broken is what i aim for (you found me)
yoko/ryo, pg-13 (language).
1871 words.
Prompt: When Yoko's mother dies, Ryo tries to help him through a hard time. But it's hard for him to get close to Yoko, because for Yoko, Ryo is the junior who shouldn't care about his senior's problems.
The day his world fell from beneath his feet was on his friend's birthday.
He had just sent a birthday message, something along the lines of him hoping that Ohkura would finally conform to the 'another year older, another year wiser' adage when his manager had entered the room.
His face was pale and ashen, and Yoko's stomach had dropped even before anything had been said.
It's okay to leave, their manager had told him, a few hours before he was due to hold a solo concert performance, it's okay to postpone this.
Dazed, he'd refused, mumbling something about not failing the fans. His manager didn't have the heart to talk some sense into him, especially not after he had repeated it, over and over again in the same numb way until his manager had left the room.
At that time, it seemed like the only natural thing to do. He had felt nothing, empty, almost, as the words spilled from his lips automatically. How the fans were looking forward to it and how he couldn't let them down. He had repeated this to himself, cold and alone in the unfamiliar room backstage, holding on to the words as though they were his only lifeline.
The news wasn't supposed to sink in until after the day had ended.
The tears weren't supposed to start until after the concert.
He wasn't supposed to grieve until after the song.
But much against the way he wanted everything to go, he broke down during the performance later, voice cracking when the strains of the melody washing over him became too much, piercing easily through his brave front like gentle daggers into his heart.
After, they had consoled him, saying that it was okay to cry on stage, that no one's to blame for the unfinished performance, that it was understandable.
But even as he rushed to the hospital hours later, he still felt like everything was his fault.
---
Ryo stood by him at the funeral, silent and sombre in his suit. Yoko was similarly dressed, expression drawn and weary while a blur of unrecognizable faces trickled past to pay their respects.
The members were scattered but nearby. They kept him grounded, but it was the abnormally quiet, unassuming presence next to him that kept him going, those fleeting brushes against his elbow giving him courage whenever he stumbled on his words, dangerously close to tears.
Ryo was the only one who hadn't spoken to him at length and, somehow, Yoko felt grateful.
Grateful for his presence, the only thing solid and real in his quickly dissipating reality.
---
Yoko doesn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he wakes up, hours later, on the floor, There's a pillow propped under his head that he's certain wasn't there earlier and he frowns, squinting in the dim lighting of his living room.
The bottles that were littering the floor are no longer there, his hands treacherously empty. The table lamp glows, a muted orange against the darkening sky behind his partly drawn curtains. He isn't sure when he'd passed out, could've been an hour ago, could've been twelve, but he doesn't really care.
Shifting, he groans, rubbing at tear-stained cheeks before it hits him, hard, the way it always does when he wakes up from what few hours of restless sleep he manages to fall into.
She's gone.
"What is this?"
An unopened pack of cigarettes land not too far from his face.
"What were you thinking?"
Yoko doesn't need to look up to recognize to whom the reproach belongs to. He turns away, folding onto himself as he buries his face into the pillow.
"Go away."
Ryo's shadow falls over him, the hesitant touch on his shoulder giving way to a reassuring hand.
"Yoko-"
"I said, go away."
His voice is muffled, coming out squeaky and less than authoritative but damn it, he really doesn't want to deal with anyone right now.
The warmth on his shoulder disappears and, against his better judgement, Yoko finds himself aching for it. But there are no more touches and he feels cold, cold, cold.
It's a while before an experimental strum of a guitar breaks through the terse silence. A slight pause then another strum. As if pleased by the way it sounds, the strumming continues.
It feels as though hours go by like that, in near silence. Often, the strumming breaks off abruptly, followed by an impatient staccato of fingertips on the body of the guitar. After a moment's pause or two, the melody picks up again, weaving through the air, easing into his space. A soft, almost tentative melody that Yoko's never heard before.
It's rare, this. In fact, he's not sure if Ryo has ever played his guitar when it's just the two of them. He's asked before, of course, asked if Ryo would play something or let him watch Ryo composing. Because it's fascinating when he sees Ryo sitting with Yasu, heads bowed over notes scribbled haphazardly on music sheets. Because he wants to know too, to understand what it's like in Ryo's world.
Because Ryo like that is beautiful.
Of course he doesn't say this to Ryo- he says as flippantly as he can that it'll make for interesting research. And the look in Ryo's eyes, the frown on his face, had been more than enough of a reply for Yoko stammer out that it was okay, that he was just kidding anyway, and drop the subject.
So, yeah. This is rare. Yoko never wants this to end.
This. Whatever they have between them now.
A feeling flares out in Yoko's chest then, sudden and possessive, and he just- somehow, it's too much, like it's smothering him almost and he can't take it- he can't-
"I hate this- pillow," Yoko stutters hoarsely. The strumming halts immediately. "It's too squishy."
"It's the only one I could find that isn't soaked by alcohol or your snot. And since you complained about my too bony lap, well, serves you right."
It's a trademark quick retort by Ryo, but there's no real bite behind it, just a familiar warmth mixed with slight amusement, and Yoko suddenly feels like crying.
"Hey, hey."
Guitar laid aside, Ryo draws Yoko's unresisting body to his, voice soft as tanned fingers brush the hair out of Yoko's hollow eyes.
"I was joking, you know."
Yoko closes his eyes, takes a deep, trembling breath and exhales slowly. The back of his neck heats up when he realizes that Ryo is holding him down, gentle enough not to force him into it if it's not what he wants. His head now rests on Ryo's jean-clad calves and he can feel those dark eyes staring at him out from a worried, upside-down face.
Neither of them say anything. It feels like Ryo is waiting for him to say something first, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't even know if he can.
"I just… I don't know why you feel the need to run away," Ryo begins after a short while, brows knitting slightly. "From your brothers. From the members." There's a slight pause before he continues, voice so quiet that Yoko's not sure Ryo even says it. "From me."
Guilt coils low in the pit of his stomach at the mention of 'brothers'. He's supposed to take care of them, to help them through this, but he's doing an awfully pathetic job of helping them move on and an even worse job of being just that. A brother.
Ryo's gaze burn holes into his eyelids.
"I-" Yoko clears his throat but his voice still comes out raw and bitter. "I'm not."
"We're all worried about you- you know that. But as long as you continue running away, we can't help you."
"I don't need… help."
"Yoko, it's been months. I'm done with giving you space-" and his tone takes on a hard edge, "-and you're destroying yourself like this and I hate it-"
"Know your place," Yoko snaps, twisting away from Ryo and hauling himself up to a sitting position as quickly as he can.
Yoko keeps his eyes away from Ryo's, knows his resolve will crumble if he so much as looks at him, at the hurt he knows will be written plainly on Ryo's face for all to see. He doesn't want to drag Ryo into it, because it's his pain to bear, not Ryo's.
"You're just my junior- this isn't your busines-"
"Not my business?" Ryo's voice is too high, too loud, too angry in Yoko's head. "Are you fucking joking?"
The silence is thick and heavy and Yoko feels a headache coming on.
"You think I don't know what you're doing," Ryo says suddenly, tone falling short of an accusation. Yoko merely slumps over, holding his head in his hands. He wants it to stop, everything to just stop, right now-
"Do you honestly think that, after all these years, I still don't know you? You think I don't know that- that for every little bad thing that happens to you, you blame yourself? That I don't know that you always think that everything's your fault?
Ryo's voice chill Yoko right to the bone but he's sits, paralyzed by words he doesn't want to hear.
"Stop blaming yourself when there is nothing to blame. It is nobody's fault- stop it, damn it."
"You wouldn't understand-"
"Yeah, you know what, I don't. So I'm trying to understand, Yoko- I want to- so just let me listen. The way you always do for me."
Yoko's hands curl into fists on either side of his head and he just- he misses her so badly that everyday hurts. That her memory haunts him every waking moment, that her smile lights up his dreams, so much so that he just wants to sleep and never wake up if it means that he can see it forever. That if he could, he wouldn't even have to think twice about swapping his life for hers, to save her- he could have, he would have, maybe, if he had arrived at the hospital sooner- fuck, he knew it, everything was his fault-
"You wouldn't have been able to, Yoko," Ryo says, sounding almost pained, and that's when Yoko realizes that he's spoken out loud.
Yoko knows this but at the same time, he doesn't, and he muffles a sob against his fist, body giving an involuntary shudder as if it wants to throw up everything within his already empty body.
He feels Ryo moving closer behind him, crowding him out, and he wants Ryo to stop, he wants Ryo to leave, but more sobs just escape his mouth when he tries to say this, tries to say, don't look at me, please.
"Just let me," Ryo whispers as his arms circle Yoko's heaving body, warm and secure, before laying his head gently on Yoko's curved back. The gesture makes Yoko's chest tighten.
"She was fine the day before, she promised to call me after my last performance," Yoko babbles, choked and hiccuping. "She promised."
Ryo doesn't say anything, just holds him that little bit tighter all through the night, silent and accepting, as Yoko finally allows himself to break down.
Notes: Written for yukitsubute in aid of help_pilipinas ;3; It's not exactly what you wanted, I think, but I hope you still like it nonetheless. Also, this was supposed to be a drabble- I hope you don't mind, dear orz
1871 words.
Prompt: When Yoko's mother dies, Ryo tries to help him through a hard time. But it's hard for him to get close to Yoko, because for Yoko, Ryo is the junior who shouldn't care about his senior's problems.
The day his world fell from beneath his feet was on his friend's birthday.
He had just sent a birthday message, something along the lines of him hoping that Ohkura would finally conform to the 'another year older, another year wiser' adage when his manager had entered the room.
His face was pale and ashen, and Yoko's stomach had dropped even before anything had been said.
It's okay to leave, their manager had told him, a few hours before he was due to hold a solo concert performance, it's okay to postpone this.
Dazed, he'd refused, mumbling something about not failing the fans. His manager didn't have the heart to talk some sense into him, especially not after he had repeated it, over and over again in the same numb way until his manager had left the room.
At that time, it seemed like the only natural thing to do. He had felt nothing, empty, almost, as the words spilled from his lips automatically. How the fans were looking forward to it and how he couldn't let them down. He had repeated this to himself, cold and alone in the unfamiliar room backstage, holding on to the words as though they were his only lifeline.
The news wasn't supposed to sink in until after the day had ended.
The tears weren't supposed to start until after the concert.
He wasn't supposed to grieve until after the song.
But much against the way he wanted everything to go, he broke down during the performance later, voice cracking when the strains of the melody washing over him became too much, piercing easily through his brave front like gentle daggers into his heart.
After, they had consoled him, saying that it was okay to cry on stage, that no one's to blame for the unfinished performance, that it was understandable.
But even as he rushed to the hospital hours later, he still felt like everything was his fault.
---
Ryo stood by him at the funeral, silent and sombre in his suit. Yoko was similarly dressed, expression drawn and weary while a blur of unrecognizable faces trickled past to pay their respects.
The members were scattered but nearby. They kept him grounded, but it was the abnormally quiet, unassuming presence next to him that kept him going, those fleeting brushes against his elbow giving him courage whenever he stumbled on his words, dangerously close to tears.
Ryo was the only one who hadn't spoken to him at length and, somehow, Yoko felt grateful.
Grateful for his presence, the only thing solid and real in his quickly dissipating reality.
---
Yoko doesn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he wakes up, hours later, on the floor, There's a pillow propped under his head that he's certain wasn't there earlier and he frowns, squinting in the dim lighting of his living room.
The bottles that were littering the floor are no longer there, his hands treacherously empty. The table lamp glows, a muted orange against the darkening sky behind his partly drawn curtains. He isn't sure when he'd passed out, could've been an hour ago, could've been twelve, but he doesn't really care.
Shifting, he groans, rubbing at tear-stained cheeks before it hits him, hard, the way it always does when he wakes up from what few hours of restless sleep he manages to fall into.
She's gone.
"What is this?"
An unopened pack of cigarettes land not too far from his face.
"What were you thinking?"
Yoko doesn't need to look up to recognize to whom the reproach belongs to. He turns away, folding onto himself as he buries his face into the pillow.
"Go away."
Ryo's shadow falls over him, the hesitant touch on his shoulder giving way to a reassuring hand.
"Yoko-"
"I said, go away."
His voice is muffled, coming out squeaky and less than authoritative but damn it, he really doesn't want to deal with anyone right now.
The warmth on his shoulder disappears and, against his better judgement, Yoko finds himself aching for it. But there are no more touches and he feels cold, cold, cold.
It's a while before an experimental strum of a guitar breaks through the terse silence. A slight pause then another strum. As if pleased by the way it sounds, the strumming continues.
It feels as though hours go by like that, in near silence. Often, the strumming breaks off abruptly, followed by an impatient staccato of fingertips on the body of the guitar. After a moment's pause or two, the melody picks up again, weaving through the air, easing into his space. A soft, almost tentative melody that Yoko's never heard before.
It's rare, this. In fact, he's not sure if Ryo has ever played his guitar when it's just the two of them. He's asked before, of course, asked if Ryo would play something or let him watch Ryo composing. Because it's fascinating when he sees Ryo sitting with Yasu, heads bowed over notes scribbled haphazardly on music sheets. Because he wants to know too, to understand what it's like in Ryo's world.
Because Ryo like that is beautiful.
Of course he doesn't say this to Ryo- he says as flippantly as he can that it'll make for interesting research. And the look in Ryo's eyes, the frown on his face, had been more than enough of a reply for Yoko stammer out that it was okay, that he was just kidding anyway, and drop the subject.
So, yeah. This is rare. Yoko never wants this to end.
This. Whatever they have between them now.
A feeling flares out in Yoko's chest then, sudden and possessive, and he just- somehow, it's too much, like it's smothering him almost and he can't take it- he can't-
"I hate this- pillow," Yoko stutters hoarsely. The strumming halts immediately. "It's too squishy."
"It's the only one I could find that isn't soaked by alcohol or your snot. And since you complained about my too bony lap, well, serves you right."
It's a trademark quick retort by Ryo, but there's no real bite behind it, just a familiar warmth mixed with slight amusement, and Yoko suddenly feels like crying.
"Hey, hey."
Guitar laid aside, Ryo draws Yoko's unresisting body to his, voice soft as tanned fingers brush the hair out of Yoko's hollow eyes.
"I was joking, you know."
Yoko closes his eyes, takes a deep, trembling breath and exhales slowly. The back of his neck heats up when he realizes that Ryo is holding him down, gentle enough not to force him into it if it's not what he wants. His head now rests on Ryo's jean-clad calves and he can feel those dark eyes staring at him out from a worried, upside-down face.
Neither of them say anything. It feels like Ryo is waiting for him to say something first, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't even know if he can.
"I just… I don't know why you feel the need to run away," Ryo begins after a short while, brows knitting slightly. "From your brothers. From the members." There's a slight pause before he continues, voice so quiet that Yoko's not sure Ryo even says it. "From me."
Guilt coils low in the pit of his stomach at the mention of 'brothers'. He's supposed to take care of them, to help them through this, but he's doing an awfully pathetic job of helping them move on and an even worse job of being just that. A brother.
Ryo's gaze burn holes into his eyelids.
"I-" Yoko clears his throat but his voice still comes out raw and bitter. "I'm not."
"We're all worried about you- you know that. But as long as you continue running away, we can't help you."
"I don't need… help."
"Yoko, it's been months. I'm done with giving you space-" and his tone takes on a hard edge, "-and you're destroying yourself like this and I hate it-"
"Know your place," Yoko snaps, twisting away from Ryo and hauling himself up to a sitting position as quickly as he can.
Yoko keeps his eyes away from Ryo's, knows his resolve will crumble if he so much as looks at him, at the hurt he knows will be written plainly on Ryo's face for all to see. He doesn't want to drag Ryo into it, because it's his pain to bear, not Ryo's.
"You're just my junior- this isn't your busines-"
"Not my business?" Ryo's voice is too high, too loud, too angry in Yoko's head. "Are you fucking joking?"
The silence is thick and heavy and Yoko feels a headache coming on.
"You think I don't know what you're doing," Ryo says suddenly, tone falling short of an accusation. Yoko merely slumps over, holding his head in his hands. He wants it to stop, everything to just stop, right now-
"Do you honestly think that, after all these years, I still don't know you? You think I don't know that- that for every little bad thing that happens to you, you blame yourself? That I don't know that you always think that everything's your fault?
Ryo's voice chill Yoko right to the bone but he's sits, paralyzed by words he doesn't want to hear.
"Stop blaming yourself when there is nothing to blame. It is nobody's fault- stop it, damn it."
"You wouldn't understand-"
"Yeah, you know what, I don't. So I'm trying to understand, Yoko- I want to- so just let me listen. The way you always do for me."
Yoko's hands curl into fists on either side of his head and he just- he misses her so badly that everyday hurts. That her memory haunts him every waking moment, that her smile lights up his dreams, so much so that he just wants to sleep and never wake up if it means that he can see it forever. That if he could, he wouldn't even have to think twice about swapping his life for hers, to save her- he could have, he would have, maybe, if he had arrived at the hospital sooner- fuck, he knew it, everything was his fault-
"You wouldn't have been able to, Yoko," Ryo says, sounding almost pained, and that's when Yoko realizes that he's spoken out loud.
Yoko knows this but at the same time, he doesn't, and he muffles a sob against his fist, body giving an involuntary shudder as if it wants to throw up everything within his already empty body.
He feels Ryo moving closer behind him, crowding him out, and he wants Ryo to stop, he wants Ryo to leave, but more sobs just escape his mouth when he tries to say this, tries to say, don't look at me, please.
"Just let me," Ryo whispers as his arms circle Yoko's heaving body, warm and secure, before laying his head gently on Yoko's curved back. The gesture makes Yoko's chest tighten.
"She was fine the day before, she promised to call me after my last performance," Yoko babbles, choked and hiccuping. "She promised."
Ryo doesn't say anything, just holds him that little bit tighter all through the night, silent and accepting, as Yoko finally allows himself to break down.
Notes: Written for yukitsubute in aid of help_pilipinas ;3; It's not exactly what you wanted, I think, but I hope you still like it nonetheless. Also, this was supposed to be a drabble- I hope you don't mind, dear orz