Part 1/?
A/N: I'll ummmmm name this later. And I still can't manage some of the prompts, sorry! I'm trying ...

The more things I have to do the more I'm just sitting here and fic-writing and rambling ... ^^ ... that is truly procastination.

I'll name it later. I can't think of a title. Did I just say that?

W-inds. Part 1/?

__________



He had been spending more time with Ryuichi ever since Keita's solo debut, and it felt a little like dance school in Hokkaido, all over again. Only this time, there weren't any others in the way. When they'd been young, he'd been the leader of his own little group of friends, those who looked up to him, and Ryuichi -- Ryuichi had simply attracted people to him, not even comprehending of himself as a leader but merely playing, laughing, having a good time, and his trail of friends had grown longer just as if he was the pied piper.

Maybe it was because Ryuichi was so individualistic. How, despite his gregarious appearance, there were things he'd do alone; despite his warm, open friendliness, there was a part of him -- unreachable.

Ryuichi fell into his lap, sprawling and grinning up at him upside-down, poking his nose. "Ryo, Ryo, Ryo! Are you still brooding about Keiiiii~ta?"

Ryohei blinked, forcing his lips down as they were threatening a ridiculous grin, and swatted at Ryuichi with his sweat-soaked towel. Ryuichi didn't mind that, unlike Keita who would make a face at it, he merely batted it away, like a bad kitten.

"Ah hah," Ryuichi said, and his expression turned knowing, and Ryohei was genuinely confused, wondering what Ryuichi was reading off his face.

Ryuichi's individualism, transparent and yet inaccessible at the exact same time. He knew if he'd said something, anything to Ryuichi about it, Ryuichi would attempt to reassure him of whatever it was, overwhelming him with laughter and warmth till he lost himself in Ryuichi and temporarily forgot whatever it was that bothered him. Yet he knew too, that when he and Keita would go out at night, drinking together -- well, Ryohei drank and Keita watched -- Ryuichi would be at home, or in his hotel room if they were on tour, being alone.

Was it cold, there?

"Keita has his work," Ryohei said gently, and shook Ryuichi by the shoulder, getting him to roll off his lap because his feet were getting numb and antsy with the pressure, "and we have ours."

"But I bet Keita wants to see us!" Ryuichi said, then tilted his head, something so slight crossing his expression and then gone in a flash. "Especially you. Ne, Ryohei."

Ryohei had to smile, at that. Keita was so much the opposite of Ryuichi -- you knew when he needed you there, Keita's face like an open book.

Did it hurt?

"Silly," he said, and Ryuichi pulled a face. "Riiiiiiiight. But you know it! So should we?"

"Should we what?"

"Go see Keita!" Ryuichi was sprawled on the floor now, turned-turtle, and he rolled over, bumping his forehead against Ryohei's knee.

"Ryuichi, goodness." Ryohei wasn't sure what he had to say to that, so he prodded Ryuichi. "Go call him?"

"What if he's in recording? He'll grump at me! You call him!" But Ryuichi scrambled up and ran for his bag -- before coming back and depositing his keitai in Ryohei's hands. Ryohei sighed and begun dialing.

* * *

People never got mad at Ryohei, maybe because he didn't push too much, and on occasions when he did, they tended to give him the benefit of the doubt. Protecting him.

As for Ryuichi, he was just too much, too often, even in his laughing, and his random spiels, and it was easy to get mad at him, especially pretend-mad, and they could playfight without him ever being offended. So unlike Ryohei, whom everyone stepped gingerly about. Except for Ryuichi.

He wished he --

"Yes, yes, yes?" Ryuichi really had a tendency to repeat himself when he wanted something, and Ryohei resisted the impulse to stick his tongue out at Ryuichi and deny him an answer.

"Yes, yes, you were right. Apparently you can read minds, and he says we can come over at 9-ish, that is, if you can drive me."

"Does he want dinner?" Ryuichi was already rummaging through his backpack, grabbing a change of clothes and a towel and preparing to get to the shower.

"Well, I want dinner," Ryohei said, and Ryuichi flashed him that impish grin with a hint of fang, darting off to claim the shower first.

" ... hey!"

* * *

The drive over was quiet, the sort of peaceful silence that stretches out between two people when they've already said all they wanted to say, and there's always tomorrow for sure, anyway.

He picked up Ryuichi's CDs, carelessly scattered in a pile on the dashboard, Ryuichi humming along to a beatles song. He and Keita were more fans of Mr. Children, or maybe DA PUMP, or Japanese pop, but Ryuichi liked these old (eternal, Ryuichi would insist) english artistes.

"D'you even know what you're singing?"

Ryuichi frowned thoughtfully. "Not really," he admitted, then slid a glance sideways at Ryohei, taking his eyes off the street for a brief moment. It was dark out, the preternatural dusk that settled over everything and made him feel safe and hidden in the moving box of a convertible. "But I can feel it, from how they're singing it ... can't you?"

"Mmmm," Ryohei replied, in lieu of a proper answer, and his eyes roved around the vehicle's interior again. Something glinted by his foot, and he bent at the waist, stretching to pick it up. "What's this? Yours? It's nice." It was a man's ring, he could tell by the size, and the design, clean and angular, silver or maybe platinum, he was no connoisseur of jewellery.

Ryuichi glanced over for a second time, and then he turned back to the road, and Ryohei nearly missed the sudden reflexive clutch of Ryuichi's fingers on the wheel, because it was so slight it did not affect the smoothness of the drive.

"N-yeah," Ryuichi said, and there was a hard accent of silence where his words ended.

* * *

[ Part 2 ]