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31_days2006-09-15 10:34 pm
still-ciircee.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-09-15 10:34 pm
[9-15-06] [Loveless] Comfort
Title: Comfort
Day/Theme: 15 September 2006 / you and the piece are at the same point of unfolding
Series: Loveless
Character/Pairing: Soubi, Ritsuka, Kio--->Ritsuka/Soubi
Rating: Um...hard pg-13? I suck at this. How would I know?
Author's Note: I only have the first two volumes of Loveless. I'm flying pretty much blind on this one. And if you comment, don't spoilerize me even if it's to correct me. Just let me know where I was wrong and I'll hit myself for it once I get to the place in the manga that reveals the errors of my ways.
It starts this way:
"Pretend I'm not here," a puffy-eyed Ritsuka says, scrubbing at his bruised cheek with a bandaged hand.
Soubi stares at him and stares at him until he breaks the silence to say, "I can't."
Ritsuka's cat ears swivel. "Soubi."
"I can't pretend you away," Soubi says. He thinks to himself that he could also say 'won't' but then Ritsuka would order him. They are, each of them, tricky in their own ways.
Charmingly, Ritsuka stomps one foot in childish rage. "Then ignore me! Do whatever it is you do when I'm not here. It's an order!"
He thinks that Ritsuka looks tired. Weary. Fragile. So he opens his door and steps away. "If Ritsuka wants," he says.
This is what happens:
Every few days (it used to be weeks, but Ritsuka is getting into the gangly, awkward years of adolescence and is so obviously no longer a little boy) Ritsuka lets himself in with a key that Soubi never gave him.
He doesn't speak. He moves silently like a wary little cat, following Soubi like a (slightly more innocent) shadow.
Soubi paints. He does his general education course work—history and the math required to graduate and ignores his desire to ask after Ritsuka's own homework (his grades…it's so many nights now). He reads the news headlines from the internet and cooks dinner for two, setting a place for only one. He takes a shower and ignores the sounds of Ritsuka rattling the silverware drawer open.
He notices a gurgle in the drain and pads into the kitchen to make a note on his grocery list to buy more drain cleaner (and Kio is right, he really does buy more than any six people should reasonably need) and very carefully does not ask to re-bandage Ritsuka's latest collection of injuries.
He sends a text message to Ritsuka's phone and waits to see if Ritsuka will answer it.
(This is what he's learned:
When Ritsuka's message says 'chuu' it means that he's kissed the phone's screen.
He really is some sort of pervert, because seeing that just does it for him.)
There are three different kinds of nights that need ignoring:
There are some nights that seem like they are just two ordinary people, doing ordinary things. The nights when there is a good movie on the television and Ritsuka curls up in a corner of the couch. Those are the nights when Ritsuka lets Soubi 'ignore him' by laying his head in Ritsuka's lap so that Ritsuka can pet his hair. Sometimes he says, "It would be good if Ritsuka were here," and he means it. Ritsuka says nothing but he smiles and his fingers press softly against Soubi's lips for long, long moments.
There are some nights that are sure to get him arrested. Some nights, instead of eating while Soubi showers, Ritsuka follows him into the bathroom and perches on the edge of the tub and watches him with unblinking eyes. Some nights, instead of going home, he disappears and Soubi finds a tidy pile of small clothing on his dresser. Those nights Soubi has to ignore the way Ritsuka looks in one of his not-so-very-long t-shirts and hazardously loose pair of borrowed shorts. Those nights are full of his own hands moving on his own flesh and the feeling of small, hot hands burning against his stomach while warm breath marks out a humid space against his shoulder blade. "Only me," says a voice he can't ignore, "only think of me." and he comes hard, shivering in fine counterpoint to the trembling body molded against his back.
The worst nights are the ones where he never sees Ritsuka in more than snatched glimpses. On those nights, Ritsuka is always only a step or two behind him, but is never more than a warm-cold presence somewhere behind him. He leaves early on those nights and there isn't an answer to Soubi's e-mail. He'd like to give him some thing on nights like that. He hates letting him leave on those nights but he knows that any relief he offers is only temporary anyhow and waiting always makes the pain worse.
Still.
He stands at his open door, watching his little shadow slump away, and sends another e-mail. "I love you, Ritsuka."
It ends like this:
It's finals time and Soubi has an all-nighter to pull. Ritsuka has disappeared into the bedroom (hours ago, surely), sleep dragging his tail down cutely behind him. Kio comes over around midnight with food and an insane amount of caffeine as well as the garnet gel medium that had been Soubi's reason for calling him in the first place. Kio makes enough noise that Ritsuka comes wandering sleepily out to investigate.
"Hey!" Kio looks between Soubi and Ritsuka, "you didn't tell me the brat was here! And sleeping in your bed! Sou-chan," he scolds, "you're going to go to jail for being such a pervert."
But he curls an arm around Ritsuka's shoulders because as much as he calls him 'brat', it has always been obvious that Kio rather likes Ritsuka. "Hey, how can you sleep with this pervert out here? Don't you know what he wants to do to your innocent body?" he asks.
"Kio," Soubi sighs, but he's fighting a smile because honestly. Honestly.
"Oh my god," Kio says in mock horror, "don't tell me he already got to you!" and he pulls aside the neck of Ritsuka's borrowed shirt to peer at his skin.
Ritsuka pulls away with a jerk, finally waking up all the way. Too late.
"Oh my god," Kio says again. It's Kio's hands that strip Ritsuka's shirt away. The new bruises and abrasions are bright like acrylics set against old ones, faded now like watercolors. There is very little untouched skin but what there is peeks through sinisterly like pale, empty canvas. "Oh my god," Kio says for a third time. "Sou-chan have you seen this?"
Soubi does not look at Ritsuka, who is unmoving beside Kio. "Yes."
They're quiet for a long, long time. "It wasn't a fight," Kio says at last, his voice hard and sharp like glass. "Even a pacifist will protect himself. Why haven't you done something?" he asks without addressing the question to either of them specifically.
"It's nothing," Ritsuka says. "I'm clumsy."
"I have orders," Soubi says, finally putting down his paints.
Kio throws both hands in the air before planting them on his hips. "I don't know which of you is worse," he says, sounding frustrated, like he's going to laugh at the absurdity of the horribleness they've let it come to.
He fishes around in his pockets and produces his cell phone, bodily blocking Ritsuka from the bedroom. "Yeah, I'll tell you what my emergency is," Kio says into the phone, grabbing Ritsuka as he tries to dash away. "I've got a kid here who's getting beat by his parents and he's trying to get away to go back to the bastards right now." He gives Soubi's address in a rush and then tosses his phone towards the sofa in order to grab Ritsuka with both hands.
"Soubi!" Ritsuka shouts, struggling. He's large enough now that he's actually managing to drag Kio, even though Kio is braced against it.
"Sou-chan!" Kio sounds ready to hit him.
Soubi looks at them and looks at them until "I have orders to ignore Ritsuka," he says at last.
Kio rolls his eyes impressively for somebody in the middle of a very desperate wrestling match. "Yeah, well you can't ignore me, so hold him," Kio says, managing to shove Ritsuka off balance and into Soubi's arms.
"Of course," Soubi answers automatically. He wraps his arms around Ritsuka and buries his face against the soft, black hair and kisses the base of ears that have laid themselves flat. "I'd be happy to."
Ritsuka quits struggling.
Kio sighs. "I'm going to make tea or something," he declares.
Soubi catches the hem of Kio's shirt as Kio goes past, stopping him. "Kio," he says, but he can think of nothing else to add. For once, there might be a comfort that is more than a lie and the truth might be less than pain. He just doesn't know what it is.
"Yeah, yeah," Kio lets out a choked laugh, "you're welcome."
Day/Theme: 15 September 2006 / you and the piece are at the same point of unfolding
Series: Loveless
Character/Pairing: Soubi, Ritsuka, Kio--->Ritsuka/Soubi
Rating: Um...hard pg-13? I suck at this. How would I know?
Author's Note: I only have the first two volumes of Loveless. I'm flying pretty much blind on this one. And if you comment, don't spoilerize me even if it's to correct me. Just let me know where I was wrong and I'll hit myself for it once I get to the place in the manga that reveals the errors of my ways.
It starts this way:
"Pretend I'm not here," a puffy-eyed Ritsuka says, scrubbing at his bruised cheek with a bandaged hand.
Soubi stares at him and stares at him until he breaks the silence to say, "I can't."
Ritsuka's cat ears swivel. "Soubi."
"I can't pretend you away," Soubi says. He thinks to himself that he could also say 'won't' but then Ritsuka would order him. They are, each of them, tricky in their own ways.
Charmingly, Ritsuka stomps one foot in childish rage. "Then ignore me! Do whatever it is you do when I'm not here. It's an order!"
He thinks that Ritsuka looks tired. Weary. Fragile. So he opens his door and steps away. "If Ritsuka wants," he says.
This is what happens:
Every few days (it used to be weeks, but Ritsuka is getting into the gangly, awkward years of adolescence and is so obviously no longer a little boy) Ritsuka lets himself in with a key that Soubi never gave him.
He doesn't speak. He moves silently like a wary little cat, following Soubi like a (slightly more innocent) shadow.
Soubi paints. He does his general education course work—history and the math required to graduate and ignores his desire to ask after Ritsuka's own homework (his grades…it's so many nights now). He reads the news headlines from the internet and cooks dinner for two, setting a place for only one. He takes a shower and ignores the sounds of Ritsuka rattling the silverware drawer open.
He notices a gurgle in the drain and pads into the kitchen to make a note on his grocery list to buy more drain cleaner (and Kio is right, he really does buy more than any six people should reasonably need) and very carefully does not ask to re-bandage Ritsuka's latest collection of injuries.
He sends a text message to Ritsuka's phone and waits to see if Ritsuka will answer it.
(This is what he's learned:
When Ritsuka's message says 'chuu' it means that he's kissed the phone's screen.
He really is some sort of pervert, because seeing that just does it for him.)
There are three different kinds of nights that need ignoring:
There are some nights that seem like they are just two ordinary people, doing ordinary things. The nights when there is a good movie on the television and Ritsuka curls up in a corner of the couch. Those are the nights when Ritsuka lets Soubi 'ignore him' by laying his head in Ritsuka's lap so that Ritsuka can pet his hair. Sometimes he says, "It would be good if Ritsuka were here," and he means it. Ritsuka says nothing but he smiles and his fingers press softly against Soubi's lips for long, long moments.
There are some nights that are sure to get him arrested. Some nights, instead of eating while Soubi showers, Ritsuka follows him into the bathroom and perches on the edge of the tub and watches him with unblinking eyes. Some nights, instead of going home, he disappears and Soubi finds a tidy pile of small clothing on his dresser. Those nights Soubi has to ignore the way Ritsuka looks in one of his not-so-very-long t-shirts and hazardously loose pair of borrowed shorts. Those nights are full of his own hands moving on his own flesh and the feeling of small, hot hands burning against his stomach while warm breath marks out a humid space against his shoulder blade. "Only me," says a voice he can't ignore, "only think of me." and he comes hard, shivering in fine counterpoint to the trembling body molded against his back.
The worst nights are the ones where he never sees Ritsuka in more than snatched glimpses. On those nights, Ritsuka is always only a step or two behind him, but is never more than a warm-cold presence somewhere behind him. He leaves early on those nights and there isn't an answer to Soubi's e-mail. He'd like to give him some thing on nights like that. He hates letting him leave on those nights but he knows that any relief he offers is only temporary anyhow and waiting always makes the pain worse.
Still.
He stands at his open door, watching his little shadow slump away, and sends another e-mail. "I love you, Ritsuka."
It ends like this:
It's finals time and Soubi has an all-nighter to pull. Ritsuka has disappeared into the bedroom (hours ago, surely), sleep dragging his tail down cutely behind him. Kio comes over around midnight with food and an insane amount of caffeine as well as the garnet gel medium that had been Soubi's reason for calling him in the first place. Kio makes enough noise that Ritsuka comes wandering sleepily out to investigate.
"Hey!" Kio looks between Soubi and Ritsuka, "you didn't tell me the brat was here! And sleeping in your bed! Sou-chan," he scolds, "you're going to go to jail for being such a pervert."
But he curls an arm around Ritsuka's shoulders because as much as he calls him 'brat', it has always been obvious that Kio rather likes Ritsuka. "Hey, how can you sleep with this pervert out here? Don't you know what he wants to do to your innocent body?" he asks.
"Kio," Soubi sighs, but he's fighting a smile because honestly. Honestly.
"Oh my god," Kio says in mock horror, "don't tell me he already got to you!" and he pulls aside the neck of Ritsuka's borrowed shirt to peer at his skin.
Ritsuka pulls away with a jerk, finally waking up all the way. Too late.
"Oh my god," Kio says again. It's Kio's hands that strip Ritsuka's shirt away. The new bruises and abrasions are bright like acrylics set against old ones, faded now like watercolors. There is very little untouched skin but what there is peeks through sinisterly like pale, empty canvas. "Oh my god," Kio says for a third time. "Sou-chan have you seen this?"
Soubi does not look at Ritsuka, who is unmoving beside Kio. "Yes."
They're quiet for a long, long time. "It wasn't a fight," Kio says at last, his voice hard and sharp like glass. "Even a pacifist will protect himself. Why haven't you done something?" he asks without addressing the question to either of them specifically.
"It's nothing," Ritsuka says. "I'm clumsy."
"I have orders," Soubi says, finally putting down his paints.
Kio throws both hands in the air before planting them on his hips. "I don't know which of you is worse," he says, sounding frustrated, like he's going to laugh at the absurdity of the horribleness they've let it come to.
He fishes around in his pockets and produces his cell phone, bodily blocking Ritsuka from the bedroom. "Yeah, I'll tell you what my emergency is," Kio says into the phone, grabbing Ritsuka as he tries to dash away. "I've got a kid here who's getting beat by his parents and he's trying to get away to go back to the bastards right now." He gives Soubi's address in a rush and then tosses his phone towards the sofa in order to grab Ritsuka with both hands.
"Soubi!" Ritsuka shouts, struggling. He's large enough now that he's actually managing to drag Kio, even though Kio is braced against it.
"Sou-chan!" Kio sounds ready to hit him.
Soubi looks at them and looks at them until "I have orders to ignore Ritsuka," he says at last.
Kio rolls his eyes impressively for somebody in the middle of a very desperate wrestling match. "Yeah, well you can't ignore me, so hold him," Kio says, managing to shove Ritsuka off balance and into Soubi's arms.
"Of course," Soubi answers automatically. He wraps his arms around Ritsuka and buries his face against the soft, black hair and kisses the base of ears that have laid themselves flat. "I'd be happy to."
Ritsuka quits struggling.
Kio sighs. "I'm going to make tea or something," he declares.
Soubi catches the hem of Kio's shirt as Kio goes past, stopping him. "Kio," he says, but he can think of nothing else to add. For once, there might be a comfort that is more than a lie and the truth might be less than pain. He just doesn't know what it is.
"Yeah, yeah," Kio lets out a choked laugh, "you're welcome."