Disclaimer: DN Angel isn't mine, and if it was I'd pair Dark with Riku right off the bat, and Satoshi with himself. That's right.
Don't Tell Anyone, But...
Sakura-Angel: Everytime I include Satoshi in a scene I can't help but let him take over. I love the brat, I do. I also love Takeshi, can you tell? He's so bubbly and crazy and big brother-like, at least the way I see him. Here's a random thought: Satoshi and Takeshi are like ying and yang.
Anyways. Don't Tell gets its second last chapter. Everything builds up within this chapter. If you think the building up is fast-paced, think of how boring a whole chapter of no Riku/Dark action is. Yeah. So. Enjoy, readers, and as always I appreciate your thoughts.
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"You're so good at everything, I guess. You don't say it... I don't think you'd do that. But it sho--"
What was she going to say? More importantly, what was she trying to say?
Dark occupied the ominous armchair in his sitting room, staring out the window and thinking these thoughts.
He'd stuck it out at the dinner, though not very well by his standards. The evening was a wreck after that, his mind preoccupied with Riku. He'd been broody even when on stage to thank the companies willing to sponsor him in coming events. The audience clapped, but raised their eyebrows amongst themselves, and he felt foolish inside his ponderous state. That empty chair beside him didn't particularly help either. Or that stupid Mikiko girl who smirked at him as she left.
He sighed loudly now, breath coming out in a hurry.
Should he call her? Or was that just inviting abuse?
One of the largest questions, of course: Why did she run?
Did it have anything to do with what she said before that dumb girl came? Was it his apology? She sounded quite firm when she interrupted...
"I haven't bothered to ask you the right Truths or look any further than those random facts."
"That's not true."
And that was all he got. And all because he didn't want to push her a little. The possible consequences of asking her again what she meant were nothing compared to this. Sitting, thinking, feeling like his brain and heart were whirled together in a cyclone.
... So why didn't he ask now?
He found his suitjacket and fished out his mobile. He didn't have her number, so he called Satoshi.
"... Mmphfrrr. Hello."
"That's a nice noise."
On the other end of the line, the blue-haired young man mumbled some pretty unfriendly things away from the receiver. "Shut it. I was sleeping. Do you have any idea of the time?"
"Eleven twenty-eight. Now answer me this: do you have Riku's number?"
"You woke me up. For a girl's number." He would've cried if he were more awake and had functioning tear ducts. He was pretty sure they worked ten percent of the time... but it was too late for him to care.
Hell, he wouldn't normally care anyway.
"Well, do you?" Dark was known for his stubbornness.
Satoshi whispered an 'Oh God' and rubbed an eyelash from his cheek. "No."
"Do you have Risa's?"
"You really like Riku, don't you," he stated more than asked. "Why aren't you calling Krad? He'll know."
Dark froze at realizing this. Krad. He almost forgot about him.
Okay, he sort of put up a mental block against the blonde bastard, but so what? Friend, Shmend. Krad had proved himself more of a nuisance than a comrade over the past... decade anyway.
Not to mention that he did mess Riku up. Her try at love perfect. Love forever.
Satoshi would've smirked at this pause, but he was sleeping.
Dark cleared his throat to cover the lull in conversation, and bit back. "You're just trying to hide the fact that you do have that Risa girl's number."
Satoshi stirred, Dark's voice in his ear. "Eh?" he said, mouth a few inches from the receiver.
"I know you two have something going on there. You dog..."
By now his eyes were open, but they narrowed again out of habit. He'd recognize that tone of voice anywhere. Especially if it was Dark. By some miracle he picked up on the conversation, managing to again avoid talk of Risa and himself. "You want her number," he said more than asked (again).
"If you'd be so kind," Dark clipped off Satoshi's words.
"Wait," came the sleepy command.
"Thought he'd have it memorized," Dark said under his breath.
"I heard that," the voice said faintly, indicating it came from a distance.
Dark merely pouted, though not with much effort.
Satoshi considered asking if Dark had a pen and paper, but decided he didn't care, not since Dark woke him up. And then he remembered Dark's scary memory. "590-2547."
"Gotcha. Thanks."
Before Dark could quickly sign off, Satoshi stopped him.
"How did the dinner go?"
He said nothing. How could he accurately describe how it went?
"Not well, I take it?"
"... For... the most part."
Now he was awake. The blue-eyed man (- who was entirely capable of being an ass, as he was doing now, in Dark's humble opinion -) gave the verbal equivalent of raising his eyebrows through the telephone. His voice came out a teeny bit smug, the kind of tone any fangirl would faint at. "Really? Do tell."
And he relayed what had happened at the end of the evening, feeling like a girl gossiping. He skipped some of the little things - the stiffer walk she assumed when he touched her, for one. It just made his story sound even worse really, that much more capable of harbouring pity.
Satoshi 'hmm'ed in his way, maybe a little sympathetically. As if he had expected it.
"What's the other part of the story?" his friend prodded.
He began hesitantly, "Well... the ride there was great. We talked." His shortage of words stunted his sentences. "It was going great. We joked and stuff."
He wondered how to tell Satoshi about the Daisuke comment. He wondered if he should tell Satoshi. It just seemed so... unlike him to just toss something as sensitive like that out there. But it was on his mind, and Dark wasn't the type to hide.
"She met Daisuke. She said what you said. That we seemed like..."
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Oh. God. What had she done.
This thought repeated itself through her head from the second she had left the dinner to now. It had played like a broken record all through her chasing the bus down, the ride home, and when she stripped away the dress, shoes, jewellery. Who she wasn't.
She found things to do to not think. It was useless. She thought of it anyway and messed up what she was doing. She already had a small burn from accidentally touching her kettle. Her hair had tangled for about five minutes when she tried to yank the tie from her hairstyle. She'd run her shoulder stupidly into her doorframe, slamming her collarbone.
So now she had physical injuries to match her emotional ones. Great.
She sank to the ground with her back to the wall and a cup of tea in hand. Of course, she hurt her shoulderblade as she did so.
She had messed up. Again.
Why did she always do this? She always did the wrong thing. With Krad it was holding on. With Dark, it was bolting. Why could she never do the right thing? Or at least the thing that felt right.
This was a thousand times worse than anything she could've dreamed. There was no question about it now. He wouldn't want to see her. She gave herself a moment to let this sink in.
She shook her head, shook it from her mind. She didn't even know why she ran. Why did she do that? It was a sort of flight response. It was too hot in the room? She didn't even believe herself at this point--
Of course you know why, she told herself. You know. But you won't say.
If she kept on like this, her tea would get salty.
She sat and sipped in her slippers, the pain and confusion too heavy for her heart.
She fell asleep before the call came.
"Riku, It's Dark. We need to talk. Please, call me back."
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The following monday, Riku wasn't there. It seemed she'd phoned in with a curt tone and a brief explaination - "If it could be called an explaination," said Mariko, ever-irate - and that was that. The general reaction was either astonishment or indifference - she hadn't missed a day yet. The day carried on as normal, instructors subbing in for her. They discussed her health - didn't she seem a bit under the weather lately?
Others knew better though. Takeshi was one of them.
"Hey," it was barked, command-like.
"Saehara." Dark nodded, ignored Takeshi's tone and kept on walking. His mind was on Riku... she hadn't called him back.
Takeshi wouldn't play his game. "Hey, what happened to her?" he yelled. His concern was obvious in his posture, leaning far over the counter of his stand with his hands on the surface, elbows at right angles. His face was a storm in the making.
Dark recognized this. He chose to reverse his previous steps and keep the storm in check. He didn't really know how to answer, just knew he should keep wiseass comments at bay. He didn't know how close Takeshi and Riku were.
"I know it has something to do with you," Takeshi said more quietly once Dark drew near. The rarely used frown strained his face. "She's not sick."
Maybe she is though, Dark thought to himself. Sick of me.
He came up to the counter and spoke, not wanting to give the impression of insulting Takeshi. But what tumbled out was unexpected. "She ran."
The aspiring journalist's eyes grew wide, his mouth widening to form a poorly formed 'o'. "She... what?"
"She ran from me." His eyes fell to his fingers atop the polished counter. If anyone were to pass by, they'd assume from his casual stance that the two were discussing something... not so sensitive.
Now Takeshi's eyes grew soft. "She what? She ran?" his voice went from fifty decibels to five.
"Yeah," Dark said over his tightening throat. "She ran out. From the dinner." From me. It almost hurt too much to think.
Takeshi almost spoke then, but kept his mouth shut. Something didn't add up. Riku liked Dark. She'd even confessed this to Takeshi herself. Then again, she was feeling pretty rocky about the whole thing, or that's what Takeshi concluded from their talk. He saw that, and knew her better than even she herself did sometimes.
Riku was a smart girl. Too smart sometimes. She knew what could hurt her well in advance, and avoided it with vehemence. When that didn't work, she put up walls.
She hadn't done that with Dark. Or at least, not when Takeshi expected her to. He should've guessed this would happen sooner or later.
She was smart. But oh! She could be so stupid. She couldn't see that sometimes, what you need to do is let yourself be hurt. Because whatever hurts can also heal a million times over.
"She runs a lot," Takeshi said with conviction.
The purple-haired man looked up from a daze, eyes questioning. "What..."
"I'll tell you something about Riku." Takeshi locked eyes with Dark. His were clear, whereas Dark's were tranced.
"Sometimes, you have to chase her. Chase her for all you're worth." Here he paused, let Dark absorb this. He looked up at the ceiling-high windows, morning light streaming in, and he almost felt it stream into himself. Dark kept on looking at Takeshi looking out the window.
Takeshi nearly whispered now, eyes steady. "Other times, you stand still. Stay, and slowly, she comes." His eyelids slid shut. "That's how she is."
It was quiet for a long time. Takeshi stood at the counter with his eyes closed, somehow casting a spell and leaving the two of them completely alone. Machines turned slush in their containers and people shuffled past. Then Dark spoke. His voice was scratchy, like a racer who had just run a hundred miles.
"I'll have a banana nutmeg smoothie."
Takeshi opened his eyes. He turned around, wiping his hands on the apron at his waist. "Good choice."
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Riku's flight stayed on both their minds through the month and into the next. She didn't bother to check her phone or keep up with the news. She stopped speaking in volumes to anyone, aside from Risa. Even then, it wasn't a lot. She was a blip, doing only what was needed and then disappearing. Her life became narrow, unspectacular. She never received Dark's message.
She was convinced that Dark was angry at her, and he was. She could see it in him - that is, when she found the courage to look at him. Which was always when he couldn't see her looking.
It was true, he was angry. He had called her and she never called back. He tried to pull her aside, but she dodged everytime. He didn't start out mad. The anger had grown slowly, small and sinister and in the background. He didn't remember it at first when he thought of her. But soon it was all he could see.
He wouldn't stop trying. He'd find out what had happened. It didn't matter that a month had passed, that it should have blown over. Because it wasn't. He didn't want it to. He'd nurse it for as long as he needed. With those good memories, with his confusion, with his hurt. With whatever it took.
Somewhere down the line, sometime in the second last week of August, Riku realized it couldn't go on this way. She'd run and run and it'd gotten her nowhere. She didn't want to be here. Where she wanted to be was back in the clear with Dark.
She told herself the entire teaching day that she'd talk to Dark. Why he still came to the pool made no sense to her at all, but she realized she shouldn't take it for granted. Still, she couldn't push herself to speak. Afraid, afraid. Always afraid.
It was in the parking lot that she got her chance. The air was crisp and the sky was dark with stars. She took the back way out of the pool - as was now her routine - to get to the bus stop. They'd literally run into one another, her gym bag strap bouncing off her shoulder.
Naturally, he caught her.
Unnaturally, he let go in a millisecond.
After all of this, he'd finally get a chance to speak to her. But it was then that she opened her mouth--
"Dark..."
-- and he snapped.
How could she treat him like this? How could she go on like this and not care about what they'd had? How could she just ignore him, act like he wasn't worth her time? He'd... cared for her. Found her closer and dearer to him than he could've ever possibly imagined... and now, now she wanted to talk to him?
She said what he'd dread. "I want... to talk. With you."
He took a deep breath. His face was disbelieving, he didn't care if she saw. "What about?"
"I..." she lost her nerve, mumbled to her shoes. "I... I don't know."
She doesn't know? His disbelief was the most dangerous kind, that blend of cocky angriness. "You don't know what you want."
"I do know... that I want to expl--"
"Do you know I've been trying to talk to you for four weeks? Four weeks, Riku." Here he looked away, distanced himself. "And you wouldn't even look at me. Is it so much to ask to talk to you?"
"No!" she sounded pleading, her answer to his implied leaving. She winced at what he'd said. It only hurt because it was true. "No, it's not a lot, I just didn't want to then. I didn't know... what I wanted from you... what I wanted from mysel--"
"So what do you want? Because I'm getting pretty damn confused here, Riku," he half-spat. His eyes flashed, the red she'd found so beautiful sparking with anger.
"I just--" The wind annoyingly blew her hair all over, and she blinked many times in the hopes it would simply go away. "I just want you to act-- I just--"
"Do you want to start all over again? Is that it?"
"No! I liked this. Like this. All of it." She meant this, she really did. The night he spun her and dipped her and shared his shirt with her. The time he untangled her from the stupid phone cord. The times he let her cry and clutch him. Though each moment was unique, they all struck her as incredibly romantic and a terrible waste on her cynical self.
"Really?" He was standing perpendicular to her now, but he held her eyes. He could sear her with that gaze. "Because I get the feeling that you don't. What's wrong, Riku? Is it not enough?"
Her chest threatened to burst. It held all her hopes and fears. No, it's not that, she wanted to say, but she couldn't (wouldn't) let herself say it. Afraid, afraid. Always afraid. To get her heart's desire, or to not get it.
The expression on his handsome face was heartbreaking. "I guess not." The words were heavy leaving his lips. He was sad beyond anything he'd ever felt, but he was running on angry adrenaline right now. His legs made his decision for him. They led him away.
"I just," she whispered uselessly. There were too many thoughts whirling around her head, and she grasped for one of them.
"I just want to know you like you know me," the words made it into the air, punctuated with his footsteps. It was said so quietly she couldn't be sure if it made its way to him, but there was no way to tell, as he walked on, away from her, and into the night.