3
Title: 3
Chapter: One-shot
Author: kiroyo
Genre: Romance, Life
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own this page of lies.
Rating: G
Pairing: Uruha x Ruki
Synopsis: The grey line between habit and commitment.
December 2011
Commitment wasn’t their thing. Hence it came as no surprise to either one when Uruha packed up his belongings one day and left Ruki’s apartment.
This was how their pre, post, and present relationship were. It was how they were like and always had been. Neither of them could remember when they had hooked up or if they had even hooked up in the first place.
Commitment wasn’t their thing. They didn’t grow tired of each other, they never fought, they never clung onto each other - and yet it was precisely why Uruha walked out of the door.
March 2012
It has been 3 months since Uruha left and all was status quo. Practice went on as usual, the band delivered perfect lives, and their group dynamics was stagnant with occasional fuzzy lines on a heart monitor when lack of sleep coupled with heightened stress took over them.
It seemed that way to the other 3 band members, and it was what Ruki and Uruha chose to believe.
-
It was the dead of the night - 0300, and Ruki sat slouched over his desk. Neat, tidy and organised saved for a cluster of empty mugs with sticky brown rings of caffeine on each porcelain base.
He scratched his head and sighed. Encountering another mental block for the umpteenth time that hour, his restlessness had taken over and the margins of his moleskin notebook were framed with doodles once again. Ruki groaned and rubbed his eyes. He needed another shot of coffee. Placing down his pen and reaching over for a random cup, his tired eyes skimmed over the messy page.
Again, as with last night and the night before that, together with all the nights backdating to a particular day on last December, the trail of black ink had trailed off from macabre skulls to form a Japanese character: 麗
Ruki stood up, stared at that word, and turned away.
-
Uruha stared at the clock - 0300 and he had yet to jot down a single melody. He cradled the turquoise guitar in his arms and stretched lengthy legs across the carpet as he closed his eyes and leaned back onto the foot of the sofa. Lyric sheets lay scattered across the living room floor, in a fashion orderly only to him. The last of whatever alcohol Uruha consumed before coursed through Uruha's fingers, encouraging slim digits to pick at the strings and produce a melody that pricked the guitarist's ears. The sounds jolted him awake and he scrambled for a blunt pencil half a foot away from him. Safely grasping it in his hands, he scribbled down the notes as he replayed the tune over and over in his head. Once down, Uruha read through the short line of squiggly symbols and sighed. He tossed the paper to the right where a molehill of papers bearing identical notations sat.
It wasn't a new composition. The scores of the original song lay next to the pile of discarded papers: Cassis
Uruha placed the guitar next to him, rolled over and closed his eyes.
-
Sleep plagued Ruki's eyes as he made his way over to the small kitchen. He leaned against the edge of the sink after setting the mug down on the coffee maker. A few moments passed before he realised he hadn't chosen his choice of brew though it was apparent which he would choose as the thin plastic layer on the second button had worn off and the words on it had faded away due to repetitive friction.
3 months and he still stood against the sink, waiting for a piping hot mug of espresso to be served to him.
-
He needed a beer. Uruha gathered the last of his strength in his legs and trudged to the fridge.
"Yes Sapporro."
That was all Uruha ever bought and all Ruki ever asked. But this time, as with the previous night and all the nights before, Uruha spoke to thin air and lithe fingers opened the fridge and helped himself to a can.
3 months and he still answered his own unspoken question.
-
They say it takes 3 days to form a habit and 3 months to break out of it.
3 months wasn’t enough to suffice an eternity if they couldn’t recall when they’d moulded into each other lives, and when they’d fallen into habit.
Commitment wasn’t their thing. Habit was, and so it came as no surprise, but rather a relief, when Uruha lugged his suitcase through Ruki’s door again.
“I’m home ‘Taka.”
“Welcome home Kou.”
A/N: How long has it been? 2 months?