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after Winter... Boys of Summer Opening Music Sage is driving down a dark, snow-laden highway, he streetlights flickering over the mirror polish on his emerald green prowler as it tears down the street like an anime batmobile. He leans his forehead in his hand and rubs briefly at eyes whose violet has faded as antique silks do without care. He can't remember ever being so weary, so tired and empty down to his bones, but he can't stop to rest, even if it would solve the hollowness. He is looking for something vitally important. And he has been driving a very long time. Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach.
He flashes back in his thoughts to earlier in the day: an urgent phone call from Sai, adamant that Rowen was in danger. Sage trekked through the frigid early spring sleet to Ryou's apartment, a place he has visited on many sleepless nights in the course of eighteen months. Ryou never knew what a close watch was kept on him by one he thought coldly indifferent. Ryou is gone, his motorcycle missing from the curb, Sai's message blinking frantically on his answering machine. Sage reaches out with his mind, daring what he has not in many, many days, to try to find Ryou somewhere. Far away yet familiar, a distant hint is all he discovers, but it is enough. He should have known where Ryou would be. But I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun,
Sage smiles faintly at a distant memory: playing volleyball on the beach on some anonymous summer day. Has it been two years? Three? More? On that particular day did he let himself kiss Ryou's golden lips or only ache to know what they tasted like, watching the white sand explode around his moving body like clouds of snow? How old was he? 16? 18? Was that the time Rowen lost his swim trunks to an amorous riptide or had that been the summer before? A thousand bright days are piled up like gold dust in the corners of Sage's soul, treasures he unlocks and sifts through to warm him. And they are needed. This winter has been colder and this spring tardier in its arrival than any Sage can recall. The highway becomes a twisting road through mountains. I never will forget those nights, I wonder if it was a dream.
Sage shifts in the driver's seat as other memories flutter back to him: of Ryou's ebony hair spilled in a black wave over a green silk pillowcase, his body trembling with the extremes of pleasure. There was a certain way he would pull Sage down against him when it was over, holding him tightly in his arms and in his body for as long as Sage would let him. It was never long enough, Sage realizes, even if he had held him until dawn. It was not enough then to have him here now, to have had him every empty night in the past. He can't shake the thoughts once they have begun. He can almost feel the heat that was distinctly Ryou, hear the sound of his own name whispered in need- or screamed in release. "Where the hell are you, Ryou? They need you." The car turns down a side road almost of it's own volition, following a single tire track in the snow. "I need you." Yeah I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun
Like a single raindrop rolling down his spine, or the first blossom in spring, the subtlest recollections are the most poignant. Solitary images form a house of cards iconostasis in his mind, a thousand mental snapshots of Ryou becoming a single image of his face. A shadowed smile over mirrored shades, blood smeared like warpaint on one cheek during one of a thousand battles, sweat glistening on straining limbs in one of a thousand nights. Sage shivers and turns up the heater a little more. It is useless. The flame he needs to warm his frozen spirit by is held within the lover at the end of this road. Out on the road today I saw a dead head sticker on a Cadillac.
By a wrought iron fence the single tire track ends, attached tail-like to the end wheel of Ryou's motorcycle. Sage's heart lurches a bit at the sight of the bike, the red helmet dangling from the handlebar, wildfire emblem emblazoned on the temples. So many times he was glad to see that piece of junk parked in front of Mia's. It was a sign; Ryou was home, that there would be a shy smile and maybe a touch waiting for him. Anything else would usually have to be encouraged, but it was never once refused. Ryou was a comfort Sage had taken for granted, that the bike would always be parked there, that Ryou would always be waiting. Until the first day he wasn't, and Sage realized what he had done. Sage kills the engine, opening the door and crunching into the snow and dead silence. The cold folds around him and he shivers inside his trenchcoat, wading through the innocent deadly white to the rickety gate hanging ajar. 'Ryou, Ryou, why are you here? You hate the loneliness of this place. And the cold. And I know you. I'm sure you haven't even any gloves.' I can see you: your brown skin shining in the sun
Sage stops suddenly in the lee of a drunkenly tilted obelisk, his rapid breath dissipating in the brittle air. Ryou is on his knees some distance away; huddled down and sobbing quietly amid disrupted snow. He holds his hands as though they are wounded, gloveless as Sage predicted. Sage wants to go to him but he hesitates, the moment is so private it discourages interruption. He leaves his hand on the obelisk as though the worn marble is keeping him in place, seeping through the leather covering his palm and dropping a small frigid kiss on his heart. Stand up, Ryou. You can stand up on your own. I've seen you do it. Ryou leans over, his bangs and the ends of his hair wet from snow, shaking violently from cold and grief. You can without me. You can. Sage takes an involuntary step closer. But what if he does? If he doesn't need you to help him stand- What does he need you for? And then where would you be, Korin no Seiji? I can see you: your brown skin shining in the sun
The physical distance between them closes to nothing as Sage rushes over, somehow terrified that Ryou will gain his feet without his assistance. He extends one hand, afraid to breathe, hoping to god that when those blue eyes lift to his face that they will not hold hatred. Ryou blinks at Sage's glove, as though trying to place it's owner without additional data. Finally he lifts his face to Sage, his gaze full of wonder- and a cautious sort of joy. I know I'm late, Ryou, but I'm here. Sage can only barely pronounce what he had planned to say, informing Ryou of Rowen's possible peril. There are so many other words that want to crowd in to the silence between them, so much that Sage will not let himself do, even now: to fall to his knees in the snow with Ryou and clutch him to his chest, tell him of the things he thought of every hour - the useless silly tidbits that made him think of his Ryou. But he just stands, motionless, as Ryou slides his ice cold hand into Sage's and lets himself be helped out of the ice. Sage looks down at the gashes on Ryou's hands, and the torn earth and frozen mud at his feet. The sharp stones bear traces of Ryou's blood. Sage does not release the hand he holds, leading Ryou away from the snow to the car. I can see you: your brown skin shining in the sun
"We'll come back for your bike, Ryou. If you ride it now you'll freeze to de-" He is interrupted as Ryou practically flings himself against him, burying his face against Sage's warmth, like he has just woken from a terrible, horrific dream. "You came. You really came to get me." Sage slowly encircles Ryou's shivering body with his arms, a dull sweet ache in his heart at Ryou's words. Did you really think I wouldn't? "Of course. Don't be silly Ryou. Why wouldn't I?" I need you. I love you. You are the the most glorious challenge of my life. "I thought... thought I'd lost... all of you." Sage opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His words are always too sharp. He uses them, to wound, to cut way infection, to bare the nerves and see what makes things tick. For once, he refuses to use them. He just holds Ryou for a long, silent space of moments, until even the moon seemed to have forgotten they were there. "The car is warmer, Ryou. And they're waiting on us. " Snow begins to fall, once again erasing the actions that had been. Only the moon, the trees, and the sleepers know. And they are ever silent. ~owari~ by Tenshi no Korin
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