Loko: Was a gift-fic for fakedminky's birthday over at LJ. Requested: tendershippyness. Delivered: subtext. XD;;

Summary: Ryou is terrified of thunderstorms, but there is one part of him that isn't.

Disclaimer: Takahashi-san was the one who first had Ryou running amok, terrified, in the rain. I cannot lay claim to his "unintentional" slashy ideas.


the storm humming


Ryou is terrified of thunderstorms.

As a child he squirreled himself away under his blankets and tried to stifle himself unconscious, so that he was enveloped in blackness and blankness and no pulseblinding thunder or soulsearing lightning struck him.

As a child he had not comprehended why the crashing and the cracking and the pounding rain made his insides twist and quaver and something in his core flutter unevenly and pound against his ribs from the inside.

He knows, now. That thing that beats frenetically and unevenly in his throat and then around his diaphragm and breastbone -- then throat then diaphragm then breastbone, repeat, until it feels as if his chest will lift off altogether -- that thing is trying to escape.

The thunder rumbles, just beginning to menace, and flashes of lightning flicker in the distance, and already his skin trembles with want of movement and his muscles tense, ready to run or disintegrate. WHIPSNAPCRACKLING just outside the window against the midnight sky (it's barely past-noon) and his heart skips a beat. Against his chest the Ring hums along the same frequency as the staticky air, metal cold and electric even hidden against the warmth of his flesh beneath a shirt and sweater.

What it is: it's that Ryou is still afraid of thunderstorms. Between his ribs something screams for freedom and fresh air and passion kiss-trembled and clutching.

He can sense this: it's a different kind of prison, even outside his own body, to be trapped by hair as lightning-white as his own and eyes as growl-wild as thunder. But if he's honest with himself, he desperately breathlessly wants -- he tries not to be honest with himself.

He wakes up outside in a sky-darkening earth-shaking thunderstorm, one day, surrounded by wailing winds and soaked with the endless driving rain. He can feel his soul leaking from his body, channeled through the very centre of his chest and leaking through the gold triangle that sits heavily as if meant to seal him in even as it steals all that is still left to him.

It feels like he is only now coming to breathe.


354 words

Two words short of the days in a year, but authors check desperately for concrit every day. Please, pity the authors. Review!