Rye - pt. 5 - YAOI

Part Five

"I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images, and when we kiss they're perfectly alligned." - the postal service

* * *

The sun shone timidly. It's weak rays penetrating through the clouds that floated in the aftermath of the storm. The gale had died down just that morning, leaving the city torn and gray in its wake. Twigs, branches, and all other kinds of debris littered the sidewalks and roads like scars on the pavement.

Jared kicked a loose branch out of the path of the front door as he fumbled with the keys in his pocket. Storm or no storm the University schedule had continued like normal; that morning he'd left Rye asleep and gathered his supplies without a word of notice. It wasn't until later that day had he remembered the importance of that morning...

Today was the day that Mrs. Owens was coming back.

* * *

Jared struggled up the narrow flight of stairs to his loft, carrying several large canvases tucked under his arm. As far as he was concerned, the loft was the cleanest he'd seen it since moving in; but Mrs. Owens was strict. What if she wasn't satisfied? Chances were she'd evict him...then what? Now that he had Rye to take care of it's not exactly like he could bunk at a friend's until further notice. And there was no way in hell he'd even consider returning home.

Swearing under his breath, Jared propped the canvases against the side of the stairwell, breathing heavily from the effort. He lifted his head at the sound of footsteps coming from his landing. Nobody else lived in the flat... A soft groan escaped Jared's lips as a pair of thin ankles and pointed heels came into view.

Mrs. Owens had beaten him here.

“Mr. Black,” the landlady said curtly, her hands clutched in front of her, “I'm glad to see that you could finally make it. Don't bother showing me the loft,” she dangled a pair of master keys between her knuckles, “I've already taken the liberty of doing that myself.” A dissatisfied smirk spread across her ruddy face, “I have to say Mr. Black...I'm impressed. This months rent can slide, but let's try not to repeat this little incident next month, hmm?”

She brushed passed him, her eyes fixed firmly on some distant point that Jared couldn't see. He released the breath he'd been holding, staring mutely after his landlady for several moments before coming around. Leaving the canvases where they lay, he sprinted up the remaining steps and shoved his way into the loft.

“Rye?”

Jared blinked in surprise. The loft, which had been semi-disastrous that morning, was absolutely spotless. The paint stains had been scrubbed from the floor and every scrap of paper tucked neatly onto the bookshelves. The painting utensils that had once covered the floor were now neatly arranged into plastic cups on the kitchen counter. The sun almost appeared amplified through the newly cleaned glass of the balcony windows.

“Here!” Rye's voice floated out from the kitchen, soon followed by the little hybrid himself. His normally porcelain pale face was flushed from the rising heat of the stoves. “I'm making spaghetti,” he declared proudly, “are you hungry?” Jared stepped down into the living room, still taking in the absolute neatness of the loft. “Uh...yeah. Rye? Did you do all of this?”

Rye stepped out of the kitchen, letting the swinging door shut behind him. “Yes. I...looked in your day planner and you had today marked as 'loft inspection'. I guessed that it was something important and finished cleaning this morning.” One of his ears flicked and laid flat, “I don't like your landlady...she scares me.”

Jared picked up a paintbrush from the coffee table, running his hand over the polished surface with a smile tugging at his lips. “God, I can't believe you did all this in one day. You're amazing, Rye...thank you.”

Rye faltered, his tail wrapping loosely around his ankles. Nobody had ever thanked him for his work before...it left him unsure how to respond. He smiled, an unnamable emotion flowering in his chest. “You're welcome. But...that is what you got me for, right? Um, I hope you're hungry. I misread the directions on the spaghetti box, so we have, like, three gallons of noodles to eat.”

* * *

Jared ran a long stroke down the face of the canvas, wrinkling his brow in dissatisfaction before setting the brush aside. It was late, probably too late to be up but his persisting deadline refused to let him sleep. Rye was sitting on the couch a few feet from him, his chin resting heavily on his knees. Jared could tell without looking that he was tired. The day spent cleaning had worn him out.

“Jared?” Rye muttered, fighting to keep his eyes open, “...do you like chocolate?” He watched as Jared spun the paintbrush between his knuckles, staring intently at his work. “Sure...why do you ask?” Rye flicked his ear, a smile lighting on his face. Jared was so forgetful... “Tomorrow's the New Year. I want to make something special. We need to stay up and watch the sun rise.”

Jared blinked, turning his warm eyes on Rye with a furrowed brow. New Year? Already? God, where had the month gone! Jared pressed his lips into a thin line, a heavy weight settling in his chest, dripping guilt into his stomach. “New Year...right. Um...I actually already made plans with some friends of mine at the University. We're going out that night. Celebration, you know?”

Rye swallowed, the lump of disappointment in his throat sinking to his feet. His previous Keeper had always celebrated New Year's with him. It was the one night out of the year that he had treated Rye like a person instead of a slave. The one holiday he'd always looked forward too. And he'd been especially looking forward to spending this year's with Jared. The one person who had treated him like a person all the time.

“Do you want me to stay home?” Jared's eyes were worried.

Rye flicked his tail, “Oh, no! That's all right. You should go out with your friends. They'd miss you if you didn't.” Rye stood, making a show of stretching his arms above his head and yawning deeply. “I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, Jared.” He shuffled around the sofa, not catching Jared's returned 'goodnight' as he slipped into the living room.
He felt selfish for wanting Jared to stay home with him.

There were controlled tears in his throat when his head hit the pillow.

Stop being so selfish...

* * *

Jared tucked the flared collar of his coat closer around his neck, blocking the chilly northern wind that whistled down the street. The sun had set nearly an hour before, marking the start of the New Year's celebrations that would likely continue until midnight. Already he could pick out brightly colored streamers and paper lanterns hanging off the balconies of the neighboring apartments.

Jared lowered his hand to his pocket, touching lightly at the small handful of homemade chocolates Rye had surprised him with that morning. “Only a few turned out right,” he'd said with wavering ears, “I had to throw the rest away.”

A smile tugged at Jared's lips. Rye hadn't spoken to him much that day, keeping himself quietly tucked in the kitchen where he read up on recipes for future dinner occasions. Jared's steps slowed, his smile turning sober. Maybe he should have stayed home tonight. He hadn't exactly been looking forward to the night out with Riley and the others...though he had promised that he'd come.

“Hey, Jared!”

Riley waved to him from across the street, flanked by two boys he recognized from the University; though their names evaded him. Jared crossed the street swiftly, displaying a forced smile as the two strangers introduced themselves. He forgot their names almost instantly. “So,” Riley grinned broadly, hugging his arms over his chest to preserve what little body warmth remained, “where's the destination? We've got The Burning Ace, that little Irish pub down the street, or the dockside Grill.”

They began walking, indecisively heading in the general direction of the Irish pub. Jared had visited the pub several times before; the smoky atmosphere and loud music didn't appeal to him, but it beat the drafty dockside Grill by a long shot. The Burning Ace...he'd never heard of. Curious, he asked Riley about the club for lack of a better conversation topic. Almost immediately everyone was smiling.

“Never heard of the Burning Ace?” Riley shook his head in mock sorrow, “Sounds like you need to get out more, University boy.” Jared suppressed a scowl, letting the insult slide mostly because it was true. “Is it a bar?” Jared asked, passively letting the knowing grins of their two companions fade away. Riley shook his head, tugging a cigarette from his pocket and grinding it between his lips, “It's a brothel house.”

Jared's stomach twisted.

“They rent out hybrids for the night, but you have to return them by morning or they fine you big time.” Riley lit the cigarette, taking a deep breath through the filter, “I've only been once or twice. They have a good selection. Lots of cute girls. It's kind of a turn-off how passive they are though. Fuck them and return them, no fun at all.”

Riley slowed, twisting back to look at Jared who had stopped walking altogether. His eyes were cast on the ground, knuckles clenched tightly at his side. “Hey, Riley? Um...sorry about this, but something’s just come up. I...I have to go.” He turned and started walking away without a backwards glance, ignoring the disapproving shout Riley threw at his retreating back.

He hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

Rye curled his legs up under him from where he sat on the windowsill, staring down at the bright paper lanterns that nearly carpeted the city. An open box of chocolate sat at his feet, several of the shining wrappers crumpled on the ground below. He remembered seeing on a television show that people usually ate chocolate when they were upset...so far, it hadn't helped make him feel better at all.

He tilted the chocolates away in disgust, hating the way the sweet treats clung in a thick coat on his tongue. “Dumb idea,” he muttered, resting his chin on the edges of his knees, “...stop being so selfish.” His ear flicked...was that the door? He lifted his head, a sudden surge of fear rushing through him. Jared wasn't supposed to be back until after midnight. What if someone was trying to break it?

“Hello?” he called out cautiously, dropping down from the sill and picking up a thick paintbrush from the floor. Footsteps, followed by a muffled clack filtered through the dim light...a dark shape stepped out of the shadows. Rye dropped the paintbrush with a small gasp, letting it clatter to the floor as he tried to calm his frantic heart.

“Jared?”

The older boy pulled his arms away from the black fabric of his jacket, letting the coat fall to the floor without a second glance. His face was ruddy from the cold bite of the wind outside, the tip of his nose and cheeks flushed. He crossed the room silently, the look in his eyes unsure...sad, somehow. Rye fought the urge to pull back when he reached out, curling his fingers around the younger boy's slender wrists like an iron lock.
This was usually when the hitting started...

Jared pulled Rye against his chest, firmly wrapping his arms around his back and lowering his forehead to the crook of Rye's neck. Rye balked, breathing in the heady scent of the cold air that radiated from Jared's chest. His heart became firmly lodged in his throat, his thoughts racing. Was something wrong? Jared was supposed to be out all night, celebrating the New Year with his friends, right? What if something bad had happened? Rye's throat clenched, hesitantly sliding his arms around Jared's back.

“Rye?” his voice was hushed, nearly cracking, “I want to ask you something...something very serious. And I want you to answer me truthfully. No matter what you say I promise not to be angry.” He pulled back slightly, resting a hand along the younger boy's jaw to steady his gaze. “Has anyone ever touched you before?”

Rye stared at him silently for several moments, hyper aware of the older boy's hand on his jaw. “I don't understand. Y-you're touching me right now...” Jared shook his head, taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes. His hand dropped to Rye's hip, holding it there long enough for the message to sink in. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

Rye felt his stomach twist horribly, realization hitting him hard and fast. “No!” he said quickly, “Never. Not even once. My old Keeper...he used to hit me a lot, but he would never do something like that.” Jared's shoulders sagged, his arms returning to Rye's back and holding him close. After a moment he chuckled, giving Rye a tight squeeze before releasing him completely. “I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you tired?”

Rye shook his head firmly.

Jared smiled, “Still think you can make it until sunrise?”

Rye switched the motion, nodding furiously.

Smiling openly, Jared dropped his hand to his pocket and plucked out a piece of the homemade chocolate Rye had given him that morning, slipping it into the younger boy's palm. “Good...”

“...then that's all I need.”