Malik x Ryou

Before a Storm

I stood at the window, watching the city, waiting. The cars drive through the late afternoon, windows up and air-conditioning on, the few people out on the streets in loose, cool clothes- it's hot outside, despite the lateness of the day.

The atmosphere was heavy, humid- the calm before a storm. I sighed, and moved away from the window of my apartment to wander aimlessly through it, waiting.

Waiting for you.

It's not that you were late, because you weren't. You're never late. It was just that I couldn't wait for you to get here. Yeah, I'm that mush of a loser. As far as you're concerned, I'm a wreck of nerves, a tangle of emotions.

I pace across the living room, flicking the television off as I pass. I run my fingers through my hair, move things aimlessly around on my coffee table, put a different CD on, even though I'm even listening to the melodies floating around, my indifference the almost tangible chords a contrast to what I am normally like.

Eventually I throw myself down on the sofa and think about you.

Something about you seems… pure, somehow. Untainted, on the surface, at least, by everything you've been through. Even though I know the scars are still there, deep down, hidden and buried, deep scars from the things done to you.

Things your yami put you through, things my yami put you through… and things I put you through.

But I don't want to think about that.

I don't think you do either.

You are everything I'm not, did you know that? And everything I have ever wanted to be, everything I pray I could be for you.

You are calm and reposed.
Let your beauty unfold.
Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones.

I still can't quite understand how we did it all to you. We used you, abused you, and yet you never complained, never guilt-trip us, never even remind us, although we know it haunts you still.

You forgave me, forgave all of us, without hesitation, without doubt.

That's what constantly confuses us all.

And I could never repay you for that.

It was in April when I realised how addicted to you I had become. That spring had been awful for it's unpredictable rain showers, and we always seemed to get caught out in them, running, laughing, for shelter.

Some days I prayed for the rain though, just so I could hear you sound so happy.

Spring will always remind me of you, and how I became addicted to you, without even realising it was happening, the same way you can get addicted to smoke without even smoking, and before you know it, it's all you crave.

We always have to be careful with you though, we all do. But we cherish that, your fragility; and it makes me feel like I can do something for you when I'm protecting you.

And yet, when I hurt you, it breaks my heart.

Did you ever really understand how much I care for you?

Spring keeps you ever close.
You are second hand smoke.
You are so fragile and thin.

You make no sense to us, you know that? We talk about it, sometimes, about how you still feel guilty about what you let us do to other people, although you couldn't have done anything to stop us.

You're still here, which you admit surprises yourself some days. Hanging on, despite it all, still caring, still giving. You do everything you can for us, only sparing a seconds thought for yourself, to stop yourself falling.

But it doesn't really matter now, because that's my job, to stop you falling, to hold on to your hand and never let it go, and when you do pull away, because there is a little independence streak under your surface, and if you do slip, and fall, it's me who is there to catch you.

Not because I have to.

Because I want to.

I'd do anything to save you.

It's only fair, considering you saved me.

And now it's going to rain again, I can feel it in the air, it's going to storm out over the city, and all I can hope for is that you get here before it starts, so you don't get wet, because I won't be with you to keep you warm in the streets if you are.

Standing trial for your sins.
Holding onto yourself the best you can.

You told me something once, a long time ago, and it took me a long time to understand what it was you were saying.

"Malik, happiness is one part joy and three parts knowing that there have been times when there wasn't joy, because then you'll appreciate it even more."

Remembering the times without you, the loneliness, the emptiness, makes me even more determined never to go back to that, never to be like that again, never to lose you or be without you.

Because, Ryou, you make me happy.

It's that simple.

Everything about you means everything to me.

You're what keeps me focused, keeps me going, and keeps me alive.

This morning I made you promise to be back before the rain came in, and you promised you'd try, and I know that I can't ask for more than that, the fact that you'd try for me is more than I ever deserved.

And I know you'll think I'll be mad if you don't make it in time, I know you always think I'll be angry at you, that it's guaranteed, but it's not.

I can't be angry at you any more.

And I can smell the world through the open window, can smell the humidity before the storm, but not that much before the storm any more, because it's going to start soon, and all I can think of it you as the soft patter of the rain caresses the glass, falling through the open window and darkening the carpet you chose with moisture.

As I stand to close it, the doorbell rings, and I know it's you.

You are the smell before rain.
You are the blood in my veins.
Call me a safe bet. I'm betting I'm not.

I run to the door, as quickly as I can, and I throw it open, nervous for some idiotic reason that it won't be you.

But of course it is.

It's you, smiling up at me, still dry but for a few raindrops in your hair and on your face, and that was good timing, Ryou, you made it home in good time because the rain's getting heavier now, and I'm glad you made it here before then because any later you would have been drenched, and I'd have felt bad about breaking your umbrella last week.

You smile up at me, tired, and I pull you inside, into the warmth of the hallway and into an embrace. You bury your head in my neck and I stroke your hair slowly, whispering comforting words into your tired ears, the front door still open, the sound of the rain echoing around us.

"Welcome home, Ryou. You made it. You missed the rain."

You pull back and, standing on tip-toes, kiss my mouth, softly, your lips damp from rain but warm still, and I shut the door and follow you into our living room, where we curl on the sofa together, bodies pressed together, moulded together, and our skin warm at each others touch.

We sit and listen together, listen to our heartbeats, and the rain.

The rain always reminds me of you.

I'm glad that you can forgive.
I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget.