Title:  Um Céu Roxo

Author:  Kouryuu

Rating:  PG-13 (ooh, rating crept up 9_9 for not much at all, so don't get excited)

Pairing:  Ran x Ken/Ken x Ran (whichever works out..)

Status:  part 3 of ?

Summary:  Sequel to "Running Away"; see "Running Away" for full summary.

Archive:  Please ask first so I know where it's at; archived at

Contact:  lonestarfruit@yahoo.com

--+--

Author's Babbles:

Zefyr:  n_n kehehe. You appreciate the Ran-angst! ::cling::

Nalanzu:  ^_~ Aww, don't lie, you love the teasing. *koff* I just get plagued by writers' block with this pairing for some reason... but I keep pluggin' along at whatever rate the muses let me.

Space Lion:  All anyone needs is Ken-lovin'. It makes the world a happier place. And a Ken without his soccer is just a pitiful little half-Ken, so I had to give it back. I just hope I made it at least semi-plausible...

Ucchan Kuonji:  You'll have to wait a bit longer for snogging. ^^; But it'll be in there, I swear, especially since Marty will slay me if I don't write smut in this fic.

Nauta Iupiter:  kehehe Oh yeah, Ken's not a happy duckling. n_n And in this chapter, we get to see ::drumroll:: drunk-angst!Ken. Woo!

Shime:  Of course it's gonna and in a cliffhanger. I mean, come on. I love abusing my audience. n_n ::ducks sharp objects::

Kira:  Ran's ability to angst and wallow in denial is amazing, isn't it? But he's finally getting some sense verbally smacked into him, so w00t.

Marty:  _ My favorite ho. Keep waiting for the monkey-lovin' as if Roman lovin' isn't good enough to tide you over. It'll be there eventually, once they get over their issues.

Krysana:  I was under the impression that anyone with Brazilian citizenship would be eligible to play on the national team..? If I'm wrong in this regard, please correct me.

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed. ^_^ I thrive on all the comments and death threats and stuff!

--+--

"Um Céu Roxo" (chapter 3) by Kouryuu

            The announcer didn't have to announce who had won the game.  The score board said it all, and the roar of the crowd would have drowned out his obvious words anyway.  And so he sat back and grinned at his partner, and they called it a day while below the winning team rushed out onto the field, hugging one another and yelling in their exuberance, not quite coherent and not quite minding that they made no sense.  Human joy has a tendency to revert men to children and therefore it was a group of children whose glowing faces would make the evening news that night, not the normally-suave players whose mysterious smiles were more familiar.

            It was decided that they'd all head out to a bar to celebrate.  "Get shit drunk!" one of the defenders clarified, and another swung an arm around his shoulders and laughed his agreement.  They moved in unison, all willing for once to compromise and agree and shit, they won and it felt so good..!  Showers came first, of course, since they were all coated in a mixture of mud and sweat (and champagne from a bottle that someone had sprayed) that just wouldn't be pleasant a few hours from now.

            Ken hung back, chatting with Alessandro, elated almost beyond reason.  As he wandered off to the shower he thought about the innocent, carefree happiness he was feeling, awed that he could once more feel such a simple emotion.  He had been sure that Weiss had killed that part of him, had pushed the Ken in him far out of the way while Siberian took the lead... but clearly his ability to bounce back was without limits.  J-League had been taken away, Kase's betrayal, a life of murder.. and he could still feel like a giddy kid who had just won his first soccer game.  Of course he'd won them in the past, but it'd been years, and he'd been so nervous, and...  The warm water didn't do much to chase away his rapid thoughts, tripping lightly over each other in a way that only made him laugh out loud in the shower.

            "God, I'm going to give myself a headache!"

            "Try not to.  You have a visitor," someone called from behind the door, and Ken pouted.

            "Can't a guy even talk to himself without anyone spying?"

            "No!" came the laughing reply, and Ken stuck his tongue out even though there was a door between him and his teammate.

            The shower did more to emphasize that giddiness than to minimize its effects.  In loose jeans and a team t-shirt, hair damp and already falling out of the direction he'd combed it and skin glowing from a scrubbing, Ken was the embodiment of simple, carefree happiness.  He bounded out of the locker room with a grin on his face, intent on tackling whoever his visitor happened to be, as he assumed it'd be a friend.

            He was partially right, at any rate.  His sneakers skidded on the damp floor, momentum reversed to a dead standstill, all the joy wiped out of his expression and replaced by blank shock.

            The redhead kept appearing like a phantasm in Ken's life, whether of his own devices or by some twisted workings of the fates.  When he had first seen Ran on that frigid morning in New York he'd been dressed in sooty greys like a creature formed of mist and fire.  Now Ran had once more materialized like a wandering spirit when he least expected it, unconsciously striking in a way that drew the eye and caused the heart to flip strangely.  This time he wasn't in grey but in white, simple enough as pants and a tank top to battle the Brazilian heat.  He was facing away, looking out at the streetlights through a large window, his hip leaning gently against a support column and hands tucked casually into his pockets.

            Shock shifted direction, and Ken felt an unnatural anger boil up inside.  He long had it been?  Four months, five?  And now Ran suddenly chose to appear in Ken's life once more, a silent threat against stability both physical and emotional.  Once more things were on his terms, not the brunette's.  Once more Ran wanted to set the rules, set the boundaries, take charge, take over.  An angry, quiet huff and Ken stormed out the opposite door, heading out towards where the team was getting into their cars.  Carlos was close by with his convertible and Ken didn't even ask permission, vaulting easily over the door and dropping into the passenger seat.  Music blared from the radio and Carlos just winked, clearly pleased at his luck tonight as far as company went, shifting the car into gear.  Ken didn't even care.  Carlos had been hitting on him for months now.  So what was he waiting for?

            Ken tucked his hands behind his head and propped his sneakers up on the dashboard, oblivious to the violet eyes that followed the path of the car as it peeled off into the night.  Screw it all.  He wasn't going to sit around hoping any longer.  Life had been shitty to him and now things had brightened.  He could either throw himself headfirst into living the life that was offered, or continue waiting for something that would never be.  Brown eyes glanced at Carlos, met a pair of hazel.  What they offered was so much simpler, so much more direct than anything he'd ever seen in eyes the color of amethyst.  Enough false hope, enough teasing, enough jumping at opportunities.  This was a sure bet, and right about now, Ken's ego could do with a few of those.

--+--

            Distantly, a roar sounded, reminiscent of heat lightning about to strike.  Instead, it was the frustrated sound of fangirls preparing to bombard the author with flames for another chapter filled with nothing but Aya-angst.  But!!  For once there was metaphorical light dangling like a carrot of desperate hope on the horizon.  ^_~

--+--

            Ken hadn't even acknowledged his presence.  He must have seen him; Ran had only turned around for a moment, trying to figure out what he would say, how he would apologize, and by the time the door had slammed it'd been too late.  There was no point in following him, even if he had a way to do so.  Ken didn't want to see him, and frankly, Ran couldn't blame him.  He'd acted like a royal asshole, and whether that was intentional or otherwise was completely besides the point.

            That was it, then.  No final goodbye, no chance to redeem himself.  Just the knowledge that he'd had so much offered to him on a silver platter, had it all within reach, and had fumbled so badly that he had lost it all without even--

            "You look like someone kill your dog!"

            Violet eyes blinked, startled out of further wallowing by a rather overly-friendly arm slung around his shoulders.  He found himself looking into the dark brown eyes of a Brazilian, the man's accent heavy but his English clear enough.

            "Oh, did I use a wrong word?" he asked, pouting in deep thought.  "Cachorro.  Dog.  Right?"

            Ran frowned, trying to ease out from under the man's arm.

            "I wouldn't know.  I don't speak Portuguese.  Now if you don't mind..."

            But the Brazilian just held on tighter, laughing, and poked a finger into his ribs.

            "Oh, come on!  Don't run away so fast!  You're just going to sit there and look so sad, yes?  Life is so tough, he doesn't even look at you, he run off with someone else.  Right?"

            Now Ran was getting angry.  He scowled, shoving the other man's arm off of his shoulders.

            "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

            "Which is why you're growling, yes?"  The Brazilian grinned, looking very proud of himself.  "Your name is Ran, but Ken sometimes call you 'Aya' and then fixe-- no, 'corrects' is the right word, sim? -- corrects himself, and he looks at the phone and then he looks so sad, so sad."

            That definitely got the redhead's attention, amethyst-colored eyes narrowing.

            "Who are you?"

            "Ah!  So rude of me."  The Brazilian scooped Ran into a bone-crushing hug before the other could escape.  "My name is Alessandro."  He stepped back, getting a blank look.  "...Alessandro del Toro.  You know, the goalie?  I play football with Ken."

            It clicked after a moment.  "You're the one who got hurt."

            Alessandro rolled his eyes.  "Is this the only fame I have anymore?  No more roses, no more women sending me ten-page-long sonnets of love, no more face in the paper... all I get is a bitter American tell me 'you're the one who got hurt.'  Oh, I'm so crushed." 

            Ran arched an eyebrow.   "Right.  I have a taxi to catch."  He headed for the door, pushing it open.  He didn't have time for this, not right now.  He needed to go home, lose himself in his work, and-- shit.  He couldn't even do that.  Maybe he could head to Vienna after all.  Maybe that would be distraction enough to dull the sinking sense of pain that was already starting to build up.

            "You haven't lost him yet, amigo.  Are you so stupid that you're going to lose him now?"

            Ran stopped, his back to the Brazilian and his hand on the door handle.

            "You can listen to me, or you can waste more time.  Ken is angry, you can see this much.  When he is angry, he likes to do stupid things, again this is something you know."  Ran turned slowly, looking at Alessandro with a somewhat grudging respect.  Alessandro clearly knew Ken as well as, or even better than, Ran himself did.  "He is not the sort of man who does well when he is alone.  He was alone for a long time, I think.  Before he work with you, during that time, even now when he has so many people to choose from.  And then he waited for you a long time, too.  I think maybe he doesn't want to wait anymore.  So tell me, amigo.  Will you swallow some pride?  Or would you rather he go home with a Carlos at the end of the night?"

--+--

            The bar was a sauna, steam replaced by cigar and cigarette smoke to create a noxious air pressure thick enough to lean on.  The press of people didn't help to air it out, either, and it wasn't easy to make out anyone's features because the heaviest cloud of internal smog hung right around head-level.  The press of humanity was probably more than the smoke the cause of such sensations of stifling that those who were even slightly sober -- and they were by far the minority -- felt so clearly.  It felt as if every new person that came in made the bar's walls and joints creak in protest, though any such creaking had no hope of being heard over the exuberant, deafening buzz of happy drunk men and music blasting from speakers near the ceiling,.  Any potential restraint had been tossed to the wind when the bartender -- in his official, signed team jersey, an obvious fan -- had climbed up on the bar and announced that all drinks for the team were on the house.  After the initial roar and storming of the bar -- the effects of said storming alleviated somewhat by two players skilled in basic mixology hopping over the bar -- everyone had settled into the sort of single-minded flavor of activity often characterized by bees in hives, though instead of working for any sort of survival everyone seemed to exist instead to celebrate victory with every single other individual in the bar.

            Ken sat on the edge of the bar counter, legs dangling over the edge.  Carlos had positioned himself on the barstool directly in front, effectively sitting between the brunette's knees.  One of his elbows rested on Ken's thigh, his other hand balancing a mug of beer and once in a while venturing to caress a bit of tan skin, much of it available since the shirt the bartender was wearing had come off of Ken's back.  Ken chatted amiably with Carlos, hitting back enough vodka shots that he found himself giddily toying with the other man's gold chain, with his messy black hair.  The texture repeatedly startled him, sleek but not nearly to the degree that crimson silk strands had felt against his skin... but all those thoughts got pushed out of the way by alcohol and conversation, and by the time that Alessandro found him Ken had moved down from the bar counter to straddle Carlos' lap on the stool instead, arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in for a deep, sensual kiss that made the other man groan in approval.

            "Ken."

            The brunette didn't look up.  One of Carlos' hands was on his ass, thumb tucked into one of his belt loops, the other tangled in his sun-streaked hair, mussing it beyond redemption.

            "Ken, I need to talk to you."

            Ken broke the kiss, brown eyes languid and hazed over with liquor.  Both he and Carlos turned to face Alessandro though neither seemed to consider disentangling a feasible option.

            "Hey.  I'm kinda busy right now, let's talk later."  Ken reached behind him, grabbing two more shots.  He handed one to his erstwhile partner and hit back the other, wiping his knuckles across his mouth.  Alessandro frowned lightly, needing to lean in to be heard over all the noise.  He pointed across the crowd.

            "Talk to him."

            Ran was barely visible in the gloomy, smoke-filled atmosphere, though his immobile white-clad figure finally contrasted enough against the opposite wall, violet eyes appearing from this distance like two dark beads, cold and unwelcoming.  Ken laughed bitterly, nuzzling back against Carlos' cheek.

            "Tell him to go fuck himself."

            Alessandro's hand was suddenly on his wrist, strong and angry.

            "I'm not asking you, amigo.  I'm telling you.  Go talk to him."  Ken tried to pull away, but Alessandro adamantly hung on, dark eyes dead serious.  "It's not an option.  Trust me enough to swallow your stupidity and listen to what he has to say.  If you don't agree, then by all means resume what you were doing.  But he deserves a few minutes of your time."

            "It's funny how he thinks he can just intrude on my time only when he pleases."

            "Ken..."

            "Fine.  Just to get you to shut up."

--+--

End ch. 5.  n_n Please don't kill me. *koff*

--+--