++ Inches From the Edge ++
A short, quickly-written Taito blurb with a bit of a twisted ending! Un-beta'ed, because I wrote it half an hour ago and wanted to get it up already. This is what you get when you have too many angsty stories going at once...
Disclaimers as usual [i.e. not mine]. Except the plot, what little of it that there is.
++
My cellular phone rang just as I was pulling off my muddy, sweaty soccer shirt. Its mechanical ring echoed loudly in the spacious locker room, making me cringe. I had a deep antipathy for the device, but since I was unpredictable and wont to sudden excursions, my parents had foisted it onto me. I hadn't the faintest idea who would have been calling me at that moment. I was where I was supposed to be, and it was hours before supper.
At first, I elected to ignore it. But there was something insistent in its call that I couldn't quite shrug off. Besides, I was receiving sour looks from my teammates. I groaned pointedly and rooted around in my satchel.
"Hello?" I answered sceptically. There were very few people who had my number, and all of them should have known that he was at practice then and not to be disturbed.
"Taichi? Finally." It was Yamato, acerbic and insincere as ever. I grinned to myself.
"What's up?"
"Are you busy?" There was something in my blonde lover's words that warned me that I'd better not be, but the hint did not come as the result of his sharp tone of voice. Rather, it was the plea of a drowning man. Frowning slightly to myself, I wondered when I had become so suddenly insightful of his needs, and imagined the repercussions of answering with a 'yes'. I decided that it would be a dangerously precarious word to use.
"You know I've got practice now, 'Mato, but I'm almost done. Is something wrong?" One never knew with him: Yamato's moods were so changeable. Perhaps he was just feeling depressed, as he did at times, and needed a shoulder to cry on. It was a chore that I willingly undertook; which was good, because sometimes the need came at importunate times, like at three am or moments like this. I shrugged all this off as routine comforting, and knew that I would get a snuggle into the bargain.
"Well, no. Not yet, at least." And then I knew that something was seriously off-kilter. It was not like my blonde sweetheart to be cryptic and foreshadowing. I found that my hand had taken to shaking. "Can you come over to the bridge when you're done?"
I swallowed my uncertainty. "Sure, of course! I'll see you in a moment."
"Alright. Love you."
"You too. Bye."
I forewent the remainder of my changing, opting only for a clean shirt. Outside, storm clouds were forming on the horizon, languidly rolling towards the city. As I trudged out looking like a bedraggled dog - muddy from head to foot - I thought back to the conversation. I shouldn't be feeling so paranoid, I admonished myself. I was probably reading far too much into a mere conversation, as usual.
But somehow, with someone as perfect as my Yamato, I couldn't help but worry. I lived with the constant, irrational fear that one day he would simply be gone, and me dependent on him as I was left in emotional ruins. I never seemed to feel good enough for him. He had tried to allay those worries, but it persisted: I lived under the motto that our relationship was too good to last.
I was surprised that my casual walk had broken into a swift jog, and that I was nearing the Odaiba River landmark. I made my hurried way through the park and onto its main thoroughfare. The drab grey clouds were chasing me, it seemed, suddenly on my heels. And then I saw the bridge. Yamato was there, too, visible against the background of verdant green and clear blue. I strode up to him, and as I neared, saw that he was sitting on the railing, calm and composed as ever. My worries eddied from me like a spring tide. He was perfectly fine.
"'Mato!" I called to him as I neared, but he seemed not to hear. His elegant face looked blank, his eyes distant, and perhaps he was lost in the maze of some dark daydream. He did not respond to my calls until I was at his side, and even then he did not speak, simply acknowledging my presence with the whisper of a smile on his serene face. A gusty wind picked up. Silence hung between us. My heart started thudding wildly in my chest again as I sensed an abrupt wrongness, a perversity of the situation.
Yamato lowered his eyes to the rushing waters below, contemplative, then finally turned and looked at me. His expression was so heart-breakingly soft, and his smile so lovingly warm, that I could not stop the lump forming in my throat. It seemed that, in that one gaze, he had summed up all that I was to him. I felt humbled and honoured by the silent tribute. His smile lost its sad edge and became genuinely happy.
"Taichi, you're here."
"Of course!" I proclaimed, as though the very thought of anything else was preposterous. "What's going on?"
He smiled again, whimsically, and gazed back out into the distance. "Oh, nothing at all. Just admiring the view." He swung his thin, graceful legs over the railing and onto the solid ground of the bridge. "Let's go home."
He offered no explanation, and I didn't ask for once. Slow, fat raindrops began falling, and we broke into a frantic, laughing run. I'd been rewarded for the detour a thousand times over by that one adoring look, and I swore to remember and treasure it always. Such things were rare with my icy blonde.
++
That night, as we sat cuddled on the couch, I toyed with his hair and thought back on my groundless worry. There had been nothing wrong, after all! Yamato had probably finished his rehearsal early and wanted to wait for me, surrounded by the scenery of the park. I pushed all concerns from my mind and basked in the moment, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The blonde stirred slightly and spun in my arms so that he could get a good look at my face. The expression in his eyes was plain to read: 'You're my everything,' it screamed. My heart broke at the realisation and I pulled him even closer, silently promising never to let his trust in me down.
"'Chi?" he mumbled hazily. His lips were on my collarbone, and he snuggled in to my chest as he shifted.
"Hmm?" My attention was only half-focused on his words. Whatever he had to say in a moment like this would not be that important.
"You didn't ask why I called you to the bridge yet." His tone was slightly accusatory, but to my disconcertment, I detected a hint of tears in his voice. My awareness was now fully on him.
"I didn't think it was necessary."
"How important do you think you are to me?" he asked suddenly, seemingly having spun the conversation around one hundred and eighty degrees. I listened even more attentively.
"Very, I should hope," I answered, hoping to lighten the mood with a tinge of humour.
"You have no idea, Taichi. Really. You mean more than the world to me. I'm not exaggerating. I just wanted you to know that."
I nuzzled into his hair. "Oh, 'Mato!"
He pulled away from me suddenly, and his expression became clouded with irritation. "Taichi," he said, so seriously that I froze mid-thought, "If you hadn't come along when I called, this would all have ended very differently. If I hadn't heard you just then, I would have jumped off that bloody bridge. You know I would do it. I wanted to. I thought that I had nothing more to live for. But then I saw you."
My eyes went wide. My hands were shaking again as the tide of words struck me. He was right: I had no idea.
A short, quickly-written Taito blurb with a bit of a twisted ending! Un-beta'ed, because I wrote it half an hour ago and wanted to get it up already. This is what you get when you have too many angsty stories going at once...
Disclaimers as usual [i.e. not mine]. Except the plot, what little of it that there is.
++
My cellular phone rang just as I was pulling off my muddy, sweaty soccer shirt. Its mechanical ring echoed loudly in the spacious locker room, making me cringe. I had a deep antipathy for the device, but since I was unpredictable and wont to sudden excursions, my parents had foisted it onto me. I hadn't the faintest idea who would have been calling me at that moment. I was where I was supposed to be, and it was hours before supper.
At first, I elected to ignore it. But there was something insistent in its call that I couldn't quite shrug off. Besides, I was receiving sour looks from my teammates. I groaned pointedly and rooted around in my satchel.
"Hello?" I answered sceptically. There were very few people who had my number, and all of them should have known that he was at practice then and not to be disturbed.
"Taichi? Finally." It was Yamato, acerbic and insincere as ever. I grinned to myself.
"What's up?"
"Are you busy?" There was something in my blonde lover's words that warned me that I'd better not be, but the hint did not come as the result of his sharp tone of voice. Rather, it was the plea of a drowning man. Frowning slightly to myself, I wondered when I had become so suddenly insightful of his needs, and imagined the repercussions of answering with a 'yes'. I decided that it would be a dangerously precarious word to use.
"You know I've got practice now, 'Mato, but I'm almost done. Is something wrong?" One never knew with him: Yamato's moods were so changeable. Perhaps he was just feeling depressed, as he did at times, and needed a shoulder to cry on. It was a chore that I willingly undertook; which was good, because sometimes the need came at importunate times, like at three am or moments like this. I shrugged all this off as routine comforting, and knew that I would get a snuggle into the bargain.
"Well, no. Not yet, at least." And then I knew that something was seriously off-kilter. It was not like my blonde sweetheart to be cryptic and foreshadowing. I found that my hand had taken to shaking. "Can you come over to the bridge when you're done?"
I swallowed my uncertainty. "Sure, of course! I'll see you in a moment."
"Alright. Love you."
"You too. Bye."
I forewent the remainder of my changing, opting only for a clean shirt. Outside, storm clouds were forming on the horizon, languidly rolling towards the city. As I trudged out looking like a bedraggled dog - muddy from head to foot - I thought back to the conversation. I shouldn't be feeling so paranoid, I admonished myself. I was probably reading far too much into a mere conversation, as usual.
But somehow, with someone as perfect as my Yamato, I couldn't help but worry. I lived with the constant, irrational fear that one day he would simply be gone, and me dependent on him as I was left in emotional ruins. I never seemed to feel good enough for him. He had tried to allay those worries, but it persisted: I lived under the motto that our relationship was too good to last.
I was surprised that my casual walk had broken into a swift jog, and that I was nearing the Odaiba River landmark. I made my hurried way through the park and onto its main thoroughfare. The drab grey clouds were chasing me, it seemed, suddenly on my heels. And then I saw the bridge. Yamato was there, too, visible against the background of verdant green and clear blue. I strode up to him, and as I neared, saw that he was sitting on the railing, calm and composed as ever. My worries eddied from me like a spring tide. He was perfectly fine.
"'Mato!" I called to him as I neared, but he seemed not to hear. His elegant face looked blank, his eyes distant, and perhaps he was lost in the maze of some dark daydream. He did not respond to my calls until I was at his side, and even then he did not speak, simply acknowledging my presence with the whisper of a smile on his serene face. A gusty wind picked up. Silence hung between us. My heart started thudding wildly in my chest again as I sensed an abrupt wrongness, a perversity of the situation.
Yamato lowered his eyes to the rushing waters below, contemplative, then finally turned and looked at me. His expression was so heart-breakingly soft, and his smile so lovingly warm, that I could not stop the lump forming in my throat. It seemed that, in that one gaze, he had summed up all that I was to him. I felt humbled and honoured by the silent tribute. His smile lost its sad edge and became genuinely happy.
"Taichi, you're here."
"Of course!" I proclaimed, as though the very thought of anything else was preposterous. "What's going on?"
He smiled again, whimsically, and gazed back out into the distance. "Oh, nothing at all. Just admiring the view." He swung his thin, graceful legs over the railing and onto the solid ground of the bridge. "Let's go home."
He offered no explanation, and I didn't ask for once. Slow, fat raindrops began falling, and we broke into a frantic, laughing run. I'd been rewarded for the detour a thousand times over by that one adoring look, and I swore to remember and treasure it always. Such things were rare with my icy blonde.
++
That night, as we sat cuddled on the couch, I toyed with his hair and thought back on my groundless worry. There had been nothing wrong, after all! Yamato had probably finished his rehearsal early and wanted to wait for me, surrounded by the scenery of the park. I pushed all concerns from my mind and basked in the moment, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The blonde stirred slightly and spun in my arms so that he could get a good look at my face. The expression in his eyes was plain to read: 'You're my everything,' it screamed. My heart broke at the realisation and I pulled him even closer, silently promising never to let his trust in me down.
"'Chi?" he mumbled hazily. His lips were on my collarbone, and he snuggled in to my chest as he shifted.
"Hmm?" My attention was only half-focused on his words. Whatever he had to say in a moment like this would not be that important.
"You didn't ask why I called you to the bridge yet." His tone was slightly accusatory, but to my disconcertment, I detected a hint of tears in his voice. My awareness was now fully on him.
"I didn't think it was necessary."
"How important do you think you are to me?" he asked suddenly, seemingly having spun the conversation around one hundred and eighty degrees. I listened even more attentively.
"Very, I should hope," I answered, hoping to lighten the mood with a tinge of humour.
"You have no idea, Taichi. Really. You mean more than the world to me. I'm not exaggerating. I just wanted you to know that."
I nuzzled into his hair. "Oh, 'Mato!"
He pulled away from me suddenly, and his expression became clouded with irritation. "Taichi," he said, so seriously that I froze mid-thought, "If you hadn't come along when I called, this would all have ended very differently. If I hadn't heard you just then, I would have jumped off that bloody bridge. You know I would do it. I wanted to. I thought that I had nothing more to live for. But then I saw you."
My eyes went wide. My hands were shaking again as the tide of words struck me. He was right: I had no idea.