fic: a lover for your life, and nothing more, ruki/uruha
a lover for your life, and nothing more
ruki/uruha. pg. 818 words.
In moments of particular self-pity, Ruki will think and he will realise that love with Uruha doesn't have to make sense.
They don't talk.
They don't talk when the rest of the band leave in search of coffee and chocolate from vending machines; no, Uruha curls his feet underneath his legs on the sofa and watches Ruki light a cigarette and inhale. He focuses his eyes on the sleek lines of Ruki's cheekbones when he inhales, his cracked lips when he exhales, and Uruha will wonder if Ruki always looks this good when he smokes, if he himself looked this good when he smoked.
Sometimes, Uruha shifts forward and runs his fingers through Ruki's hair, and his nails catch Ruki's skin, and maybe Ruki shouldn't lean into Uruha's touch, but he does anyway. Later he'll think that it's okay, they're alone and no one can see them, a justification that doesn't quite make sense when you see the way Ruki wraps his arm around Uruha's neck on stage.
They jump apart when Aoi bursts in the room, and Ruki leans over the arm rest to stab his cigarette out. His poker face becomes horribly twisted when Uruha stands up and he turns around and they bump into each other, and Uruha sighs into Ruki's ear.
"I'm scared," Ruki says, and taps the side of the pavement with the tip of his boot, "I guess."
There's no snow, but it's still cold, cold enough for Ruki to put on four layers of clothing before going outside; Uruha is eating chocolate coins and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I thought you were never scared," he says, and folds the aluminium wrapper into a square.
Ruki shrugs. "This is Tokyo Dome," he says. The side of his thumb clicks the lighter and the paper catches on fire. "It's different, you know?"
The cold air bites their skin; the sky is shades of grey and white and pink and purple, the bare trees and glass skyscrapers cutting into it like ugly scars. Love is about saying sorry, Ruki thinks, love is about saying sorry because it's about fucking up and always hurting the person you love. He doubts that that's what love is truly meant to be like, but he's never had the time to feel it any differently.
Ruki wonders if Uruha's skin feels as good as he thinks it does, if it feels as good as he thinks it does so he can have some sort of validation for everything he has done.
Uruha wonders if Ruki tastes like smoke and arrogance, whether his skin would be cold and his breaths heavy; they're silly questions he tells himself, but he wants to know the answers, as if they were the secret key to helping him feel complete.
Ruki does not say Uruha's name.
They walk silently through the rows, Ruki's arms wrapped around himself because he's still cold; it's one of those moments that you wish you could store away and always return to. The sound of footsteps, and the vague scent of cigarettes and coffee and sweat and maybe alcohol too; Uruha thinks that it's always like this, that they've always done this before a show. They're people of habit - some habits are good, some are ugly, some are bad, and this is one where the lines blur and Ruki doesn't know whether this a good one or if it will just simply make him hurt.
They stop, and the shadows are deep and thick, and Ruki can make out the lines of Uruha's face and how his eyes glisten. Uruha asks, "Are you still scared?"
"A little bit."
Ruki whispers, for reasons he doesn't quite understand himself; he squints at the stage. He'll kiss Uruha on the cheek, and Uruha will kiss him under the jaw, and he'll later think that it's fine, it's okay because only they know what it meant.
Nothing ever makes sense, not when there's love involved, not when there are feelings involved that Ruki doesn't quite understand, so he squashes them with a deeper drag on his cigarette and a hope that tomorrow will be better (though more often than not, tomorrow will come and there will be even less sense than before because Ruki will spend the whole night thinking about it).
Uruha kisses Ruki.
Uruha kisses Ruki because the lights that are coming from the stage now play on his face, and he looks lonely, Uruha knows he's lonely, and Uruha's lonely too, and it just makes sense (though when Uruha will think back on it, it'll hardly make sense). Ruki closes his eyes, and his fingers are on Uruha's cheek, and Uruha's skin is soft, and Ruki doesn't even remember what he thought it would feel like.
It's irrelevant now.
"Enough," Ruki murmurs against Uruha's jaw when they pull apart, "enough now."
It's never enough. Ruki kisses Uruha on the cheek and Uruha kisses Ruki under the jaw, and it makes sense for a moment, just to them.
ruki/uruha. pg. 818 words.
In moments of particular self-pity, Ruki will think and he will realise that love with Uruha doesn't have to make sense.
They don't talk.
They don't talk when the rest of the band leave in search of coffee and chocolate from vending machines; no, Uruha curls his feet underneath his legs on the sofa and watches Ruki light a cigarette and inhale. He focuses his eyes on the sleek lines of Ruki's cheekbones when he inhales, his cracked lips when he exhales, and Uruha will wonder if Ruki always looks this good when he smokes, if he himself looked this good when he smoked.
Sometimes, Uruha shifts forward and runs his fingers through Ruki's hair, and his nails catch Ruki's skin, and maybe Ruki shouldn't lean into Uruha's touch, but he does anyway. Later he'll think that it's okay, they're alone and no one can see them, a justification that doesn't quite make sense when you see the way Ruki wraps his arm around Uruha's neck on stage.
They jump apart when Aoi bursts in the room, and Ruki leans over the arm rest to stab his cigarette out. His poker face becomes horribly twisted when Uruha stands up and he turns around and they bump into each other, and Uruha sighs into Ruki's ear.
"I'm scared," Ruki says, and taps the side of the pavement with the tip of his boot, "I guess."
There's no snow, but it's still cold, cold enough for Ruki to put on four layers of clothing before going outside; Uruha is eating chocolate coins and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I thought you were never scared," he says, and folds the aluminium wrapper into a square.
Ruki shrugs. "This is Tokyo Dome," he says. The side of his thumb clicks the lighter and the paper catches on fire. "It's different, you know?"
The cold air bites their skin; the sky is shades of grey and white and pink and purple, the bare trees and glass skyscrapers cutting into it like ugly scars. Love is about saying sorry, Ruki thinks, love is about saying sorry because it's about fucking up and always hurting the person you love. He doubts that that's what love is truly meant to be like, but he's never had the time to feel it any differently.
Ruki wonders if Uruha's skin feels as good as he thinks it does, if it feels as good as he thinks it does so he can have some sort of validation for everything he has done.
Uruha wonders if Ruki tastes like smoke and arrogance, whether his skin would be cold and his breaths heavy; they're silly questions he tells himself, but he wants to know the answers, as if they were the secret key to helping him feel complete.
Ruki does not say Uruha's name.
They walk silently through the rows, Ruki's arms wrapped around himself because he's still cold; it's one of those moments that you wish you could store away and always return to. The sound of footsteps, and the vague scent of cigarettes and coffee and sweat and maybe alcohol too; Uruha thinks that it's always like this, that they've always done this before a show. They're people of habit - some habits are good, some are ugly, some are bad, and this is one where the lines blur and Ruki doesn't know whether this a good one or if it will just simply make him hurt.
They stop, and the shadows are deep and thick, and Ruki can make out the lines of Uruha's face and how his eyes glisten. Uruha asks, "Are you still scared?"
"A little bit."
Ruki whispers, for reasons he doesn't quite understand himself; he squints at the stage. He'll kiss Uruha on the cheek, and Uruha will kiss him under the jaw, and he'll later think that it's fine, it's okay because only they know what it meant.
Nothing ever makes sense, not when there's love involved, not when there are feelings involved that Ruki doesn't quite understand, so he squashes them with a deeper drag on his cigarette and a hope that tomorrow will be better (though more often than not, tomorrow will come and there will be even less sense than before because Ruki will spend the whole night thinking about it).
Uruha kisses Ruki.
Uruha kisses Ruki because the lights that are coming from the stage now play on his face, and he looks lonely, Uruha knows he's lonely, and Uruha's lonely too, and it just makes sense (though when Uruha will think back on it, it'll hardly make sense). Ruki closes his eyes, and his fingers are on Uruha's cheek, and Uruha's skin is soft, and Ruki doesn't even remember what he thought it would feel like.
It's irrelevant now.
"Enough," Ruki murmurs against Uruha's jaw when they pull apart, "enough now."
It's never enough. Ruki kisses Uruha on the cheek and Uruha kisses Ruki under the jaw, and it makes sense for a moment, just to them.