|An old fic...
||[Aug. 27th, 2012|08:38 am]
I was going through my LJ, which I haven't touched in years, and found the start of a fic (from 2002!)... thought I would post it here...maybe to get some feedback. Too melodramatic/cliche? I have no idea because I'm not really a writer, and this was a product of my tumultuous youth aha. I am just curious. I haven't read any daiken in years and have no idea if someone has already done this situation - if so, feel free to direct me to said fic! |
Warnings: self-inflicted violence, angst?
"Living Without" - Chapter 1 ('s short)
“Married?? You’re getting married?? I didn’t even know you were engaged! What is this Ken, some kind of a joke?” Coffee-brown eyes darkened angrily when the silence indicated it was, in fact, not a joke. Daisuke fixed the other man with an accusing glare. “What about us? Was that just a fling to you? I thought we had something special – was I just a convenient outlet for your hormones until you could you decide you liked breasts better?”
The words came out in a snarl, but abruptly the rage turned into disbelief. He stepped towards Ken, grasping for his hands in supplication. “Look at me, Ken-kun – I know I’ve been gone… And I know the kind of pressure your parents-”
Ken ripped his hands from Daisuke’s and turned away. “We were confused… It just - can’t work. I love Miyako.” He paused, shaking his head as if to dispel a protesting voice, and then continued in a colder tone. “I want your support and I thought you’d understand; you’re my best friend-”
Daisuke cut him off, spinning Ken around to face him. “Friend? I love you! I’m sure as hell not confused about that! Ken, I’m twenty-two years old. I’m quite positive about where my preferences lay; you seem to be the only one who’s confused.” Ken opened his mouth to speak again but Daisuke shook his head to hush him. “No, listen to me. I’m not giving up on you. Have you forgotten everything we went through together? It wasn’t just our partners, Ken, we Jogressed, our hearts… I could feel it… I still feel it.”
His voice began to rise almost frantically, and he pressed Ken’s wrist to his chest. “I know what this is; your parents want you to be normal and- and have kids since they don’t have anyone else with Osamu gone and… I know I’m not the best person, and I’ve never been that bright, and I know my going to college in America is a strain, but…” Daisuke had begun to babble and his head drooped as he fought to hold back tears. “Please…” His voice cracked as he whispered the word over and over, hands still clutching weakly at Ken’s, as if in a last attempt to keep the man with him. Their pulses had fallen out of time as his heart clenched painfully.
“Dai-chan…” The bowed head lifted in response, a glimmer of hope caught in his eyes at the sound of the softened voice. “The wedding is scheduled for June. I want you to be the best man.” The indigo of Ken’s eyes seemed full of regret, but his face was hardened with resolve. “Please don’t let the past get in the way of our friendship.” Daisuke’s grasp faltered and the hand fell to Ken’s side limply.
-- -- -- --
Daisuke sat over a glass of sake in his apartment, eyes red from crying. He sniffed a bit, but the tears on his cheeks had long dried. He drank down the last of it in one fiery gulp and shook his head, the auburn strands flying loosely without the restraints of hair gel. He let the conversation of earlier today – or rather, yesterday, he noticed, glancing at the glowing red numbers of the clock – replay itself with a fuzzy detachment, most likely a result of the alcohol.
Through the drunken haze it seemed someone was knocking on his skull. Leaning over his knees, he clutched his head in both hands and screwed his eyes shut, trying to make the pounding stop. Eventually he noticed it wasn’t his skull being knocked on, but his door, and he took a moment to gather himself up and make his way over to answer it. Who the hell would be calling at this time of… morning… anyway? Didn’t they know people were trying to sleep or, in his case, drink themselves into blissful unconsciousness?
About halfway to the door a low, threatening, not-quite whisper came to his ears. “Daisuke Motomiya, if you don’t answer this door I swear by heaven I will knock it down and strangle you, neighbors or no!” The female voice registered in his repressed conscience and he fumbled with the lock, then for the knob as quickly as possible, given his handicapped state. As soon as the knob gave, Hikari burst in and deftly closed the door behind her without too much of a noise.
“Kari, ‘s one ‘clock in tha mornin’ y’ know… Not ‘zactly tha bes’ time ta make a house call…” Daisuke croaked, then trailed off when he noticed she had her attention turned to the glass bottles littering the area around his coffee table.
She rounded on him, eyes narrowed and about to speak her disapproval when she paused, taking in his disheveled appearance. She sighed and stepped toward him, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes. “Dai-chan, I’m so sorry. TK and I just got back from our trip - Miya was so ecstatic she’d left a zillion messages and called again as we walked through the door.” She drew him over to sit on the couch and he followed like a child. “I figured Ken would tell you first… I- I know how you felt about him… I’m sorry.”
She tried to give him a look of kind sympathy and reassurance when words failed her, but the man wouldn’t even glance at her. He stared like a dead thing, listening mutely. Kari chewed on her lip for a moment, rubbing soothing circles on Daisuke’s back with one palm, the other holding a hand that gave no answering squeeze. She felt, for one of the few times in her life, at a loss of what to say. It was like some demon was pulling her tongue down her throat and her mind was running in circles, unable to come up with anything but some synonym for ‘sorry’.
Finally she took a resolute breath and stood up. “Daisuke, you’re a wreck and I know the first step to recovery is a shower. Come on, the heat will make your head feel better at least. Booze and tears combined is just a recipe for migraine.”
The man stood up mechanically as Hikari nudged him towards the washroom. As soon as she saw him begin to peel of his stained clothing, she closed the door and walked back over to the couch. She bent over to collect the bottles from the carpet, grimacing at the fumes from the patches where they had spilled. It made her suddenly incredibly sad to think of that spiky-haired, puppy-eyed boy who had chased her in their youth; then the energetic young man who always had a ready smile. It had been a few months since she’d last seen him, though they corresponded regularly via e-mail – and that was how she remembered Daisuke Motomiya – but now he seemed more like a sullen shadow of his former self.
She sensed the feeling of profound emptiness that he now exuded like an aura, and the general wrongness about her friend made her shiver. Daisuke had never gotten drunk before, at least to her knowledge. But then again, that part of Daisuke that she had always known him for didn’t seem to be there at the moment. She wanted to cry for him, hold him as she held her own son when he scraped his knee; she wanted to make this situation disappear. She was frustrated by her inability to do something to make the pain go away.
Her mind wandered, a frown fixed on her face and creases furrowing her brow. She had felt the connection in Jogressing with Miyako, remembered the familiarity and comfort that came from it. But obviously what Daisuke had felt with, or for Ken went beyond the synchronization of their hearts. She had no solutions, and her words held no consolation for her childhood friend.
The sound of the shower and the fatigue from her trip lulled her into a doze as she sat on the couch, beer bottles forgotten on the table.
Daisuke let the warm water pound over him, washing the grime and tears away. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted how foul his mouth tasted, while the rest of his body started to feel clean. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the cold tiles, and stared into space. Occasionally he would blink automatically when the water slipped past his lashes and into his eye, but otherwise he was only moved by his light breathing. His mind trudged its way through a fog as he thought back to everything, then it suddenly began to race.
A flush crept onto his cheeks as he berated himself for acting like a lovesick child. Ken had left him and he had responded as if it were the end of the world. He was ashamed that Kari had seen him like that, ashamed for letting his emotions get the better of him, and ashamed most of all because he had cried. What right did he have to cry, when things ten times worse had happened to others? He was weak and he hated himself for it.
Wasn’t he Courage? Shouldn’t he be able to take it?
Before he knew it, one hand was balled up tightly and he was pounding it into the tiles, feeling the resulting pain shoot up his arm with a far-off acceptance. This was good. The pain would make up for his weakness. He wondered absently what would break first – the tile or his hand? The small part of his brain that was still functioning somewhat intelligently muttered, “Your hand of course, stupid. Don’t give yourself so much credit.” He continued methodically punching the wall, his arm muscles aching along with his fist. He heard a shout from a disgruntled neighbor to “cut out the damn noise,” but he didn’t pay much attention to it.
-- -- -- --
Hikari was dreaming. Or perhaps just remembering. Yes, she was dreaming a memory. She and Takeru walked into their apartment, dropping their bags in an unruly heap on the floor. She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw the answering machine’s little light blinking just below. Plodding over to it she hit the button and listened to the electronic voice.
‘You have .. twenty-three.. new messages.’
It registered in her sleeping mind that the number seemed to be off. Hikari sighed and was about to turn it off for later when Miyako’s ecstatic voice beeped up.
‘Kari, Kari, holy shit you won’t believe what happened, call me ASAP!’
She stared at the machine with irritation as each successive message turned out to be from Miyako. Finally, she slammed it off, and the machine fell to the ground, making a heavy thudding sound. It seemed to echo, though instead of fading off, it increased in volume.
Kari’s slumped body jerked, eyes flickering open as the hammering from her dream manifested itself in the waking world.
-- -- -- --
Suddenly two hands were gripped tightly on Daisuke’s slick shoulders, shaking him fiercely. “Dammit, Motomiya, are you trying to give me a heart attack??” Hikari’s caramel eyes were enflamed and one of the hands released him only to slap wetly across his right cheek. Daisuke flinched and looked away. The water was still running and the sleeves of Hikari’s shirt were getting soaked, he noticed. She reached down and turned it off and, unmindful of Daisuke’s nakedness, pulled him out of the shower and into an embrace, getting the front of her clothes wet in the process.
“God you scared the shit out of me!” she whispered vehemently into his breast. Daisuke made no move to return her embrace, or do anything really, except stand there with that blank expression. Hikari pulled away and lifted a towel from the rack on the wall, wrapping it around Daisuke’s slightly shivering body with the gentle frankness of a mother. The towel hung on his broad shoulders, threatening to slip off, and Daisuke automatically reached up to keep it in place.
Kari frowned worriedly at the broken skin of his knuckles that seeped thin streams of watery blood down to his wrist, and the angry red swelling accompanying the bruises blossoming all over his hand and up his arm. She sighed and tilted his head to get him to face her then cupped his cheek lightly where her slap had left another red mark. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”
The slight woman was surprised when she actually got the reply of, “It’s okay, I deserve it,” but Daisuke wasn’t looking at her; more like the place on her forehead just above her eyes. Hikari let go of his face and grabbed the towel, drying her friend off and reaching up to rub it somewhat harshly over his hair, making the drying auburn strands stick up on their own into a familiar spiky mass. She let the towel drop to the floor when she was done, despite the protests of her inner clean-freak, and helped Daisuke into a robe, careful of his injured hand.
“Go sit down,” Hikari commanded in a soft but assertive tone, nudging Daisuke toward the sofa once again. She opened the medicine cabinet and drew out a small first aid kit that appeared to have never been used. Following her friend over the couch, she pushed the empty bottles aside and opened the kit on the coffee table. She rifled through it a bit, pulling out the instant cold pack and shaking it. As soon as she felt the fluid begin to turn icy, she laid it over the back of Daisuke’s hand and wrist.
Getting back up, she went through the kitchen’s drawers, finding a washcloth and running it under the faucet. She wrung it out, then settled back down beside Daisuke, dabbing it lightly over the bleeding knuckles, wiping up the blood around the wound itself. Finally, she squeezed a bit of the disinfecting ointment onto some gauze and applied it over the split skin.
Urging him wordlessly to extend his fingers, which Daisuke did slowly and with a stifled grimace, Kari wrapped a few layers of gauze and another of bandaging over the wounds. Through this whole procedure, Daisuke had said nothing, simply holding the cold pack to his arm. Kari rubbed his back lightly and swallowed before speaking. “It’s okay to be angry, Dai-chan… I know he hurt you a lot.”
Finally Daisuke looked up to meet her eyes and offered a thin parody of a smile, “Thanks for checking on me Kari, but I’m okay. I just lost it there. Why don’t you go home and sleep – I know you must be tired from your trip. We’ll talk later when we’re both in better shape.” With that soft proclamation, Daisuke gave her a one-armed hug and began picking up what bottles he could and dropping them into the recycle box in his kitchenette.
Hikari blinked after Daisuke dumbfounded, not sure quite how to respond to her friend’s abrupt change in attitude. The Voice in the back of her head nagged at her, but it was true that she was rather tired and so the Voice was muffled. She followed Daisuke to the box with the remaining bottles and patted his shoulder before conceding. “All right. Later then.” She headed for the door but the Voice made her hesitate and she turned, “Take care of yourself, Dai-chan. Keep icing that arm.” Daisuke just nodded and she finally let herself out.
When Hikari had gone, Daisuke locked the door once again. He walked over to the coffee table and closed the first aid kit back up, then went to the bathroom to replace it in the medicine cabinet. As he shut the mirror that made up the door of the cabinet, Daisuke could see the anger and self-hate resurfacing in his reflection. With an effort that shook his whole body, he quelled the urge to smash the mirror, to let the glass pierce him, bleed out his weakness. Though he kept telling himself over and over that he was just being an idiot, mourning over something so trivial, the emotion he felt was consuming him. He knew what his mind said was right, but then why did his heart feel like it was being constricted in a vice, why did it hurt so much to breathe, and why could he feel those God dammed fucking tears rising again?
Suddenly an overwhelming nausea rose in him and he fell to his knees, retching violently into the toilet.