[moyashi]
by daisy_chan
Haven't Had My Fill
Waya had been standing in this line for approximately fifteen billion hours and really had to piss.
He bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands shoved so far into the pockets of his camo jacket, he could feel the texture of the fleece lining through the canvas. His teeth were obnoxiously close to chattering and Waya feared he would soon be faced with the dilemma of having another beer to stave off the cold and make his bladder problem into an indecent exposure problem or becoming an artist statement - 'Dead Youth in Shinjuku.'
Either option had a high probability of making this whole evening for shit (either putting him in jail or a ditch), which was totally unacceptable. Instead, he chose to man up, cross his legs, and leave another angry message on Shindou's voice mail.
The voice recognition on his phone had no issue deciphering Waya's command, no doubt acclimated to the growl associated with Shindou recently. With the dark lines under his eyes, frequent no shows, and the talking to himself thing, it was like the guys was being haunted by the poltergeist or something. One that made his guitar wail, the fucker.
Waya pressed his mobile between his ear and shoulder once it started ringing so he could return his hands to his pockets. He fidgeted with his thumb ring, trying to get some blood flowing before his fingers turned blue, gearing himself up for a good rant with plenty of cussing, guilt tripping, and maybe a mention of musical cheating ghosts just to be as thorough as possible.
The opportunity was lost when Gaga's 'Telephone' burst into tinny existence from behind him, and Waya had just enough time to twitch and scrabble for his own phone before it met with a fated end on the slushy sidewalk below.
"Shindou," Waya hissed, briskly slipping his phone into his back pocket. "Where the hell have you been?"
Shindou looked entirely too shifty for Waya's taste. And it wasn't just the puffy orange coat.
"Sorry, sorry," Shindou wheezed, bending and huffing like he'd run from the station. "I totally got into a groove with the rhythm for that thing I'm working on and lost track of time."
"Yeah, well," Waya scoffed, alternating between crossing his arms in disapproval and seeking refuge in his pockets. Realizing that he probably looked like he was having a seizure, he settled for keeping warm. "Just keep my place in line for a bit, yeah?"
"Oh, sure," Shindou agreed, as if it wasn't the whole reason Waya had asked him along in the first place. "Grab me a box of whatever if you're getting dinner, too. Thanks."
It sure as hell wasn't for the company.
*****
Once Waya had had a chance at the toilet, he felt a little badly about his uncharitable thoughts towards Shindou.
The kid was just enthusiastic and had his priorities all confused because Waya's band was a few steps in the direction of making him an indy rock star at 18. And he still lived with his mother.
Waya could totally sympathise.
The ramen stand Waya was hoping to raid was already closed up for the night, so he settled for a combini, glad to be in the bought heat, but also interested in seeing the progress Shindou had made on the song. He got himself two large cups of black coffees and a bag of corn chips.
He got Shindou a Cup Noddle and a bottle of water. Waya had seen him eat worse.
*****
On the walk back, Waya double fisted the coffee, chugging one entirely, for both the warmth and to keep his eyes open. He tossed the empty cup in the nearest bin, and proceeded to worship the remaining searing Styrofoam wonder with both hands, the yellow plastic bag swaying around his wrist.
Isumi had sent a text while Waya was checking out, and he'd thumbed a response while trying to engineer how he'd be carrying everything. The cashier had given him one unblinking stare through the whole of the exchange, conveying how little she cared for working the night shift or that Isumi's boss needed him to stay on a little longer to meet their deadline.
Waya had grabbed Isumi a melon bun and tried not to look into the eyes of the beast, and escaped unscathed.
By the time he returned, the line was stretched around the block, and every kogal and tongue pierced jerk he passed by made his smirk a little wider.
That was until he got closer to their spot in line and didn't see Shindou's obscenely obtuse self anywhere.
"Mother..." Waya hissed. A granny of roughly six hundred years tutted at him. She was wearing a 'Joseki - 1972 World Tour' concert t-shirt, jeans, and looked like she was might be running on embalming fluids and thereby hadn't felt the cold since 1972. "...Father," Waya finished lamely, averting his eyes and shuffling along.
He stomped over to the couple that'd been making out thirteen billion hours of the fifteen they'd be positioned behind Waya in line. The guy was currently cuddle into the woman's shoulder, and when she saw him approach with intent, she beared her teeth, revealing more silver than white.
"Um," Waya hedged, starting up a mantra to convinced himself that yes, it was worth it. "Have you seen where my friend went? Yellow hair? Sort of pumpkin looking? Possibly possessed?"
The woman continued to stare at him menacingly. The man sighed in a way that suggested this was very dreamy behavior.
"Riiiiiight," Waya concluded. "Well, I'll just take my spot back then, since--"
The woman barked. Actually barked at him. Her eyes went a bit wild as she started in on snapping and growling, and Waya jumped back, somewhere between slightly and totally fucking terrified. And his brain recalculated that actually this was sooooo not worth it, and should bail. If he sounded pathetic enough, Isumi would bring sundae stuff over and Waya could spend the rest of the evening huddled on the sofa, watching Isumi lick a spoon in a way that could and had inspired notebooks full of whinny, unrequited love ballads.
It didn't sound like too bad of a way to finish out the night.
"Oi, Waya! We're down here!"
Waya retreated before he even placed the voice, desperate to get away. Shindou's head poke out from the front of a massive tent a few feet away that had already been set up when Waya arrived that morning.
He threw himself inside and all of his determination to give Shindou a decent bitching out fled when he spotted his true love from across a crowed room-- a space heater.
"I hope it's cool that we hang out in here. It's closer to the front of the line and those weirdos behind you were kind of freaking me out." Shindou was giving him one of his practiced 'you can't be made at me, i'm brazen and talented' smiles and Waya almost returned it until he actually looked up from his the Special Moment he and the space heater were currently sharing.
Shindou was practically sitting in Touya Akira's lap. What the hell.
"What the hell," Waya hissed.
"Oh," Shindou said, as if this was completely acceptable behavior. "Touya is helping me with my fingering."
Touya looked at Waya briefly, dismissively, and went back to laying his hand over Shindou at the neck of the guitar, the other slinking into the belt loop of Shindou's jeans, fingers curled around Shindou's hip.
Waya sneered. "I can see that."
Wearing skinny jeans, a "fashion scarf", a girl's haircut, and what Waya refused to believe was actually a fedora, Touya looked like a fucking hipster.
"No gigs this weekend, Waya-kun?" Asked Ashiwara from the other side of the tent, and, hello, Waya didn't even see him and Ogata there and he sort of wonders where the rest of Touya's accessories are. Except he doesn't care at all.
Ashiwara looked like a kindergarten teacher, excepting the thick cherry red streak though his bangs.
Ogata looked like he belonged on the production side, rather than the talent end. Or, you know, a yakuza group. He also had his hand down Ashiwara's pants
"Okay!" Waya said conviction, averting his eyes from what was apparently the gay orgy tent and relinquishing his hold on the glorious space heater, "I think it's time for me to go."
He scrambled out of the tent and into the frigged cold, his breath instantly becoming a thick fog of white mist around his face, and he actually debated going back for a moment until a hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Waya screamed like a tween at an Arashi concert.
When he turned, bag with the chips held high to shield his face from attack, Isumi was standing there, all calm and steady and perfect, and Waya resolutely did not throw himself at him because then he might as well just crawl back into the orgy tent.
"Hey," Isumi greeted him, all tired and accomplished, happy enough to be done and happy enough to be with Waya now.
Waya hoped that Isumi would not be opposed to doing the sundae thing too after this, or maybe hot chocolates. "Hi."
It's then, because Isumi has the power to move mountains, stopped lines, and Waya's heart, that the lights to the booth flare up and the first people in line are permitted to step up and buy their tickets for SAI's reunion concert.
Totally worth it.
Haven't Had My Fill
Waya had been standing in this line for approximately fifteen billion hours and really had to piss.
He bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands shoved so far into the pockets of his camo jacket, he could feel the texture of the fleece lining through the canvas. His teeth were obnoxiously close to chattering and Waya feared he would soon be faced with the dilemma of having another beer to stave off the cold and make his bladder problem into an indecent exposure problem or becoming an artist statement - 'Dead Youth in Shinjuku.'
Either option had a high probability of making this whole evening for shit (either putting him in jail or a ditch), which was totally unacceptable. Instead, he chose to man up, cross his legs, and leave another angry message on Shindou's voice mail.
The voice recognition on his phone had no issue deciphering Waya's command, no doubt acclimated to the growl associated with Shindou recently. With the dark lines under his eyes, frequent no shows, and the talking to himself thing, it was like the guys was being haunted by the poltergeist or something. One that made his guitar wail, the fucker.
Waya pressed his mobile between his ear and shoulder once it started ringing so he could return his hands to his pockets. He fidgeted with his thumb ring, trying to get some blood flowing before his fingers turned blue, gearing himself up for a good rant with plenty of cussing, guilt tripping, and maybe a mention of musical cheating ghosts just to be as thorough as possible.
The opportunity was lost when Gaga's 'Telephone' burst into tinny existence from behind him, and Waya had just enough time to twitch and scrabble for his own phone before it met with a fated end on the slushy sidewalk below.
"Shindou," Waya hissed, briskly slipping his phone into his back pocket. "Where the hell have you been?"
Shindou looked entirely too shifty for Waya's taste. And it wasn't just the puffy orange coat.
"Sorry, sorry," Shindou wheezed, bending and huffing like he'd run from the station. "I totally got into a groove with the rhythm for that thing I'm working on and lost track of time."
"Yeah, well," Waya scoffed, alternating between crossing his arms in disapproval and seeking refuge in his pockets. Realizing that he probably looked like he was having a seizure, he settled for keeping warm. "Just keep my place in line for a bit, yeah?"
"Oh, sure," Shindou agreed, as if it wasn't the whole reason Waya had asked him along in the first place. "Grab me a box of whatever if you're getting dinner, too. Thanks."
It sure as hell wasn't for the company.
*****
Once Waya had had a chance at the toilet, he felt a little badly about his uncharitable thoughts towards Shindou.
The kid was just enthusiastic and had his priorities all confused because Waya's band was a few steps in the direction of making him an indy rock star at 18. And he still lived with his mother.
Waya could totally sympathise.
The ramen stand Waya was hoping to raid was already closed up for the night, so he settled for a combini, glad to be in the bought heat, but also interested in seeing the progress Shindou had made on the song. He got himself two large cups of black coffees and a bag of corn chips.
He got Shindou a Cup Noddle and a bottle of water. Waya had seen him eat worse.
*****
On the walk back, Waya double fisted the coffee, chugging one entirely, for both the warmth and to keep his eyes open. He tossed the empty cup in the nearest bin, and proceeded to worship the remaining searing Styrofoam wonder with both hands, the yellow plastic bag swaying around his wrist.
Isumi had sent a text while Waya was checking out, and he'd thumbed a response while trying to engineer how he'd be carrying everything. The cashier had given him one unblinking stare through the whole of the exchange, conveying how little she cared for working the night shift or that Isumi's boss needed him to stay on a little longer to meet their deadline.
Waya had grabbed Isumi a melon bun and tried not to look into the eyes of the beast, and escaped unscathed.
By the time he returned, the line was stretched around the block, and every kogal and tongue pierced jerk he passed by made his smirk a little wider.
That was until he got closer to their spot in line and didn't see Shindou's obscenely obtuse self anywhere.
"Mother..." Waya hissed. A granny of roughly six hundred years tutted at him. She was wearing a 'Joseki - 1972 World Tour' concert t-shirt, jeans, and looked like she was might be running on embalming fluids and thereby hadn't felt the cold since 1972. "...Father," Waya finished lamely, averting his eyes and shuffling along.
He stomped over to the couple that'd been making out thirteen billion hours of the fifteen they'd be positioned behind Waya in line. The guy was currently cuddle into the woman's shoulder, and when she saw him approach with intent, she beared her teeth, revealing more silver than white.
"Um," Waya hedged, starting up a mantra to convinced himself that yes, it was worth it. "Have you seen where my friend went? Yellow hair? Sort of pumpkin looking? Possibly possessed?"
The woman continued to stare at him menacingly. The man sighed in a way that suggested this was very dreamy behavior.
"Riiiiiight," Waya concluded. "Well, I'll just take my spot back then, since--"
The woman barked. Actually barked at him. Her eyes went a bit wild as she started in on snapping and growling, and Waya jumped back, somewhere between slightly and totally fucking terrified. And his brain recalculated that actually this was sooooo not worth it, and should bail. If he sounded pathetic enough, Isumi would bring sundae stuff over and Waya could spend the rest of the evening huddled on the sofa, watching Isumi lick a spoon in a way that could and had inspired notebooks full of whinny, unrequited love ballads.
It didn't sound like too bad of a way to finish out the night.
"Oi, Waya! We're down here!"
Waya retreated before he even placed the voice, desperate to get away. Shindou's head poke out from the front of a massive tent a few feet away that had already been set up when Waya arrived that morning.
He threw himself inside and all of his determination to give Shindou a decent bitching out fled when he spotted his true love from across a crowed room-- a space heater.
"I hope it's cool that we hang out in here. It's closer to the front of the line and those weirdos behind you were kind of freaking me out." Shindou was giving him one of his practiced 'you can't be made at me, i'm brazen and talented' smiles and Waya almost returned it until he actually looked up from his the Special Moment he and the space heater were currently sharing.
Shindou was practically sitting in Touya Akira's lap. What the hell.
"What the hell," Waya hissed.
"Oh," Shindou said, as if this was completely acceptable behavior. "Touya is helping me with my fingering."
Touya looked at Waya briefly, dismissively, and went back to laying his hand over Shindou at the neck of the guitar, the other slinking into the belt loop of Shindou's jeans, fingers curled around Shindou's hip.
Waya sneered. "I can see that."
Wearing skinny jeans, a "fashion scarf", a girl's haircut, and what Waya refused to believe was actually a fedora, Touya looked like a fucking hipster.
"No gigs this weekend, Waya-kun?" Asked Ashiwara from the other side of the tent, and, hello, Waya didn't even see him and Ogata there and he sort of wonders where the rest of Touya's accessories are. Except he doesn't care at all.
Ashiwara looked like a kindergarten teacher, excepting the thick cherry red streak though his bangs.
Ogata looked like he belonged on the production side, rather than the talent end. Or, you know, a yakuza group. He also had his hand down Ashiwara's pants
"Okay!" Waya said conviction, averting his eyes from what was apparently the gay orgy tent and relinquishing his hold on the glorious space heater, "I think it's time for me to go."
He scrambled out of the tent and into the frigged cold, his breath instantly becoming a thick fog of white mist around his face, and he actually debated going back for a moment until a hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Waya screamed like a tween at an Arashi concert.
When he turned, bag with the chips held high to shield his face from attack, Isumi was standing there, all calm and steady and perfect, and Waya resolutely did not throw himself at him because then he might as well just crawl back into the orgy tent.
"Hey," Isumi greeted him, all tired and accomplished, happy enough to be done and happy enough to be with Waya now.
Waya hoped that Isumi would not be opposed to doing the sundae thing too after this, or maybe hot chocolates. "Hi."
It's then, because Isumi has the power to move mountains, stopped lines, and Waya's heart, that the lights to the booth flare up and the first people in line are permitted to step up and buy their tickets for SAI's reunion concert.
Totally worth it.