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19 July 2010 @ 09:47 pm
Collission Force [Rui x Tsukushi]  
Title: Collision Force
Pairing: Rui x Tsukushi
Fandom: Hana Yori Dango (Boys Before Flowers)
Genre: Angst, Introspective
Rating: G
Word Count: 947


Collision Force



When they were young, Rui was always the cry-baby, the one shoved to the side. Tsukasa had the fists, the lungs (the guts) to scream, but Rui had the heart. He was the one the teachers loved, the one whom the girls (even at age seven) found fascinating. And all this happened because he never talked.


“It’s so tragic,” he’d heard that particular line two thousand three hundred and forty-nine times and counting.


“Poor child,” this one was an old favourite.


And still, the gossip swam up throats, drifted into ears, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Rui simply sat back on the sidelines and watched as the world unfolded.


Then, one day, Tsukasa presented him with a stuffed bear. A peace offering, Rui thought, for his father’s single-handed, master-crafted, heart-chewed robot. Rui accepted, and that was the end of their strife.


Except, she had to come along.


. . .


Makino was different. She was brave (or inordinately, direly stupid). She was strong (like a team of oxen). She was...she was the antithesis of Shizuka, and maybe—just maybe—that was a good thing. Rui kept that tucked in mind as he lulled to sleep.


It was quiet again, on the emergency stairs, now that she was gone. She’s got Tsukasa now, and she didn’t visit here anymore. She didn’t have a reason to.


. . .


It happened so suddenly, so briefly that he swore he was half dreaming.


Out of the ashes and the blue, Tsukasa resurfaced and declared war on him. Alone and lonely, Rui was expulsed from the only set of friends he ever knew. He should’ve been shit-scared and cow-faced, but instead, all he could think about was how to save her from this mess.


(This must’ve been what Shizuka meant by “self-sacrifice.”)


“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he assured her.


Makino didn’t look convinced.


. . .


Girls were so naive and gullible. They stalked and pounced on him like felines to fishlines, baits and hooks still stuck between the teeth. Once, he dared to ask why they never approached the other F4 members (hell, they giggled and gabbed loud enough to raise the dead). And they said, answered calmly back, that he was unlike his friends. Rui forced his face to remain impassive.


“It’s because you’re nice.”


He raised his head and there was Makino. Always there, always in time, with the right answers to the wrong questions. She never abandoned him.


“They think of you as a puzzle to be solved,” and sat down beside him, folding her skirts neatly underneath, “You shouldn’t be so nice.”


“I’m not nice. I just ignore them.”


“Which is nice, compared to what the other three do.”


He studied her face quizzically, wondering how she got there and when she will leave.


. . .


They’ve been through more trials and tribulations than necessary of any god and man, but in the end (long ways down), they always stayed friends.


This time wasn’t any different. After the feud, the vendettas sworn, after the cuts and bruises faded, they were best friends again. Rui was glad. He didn’t have many friends (neither did Tsukasa).


. . .


He loved her, and he loved her. The latter should’ve red-flagged as any sane deterrent, but Rui wasn’t the type to be easily dissuaded. Or turn traitor, or heedlessly jump in the thick of melee, or...or a million things Tsukasa would’ve done in a heartbeat. And maybe this was why he lost the girl.


“How pathetic.” Soujirou raised an elegant brow.


“Why’re you here?”


“Comforting you, what else?”




“Sleeping off New Year’s booze. You know him, the yakuza type; he’s not used to subtleties.”


“And you are?”


Soujirou grinned (Rui thought he heard a slither). “Of course. C’mon, let’s go get something to eat.”


Like a mafia entrenched of their own royalty pickles and daikon dynasties, their cosy group always seemed to split in two somehow. He and Soujirou were the talented ones, the artistic geniuses (therefore, somewhat worthy of authentic admiration). Akira and Tsukasa were the ideal pugilists—natural born thugs, precisely put.


And he and Tsukasa were after the same girl while the other two watched. See how they split, nice and even down the middle. The standoff recommenced.


. . .


A year over the lane and he was no wiser. It didn’t come as a shock, but it was distasteful nonetheless. Once upon a time, he would’ve done anything to her there (Shizuka always declined). Now, the feeling subsided into a weakened trickle, a winking game. Tick-tick, the hours ran out, and Rui still had a universe to defeat.


He adjusted his tie, did a double-take at the mirror, and prepared himself for slaughter. It was graduation day, and he seemed to be aging in reverse.


It’s the bottle-down effect, the one which he (as predicted) drew the short straw.


. . .


Only a few events actually occur within the space of a long-long time. The rest were partial cooked, aggrandized hyperboles. Blown straight out of the boiling water, they were the moments that came to be remembered. What for? —for convenience. Because it’s easier to remember one grand scene than a million little ones.


Today, Tsukasa arrived home from abroad.


Today, Tsukasa decided to finally propose.


And today was the day when Rui learned the Napoleonic art of anticlimactic counter-attack. He’s through and done with passivity.


Inertia was powerful because it’s stagnant, irresistible (literally), and incapable of force. It’s the ultimate weapon to be used, when all other strategies fail. He simply refrains from action. It’ll work—really, it will—in good time.