Tsukasa/Tsukushi, implied Tsukasa/Rui, g, 663 words
He’s only been in New York for a little over three months when it happens – but to him it already felt like a lifetime. When he acts carelessly and everything suddenly starts to crumble. Like a small sand corn coming loose, setting things into motion that no one would ever have been able to calculate. Creating a landslide.
It’s the same with him. With just one wrong word he throws the whole Doumyoji Group into a downwards spiral. Causing financial loss, thousands to be laid off and Ken to end his life. Or what was left of it.
After that, he is careful. Of every thing he does. Of every word he says, every wish he utters, every dream he dreams. Only he can’t control his dreams. Because no matter how feverently he tells himself that being with Makino – loving Makino – is only going to cause more pain and more suffering, his dreams are still only filled with her. Her smile when they went out for dinner together, her tears when they admitted their love to each other, the way her body felt in his arms.
He cut her out of his life, hasn’t called her in nearly over a year now. Hasn’t answered any of her calls either. But deep within his heart he knows that he still loves her and it makes being alone an unbearable pain. Then he pulls out their phone and stares at it. In the end, he can never bring himself to call, and it makes him feel even more pathetic. Because then he’s weak, bowing to the wishes and expectations of his mother and the world. Betraying himself and the girl he went through so much for. It is in moments like these when he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to go on.
It is also in these moments that Rui calls him.
Gentle and quiet voice soothing his tormented soul. He tells him about what has happened in Japan during the time of his absence. This year’s sakura blossoms, Yuuki-chan’s crush on Soujiro, Akira’s newest conquest. And he tells him about Makino. How they went out for dinner last week, about how she still loves him. But there is never accusation in his words, not about the fact that he doesn’t call his friends anymore, nor about his ignorance of Makino. Rui’s just how he has always been, kind and compassionate. He doesn’t judge Tsukasa. Doesn’t question him. In his words there is only acceptance, like there always had been.
Sometimes, Tsukasa envies him. For being able to show compassion, for being able to make people smile with just a few quiet words of his. For being like he is – so unlike Tsukasa himself – in spite of their similar status and upbringing.
Sometimes Tsukasa is angry at him for being able to take things as lightly as he does. For standing by his side when all he really wants is to drive everyone away. And he wants to yell at him to leave and never come back. Sometimes he does.
That are the moments he hates himself most.
But then Rui only laughs and tells him that they are friends, so he could never do that. And Tsukasa feels relief washing through him every single time this has happened. Because then he feels like he can go on a little longer. Because Rui is important to him, second only to Makino.
Sometimes, though, when he’s too angry and yelling at Rui doesn’t make things better – it never does – he simply cuts the connection. He always regrets it as soon as he does, but it’s too late by then…and he can’t bring himself to call his friend back. Can’t bring himself to apologize. But Rui always calls back. Always tells him he’s sorry. So there is no need to actually worry.
Tsukasa doesn’t know that thousands of miles away, alone in the security of their own bedrooms, there are two people crying themselves to sleep because of him.
Tsukasa/Tsukushi, implied Tsukasa/Rui, g, 191 words
There was a time when Tsukasa had thought they'd be able to overcome everything.
The upbringing of high society children and the loneliness that came with it. The desperate, silent outcry for attention when all there was were a faceless mass of servants. The fights with each other and the world or the peaceful moments, far and few, in between. They'd alway been together, at the best and worst of times. Talking and laughing and crying together, sharing their dreams and worries with each other, drawing strenght from the other. Trusting each other.
They'd been best friends for years upon years, almost all of their lives. Went to the same kindergarden, elementary school and high school. Spent their days together in their free time too.
Always together, the two of them. Tsukasa and Rui, one loud and rash, one quiet and distant. Best of friends for all their differences.
It was natural in a way that had the ground getting wet when it rained. Simple, easy, unwavering.
A comforting constant.
And then, Makino came along.
And everything changed.
There was a time when Tsukasa had thought they'd be able to overcome everything. He'd been wrong.
Tsukasa/Rui friendship, g, 269 words
Sometimes, when the mood strikes him, sudden like a burst of flickering ash turning into something all-consuming in the dry-hot desert, Rui finds himself pondering religion.
It's not something he normally comes across, and when he does it's not his own faith he wonders about. It is always the unknown that catches his interest, after all. It might be because as a christian he knows of his belief's origins already. It's rules and guidelines. And if you can call him a religious person or not lies in the eye of the beholder. But that is beside the point anyway, so he doesn't dwell on it for too long.
But there are moments when he looks at Tsukasa that he can't help himself.
Tsukasa - angry, furious, gentle, forgiving, shining - screaming at servants or beating people up, being clueless or muttering a quiet thank you when he thinks no one is listening.
In Buddhism it is said that after you die, you are reborn. As a rock or a three or a spirit or an unimaginable number of other things.
The other way round, this also means that this isn't the first life they are living. There have been others, maybe countless ones before this.
And for a moment, barely a second, Rui can see it as clearly as he can see the sun reflecting on the smooth marble of his room.
It is then that he knows that in his last life, Tsukasa must have been a king. Strong and wilfull and brilliant.
And sometimes Rui likes to imagine himself standing by his friend's side - just like he knows he always has.
Tsukasa/Rui friendship, g, 197 words
When Tsukasa feels like he can't go on, when he feels like the world is weighting down on him and everything might just crumble and turn to dust, even he admits defeat.
It is then that he seeks out Rui - sage friend of few words - and they talk. Or, more likely, Tsukasa talks - spilling his fears and hopes and problems - and Rui listens. And when Tsukasa has no more words left to speak the taller boy will tilt his head in thought, sometimes in curious wonder, sometimes in quiet mirth, weighting his words before he finally speaks.
Gracing Tsukasa with his knowledge of the heart, of fragile and artistic things.
And sometimes the advice is exactly what he had been searching for, struggling for alone all this time, and sometimes it is the most unsatisfying thing.
Because Rui might be right and Tsukasa might always believe him, but when the marble-eyed boy tells him that in ten years from now they will be looking back at this, laughing at the foolishness of it, Tsukasa can't help but to think that for now they are young and his friend's words don't change his dilemma at all.
Domyoji Tsukasa, g, 368 words
Tsukasa hates heights.
It's not something he is consiciously aware of, and really, the world-famous and almighty Doumyoji heir isn't actually afraid of anything. Not of the world's expectations or his mother. Least of all of something as lousy as high places. Especially not when most buildings he owns have skyscraper-qualities and he is going to be sitting in the presidental chair on the highest floor of one of said buildings. Probably the tallest.
There are a lot of happy memories he connects with high places, even. The breathtaking view he had of New York being painted golden by the early morning sun. Standing by his father's side, watching, all those years ago. The day he had made up with Makino, waiting anxiously, necklace hidden in the back of his pocket, wind in his face, telescope ready on top of the helicopter platform. The sky above him and endless possibilities in the palm of his hands.
Therefore the fear isn't something Tsukasa is consciously aware of, at least most of the time.
But sometimes, when he doesn't watch himself, when he wanders aimlessly or carelessly or both, he suddenly finds himself too close to the edge. Before him the void stretches endlessly, darkly. Threatening to swallow him up and there aren't any railings holding him back. No safety net to stop his fall. It is then that the gentle wind caressing his face turns biting, clawing at his clothes, pushing him over. And he is scared.
Sees the image of Ken flashing before his mind's eye, and then someone else's, and he can't breath. Remembers someone younger, face unclear in the confusions spun by memories, but there is one thing he remembers with startling clarity. It had been his fault, his doing, and as the soundless scream echoes in his head he also knows that he hadn't been able to stop it.
And in the blink of an eye, the vision is gone again, vanishing as sudden as it came. Leaving him standing too close to the edge still.
Tsukasa hates heights. It's not something he is consciously aware of, simply something that happens. Fear rearing it's ugly head, and in the next moment it's gone. And he can breath again.
shades of color
hinted Fujimaru/Otoya, g, 340 words
'You don't believe me, do you?'
Looking back on it now - the tense and suffocating atmosphere in the room, Otoya's eyes on him, already devoid of hope, his own painfully stretched smile - Fujimaru thinks he should have known something was gonna break. Maybe had already broken.
Fujimaru also knows they should have talked about it later on. About how it happend and why things got so out of hand. Knows he was the one at fault and in the wrong. Knows too, that he should have been the one to apologize. A real apology - with eye-contact and honest words and a bow - instead of a hurried text message. But he had been a coward then, scared of making things worse and being alone and losing a friend. Another one.
And Otoya had never held it against him.
Not the fact that Fujimaru didn't protest the questioning, not the fact that the defenses coming from his lips were half-hearted at best or the fact that Fujimaru agreed to trick him with a bugged room. Not even the fact that he might as well be the one responsible for Kujo Miwako's suicide. He didn't mention anything about being kidnapped by J either.
In retrospect, Fujimaru thinks it would have been better if he had. If he had shouted and sreamed and accused him of being a murderer, a traitor and so many other things.
The worst kind of friend.
But he didn't and neither did Fujimaru himself.
Content with what he had - a father to be proud of (eternally), a now healthy sister (for a life-time), a forgiving friend (maybe).
Or of what he thought he had.
Because it isn't until two year later - when they are facing each other in a room that seems tense and suffocating, and this time there is violence instead of pleading glances - that Fujimaru realizes something has changed. Realizes that something has shifted, is different from the way they used to be, because it should have been him that Otoya trusted.
Him, not Orihara Maya.