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Tuesday, September 9th, 2008 11:33 pm
tretton: (lovely flower)
[personal profile] tretton
Title: On picking up where you left off
Pairing: Ryo/Uchi
Ratiing: PG
Word count: 862
Disclaimer: This has never happened, there is no money being made here and no harm intended.
Notes: Happy birthday Ian ♥ Considering how late I am, maybe you'd think I was working on something more... substantial.
Notes2: Remember that time you told Sarah about how you had a dream about writing an X-Men Akame drabble?



Uchi calls him one day, four years after leaving without a trace; Uchi’s apartment cleaned out, his number connecting to impersonal recordings instead of Uchi’s stupid voicemail. Four years of thinking Uchi’s in trouble, of thinking Uchi’s dead, of thinking Uchi just better be dead, or else.

“Hey,” Uchi says, his light tone ripping away layers of emotions in Ryo’s chest. “It’s me.”

“What?” Ryo says. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘it’s me’. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

And then Ryo hangs up on him.



Uchi texts him an address to a cheap American style diner the next day. 12:00 ? <^_^; it continues. Ryo just stares at his phone.

Ryo’s almost decided he’s not going when he gets up to go to the bathroom down the corridor and suddenly finds himself out on the street without even his suit jacket on. September’s just getting started and the wind insistently ruffling his hair suggests fall is around the corner. The fence surrounding the construction site across the street is covered in election posters. Half of candidate Nakamatsu’s poster ripped down, the rest of it flopping half-heartedly in the wind, his cut off face still displaying the broad grin accompanying his message.

Vote for freedom and supremacy!

“What the fuck,” Ryo mutters as he crosses the street and shoves his fists into his pockets.



The lunchtime bustle is at a faint peak when Ryo steps inside. The waitresses in pink outfits and the interior painfully plastic, emphasised by the broken juke-box in the corner, pastel colours reflecting off of the metallic surfaces on tables and counter. Ryo’s never been to America but he’s sure there’s more to it than what can be perceived in movies. At least assuming America’s changed at all since the 1950s.

Uchi’s by the counter, twirling his fork and waving. Even with the longer black hair, the mute grey jacket and jeans he looks exactly the same, down to the way he effortlessly shrugs off Ryo’s hard glare with a little twitch of his mouth.



Ryo orders the mushroom omelette. Uchi’s already half-way through his cheesecake.

“It’s lunch,” Ryo enlightens him. “Have some food idiot.”

“I see you haven’t changed either,” Uchi tells him happily, as if he could read Ryo’s mind. “Always looking out for me.”

“Don’t talk to me about looking out for people,” Ryo says and tries to imagine having this conversation with someone else. Someone who’d have some sort of decorum. Or just someone sane.

“I’ve been abroad,” Uchi tells him. As if that’s some sort of explanation, and then with a delicate movement of his gloved hand places a small plush panda in the space between their plates. It’s got a scorched left ear and the white patches have started turning an unappealing shade of grey. Ryo scoots his plate away from it.

“Got you a souvenir,” Uchi says.



“Don’t do that,” Ryo says on the way back to his office building. It’s sudden and harsh-sounding, interrupting Uchi’s inane chattering. But at least it’s not reaching out and strangling Uchi or trying to make Uchi explain about how they were planning to go see a movie one day four years ago and then the next day finding out from Uchi’s twitchy landlord that he’d never had no ‘Uchi Hiroki’ on the second floor.

“Do what?” Uchi asks, uncertain for the first time in- In years, Ryo realises and clenches his fist.

“Don't act like everything's the same. I know that’s how you deal with things but it’s not how I do it. You used to know that. You never used to be stupid. At least not when it mattered. And I spent two years, wasting time trying to find you while you apparently never even- Just because I thought you were my best friend. And I sure as hell thought it was one of those times when it mattered.”

Uchi gives the end of the street a searching look, stuffs his fists into the pockets of his jacket and sways a bit on the balls of his feet. “I never wanted to be anyone special,” he says. “I mean like, I never longed for anything more exciting out of life. Being boring. I wouldn’t have minded very much.”

“That’s just another way of saying you’re lazy,” Ryo tells him.

Uchi smiles. “I wouldn’t have minded that either.” And then he says, “Look, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“There’re a lot of things you need to tell me,” Ryo spits. “But I already know you’re a mutant,” and as Uchi freezes, his eyes going wide, Ryo wishes he could punch him. If only because Ryo’s always wanted to know what it feels like to touch him.



“The professor says I’ve been holding back for years,” Uchi tells Ryo later, not long before he disappears again. “Unconsciously. Like I was waiting for something.”

“Waiting for what?” Ryo asks.

“Waiting for you to start developing your powers,” Uchi says and for a second when Ryo’s heart stops and his blood freezes he’s sure Uchi’s developed the ability to drain the life out of a person without having to touch them anymore.


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