Kyo walked slowly up the stairs to his apartment. It had been another long day at a job he did not enjoy. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and loosening his tie. He just wanted to go to sleep.
He stepped into his apartment, dropping his keys into a dish by the door. A pair was all ready in the ceramic bowl, and the two clinked together. A few lights were all ready on as well; Tohru was home from whatever activities she had done that day.
There was no call from somewhere in the house to welcome him home; he'd stopped expecting one for sometime. She had stopped months and months ago.
They had been married for nearly five years now. The first few years had been wonderful; not exactly bliss, but something near that. It had just been so wonderful, Kyo thought, to be married to someone so perfect as Tohru.
Everything had gone as smoothly as could be expected. They moved into an apartment in the center of Tokyo, Kyo got a job in an office; not exactly the job he'd dreamed of, but it would pay the bills. Tohru became the typical housewife, constantly cleaning, redecorating, cooking. She'd go out sometimes during the day, looking for a part-time job to help Kyo out.
Somewhere along the line, it had broken apart. Kyo had been promoted before he could quit, and had continued to work for that company because it had paid more. He'd come home at night, grumpy and touchy. Nothing Tohru did could revive him from those moods.
Tohru found a job house cleaning for a few nearby families, and went to work every other day. What else she did with her time, Kyo didn't really know. They didn't talk much anymore.
He hadn't stopped loving her. He was almost sure of that. It was just…he had grown tired, tired of his job, tired from his job, tired of the same old schedule, tired of everything. He still loved her. He was sure she still loved him. The only thing missing was the passion they once had had.
They hadn't made love in over a month.
Part of it was complications of schedules. Part of it was that Kyo was always tired, that Tohru was always tired. And part of it that neither felt the need to, felt the urge to. There wasn't a need; after all, Tohru could not get pregnant, it seemed.
They had tried, many times, to have a child. But, it just would not happen.
Once they seemed to realize it was impossible, part of the passion died.
They had grown more distant. Each enveloped into their own worlds; Kyo into his tiresome work, Tohru into whatever she did. Conversations at dinner died, there was no pillow talk before they went to bed. To an outsider, it would seem that they were strangers.
Kyo did not want this. He didn't want this distance between him and his wife. After all the struggles they went through just to be married, he didn't want it to end like this.
He wanted the fire back, the passion, the feelings they had before. He wanted to be able to talk to her like he used to, wanted her to talk to him like she used to. He wanted everything back to the way it used to be.
Because this way, the way they were living, was no life at all.
This was just surviving.
Getting by on the barest minimum of happiness.
And if it continued on this way, a divorce would be sure to happen. And a divorce was unacceptable.
Kyo hung his coat and went to the kitchen, following the sounds of a knife slicing against a cutting board. Tohru was in there, making dinner, as usual. She still had not forgotten once to make dinner. Kyo took that as a sign that there was still hope, that as long as she did something for the both of them, their relationship could be repaired.
He approached her quietly. Everything they did was quiet. Soft steps across the linoleum floor, minimum rustling of clothes, quiet voices used when they did talk. It was enough to drive Kyo insane.
Everything was the same, everything was quiet, and everything was depressing.
He didn't know how to break this constant cycle that was pulling them down further and further into a failed marriage.
He stood beside Tohru, watching her slice up vegetables for their dinner. She hadn't raised her head to look at him; it wasn't needed. She knew he was there, there was no need to acknowledge him.
The never-ending cycle.
She continued slicing; he studied her face. It was completely void of emotion, something he'd never seen with her. She'd always been very expressive of how she was feeling, and now…he didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't know what she was feeling.
The cycle was still there. The silence, the distance. The nothing between them.
Kyo stared at her for a moment, the lack of anything pushing something deep inside of him out. He stepped closer, awkwardly put a hand on her waist, and kissed her cheek.
The slicing stopped.
The cycle stopped.
He waited for a response, for something. He watched her face once more, and for once, was delighted to see her features scrunching together, and tears running down her cheeks. The rest of her body stayed stiff as she slowly turned her neck to look at him.
"….What…happened to…us?" she whispered, her eyes meeting his for the first time in weeks.
"…I don't know," Kyo answered honestly.
"But…we can fix this…."
Kyo nodded, wanting to do more, wanting to wipe the tears off her face. But that distance still existed, they still were almost strangers.
But the cycle had ended. And they would fix their marriage, somehow.
He was sure of it.
This story was inspiried by the song The Quiet ThingsThat No One Ever Knowsby Brand New.
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