Fanfiction: Takin' a Chance on Love
Pairing: HayaRyu
Genre: Romance, Angst, Comedy
Rating: NC-17ish, it depends on the chapters.
Disclaimer: No, they are not mine. Sadly T-T
Betaed by:
jayeanne Part 3
Hayato stops contacting him two weeks into December.
He tries to bring himself not to care, but it’s heartbreakingly painful, just as hard as ignoring him, maybe. He had thought that being absorbed by the novelty of the Canadian education system would help him wear off the anxiety, but in fact, he spends almost half of his day checking his phone, cursing when he finds yet another text message or call from Hayato, and it’s fucking retarded.
Truth is, he doesn’t know why he left.
He knows that whatever he’s feeling is counterproductive to his friendship with Hayato, but leaving doesn’t make things more okay. In fact, they made them worse. He would like very much to be sure that Hayato’s going to forgive him, again, says the little treacherous voice, but he’s almost sure that he won’t.
He’s scared of how much this soothes, and freaks him out at the same time. Soothes, because then Hayato won’t ever have to know the ugly truth about Ryu’s feelings; freaks him out, because if Hayato doesn’t forgive him, then he doesn’t know what he will do with himself.
Take is the only other friend who contacts him from time to time. He kind of expected it, knew from the start that Tsucchi and Hyuuga would be on Hayato’s side, and the thought makes him almost laugh because, what the hell, it’s not some war, but. In fact, it’s almost as if it was.
The stress of the new environment, coupled with his guilt, leads him straight to the hospital. Nothing awful, just exhaustion. He tries to hold it off a week, during which he barely eats or sleeps, but in the end he’s persuaded by one of his university classmates. He’s always nauseous, queasy, and poring over books for the most part of his day doesn’t help him, of course.
What helps him keep the thoughts at bay are the new friends he made. He honestly didn’t think he would attract people with his unbearable shyness, but in fact, as the weeks go on and turn to months, he realizes there’s a small group gravitating around his orbit, and he feels a bit proud that he was able to accomplish that on his own. People come to visit him at the hospital, bring cards and stay with him through the days, and he almost doesn’t think about Hayato. Almost.
But what really eats him, apart from being sick and lonely in a foreign country with no one to help him with the language, is that for the first time he’s actually noticing things.
For instance, how disturbingly hot the doctor is.
It annoys the hell out of him, how a stupid kiss from a stupid friend made his perspective change. He’s sure he never would have noticed before, and as much as he knows that he can’t hold Hayato responsible for that, the truth is that he does. He tries not to, because seriously, Odagiri, if you never realized what a guy does to your libido then you’re just plain brainless. And Yabuki doesn’t have anything to do with it.
But he can’t help but thinking that if stupid Hayato never got so drunk as to kiss him he would be fine now.
Would you?
“Don’t ever show your face here again,” says Hayato’s last text.
When he realizes that Hayato has stopped calling him, well over two months after he left, he feels like the world has collapsed around him, and he’s the only one standing in the midst of a desolated landscape. It’s completely idiotic and he berates himself for thinking that way because, come on, how can something you never even realized was there, suddenly make you hurt so much?
He thought he would feel relieved when Hayato finally gave up, but he doesn’t. It’s a throbbing he feels deep in his chest, like an open, slashed wound. He keeps both his hands on it, hoping it will stop bleeding eventually, but it never does. But then again, maybe he can finally give up this, this thing that he’s not even able to define.
But somehow, even if he doesn’t understand why, he never expects to forget. Not in the week after, not even after six or ten months passed. And in fact, he never does.
***
University life, at least as an exchange student, never fails to be entertaining. Among all the essays, assignments and study time, there are often student gatherings in pubs and, even if Ryu has never been the social type, he wills himself to go, at least from time to time. He knows, even sleepy and weary after a day in the library, that a guy can’t go on without diversions; but he tries not to think about how unhealthy it would be to stay home and let memories consume him.
Hard times come and pass.
Some nights, the thought of Hayato blinds him near tears. He can’t stop thinking about what he has given up, and the weight of the loss crushes him down, until he can’t breathe, can’t do anything but succumb to the pain. He buries himself under the covers of his bed in his dormitory room, listening to the music coming from the neighboring ones, trying to overcome the waves of panic assaulting him, and he feels small, alone, irrelevant. An arrogant kid who is in fact no good on his own.
But his nights are not always like that. Thankfully, distraction comes in the form of his new acquaintances; often they come and drag him out to drink, even if he fails to understand why. After all, he can’t be much fun, the quiet, shy Japanese guy that always follows like a shadow and tries to make himself inconspicuous most of the time. They insist, and he lets them, because he needs to. No one survives alone, thousands of kilometers from home. Paranoia is bound to strike, even if you left willingly and have no regrets, which by the way is not Ryu’s case.
Days run fast. He’s glad to have chosen English and American literature related courses, mainly because he appreciates a good read. As time passes, he realizes with timid pride that he likes writing about other people’s work, and, as a professor puts it, he has a way with words. Ryu almost laughs. Maybe on paper. Maybe what he can’t ever express in words aloud, he can express on paper. That’s a small comfort, but it’s at least something.
If only he could write to Hayato and fix things.
But Hayato has become a problem he deems unfixable.
Better not concern himself with it, better focus on more important stuff. Hayato is a lost cause, anyway. He lost him the moment he left that house, almost a year ago. That does not make him hurt less, but the realization gives him purpose.
It may very well be the stupidest and most crushing mistake in his life, but even if it’s too late to make up for it, he’s sure that he won’t ever allow himself to do it twice.
After eight months, Hayato is a sharp longing in his chest that emerges from time to time. He watches couples in their group form and dissolve, with a sort of unconscious detachment. But he can’t bring himself to get closer, because their happiness reminds him of what he can’t have, and their sorrow is a mutual companion of his own.
After eight months, he hasn’t forgotten. He dreams of blinding smiles, of promising, warm dark eyes, of skipping school with his friends, with his best friend, of a group of five huddled against the cold on a bench of the park, mindless laughter and harmless teasing, and he wakes up bitter, yearning and desperate for what he can’t have. He can’t forgive himself. But maybe, he tells himself, it’s better if he doesn’t. So he will be reminded, if the same choice was ever to present itself.
After eight months, he allows dreams to be his only reminder of his mistake.
***
It’s almost a year after he left Japan that it happens.
There’s a girl in his group, petite but curvy, all wide grins and sunshine, Anna. She’s in his literature class so she sees her often, but she’s majoring in Japanese language, which attracted him into allowing her closer. She needed practice with the language, he needed the relief of his mother tongue, so almost from the start she’s a welcome companion to his days. They go together on coffee breaks, smile secretly when their gazes intercepts the curiosity of other people listening to a completely foreign language, talking about Japan.
The first time they talk, she’s amazed to discover he’s from Tokyo. She’s been to Tokyo once, on an exchange program, and she loved it, she said.
Even though she’s Italian, she’s a bit peculiar. For one thing, she speaks amazingly good English. He could tell at first, even if he was anything but good, because it didn’t have any accent at all, and he couldn’t understand where she was from.
She tells him she liked the well-mannered, yet cautious ways of Tokyoites, opposite to the sometimes overly self-confident Americans. He laughs quietly, and answers that she’s anything but a stereotype. He’s never met a single Italian apart from her, so he really can’t tell, but they’re said to be boisterous and loud, and she really is not. She winks mischievously. “You just don’t know me yet,” she grins.
From that time onwards, they see each other almost every day, and almost every day, they find themselves studying together, side by side. He likes her serene, accepting ways, how she never expects something more than what he’s ready to give. She’s a ray of sunlight in his day, even if she doesn’t really know anything about him. The realization that she’s like a motherly, affectionate version of Hayato disrupts his thoughts once in early December, before Hayato stops calling him.
It’s vile of him to be quieted by her presence, almost lulled; especially since he knows exactly what her feelings are. Not that she told him, but still, he can notice the quiet adoration in her eyes, and the way she looked out for him when he had first arrived, and he felt disoriented, lost in a world that didn’t speak his language. The way she does even now, sometimes. She’s always there when he needs her to, without him even asking her, and it’s cruel, Ryu feels sometimes like he’s clinging to her but he can’t stop. She’s the only person that gets him somehow, even if she doesn’t really know him. He needs her.
Sometimes, she likes to cook for the group. “That’s a stereotype,” she jokes one evening, as they lay sprawled, some on the carpet, some on the couch. Their bellies are warm and full with lasagna, and there’s a soft music in the apartment someone had put on. He grins quietly, relaxing. She’s a welcome warmth against his side as they sit together, a bit squished on either side by other friends sitting on the same couch.
“Yeah,” he concedes, “but it’s a good one, at least.”
“I guess,” she replies vaguely.
“Can you talk so that even mere mortals like us can understand you?” a Brazilian guy whines half-seriously in English.
“Oh, shut up, you,” she laughs and a cheerful brawl ensues, which Ryu watches from a distance, amused, but still feeling very much a part of the group. It’s a weird sort of contentment. He still feels like he’s missing something very important, but for now, food and booze have eased enough the atmosphere that he’s able not to dwell on the thought of another night, almost a year ago.
Two hours later, from his spot on the couch Ryu watches the group by the door fumbling with coats, and he knows he should get up, go home. Alcohol made him a bit dizzy and not completely in control of himself; had he been sober, he would already be home, careful with his ways, as always. But now he’s here; there’s a round of goodbyes and “see you tomorrow,” and by the time he resolves to collect his happy limbs and get up, go home, Anna is by his side and the house his silent.
“You can stay, if you want.” She tipsily half-giggles as he tries to regain some sort of focus, and he blinks. She seems then to realize what she’s said, what it seemed like and tries to correct herself, “I mean, I didn’t mean…” she attempts, and he shakes his head lightly, gets up. “I know. It’s ok.” The alcohol goes straight to his head as he stands, and he has to close his eyes for a second, regain balance.
She exhales quietly, then accompanies him to the door. Watches him fighting with the buttons on his coat, and when he raises his head to say goodbye he’s stopped by her pensive, almost longing look.
“What if I meant it?” she whispers wistfully, grabbing lightly the hem of his coat. No one says anything for a couple of moments, but still, he feels like he barely has enough time to think of a coherent answer. She reads his hesitant look, wrong, he thinks, because in the next second she has leaned up against him and she’s soft and lovely and Ryu doesn’t think anymore, just meets her halfway.
It’s warm and soothing, and everything Ryu seems to think he needs in that moment. He tastes her reverently, and her tongue is tender as it strokes against his, and suddenly, he remembers he has hands too, and he curls one arm strongly around her waist, crushing her against him and it feels good; his other hand raises to curve around her neck, stroking the side of her face with his thumb, and she makes a delighted happy sound and everything just stops.
“Sorry,” he murmurs as he detaches from her, fast as lightning. “I’m drunk,” he offers as an excuse, and he knows it’s a flimsy one, but still. He shuts his eyes, turns away from her. Can’t exactly say how lonely he feels, how badly he needed to forget another kiss, and she’s nodding and smiling like she sees it plain on Ryu’s face and he’s bare, if she sees it, then everyone can, his pain, his longing, his love exposed for the world to see.
And he can’t stand it.
You can’t keep pretending everything’s just peachy fine when you can’t even convince others.
She takes hold of his face almost forcefully, with both hands, and he knows she’s going to pretend that nothing big ever happened. “Hey. Stop freaking out,” she orders. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, it was just a kiss.”
And it’s amazing how she can sound so collected and okay, like she knew she would have to pick up Ryu’s pieces from the floor, and put them together again. He feels naked, vulnerable. Like he never expected people to catch up on his drama, when in fact he has done nothing but follow her around like a lost puppy. Pathetic jerk.
“I’m sorry,” he offers again, and he hopes to sound more composed this time. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” And again.
“It’s ok,” she answers. She smiles a small, reassuring smile, and then the door is closing behind him, hears her whisper goodnight, and everything is silent.
He stands there in the hallway, trying to regain some sort of balance; he doesn’t know for how long. When he starts walking, he thinks the silence is deafening, but his head feels an ugly, wild mess.
He just kissed a friend to make himself feel better. He took advantage of her, knowing he could never return her feelings.
He’s the lowest scum on earth. He thought that he was merely a coward, but well, you never stop learning things about yourself.
Hayato sure as hell doesn’t deserve him. Open, honest Hayato who never lies about what he feels. Strong, confident, beautiful Hayato who’s done nothing, in several years, nothing but let Ryu in. What made him think he couldn’t trust him?
The warm mid-summer wind hits him as he steps out on the street and he feels dull, adrift.
He thought Canada would solve things, would help him put them behind.
How much of an idiot can he be?
He never realized he was in love, and when he did, he flew halfway across the world to forget. He spent a whole year trying to convince himself that it wasn’t important, that he would get over it, that things would get better, but would they, really? How much time would still have to pass?
When he enters his room at the dorm, he crashes on the bed without even taking off his shoes. He feels exhausted, as if trying to keep up with the pretense wore him out. Maybe the truth wouldn’t feel so draining, he thinks. Now, every lie he told himself seems also kind of pointless. How come he didn’t realize it before?
He spent all that energy to keep that stupid pride, to not risk losing something. What has he done? He has lost everything, trying to do the opposite. And now, there will be most certainly no Hayato backing him up against the world, as there once was. He’s alone. And he can’t help but feel like he deserves it.
In his troubled mind, as he drifts off into a fitful sleep, there’s nothing but Hayato’s dazzling smile welcoming him home.
***
Ryu tried not to expect the relief that coming out in the open would bring, but when it comes, it’s a powerful rush of feeling.
Anna seems really glad for him, nods her head, and smiles and wishes him the best of luck. He still wants to stay and pass his exams, finish what he came here for; luckily for him it’s the end of the semester and he just needs to wrap up a few things. But now he has purpose, and when he goes to bed that night he feels liberated, like the load on his shoulders just vanished, and he can breathe easier. He laughs a bit by himself, feeling the adrenaline and he’s restless, but in a good way.
He’s going to tell Hayato, and even if nothing happens he will be glad to be out in the light. They can be friends again, he knows that. Hope is thumping in his chest so fiercely, he thinks he will explode before managing to get on a damn plane and fly back home. He tries to keep it contained, but still, it bubbles so happily inside of him that it’s hard to control it.
He’s there in his bed, just breathing it out, staring at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the streetlights outside, and he can’t help but picture Hayato’s assessing gaze on him, trying to figure him out; somehow it manages to be both terrifying and hot at the same time, and before he can think further, he slips his hand inside his underwear.
He never let himself try and get comfort that way before; he felt dirty just thinking about it, but now he feels cozy under the covers and warmed by the memory of Hayato’s soft eyes. He allows himself to replay that wonderful, fierce kiss in his mind as his hand lazily touches his aching erection, chasing relief and yet wanting it to last, to indulge in it after punishing himself for so long.
It doesn’t last long; after the rush this day has been, after all the thinking and the relief of Anna’s kind gaze. Afterwards, feeling calmer than he’s been through a whole year, he lies on his bed. His thoughts are more focused, sharper. He tries to preserve that quietness, hold it inside so he’ll be able to face Hayato in a week. So he won’t back out, no matter how mad Hayato will be.
It proves difficult to sleep, again. But he doesn’t mind, because his edginess for once is for something real, solid. Something good. He will sleep when everything’s cleared out. He hopes so, at least. He hopes Hayato can find in him the will to forgive him, to accept him back by his side, even if he won’t reciprocate his feelings.
This time there’s no going back.