Sketches by Crayons and Construction Paper
Kyo x Ryou
He wasn't supposed to be here.
He didn't want to be here.
But here he was, putting his keys, his wallet, and anything else of his that could be used to do bodily harm into a basket for a nurse to keep behind a desk. Then his jacket was taken and his pockets were searched before he was allowed to go behind locked doors into a whole different world.
A world that was shaped from monotone shades of grey and the sound of old cartoons playing on a TV that no one was watching. There were no pictures on the wall, no windows, no defining objects. Just steel chairs bolted to the floor and nurses without smiles. Nothing to comfort. Nothing to harm.
It was the psych ward of St. Luke's International Hospital.
Kyo had never been in a psych ward before, much to the dismay of the many people in his life who had told him he should have been locked in one himself. He'd always been happy to decline them with a sadistic smirk and complete silence, but now he couldn't bring himself to be sardonic about the issue.
Not when it had gone from being an insult to a real injury.
Now he was standing in an open doorway, forcing himself to look into the face of a person he barely recognized anymore.
Ryou hardly looked surprised to see him, but then again, he'd never been surprised by much of anything that Kyo did. He just boredly stared back from the hospital bed and his tray of crayons and construction paper. Didn't even bother to extend an invitation beyond the doorway, so Kyo helped himself.
"Do I get an explanation?" he asked as he sat himself down in one of those uncomfortable, bolted-down chairs next to the bed.
Ryou raised a brow and tilted his head slightly to one side, a perturbed expression forming on his face.
"Do I get a hello?"
"Hello," Kyo humored him.
Ryou threw his head back and sighed– the reaction of someone who had had enough. He was exhausted and it showed as he massaged his furrowed brow. The medical bracelet on his arm looked as though he had tried to chew it off.
"What can I say?" Ryou asked, dropping his plastic shackled hand to his lap. "First I'm on the roof of Avex Trax talking about death. Next thing I know, I'm in here. End of story."
"I'll buy the end of the story, but I doubt that's the whole story." Kyo grunted, and ignored the scowl that Ryou gave him. "And I was referring to the crayons."
"Oh," Ryou cringed awkwardly. "No pens or pencils allowed. I might stab myself, you see."
"I suppose it would be difficult to slit your wrists with a stick of wax. Nontoxic?"
"Uh-huh."
"Thorough."
"Very," Ryou nodded as he held up an unused yellow crayon for inspection. "I guess could always drive one of these through an eye socket and into my brain. But then I'd just end up a retard or a vegetable or drooling for the rest of my life, and that would just be childish way to go."
"Of course." Kyo agreed. "Throwing yourself off a building is much more mature."
"It's also cooler." Ryou pointed out. "I bet the adrenaline is amazing before you hit the pavement."
Kyo said nothing to that. Just watched as Ryou stared down the crayon in front of him as if it was a key to something more, but he didn't want to use it. Then he violently tossed it aside to join a pile of other crayons that Kyo only now noticed were accumulating on the floor. All of them were warm colors.
"What happened?" Kyo asked gently– this time seriously.
He needed to know because this wasn't Ryou. This... shell of a person who was sitting in front of him, scribbling lyrics of dark blue crayon onto dark blue paper. Kyo remembered that this person used to smile– used to be happy. Used to be someone he knew like the back of his hand.
"I don't know."
Ryou turned away to look out a window that didn't exist in the wall. Looked away because he knew he was being read like a book. He just didn't know that he was full of blank pages that Kyo was skimming through now– looking for something he had read before.
"Work? Stress?"
Ryou shook his head, his face hard and expressionless except for the forlorn look in his eyes that Kyo decided didn't belong there. He moved on;
"Problems with the band? Family? Friends?"
"Not at all," Ryou said, impassively.
Another page turned;
"Was it me?" Kyo asked.
Ryou said nothing– and there it was. A poorly erased sketch that he almost recognized.
Kyo raised from his seat and moved to Ryou's side. When he tried to look away, to run and hide, Kyo gently laid a hand on his cheek. And when he peered into the depths of those beautiful empty eyes, he saw the flicker of pain, the regret, remorse... and he saw himself.
He was the one who had been clumsily erased.
"Ryou..."
"Don't," Ryou desperately pleaded and brushed Kyo's hand away. "It was a lot of things–"
"But it was mostly me," Kyo finished for him.
Ryou's silence said everything that needed to be said between them, and it was Kyo's turn to look away - down to the floor where the crayons and the bits and pieces of Ryou's life lay scattered. Some part of him of him had expected this all along, but knowing for sure still hurt
"You didn't have to push me away," he murmured.
"Yes," Ryou corrected him. "I did."
"Why–"
"You weren't good for me!" Ryou cried out suddenly– anger, frustration and pain clear in the tones of his trembling voice.
"But I made you smile," Kyo said bitterly.
And when he looked up again, tears were falling down Ryou's face.
"Yeah. You did."
Author's Notes: This story is completely fictional, but it was based on the true fact that Ryou was hospitalized at the beginning of this year due to depression. Apparently, he was diagnosed with "adjustment disorder".