You'll Come Running
Title: You'll Come Running
Fandom/Original: SID
Pairing(s): Mao/Aki or none
Rating: G
Warning(s): Real person fanfiction, potentially implicating homosexuality
Summary: No matter what happens, he'll always be there when he's needed.
Notes
I had actually intended for this to be much longer and had intended to flesh it out more. But unfortunately, I just hit a block and nothing else wanted to come out. So rather than force out an ending, I'm leaving it in ambiguity. It's up to you what happens after it ends.
Disclaimer: I own nothing more than the words used here and the idea behind it. Characters belong to their respective owners.
You'll Come Running
Thunder rolled over the condensed metropolis, just moments after a bright flash of light. An impatient sigh succeeded the sky’s rumbling as the vocalist rolled over to face the wall this time. It had been a lousy day off after a few weeks of touring. The humidity had been oppressive to where he hid inside, uselessly sitting in front of an electric fan feeling that any movement beyond breathing might cause him to pass out from heat exhaustion. But of course, as the heat of the day finally lessened and it seemed decent enough to venture outside his apartment, the vocalist found himself stuck inside yet again from a fierce thunderstorm.
“Sleep, just go to sleep,” he mumbled under his breath. He had been trying this for hours now. But the mantra held no sway and his mind simply would not cease its chattering. After staring at the wall became boring to him, he tried staring at the back of his eyelids again. Then when that could no longer entertain him, he glanced at his clock. Digital and red numbers informed him that it was nearly 3:30 in the morning; exactly six hours since he gave up hope of ever escaping the house.
He lay there, reflecting on his day, and slowly felt himself checkout. Although his mind continued on with its late-night exercises, he no longer had any real idea what he was thinking about or that he was even awake. All he was aware of the sound of the rain rushing from the sky and pelting his only window. Just as his eyes began to glaze over, his tranquility was disrupted by a high-pitched tone harmonizing with a lower tone. Shaking his head, the vocalist groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. He had high hopes that if perhaps he stayed here long enough, he would slip back into wherever it was that he had wandered. But the doorbell repeated itself, only this time it was not so polite. Frantically, one chime after another, the chime eventually coerced him from his bed.
Crossing the room, he lifted the phone from its cradle with a murmured greeting that was forgotten halfway through. He heard nothing aside from the rain and leaned against the wall. Rubbing his face to remove the exhaustion, he spoke louder this time.
“May I come in?” the voice was small, nearly swallowed up in the storm’s loud voice.
“Un,” he grunted, not needing to ask who it was rudely interrupting his tossing and turning. He had become quite accustomed to his bandmates and their peculiar sleeping patterns, often ending in surprise late night visits. This time, it was the bassist. Setting the phone back in its cradle, Mao stepped down into his small genkan to fumble with the locks for a few moments before opening the door.
Naturally, he first noticed the cold raindrops that came rushing inside with aid from the wind. But his shiver was a half-hearted attempt as the sight before him took precedence to the change in temperature. The bassist’s clothing clung to his thin frame, making his trembling appear more violent than what it actually was. His hair was disheveled, clumped together and pulled down by the weight of the raindrops that he had allowed to accumulate for at least an hour or more by the restless man’s judgment. But what stood out most to the vocalist was the other man’s face. His soft brown eyes were hidden beneath messy bangs, but he could sense their gaze was glued to the ground. And down his cheeks were remnants of an expression. His lower lip disappeared as he uncomfortably shifted his position as though afraid to speak. It was in that moment, the vocalist knew just what kind of visit this was.
Fandom/Original: SID
Pairing(s): Mao/Aki or none
Rating: G
Warning(s): Real person fanfiction, potentially implicating homosexuality
Summary: No matter what happens, he'll always be there when he's needed.
Notes
I had actually intended for this to be much longer and had intended to flesh it out more. But unfortunately, I just hit a block and nothing else wanted to come out. So rather than force out an ending, I'm leaving it in ambiguity. It's up to you what happens after it ends.
Disclaimer: I own nothing more than the words used here and the idea behind it. Characters belong to their respective owners.
You'll Come Running
Thunder rolled over the condensed metropolis, just moments after a bright flash of light. An impatient sigh succeeded the sky’s rumbling as the vocalist rolled over to face the wall this time. It had been a lousy day off after a few weeks of touring. The humidity had been oppressive to where he hid inside, uselessly sitting in front of an electric fan feeling that any movement beyond breathing might cause him to pass out from heat exhaustion. But of course, as the heat of the day finally lessened and it seemed decent enough to venture outside his apartment, the vocalist found himself stuck inside yet again from a fierce thunderstorm.
“Sleep, just go to sleep,” he mumbled under his breath. He had been trying this for hours now. But the mantra held no sway and his mind simply would not cease its chattering. After staring at the wall became boring to him, he tried staring at the back of his eyelids again. Then when that could no longer entertain him, he glanced at his clock. Digital and red numbers informed him that it was nearly 3:30 in the morning; exactly six hours since he gave up hope of ever escaping the house.
He lay there, reflecting on his day, and slowly felt himself checkout. Although his mind continued on with its late-night exercises, he no longer had any real idea what he was thinking about or that he was even awake. All he was aware of the sound of the rain rushing from the sky and pelting his only window. Just as his eyes began to glaze over, his tranquility was disrupted by a high-pitched tone harmonizing with a lower tone. Shaking his head, the vocalist groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. He had high hopes that if perhaps he stayed here long enough, he would slip back into wherever it was that he had wandered. But the doorbell repeated itself, only this time it was not so polite. Frantically, one chime after another, the chime eventually coerced him from his bed.
Crossing the room, he lifted the phone from its cradle with a murmured greeting that was forgotten halfway through. He heard nothing aside from the rain and leaned against the wall. Rubbing his face to remove the exhaustion, he spoke louder this time.
“May I come in?” the voice was small, nearly swallowed up in the storm’s loud voice.
“Un,” he grunted, not needing to ask who it was rudely interrupting his tossing and turning. He had become quite accustomed to his bandmates and their peculiar sleeping patterns, often ending in surprise late night visits. This time, it was the bassist. Setting the phone back in its cradle, Mao stepped down into his small genkan to fumble with the locks for a few moments before opening the door.
Naturally, he first noticed the cold raindrops that came rushing inside with aid from the wind. But his shiver was a half-hearted attempt as the sight before him took precedence to the change in temperature. The bassist’s clothing clung to his thin frame, making his trembling appear more violent than what it actually was. His hair was disheveled, clumped together and pulled down by the weight of the raindrops that he had allowed to accumulate for at least an hour or more by the restless man’s judgment. But what stood out most to the vocalist was the other man’s face. His soft brown eyes were hidden beneath messy bangs, but he could sense their gaze was glued to the ground. And down his cheeks were remnants of an expression. His lower lip disappeared as he uncomfortably shifted his position as though afraid to speak. It was in that moment, the vocalist knew just what kind of visit this was.