’s like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. Even though they get used to each other, used to familiar presences and warm smiles, to encouraging pats on the back and laughter, so much laughter, there is something about their relationship that worries Ryo. Change comes almost too easily for the two of them, after all, and the rapport they have is both scary and heady. Ryo aches for the pieces to fit, wants them to so bad, but Koyama is just a little too out of his reach, a little too much for Ryo to handle. Though perhaps it’s a good thing, that they don’t fit together quite perfectly.
He’s already this close to falling.
Koyama takes him out to dinner, to the first little ramen shop in downtown Tokyo that his mother had started before they became huge. When Koyama asks, he sounds bemused, “You mean to tell me, you’ve been working for us all this time and you never once wanted to see what you were working for?”
“I work for you, not for the corporation,” Ryo says.
Koyama’s brow raises, the ensuing smirk almost out of place on Koyama’s face, “Ooh, I like that.” Ryo screams at the flush blossoming on the back of his neck to stay below his collar.
Ryo doesn’t remember much about the evening, but he does remember this: the restaurant is packed, so Koyama and Ryo sit much too close to each other at the bar, thighs touching and not touching, sleeves grazing against each other as they eat; and the shio ramen Ryo orders is fucking amazing.
“Rumor has it my mom spiked the ramen,” Koyama says. Ryo stares as Koyama takes a calm sip of his tea, glancing at Ryo’s stunned face before bursting out into laughter, cheeks stretched with amusement. “…She didn’t spike it, Ryo.”
Oh. Ryo sits back, a little disappointed. Her ramen tastes like cherry candies and fantastic blowjobs, that kind of sinfully delicious. Ryo would’ve believed it. But then he wonders what Koyama would taste like, if he tastes like fuji apples or chocolate pie. Maybe he tastes disgusting, like catnip or bean sprouts, maybe, hopefully. That would make Ryo’s life much easier. Then maybe he could get over this guy, this pretty man who he wants to drink in as if he were a man in a desert, who he thinks would taste amazing, something like love.
They drink that night, slow and steady, sake warms their throats and their bellies; happiness is fleeting and evaporates with each sip so they drink more. Koyama leans on Ryo’s seat for support three bottles in.
“I had heard about you,” Koyama mumbles, so soft, “Yamapi said you were his first kiss.”
Ryo startles in surprise. For Yamapi to admit that to Koyama means they were much closer than Yamapi first let on. Or maybe Yamapi was just drunk at the time, like the two of them now, conscious of his words but not giving a damn. Ryo flashes back to teenage summers, of kisses steeped in promises, of come-to-Tokyo-when-you’re-done-with-college-that’s-where-life-begins. He thinks about how he had believed Yamapi, believed in the I’ll-take-care-of-you’s and trust-me’s, such blind belief. And he thinks about the break-up, the living together, the job offer, everything in between and how all of that had somehow led him here, next to Koyama.
They drink up to first kisses and barely-patched loves.
They sleep together a year into knowing each other.
It’s a late night when Koyama asks Ryo where he’s planning to go with that guitar. It's the first time Koyama’s asked, even though Ryo’s been bringing his guitar to work for the past week. Ryo takes him to a park, where they find a few drunk people milling around, and Ryo strums slow rhythms on the worn and beaten instrument.
“Yamapi used to come to Osaka during the summers. That’s how we met. He brought me to Tokyo because he thought I could make it big,” Ryo says, words dry in his mouth because he’s never talked about this, never wanted to bring it up. He feels like he’s nearly throwing his heart to let it rot at Koyama’s feet, but he does it because Koyama’s looking at him like he’s something precious and it’s making him giddy.
Koyama’s eyes are fixed upon him, and Ryo remembers that usually, people are supposed to continue their stories once they start them. Ryo shrugs. “We were teenagers who thought we could make the world shake. Turns out we couldn’t.”
He doesn’t mention how sometimes, when Yamapi thinks Ryo’s asleep, he’ll whisper broken apologies in the knuckles of Ryo’s spine as if that will make Ryo forgive him. Doesn’t mention the number of times he’s thought about taking the train back to Osaka, pretending that he didn’t waste a year of his life chasing dreams that would never come true. Doesn’t mention that Ryo wishes that he and Yamapi could remain fixed in the past, when they were a little innocent and more than foolish but it was okay back then, when they loved and were in love and their relationship was free.
Even without saying so, somehow Koyama understands, and it’s he who kisses Ryo first. Koyama kisses him, and it’s achingly soft against his mouth, presses his lips into Ryo’s skin, over and over. And Ryo kisses back.
Ryo takes Koyama to his place, and Koyama grabs Ryo’s hand sometime in the taxi. His fingers wrap around Ryo’s, sliding between digits and gripping tight around his wrist. They kiss again in the elevator, sweet and slow, and by the time they stumble through the apartment door, Koyama’s hand is angling up Ryo’s shirt and Ryo is toying with the buttons on Koyama’s suit.
There is a clatter of utensils somewhere, and Ryo and Koyama freeze.
Yamapi stares. “I forgot I needed to be somewhere, don’t mind me you fucking bastards.”
Ryo almost feels bad about it, but before he can say something Yamapi has already grabbed his jacket and left them to themselves. He swallows and Koyama kisses the ridge of Ryo’s throat.
The next night, when Ryo comes back from work, Yamapi snorts. Ryo tries to ignore the rims around Yamapi’s eyes as he smiles too wide at Ryo, laughs a little too loud.
“So now you’re not only a secretary, but a whorish one at that. This is hilarious.”
“I hate you,” Ryo says weakly. This is all your fault he really wants to say, but is it really? For once, he has no one to blame but himself, and it leaves a rancid taste in Ryo’s mouth. “You’re a bitch,” he says instead.
“Would make for great porn,” Yamapi leers.
Ryo punches him before stealing a bite of Yamapi’s ramen.
For two years, they both pretend it’s a comfortable sort of arrangement.
They meet with each other in and out of work, kiss between meetings and make love in Ryo’s apartment. Ryo takes him busking, much like the first night, and Koyama rests his feet on Ryo’s lap; Ryo belts out Saito Kazuyoshi tunes and Koyama breathes them in. Koyama takes him places sometimes, day trips to the beach and overnights at the onsen. They eat ice cream out of the tub together - always Neopolitan because Koyama likes strawberry and Ryo will only eat vanilla, the chocolate is for the two of them to share. Koyama leaves a tie at Ryo’s place and Ryo pretends to lose it; he keeps it in the back of his sock drawer. Ryo cooks for him simple dishes after work, and each and every time Koyama is amazed.
But that’s all it is really, because while the going’s nice, they’re both acutely aware of how absolutely nothing can come out of this.
Koyama’s parents set him up with girls, pretty wives-to-be with simpering smiles and batting eyelashes. Ryo organizes all these dates, being the good little secretary he is, and Koyama accepts each and every one of them. He loves his parents too much to turn them down, after all. And though Koyama doesn’t love any of the girls he takes out, he makes them all fall in love with him. One by one they fall like flies, infinitesimal specks of nothing to Koyama and just as pathetic. It’s not hard, when a man so wealthy and powerful can still be so beautiful, can still crack the silliest jokes and have a smile that rivals the sun. Ryo would know.
Still, Ryo pretends. Even though Ryo’s never asked for more and Koyama’s never offered, Ryo pretends that there is more to this relationship than the sex, that Koyama will want him always, more than any of those girls. But he knows, beyond the pretending, that they can’t do this forever. He knows the moment Koyama gets married, he is going to have to quit this job. He has his pride, surprisingly, and having it trampled on with a pale and docile wife is just too much. Ryo doesn’t want any part in it, and he begins preparing for the day when things will have to change.
In the meantime, they have an amazing two years of pretend-love.
Yamapi confronts him about it one day, and frankly, Ryo’s just surprised it took him this long.
“You love him,” Yamapi says.
Ryo doesn’t refute it.
Yamapi is silent for a long time, fiddling with his fork to fill the space between words that he can’t quite say. Still, he tries. “Why is this different?” He swallows, and Ryo knows he’s talking about himself this time. “Why is this different from all the other people you’ve been with?”
Ryo blinks, thinks briefly of everyone he’s ever loved. Thinks of Ohkura, a high school friend who kissed like rain and tasted like cider. Of Yoko, and that awkward kiss in Yoko’s bedroom that made Yoko refuse to speak to Ryo ever again. Of Yamapi, that first sweet kiss in the back of a friend’s car, that kiss that had made Ryo want to dream. Of Koyama, who laves open-mouthed kisses on Ryo’s anywhere and everywhere, whose fingers press desperately into Ryo’s skin.
“You never gave me what I wanted,” Ryo croaks. Isn’t that all you ever promised?
Yamapi looks taken aback, eyes deep with something akin to guilt and more like raw pain. “I never-“
“You promised,” Ryo practically seethes, and Yamapi deflates.
They eat dinner quietly, and finally, Yamapi throws his fork down. In disgust, anger, frustration, perhaps none or all of the above. “Do you really think Koyama is going to give you want?” he asks incredulously.
Ryo grabs his cup and takes a sip, winces as tea singes his throat. “Of course not,” he says.
By now, he’s used to heartbreak.
Eight months after Koyama first meets Shigata-san, Koyama tells Ryo he’s going to get married.
Ryo nods, dumbly, but he’s been expecting this, should’ve known this was coming from the get go. Koyama’s been more distant the past few weeks, quiet, and his kisses taste like desperation.
“Congratulations,” he says.
Koyama’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth pursing angrily. He pauses, as if hesitant to say something. Ryo’s mind races, praying that he won’t ask Ryo to be the best man because that should be his lawyer friend Kato and what the hell what the hell breathe.
“Will you stay?” Koyama asks, voice barely a whisper. Ryo stares and Koyama moves to take Ryo’s hand, barely stopping himself before his fingers graze Ryo’s wrist. “I don’t want you to go,” he admits.
In a moment, Ryo thinks of the plans he had had, of how he was going to quit this job and move on with his life, purge Koyama from his system and maybe, somehow find happiness. He was supposed to be stronger than this, stronger than Koyama’s gaze into his soul and fingers around his bony wrist.
He wilts.
“You’re lucky I’m such a masochistic whore,” Ryo says flatly.
Koyama doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flash with relief, and in that moment Ryo feels an overwhelming hatred for the man who stands before him, for this person who crept under Ryo’s skin so many years ago and wouldn’t leave him, for this person who Ryo wants so much but can never have for himself. Koyama envelops Ryo into a hug, a suffocating hug that has warmth bleeding into his chest, and Ryo contemplates pushing Koyama way, punching him over and over again, screaming and shaking and crying.
But then, Koyama whimpers. “I need this,” Koyama whispers into his hair, and Ryo pretends that he means I need you. Ryo believes him, believes him because he wants to more than anything. Though he’s not stupid, he knows. He knows this is just like Yamapi all over again, that he’s given up before he can even begin.
Still, he lets Koyama fuck him on his back against his desk, legs tight around Koyama’s waist and feet digging into the bones of Koyama’s back. It hurts, but Ryo wasn’t expecting any less.
He leaves Koyama at the office that night and is strumming his guitar in the same park they first kissed when a man walks up to him. “Have you ever considered a career as a singer?”
Ryo just stares. The man repeats his question, looking a little concerned, and then Ryo laughs. Laughs and he laughs and he laughs because this is just ridiculous. The other man begins to back away like Ryo’s insane and maybe Ryo is a little insane because then before he knows it he’s crying. Can’t stop crying, tears streaming down his cheeks onto his battered guitar. He sits on the park bench, and he cries for the things that will never be, for the things that could’ve been, for pretend-loves and real-gut-wrenching loves and he cries.
The next day, he glances from his desk as Koyama stumbles in, and before Koyama can say anything, hands him his morning tea.
Koyama stares at the cup, and it’s hour-like seconds before his eyes catch Ryo’s. “Thank you,” he says, hand on Ryo’s briefly - it feels like a feather and a million pounds - before he heads into his office.
The phone rings, and Ryo picks up with an overly cheery hello.
He’ll take what he can get.
AN: Blame my sickness for this. That's what I'm doing at any rate T_T. And yes, I just churned out 3k+ to avoid doing my term papers wth brain.
Some loving would be appreciated? :D?
Pairing: Koyama x Ryo, Ryo x Yamapi, hinted Koyama x Yamapi
Word Count: 3900+
Rating: R
Notes: Angst. Written in response to gothicauthor's prompt.
Summary: AU. Ryo is Koyama's secretary, and he loves a little too much.
love songs for broken hearts
Koyama calls Ryo into his office, voice innocuous and soft. Ryo prepares a cup of tea before he enters, places it on the mahogany surface of Koyama’s desk. Koyama’s lips curve as he glances at Ryo. He takes the cup and leaves a gaping wet 'O' imprinted on the desktop.
“Sit down,” Koyama says, gesturing in front of him, and Ryo follows the routine. He perches himself on the edge of the desk, fingers smudging the polished wood as he balances himself. His feet dangle idly between Koyama’s knees, lazily kicking back and forth. Koyama’s fingers curl around the back of Ryo’s left calf, thumb rubbing circles into his kneecap. It feels a little odd and a little intimate, and Ryo fights a reflexive spasm-kick.
“You have a meeting at ten today, and then you’re scheduled to have lunch with your parents,” Ryo says. Koyama hums, bringing his hands up to grip the edge of the desk around Ryo’s thighs. Prickles of heat and too-close fingers make Ryo shudder, his muscles tighten minutely at the proximity. “Also,” and his throats sticks a little, but Ryo swallows it down as he always does, “your wife called. She wants you home at seven.”
At that, Koyama’s eyes slant downward, lashes long and stark against his cheekbones. Ryo breathes in the sight greedily, stares and stares and wills Koyama not to look up. After all, this is the only chance Ryo has to view Koyama like this, to look down at Koyama in such a fragile state. Only here, as Koyama’s secretary on the edge of his desk, as Koyama’s fingers drift forward to hook Ryo’s belt loops and as he rasps in Ryo’s ear, asking if the door is locked. Only then is Ryo allowed to see this.
“I think I will have you on my desk today,” Koyama murmurs, clumsily yet effectively evading the topic.
Ryo flushes, but doesn’t say no. It’s not like he doesn’t want this either.
Ryo gets the job because his roommate has connections. They used to go to school together or something, and Ryo thinks they may’ve slept together once. All Ryo gets from Yamapi is mumbling about a college party and one too many vodka shots, and then Yamapi clears his throat awkwardly and tells him to “just fucking apply and I’ll put in a good word. Not that you deserve it, you dumbass.”
But Ryo thinks it's guilt that eats away at Yamapi, that this is what makes Yamapi so desperate to find Ryo a job. After all, he is the one who lured Ryo to the big city in the first place, with tales of fame and fortune, promises that things are easier here, somehow. Ryo had believed him, trusted so simply, and now here he is, a year later, weary, so weary, without any money and desperate desperate desperate.
But the job opening is for a secretarial position, and as strapped for cash as Ryo is, he does have his limits, pride even. There’s no way in hell Ryo is going to agree to this, isn’t a secretary a girl’s job?
Yamapi rolls his eyes. “You’re a sexist bitch,” he says, and before Ryo can retort, Yamapi kicks him. “Just go for the damn interview already, I’m not the one who’s behind on our rent.” And behind his words are pleading eyes, round almonds that have always made Ryo’s breath catch, agree to anything, like every other time.
So with gritted teeth, he does.
The next thing he knows, some guy with the longest fucking legs ever hello is showing him around the office and Ryo can barely keep his eyes off him. The face isn’t too bad either, curved lashes and pink lips but. Hell. He’s always had a thing for legs - Yamapi ribs him about it a lot, something about compensation for Ryo’s stumps - and good lord, those lithe legs are now crossing, one over the other, and Ryo has to force his jaw shut. It takes him a while to realize the leggy man, his gorgeous boss, Koyama Keiichiro, all of the above, is speaking.
“So I trust Yamapi,” Koyama notes, and he rakes a glance over Ryo that Ryo would like to think is appreciative but he tends to imagine these things (Yamapi calls it his boulder-sized ego but Ryo claims it’s just self confidence). Ryo slowly wonders what he’s getting himself into, if someone this pretty will be the end of him. Ryo is all too aware of his attraction, and knows that if it were just attraction then it would be okay. But it’s not, because he knows himself. Knows that he has a track record, a notebook filled with lines and lines of love songs for broken hearts, knows that he falls in love a little too easily. He knows, knows that this may be his downfall.
But then, Koyama smiles, lips lilting and eyes bright, and Ryo forgets.
“He has good taste,” Koyama says.
Ryo can’t help but agree.
Yamapi’s key clicks in the keyhole angrily before Yamapi stumbles in. When he reaches the foyer, Ryo can hear Yamapi let out a soft swear. Ryo is in a faded wife beater and sweats, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a myriad of wires at his feet. The television is pulled out from its position against the wall, and Ryo has begun to wrap any and all wires calmly around his arm to arrange them. Yamapi’s lived with Ryo long enough to see the signs for what they are and they both know it. Organizing wires is a coping mechanism for Ryo, and it usually means something fucking awful has occurred.
Yamapi crouches next to Ryo, laying a hand on Ryo’s shoulder, but Ryo shoves him off and Yamapi sighs. “Was the interview really that bad?” Ryo doesn’t answer and Yamapi moves to sit next to him. He looks so worried, even more so than when he had first brought Ryo to his apartment, first taken him busking that one chilly November night that had gone nowhere. More so than every night after the first. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”
At that, Ryo lets out a dry bark, “I got the job, you dumbass. Give me a little credit.” Yamapi pauses and Ryo takes his time to arrange the wires behind the television. “But thanks for not telling me that my boss was going to be sex on miles-long legs, I hate you so fucking much.”
It takes a while, but in the minute it takes for Ryo to flop onto the couch in dismay, Yamapi’s laughter comes out in wheezes and barks, relief painting each harsh breath. “So, you’re taking the job then?” Ryo nods, and Yamapi stills. He pokes Ryo before sitting next to him. “Are you going to be one of those secretaries? Oh baby baby.”
Ryo snorts, “Fuck you. I’m a personal assistant.”
Yamapi smirks. “Why? Does saying that make you feel manlier?” His smirk widens as sheepishness flashes across Ryo’s features. “Right, because you’re such a manly guy, I almost forgot.”
“Your boobs are bigger than mine,” Ryo retorts, “so I don’t really think you have any say.”
Yamapi shrugs. “I’m bigger than you in all the important areas. You’re just jealous.”
Ryo chucks a pillow at Yamapi’s face and Ryo throws it right back. This degenerates into a very immature pillow fight that isn’t really a pillow fight because Yamapi rips out the seat cushion from underneath Ryo to smother him and Ryo knees Yamapi in the groin leading to his victory; Yamapi accuses Ryo of being a vagina and a cheater and Ryo feels like king of the world.
It almost feels normal.
Ryo’s job is pretty easy considering the fat paycheck he gets at the end of the month. All he does is make a few phone calls and write a few notes. He’s also in charge of organizing Koyama’s schedule and his contacts but that’s about it. It’s time consuming and hardly thought-provoking, but hey, at least it pays the bills.
Still, as easy as the job is, it becomes apparent quite quickly that he is working for someone who holds a lot of power. Koyama, it turns out, is the heir to Koyama Ramen©, the ramen conglomerate that, in the past twenty years with its fast-growing chain of restaurants, has taken Japan by storm. Ryo supposes it shouldn’t surprise him, but he can’t really process it. Ryo is a poor guy with stereotypes and he likes them that way. But it’s hard when Koyama goes completely against his pre-conceived assumptions, not acting like the uber rich jerk he should be. Instead, he’s sweet and harmlessly boring, dorky, clumsy, awkward and so, so friendly.
And it doesn’t help that Ryo is so completely, physically attracted to his boss. Worse, he thinks they both know it.
So at first, Ryo clams up. He’s painfully shy, stupidly so, and it takes a couple of really awkward weeks before Koyama has to call him into his office and nearly order him to be more informal and comfortable. And even then, it takes months before they both loosen up. But when they do, it’s like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. Even though they get used to each other, used to familiar presences and warm smiles, to encouraging pats on the back and laughter, so much laughter, there is something about their relationship that worries Ryo. Change comes almost too easily for the two of them, after all, and the rapport they have is both scary and heady. Ryo aches for the pieces to fit, wants them to so bad, but Koyama is just a little too out of his reach, a little too much for Ryo to handle. Though perhaps it’s a good thing, that they don’t fit together quite perfectly.
He’s already this close to falling.
Koyama takes him out to dinner, to the first little ramen shop in downtown Tokyo that his mother had started before they became huge. When Koyama asks, he sounds bemused, “You mean to tell me, you’ve been working for us all this time and you never once wanted to see what you were working for?”
“I work for you, not for the corporation,” Ryo says.
Koyama’s brow raises, the ensuing smirk almost out of place on Koyama’s face, “Ooh, I like that.” Ryo screams at the flush blossoming on the back of his neck to stay below his collar.
Ryo doesn’t remember much about the evening, but he does remember this: the restaurant is packed, so Koyama and Ryo sit much too close to each other at the bar, thighs touching and not touching, sleeves grazing against each other as they eat; and the shio ramen Ryo orders is fucking amazing.
“Rumor has it my mom spiked the ramen,” Koyama says. Ryo stares as Koyama takes a calm sip of his tea, glancing at Ryo’s stunned face before bursting out into laughter, cheeks stretched with amusement. “…She didn’t spike it, Ryo.”
Oh. Ryo sits back, a little disappointed. Her ramen tastes like cherry candies and fantastic blowjobs, that kind of sinfully delicious. Ryo would’ve believed it. But then he wonders what Koyama would taste like, if he tastes like fuji apples or chocolate pie. Maybe he tastes disgusting, like catnip or bean sprouts, maybe, hopefully. That would make Ryo’s life much easier. Then maybe he could get over this guy, this pretty man who he wants to drink in as if he were a man in a desert, who he thinks would taste amazing, something like love.
They drink that night, slow and steady, sake warms their throats and their bellies; happiness is fleeting and evaporates with each sip so they drink more. Koyama leans on Ryo’s seat for support three bottles in.
“I had heard about you,” Koyama mumbles, so soft, “Yamapi said you were his first kiss.”
Ryo startles in surprise. For Yamapi to admit that to Koyama means they were much closer than Yamapi first let on. Or maybe Yamapi was just drunk at the time, like the two of them now, conscious of his words but not giving a damn. Ryo flashes back to teenage summers, of kisses steeped in promises, of come-to-Tokyo-when-you’re-done-with-college-that’s-where-life-begins. He thinks about how he had believed Yamapi, believed in the I’ll-take-care-of-you’s and trust-me’s, such blind belief. And he thinks about the break-up, the living together, the job offer, everything in between and how all of that had somehow led him here, next to Koyama.
They drink up to first kisses and barely-patched loves.
They sleep together a year into knowing each other.
It’s a late night when Koyama asks Ryo where he’s planning to go with that guitar. It's the first time Koyama’s asked, even though Ryo’s been bringing his guitar to work for the past week. Ryo takes him to a park, where they find a few drunk people milling around, and Ryo strums slow rhythms on the worn and beaten instrument.
“Yamapi used to come to Osaka during the summers. That’s how we met. He brought me to Tokyo because he thought I could make it big,” Ryo says, words dry in his mouth because he’s never talked about this, never wanted to bring it up. He feels like he’s nearly throwing his heart to let it rot at Koyama’s feet, but he does it because Koyama’s looking at him like he’s something precious and it’s making him giddy.
Koyama’s eyes are fixed upon him, and Ryo remembers that usually, people are supposed to continue their stories once they start them. Ryo shrugs. “We were teenagers who thought we could make the world shake. Turns out we couldn’t.”
He doesn’t mention how sometimes, when Yamapi thinks Ryo’s asleep, he’ll whisper broken apologies in the knuckles of Ryo’s spine as if that will make Ryo forgive him. Doesn’t mention the number of times he’s thought about taking the train back to Osaka, pretending that he didn’t waste a year of his life chasing dreams that would never come true. Doesn’t mention that Ryo wishes that he and Yamapi could remain fixed in the past, when they were a little innocent and more than foolish but it was okay back then, when they loved and were in love and their relationship was free.
Even without saying so, somehow Koyama understands, and it’s he who kisses Ryo first. Koyama kisses him, and it’s achingly soft against his mouth, presses his lips into Ryo’s skin, over and over. And Ryo kisses back.
Ryo takes Koyama to his place, and Koyama grabs Ryo’s hand sometime in the taxi. His fingers wrap around Ryo’s, sliding between digits and gripping tight around his wrist. They kiss again in the elevator, sweet and slow, and by the time they stumble through the apartment door, Koyama’s hand is angling up Ryo’s shirt and Ryo is toying with the buttons on Koyama’s suit.
There is a clatter of utensils somewhere, and Ryo and Koyama freeze.
Yamapi stares. “I forgot I needed to be somewhere, don’t mind me you fucking bastards.”
Ryo almost feels bad about it, but before he can say something Yamapi has already grabbed his jacket and left them to themselves. He swallows and Koyama kisses the ridge of Ryo’s throat.
The next night, when Ryo comes back from work, Yamapi snorts. Ryo tries to ignore the rims around Yamapi’s eyes as he smiles too wide at Ryo, laughs a little too loud.
“So now you’re not only a secretary, but a whorish one at that. This is hilarious.”
“I hate you,” Ryo says weakly. This is all your fault he really wants to say, but is it really? For once, he has no one to blame but himself, and it leaves a rancid taste in Ryo’s mouth. “You’re a bitch,” he says instead.
“Would make for great porn,” Yamapi leers.
Ryo punches him before stealing a bite of Yamapi’s ramen.
For two years, they both pretend it’s a comfortable sort of arrangement.
They meet with each other in and out of work, kiss between meetings and make love in Ryo’s apartment. Ryo takes him busking, much like the first night, and Koyama rests his feet on Ryo’s lap; Ryo belts out Saito Kazuyoshi tunes and Koyama breathes them in. Koyama takes him places sometimes, day trips to the beach and overnights at the onsen. They eat ice cream out of the tub together - always Neopolitan because Koyama likes strawberry and Ryo will only eat vanilla, the chocolate is for the two of them to share. Koyama leaves a tie at Ryo’s place and Ryo pretends to lose it; he keeps it in the back of his sock drawer. Ryo cooks for him simple dishes after work, and each and every time Koyama is amazed.
But that’s all it is really, because while the going’s nice, they’re both acutely aware of how absolutely nothing can come out of this.
Koyama’s parents set him up with girls, pretty wives-to-be with simpering smiles and batting eyelashes. Ryo organizes all these dates, being the good little secretary he is, and Koyama accepts each and every one of them. He loves his parents too much to turn them down, after all. And though Koyama doesn’t love any of the girls he takes out, he makes them all fall in love with him. One by one they fall like flies, infinitesimal specks of nothing to Koyama and just as pathetic. It’s not hard, when a man so wealthy and powerful can still be so beautiful, can still crack the silliest jokes and have a smile that rivals the sun. Ryo would know.
Still, Ryo pretends. Even though Ryo’s never asked for more and Koyama’s never offered, Ryo pretends that there is more to this relationship than the sex, that Koyama will want him always, more than any of those girls. But he knows, beyond the pretending, that they can’t do this forever. He knows the moment Koyama gets married, he is going to have to quit this job. He has his pride, surprisingly, and having it trampled on with a pale and docile wife is just too much. Ryo doesn’t want any part in it, and he begins preparing for the day when things will have to change.
In the meantime, they have an amazing two years of pretend-love.
Yamapi confronts him about it one day, and frankly, Ryo’s just surprised it took him this long.
“You love him,” Yamapi says.
Ryo doesn’t refute it.
Yamapi is silent for a long time, fiddling with his fork to fill the space between words that he can’t quite say. Still, he tries. “Why is this different?” He swallows, and Ryo knows he’s talking about himself this time. “Why is this different from all the other people you’ve been with?”
Ryo blinks, thinks briefly of everyone he’s ever loved. Thinks of Ohkura, a high school friend who kissed like rain and tasted like cider. Of Yoko, and that awkward kiss in Yoko’s bedroom that made Yoko refuse to speak to Ryo ever again. Of Yamapi, that first sweet kiss in the back of a friend’s car, that kiss that had made Ryo want to dream. Of Koyama, who laves open-mouthed kisses on Ryo’s anywhere and everywhere, whose fingers press desperately into Ryo’s skin.
“You never gave me what I wanted,” Ryo croaks. Isn’t that all you ever promised?
Yamapi looks taken aback, eyes deep with something akin to guilt and more like raw pain. “I never-“
“You promised,” Ryo practically seethes, and Yamapi deflates.
They eat dinner quietly, and finally, Yamapi throws his fork down. In disgust, anger, frustration, perhaps none or all of the above. “Do you really think Koyama is going to give you want?” he asks incredulously.
Ryo grabs his cup and takes a sip, winces as tea singes his throat. “Of course not,” he says.
By now, he’s used to heartbreak.
Eight months after Koyama first meets Shigata-san, Koyama tells Ryo he’s going to get married.
Ryo nods, dumbly, but he’s been expecting this, should’ve known this was coming from the get go. Koyama’s been more distant the past few weeks, quiet, and his kisses taste like desperation.
“Congratulations,” he says.
Koyama’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth pursing angrily. He pauses, as if hesitant to say something. Ryo’s mind races, praying that he won’t ask Ryo to be the best man because that should be his lawyer friend Kato and what the hell what the hell breathe.
“Will you stay?” Koyama asks, voice barely a whisper. Ryo stares and Koyama moves to take Ryo’s hand, barely stopping himself before his fingers graze Ryo’s wrist. “I don’t want you to go,” he admits.
In a moment, Ryo thinks of the plans he had had, of how he was going to quit this job and move on with his life, purge Koyama from his system and maybe, somehow find happiness. He was supposed to be stronger than this, stronger than Koyama’s gaze into his soul and fingers around his bony wrist.
He wilts.
“You’re lucky I’m such a masochistic whore,” Ryo says flatly.
Koyama doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flash with relief, and in that moment Ryo feels an overwhelming hatred for the man who stands before him, for this person who crept under Ryo’s skin so many years ago and wouldn’t leave him, for this person who Ryo wants so much but can never have for himself. Koyama envelops Ryo into a hug, a suffocating hug that has warmth bleeding into his chest, and Ryo contemplates pushing Koyama way, punching him over and over again, screaming and shaking and crying.
But then, Koyama whimpers. “I need this,” Koyama whispers into his hair, and Ryo pretends that he means I need you. Ryo believes him, believes him because he wants to more than anything. Though he’s not stupid, he knows. He knows this is just like Yamapi all over again, that he’s given up before he can even begin.
Still, he lets Koyama fuck him on his back against his desk, legs tight around Koyama’s waist and feet digging into the bones of Koyama’s back. It hurts, but Ryo wasn’t expecting any less.
He leaves Koyama at the office that night and is strumming his guitar in the same park they first kissed when a man walks up to him. “Have you ever considered a career as a singer?”
Ryo just stares. The man repeats his question, looking a little concerned, and then Ryo laughs. Laughs and he laughs and he laughs because this is just ridiculous. The other man begins to back away like Ryo’s insane and maybe Ryo is a little insane because then before he knows it he’s crying. Can’t stop crying, tears streaming down his cheeks onto his battered guitar. He sits on the park bench, and he cries for the things that will never be, for the things that could’ve been, for pretend-loves and real-gut-wrenching loves and he cries.
The next day, he glances from his desk as Koyama stumbles in, and before Koyama can say anything, hands him his morning tea.
Koyama stares at the cup, and it’s hour-like seconds before his eyes catch Ryo’s. “Thank you,” he says, hand on Ryo’s briefly - it feels like a feather and a million pounds - before he heads into his office.
The phone rings, and Ryo picks up with an overly cheery hello.
He’ll take what he can get.
AN: Blame my sickness for this. That's what I'm doing at any rate T_T. And yes, I just churned out 3k+ to avoid doing my term papers wth brain.
Some loving would be appreciated? :D?