#1 Theme 45: Suicide Note - Janne de Arc ; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Surface
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 045 Suicide Note (Janne da Arc)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: character death, drug use, abuse, excessive use of italics
Comments: Not sure what to make of this but comments are appreciated! ;3
Surface
Tora can feel the pressure closing in on him like crumbled, stained walls collapsing from on all sides. Like an ocean roaring overhead, engulfing him whole. It fills his ears, his mouth, his eyes, his soul.
What's your answer, Tora?
How do you feel about this?
Is this what you really want?
It's not. Yes. It's really not.
I'm just trying to help, Tora.
You don't seem okay with this.
You don't seem happy.
I'm not. I am. I'm really not.
Just do this, Tora.
You're so selfish.
Think about everyone else.
You're just not worth it Tora.
Tears threaten to fall out of his eyes and he can't really bring himself to care. But the shame, the fear of letting someone see just how vulnerable their words make him, how deep the despair penetrates, forces Tora to his feet. He's stumbling out the room, hands trembling with the weight of their gazes, their demands, with his need. He's tripping on his feet trying to get out of the building as fast as he can because his chest is tight and the air is heavy.
Tora finds himself remembering Hiroto's words from so long ago, back before they made it big. Back when money was tight but their hearts were light, filled with hope and dreams. At least that's what Tora thinks.
"Don't let them break you, Tora."
There hadn't been any pressure then. Tora woke up every morning happy with his part-time job and then he woke again every night to the small lives and rush of adrenaline. He wasn't the best guitarist. He didn't know if he would ever become famous. But Tora was happy simply getting by with the newly formed, broken, reformed, and rebroken bands his friends were always willing to include him in. Riding on everyone else's high was thrilling, unexpected, spontaneous, but at least he had his job and apartment to come home to. That was all before Alice Nine.
"Don't lose your voice Tora,"
Then he couldn't even have a part-time job anymore. People were starting to recognize him and no one wanted him. The in-store fighting broke out as soon as he was hired and drained his paycheck and Tora soon found his livelihood entirely dependent on the band.
Then he needed to care that his music was what the public wanted and didn't stray too far from mainstream.
Then he needed everything to be perfect because in the entertainment industry you had to be perfect.
"And don't you dare forget I'm here for you, Tora."
Hiroto had smiled reassuringly, uncertainly, teasingly. It was overwhelming, the chemistry ignited when the two first met. It happened even before Shou had uttered a single word of introduction the day Hiroto finally agreed to join their band. They didn't need an introduction, really, the passion was almost unaturally intense and the same night found Hiroto a mess in Tora's bed, under Tora's hands, atop Tora's hips. It made no sense and both men felt vaguely possessed, but Tora wasn't complaining and Hiroto certainly didn't put up a fight.
Tora found himself at the front of their apartment door. Finally. He threw it open, reveling in the sound of metal handle colliding with the wall. Kick off wet boots. Turn on warm light. Tora went through the motions, hands itching with the desire to push, to press, to breathe. There was no one here to judge him but the unbearable pressure continued to pound down on his skull, squeeze at his lungs, and dry out his veins.
He shouldn't be here. Not now. Not when they were this close to breaking through. Not again.
It was unfair to Hiroto. Unfair to the band and unfair to the fans. But the guilt didn't rid Tora of the quickening beat in his heart. Didn't slap him back to reality. He wished he didn't have to look into Hiroto's pain filled gaze all the time. Wished he could bottle up the younger man's fading innocence and treasure it even after it was all gone, all sucked, beaten, and burned out of Hiroto's eyes.
Some days Hiroto simply stops talking.
Tora yanked the window open. He couldn't breathe, but the cold night air didn't ease any of the pain. It was never enough. He needed to breathe.
And he would sit in the back, lips sealed, eyes dark with carefully measured emotion.
Shou worried. Nao worried. Saga worried. But no one really says anything about Hiroto's change in behavior. The staff gossips. Aki calls. Shou hugs him closer. Nao makes sure he eats enough. Saga stays silently by his side. Offerings of companionship and consolation. But Hiroto can feel the weight of their thoughts and words too. And Tora just wishes he was strong enough to do something about it.
Mattress springs creak and moan under his weight.
Dude, you're huge.
I can't help it.
Fuck, look at his eyes. He's evil.
I can't help it.
Quit be lazy and do some fucking work.
I'm trying. Really, I am.
Tora pulls together the things he had promised to get rid of last week.
Some days Hiroto can barely walk.
And in the morning he edges back into their bedroom, eyes swollen and red from crying, throat sore and dry from screaming. He crawls timidly onto the bed under Tora's sad and soft gaze, gingerly arranging himself on Tora's lap because this is the Tora he fell in love with, this is the Tora whose warm hands support him comfortingly even as pain shoots continual flames up his spine.
Tora just wishes he was strong enough to do something about it.
This is breathing. This is fucking breathing. Tora feels like he can see the reflection of rainbows in the fucking shadows. Like he can hear roaches crawling between the floorboards. Cold, wet air fills the crevices of his mind and Tora inhales sweetly, feeling his world whirl and finally, finally, come to life.
---
He wakes up the next morning on their living room floor. His nose feels clogged and there are new bruises lining the crook of his elbow. Groaning, Tora rolls onto his side. His mind is completely scrambled and he can't remember if last night was last week or if his arms were supposed to be walking or if there was any up left in the world to stand straight. But realization settles in faster than he likes and Tora hates himself for doing this again, for falling victim to his addictions so easily.
Fuck. He needed to find Hiroto and apologize because he can see the other's shoes at the door and he can definitely see the dried blood flaking off his knuckles.
Rising unsteadily, Tora begins searching the apartment for his lover. He finds him curled up on the bathroom floor. Like this, Hiroto looks relatively untouched. All evidence of bloodshed has been cleaned off his bruised face save the scabbed lips busted in four different places. Tora knows there's worse hidden beneath the tattered and dirtied clothing.
There's a pad of paper and pen next to Hiroto's hands, an empty bottle near the toilet, and Tora starts to panic because this is new, this is different. Hiroto is always up before Tora's panic consumes visage after these sorts of nights. Always ready to jumpily greet Tora in the morning and always ready to try and talk it out, to ask what's wrong, to tell him he needs to stop. His stomach makes nauseating flips.
Tora I love you so much. I'm so sorry.
I know I was never enough. I wanted to be enough. But I know I can't.
And you won't find someone who can help you because I'm still here.
I know you'll be happier without me. You've always said that.
I want you to be happy without me.
A choked sob breaks the silence and he knows he's made a mistake.
Your eyes say you hate me, Tora.
I cry and you ignore me, Tora.
They all know, Tora.
They all laugh at me Tora.
It's not you Hiroto. It's never been you.
He can breathe now. His steady hands have broken the surface and his eyes can see the light. Tora knows he has to move forward. It's not a joke. Hiroto isn't playing dead on the cold tiles beneath his feet. It's not some horrible film. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. Permanent and never-ending. It hurts and he knows he has to end this cycle now.
I'd give anything to make you happy, Tora. Anything to make you see straight again. Anything so you can breathe.
A/N:
I'm sorry I fail at... posting things. Please leave helpful hints, how to's and any other comments.
It's my first fic and also I have no idea how to use lj lol.
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 045 Suicide Note (Janne da Arc)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: character death, drug use, abuse, excessive use of italics
Comments: Not sure what to make of this but comments are appreciated! ;3
Surface
Tora can feel the pressure closing in on him like crumbled, stained walls collapsing from on all sides. Like an ocean roaring overhead, engulfing him whole. It fills his ears, his mouth, his eyes, his soul.
What's your answer, Tora?
How do you feel about this?
Is this what you really want?
It's not. Yes. It's really not.
I'm just trying to help, Tora.
You don't seem okay with this.
You don't seem happy.
I'm not. I am. I'm really not.
Just do this, Tora.
You're so selfish.
Think about everyone else.
You're just not worth it Tora.
Tears threaten to fall out of his eyes and he can't really bring himself to care. But the shame, the fear of letting someone see just how vulnerable their words make him, how deep the despair penetrates, forces Tora to his feet. He's stumbling out the room, hands trembling with the weight of their gazes, their demands, with his need. He's tripping on his feet trying to get out of the building as fast as he can because his chest is tight and the air is heavy.
Tora finds himself remembering Hiroto's words from so long ago, back before they made it big. Back when money was tight but their hearts were light, filled with hope and dreams. At least that's what Tora thinks.
"Don't let them break you, Tora."
There hadn't been any pressure then. Tora woke up every morning happy with his part-time job and then he woke again every night to the small lives and rush of adrenaline. He wasn't the best guitarist. He didn't know if he would ever become famous. But Tora was happy simply getting by with the newly formed, broken, reformed, and rebroken bands his friends were always willing to include him in. Riding on everyone else's high was thrilling, unexpected, spontaneous, but at least he had his job and apartment to come home to. That was all before Alice Nine.
"Don't lose your voice Tora,"
Then he couldn't even have a part-time job anymore. People were starting to recognize him and no one wanted him. The in-store fighting broke out as soon as he was hired and drained his paycheck and Tora soon found his livelihood entirely dependent on the band.
Then he needed to care that his music was what the public wanted and didn't stray too far from mainstream.
Then he needed everything to be perfect because in the entertainment industry you had to be perfect.
"And don't you dare forget I'm here for you, Tora."
Hiroto had smiled reassuringly, uncertainly, teasingly. It was overwhelming, the chemistry ignited when the two first met. It happened even before Shou had uttered a single word of introduction the day Hiroto finally agreed to join their band. They didn't need an introduction, really, the passion was almost unaturally intense and the same night found Hiroto a mess in Tora's bed, under Tora's hands, atop Tora's hips. It made no sense and both men felt vaguely possessed, but Tora wasn't complaining and Hiroto certainly didn't put up a fight.
Tora found himself at the front of their apartment door. Finally. He threw it open, reveling in the sound of metal handle colliding with the wall. Kick off wet boots. Turn on warm light. Tora went through the motions, hands itching with the desire to push, to press, to breathe. There was no one here to judge him but the unbearable pressure continued to pound down on his skull, squeeze at his lungs, and dry out his veins.
He shouldn't be here. Not now. Not when they were this close to breaking through. Not again.
It was unfair to Hiroto. Unfair to the band and unfair to the fans. But the guilt didn't rid Tora of the quickening beat in his heart. Didn't slap him back to reality. He wished he didn't have to look into Hiroto's pain filled gaze all the time. Wished he could bottle up the younger man's fading innocence and treasure it even after it was all gone, all sucked, beaten, and burned out of Hiroto's eyes.
Some days Hiroto simply stops talking.
Tora yanked the window open. He couldn't breathe, but the cold night air didn't ease any of the pain. It was never enough. He needed to breathe.
And he would sit in the back, lips sealed, eyes dark with carefully measured emotion.
Shou worried. Nao worried. Saga worried. But no one really says anything about Hiroto's change in behavior. The staff gossips. Aki calls. Shou hugs him closer. Nao makes sure he eats enough. Saga stays silently by his side. Offerings of companionship and consolation. But Hiroto can feel the weight of their thoughts and words too. And Tora just wishes he was strong enough to do something about it.
Mattress springs creak and moan under his weight.
Dude, you're huge.
I can't help it.
Fuck, look at his eyes. He's evil.
I can't help it.
Quit be lazy and do some fucking work.
I'm trying. Really, I am.
Tora pulls together the things he had promised to get rid of last week.
Some days Hiroto can barely walk.
And in the morning he edges back into their bedroom, eyes swollen and red from crying, throat sore and dry from screaming. He crawls timidly onto the bed under Tora's sad and soft gaze, gingerly arranging himself on Tora's lap because this is the Tora he fell in love with, this is the Tora whose warm hands support him comfortingly even as pain shoots continual flames up his spine.
Tora just wishes he was strong enough to do something about it.
This is breathing. This is fucking breathing. Tora feels like he can see the reflection of rainbows in the fucking shadows. Like he can hear roaches crawling between the floorboards. Cold, wet air fills the crevices of his mind and Tora inhales sweetly, feeling his world whirl and finally, finally, come to life.
---
He wakes up the next morning on their living room floor. His nose feels clogged and there are new bruises lining the crook of his elbow. Groaning, Tora rolls onto his side. His mind is completely scrambled and he can't remember if last night was last week or if his arms were supposed to be walking or if there was any up left in the world to stand straight. But realization settles in faster than he likes and Tora hates himself for doing this again, for falling victim to his addictions so easily.
Fuck. He needed to find Hiroto and apologize because he can see the other's shoes at the door and he can definitely see the dried blood flaking off his knuckles.
Rising unsteadily, Tora begins searching the apartment for his lover. He finds him curled up on the bathroom floor. Like this, Hiroto looks relatively untouched. All evidence of bloodshed has been cleaned off his bruised face save the scabbed lips busted in four different places. Tora knows there's worse hidden beneath the tattered and dirtied clothing.
There's a pad of paper and pen next to Hiroto's hands, an empty bottle near the toilet, and Tora starts to panic because this is new, this is different. Hiroto is always up before Tora's panic consumes visage after these sorts of nights. Always ready to jumpily greet Tora in the morning and always ready to try and talk it out, to ask what's wrong, to tell him he needs to stop. His stomach makes nauseating flips.
Tora I love you so much. I'm so sorry.
I know I was never enough. I wanted to be enough. But I know I can't.
And you won't find someone who can help you because I'm still here.
I know you'll be happier without me. You've always said that.
I want you to be happy without me.
A choked sob breaks the silence and he knows he's made a mistake.
Your eyes say you hate me, Tora.
I cry and you ignore me, Tora.
They all know, Tora.
They all laugh at me Tora.
It's not you Hiroto. It's never been you.
He can breathe now. His steady hands have broken the surface and his eyes can see the light. Tora knows he has to move forward. It's not a joke. Hiroto isn't playing dead on the cold tiles beneath his feet. It's not some horrible film. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. Permanent and never-ending. It hurts and he knows he has to end this cycle now.
I'd give anything to make you happy, Tora. Anything to make you see straight again. Anything so you can breathe.
A/N:
I'm sorry I fail at... posting things. Please leave helpful hints, how to's and any other comments.
It's my first fic and also I have no idea how to use lj lol.
Archive