Windows
Title: Windows
Characters: Sanada Genichirou/Yukimura Seiichi
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes if he looked hard enough, Sanada thought, he would see himself in the blue.
Notes: I wrote this months ago and completed it today. This feels more of an introspective fic than anything else.
Windows
Sanada remembered the chill in the air that day; it bit into the skin and stayed there, no matter how you tried to warm your skin with your woolen coats and cotton scarves. The sun was pale against the brick of the path they were walking on, littered with sakura petals that curled at the ends as they settled into the grass. Overhead the skies were blue, contrasted with the gentle pink of cherry blossom. Sanada had squinted into the morning light, his navy cap pressing a shadow against his eyes.
Yukimura was a few steps ahead, hair darker than the blue of the sky and flirting with the cold breeze. He turned to Sanada, face partially obscured by the Rikkai scarf he continued to wear past graduation. His footsteps were light as he backed down the yellow brick road, white hands reaching out to catch the petals as they descended.
They were in college together - Tokyo Daigaku, because Yukimura wanted to study psychology, and wherever Yukimura went Sanada was sure to follow. It was a Saturday, Sanada remembered, clear and pristine sky reflected in beautiful amethyst eyes that told nothing of Yukimura’s dreams; although sometimes if he looked hard enough, Sanada thought, he would see himself in the blue.
It was in the chill of that spring morning that Yukimura had turned to Sanada, pale cheeks and blue curls, his smile soft and fingertips cold from not wearing mittens. He had placed his cold hands in Sanada’s warm ones, amethyst eyes meeting brown ones.
“Marry me, Sanada.”
And Sanada couldn’t see himself in the amethyst, for it bore no dreams of tomorrow, nor remembrance of yesterday. Yukimura was a creature of the present, and he looked at Sanada with the same expression that Sanada recognized in all the times they played each other in tennis matches - a quiet determination that was calm at the same time. Sanada never had to ask Yukimura if he knew what he was doing, because Yukimura always knew.
It was no different here. Sanada bowed his head, cheeks tingeing with the warmth of summer.
And Yukimura smiled, bright blue sky within the amethyst.
They invited a few important people - family and their former teammates from Rikkaidai. Renji had showed up a day early to help them with preparations, and when he pulled both Yukimura and Sanada in his arms and murmured his congratulations, Sanada felt the wetness in his shoulder. Yukimura had buried his face in Renji’s neck, returning the embrace.
Sanada’s parents had been surprised, to say the least - “Is it a good idea to get married without having finished your degree, Genichirou?” his mother had asked, despair lined in her low voice. The father had closed his eyes, disapproving in silence. But at the end, when Sanada and Yukimura bowed before them, so low that their foreheads touched the ground, the parents nodded in resignation.
Yukimura couldn’t be persuaded to wait for the end of the school term, so they exchanged wedding vows a week after the proposal. The ceremony was humble and took place in a temple, without fanfare or celebration. Sanada thought he had never seen Yukimura more beautiful, even if they were dressed in matching montsuki kimonos. Their marriage would not be seen as official under the eyes of the law, but in the privacy of the temple Sanada took Yukimura’s hands and felt as though they were connected by a higher power. When Yukimura turned to speak to Sanada’s father, charming the older Sanada with polite words and gentle smiles, Sanada’s heart skipped a beat. Then his father had nodded before leaving them, patting Sanada on the shoulder.
Yukimura met his gaze, smile playing on his lips. All Sanada could see his own smile reflected in the other man’s eyes.
The apartment was falling apart at the seams, former white walls now tinged with the wetness of leaking pipes and floors creaking under their soles. Sanada would never have chosen this for Yukimura, for the latter was far more suited to more beautiful surroundings. But Yukimura had taken one look at the window seat, spills of sunlight trailing past the dusty glass, then turned to their agent, his voice quiet, “We’ll take this place.”
It took all of Sanada and Yukimura’s savings for the deposit. They moved in late, a few days into their marriage, both of them agreeing to forgo a honeymoon in light of their heavy workload in school. Sanada looked around the flat, with its low ceilings and tiny room spaces, but all it took was for Yukimura’s delighted laugh to persuade him that the apartment really wasn’t that bad after all.
Living with Yukimura was simple, with their mornings beginning with coffee and their nights with pots of tea. They were busy with school, and hardly saw each other for that first week. It was only in the weekend that Sanada had finished enough of his work to go to bed earlier than usual. The first night Yukimura lay in Sanada’s arms fast asleep, he’d thought that perhaps that perfect happiness was closer to him now than it ever was.
They found themselves yelling at each other one morning in the month that followed, with the taller man torn between the endless honking of traffic outside to the insistence of his countless textbooks opened and unread, sitting on the makeshift coffee table that he had made out of wooden cart boxes. Yukimura was standing there, cheeks flushed and miserable.
“It’s a mistake, isn’t it? To stick ourselves here in this shithole, worn out and broke! We never should have married in the first place, what were we thinking - “
It would have done Sanada good to have remembered that Yukimura was as stubborn as he was short-tempered, reliant as he was independent; but the taller man only had to take one look at the anguish on Yukimura’s delicate features to find himself storming out the door, shaking with disappointment - not at the other man, but at himself. Outside the weather was fair and people around him were talking and laughing, but to Sanada his world had crashed onto his shoulders.
It was easy to be idealistic and think that everything would be alright as long as they were together, but now Sanada understood that it took more than that. Yukimura was always strict in his demand for perfection, and now it dawned upon him how hard it must have been for Yukimura all this time, to smile within the dreary walls or laugh above the noise from the road outside of their window; the man loved beautiful things, and yet he had to content himself with their rundown apartment.
In that moment Sanada hated himself for not being able to give Yukimura more than they already had. It was a mistake. Perhaps it would always be a mistake. But Sanada stopped before the old lady selling flowers by the street side and spent the last of his yen on red roses.
He returned to find Yukimura sitting by the window seat that evening, cheeks pale and expression passive as he stared into the empty plant bed just outside the window sill. When he looked up at Sanada and saw the roses, he thought for a moment that Yukimura was going to cry.
Spring turned to summer and into late autumn, and they were on the verge of a cold winter. They shuffled between school and odd-jobs, pinching wherever they could so they could afford a meal at a restaurant once in awhile.
Yukimura tried his best to save, but sometimes he would return with a vase (for the lilies, he protested when Sanada attempted a glare) or a pretty piece of furniture (wouldn’t this chair be perfect for you, Genichirou?). Sanada could never say no to Yukimura’s whims, and to make up for it he would work twice as hard so that one day he could let Yukimura buy whatever he wanted without worrying. In the weekends, when he returned home from work, he would take a look at the pipes for awhile so he could try to stop them from leaking into the wooden floorboards.
They sat together in one of those rare evenings that were too cold to do anything. Their central heating only worked half the time, so they huddled together like kids under Yukimura’s fuzzy duvet. They had no television - they hadn’t the time to watch TV, anyway - and so the wall was simply filled by the landscape portrait that Yukimura had painted from his art elective class.
It was perhaps one of the things in the house that Sanada loved; the painting showed a long, green field that seemed only to end inside of the horizon, the sky as blue as Yukimura’s eyes. It reminded him of the times they had out in the sunlight playing tennis. The blue-haired man curled into Sanada, sighing quietly into his shoulder. Sanada glanced at him to notice the slight smile that had curved onto Yukimura’s lips.
“It’s a mistake, isn’t it, Genichirou?” he murmured.
And yet as they sat there with the duvet pulled to their chin, Sanada felt as thought nothing was more right in the world than the two of them. They had their share of fights and broken windows, and once in awhile there was laughter amidst the pillow fights, but everything was right where Sanada wished for them to be. The roses in the antique vase, the pipes leaking only once a week if they were lucky, and the occasional dinner in the sushi bar down the street from college. And most of all, Yukimura beside him.
That could never be a mistake.
“Why did you marry me?” Sanada found himself asking. He didn’t expect an answer, and when minutes passed without response from his husband Sanada moved to lift Yukimura from the couch and move him into their room, but instead he was startled to see blue eyes wide open, lips curved into a smile.
“Because I wanted to.”
Even if it could have been a mistake. Yukimura’s eyes had fallen shut, head inclined forward into Sanada’s shoulder as he clutched almost childishly at the duvet. “Nobody can take care of me better than you,” he murmured, “Genichirou.”
And that, even to Sanada, was the truth.
The sakura always made Yukimura sneeze, but the mere sight of such earthly beauty was enough to lend Yukimura his good mood. Sanada followed behind him, carrying several wrapped panels under his arm. He would have told Yukimura to slow down and wait for him, but he enjoyed the sight of his former captain running under the lazy pink petals, laughter in his eyes and strands of hair brushing against his cheeks. “You’re getting slow,” Yukimura was shouting; Sanada watched his Rikkai scarf curl around the breeze. “Hurry, I want to put in our new window.”
Sanada grunted. “Well, maybe you should take your turn with carrying this.”
“Nonsense, you’re a strong man, aren’t you,” Yukimura pointed out good-naturedly. “And you don’t look in the least excited. A new window, Genichirou!”
There wasn’t much point in getting excited over a new window. All there was to it was the simple fact that the sunlight would come in through a clear pane now, instead of dusty, cracked glass. And Yukimura would be able to see the sky clearer than ever, chin tilted upward with a smile flitting through his features. He could already imagine Yukimura calling to him - doesn’t that cloud look a little bit like Renji?
And there would be spills of vibrant morning at their feet.
Sanada had to smile.
Characters: Sanada Genichirou/Yukimura Seiichi
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes if he looked hard enough, Sanada thought, he would see himself in the blue.
Notes: I wrote this months ago and completed it today. This feels more of an introspective fic than anything else.
Windows
Sanada remembered the chill in the air that day; it bit into the skin and stayed there, no matter how you tried to warm your skin with your woolen coats and cotton scarves. The sun was pale against the brick of the path they were walking on, littered with sakura petals that curled at the ends as they settled into the grass. Overhead the skies were blue, contrasted with the gentle pink of cherry blossom. Sanada had squinted into the morning light, his navy cap pressing a shadow against his eyes.
Yukimura was a few steps ahead, hair darker than the blue of the sky and flirting with the cold breeze. He turned to Sanada, face partially obscured by the Rikkai scarf he continued to wear past graduation. His footsteps were light as he backed down the yellow brick road, white hands reaching out to catch the petals as they descended.
They were in college together - Tokyo Daigaku, because Yukimura wanted to study psychology, and wherever Yukimura went Sanada was sure to follow. It was a Saturday, Sanada remembered, clear and pristine sky reflected in beautiful amethyst eyes that told nothing of Yukimura’s dreams; although sometimes if he looked hard enough, Sanada thought, he would see himself in the blue.
It was in the chill of that spring morning that Yukimura had turned to Sanada, pale cheeks and blue curls, his smile soft and fingertips cold from not wearing mittens. He had placed his cold hands in Sanada’s warm ones, amethyst eyes meeting brown ones.
“Marry me, Sanada.”
And Sanada couldn’t see himself in the amethyst, for it bore no dreams of tomorrow, nor remembrance of yesterday. Yukimura was a creature of the present, and he looked at Sanada with the same expression that Sanada recognized in all the times they played each other in tennis matches - a quiet determination that was calm at the same time. Sanada never had to ask Yukimura if he knew what he was doing, because Yukimura always knew.
It was no different here. Sanada bowed his head, cheeks tingeing with the warmth of summer.
And Yukimura smiled, bright blue sky within the amethyst.
They invited a few important people - family and their former teammates from Rikkaidai. Renji had showed up a day early to help them with preparations, and when he pulled both Yukimura and Sanada in his arms and murmured his congratulations, Sanada felt the wetness in his shoulder. Yukimura had buried his face in Renji’s neck, returning the embrace.
Sanada’s parents had been surprised, to say the least - “Is it a good idea to get married without having finished your degree, Genichirou?” his mother had asked, despair lined in her low voice. The father had closed his eyes, disapproving in silence. But at the end, when Sanada and Yukimura bowed before them, so low that their foreheads touched the ground, the parents nodded in resignation.
Yukimura couldn’t be persuaded to wait for the end of the school term, so they exchanged wedding vows a week after the proposal. The ceremony was humble and took place in a temple, without fanfare or celebration. Sanada thought he had never seen Yukimura more beautiful, even if they were dressed in matching montsuki kimonos. Their marriage would not be seen as official under the eyes of the law, but in the privacy of the temple Sanada took Yukimura’s hands and felt as though they were connected by a higher power. When Yukimura turned to speak to Sanada’s father, charming the older Sanada with polite words and gentle smiles, Sanada’s heart skipped a beat. Then his father had nodded before leaving them, patting Sanada on the shoulder.
Yukimura met his gaze, smile playing on his lips. All Sanada could see his own smile reflected in the other man’s eyes.
The apartment was falling apart at the seams, former white walls now tinged with the wetness of leaking pipes and floors creaking under their soles. Sanada would never have chosen this for Yukimura, for the latter was far more suited to more beautiful surroundings. But Yukimura had taken one look at the window seat, spills of sunlight trailing past the dusty glass, then turned to their agent, his voice quiet, “We’ll take this place.”
It took all of Sanada and Yukimura’s savings for the deposit. They moved in late, a few days into their marriage, both of them agreeing to forgo a honeymoon in light of their heavy workload in school. Sanada looked around the flat, with its low ceilings and tiny room spaces, but all it took was for Yukimura’s delighted laugh to persuade him that the apartment really wasn’t that bad after all.
Living with Yukimura was simple, with their mornings beginning with coffee and their nights with pots of tea. They were busy with school, and hardly saw each other for that first week. It was only in the weekend that Sanada had finished enough of his work to go to bed earlier than usual. The first night Yukimura lay in Sanada’s arms fast asleep, he’d thought that perhaps that perfect happiness was closer to him now than it ever was.
They found themselves yelling at each other one morning in the month that followed, with the taller man torn between the endless honking of traffic outside to the insistence of his countless textbooks opened and unread, sitting on the makeshift coffee table that he had made out of wooden cart boxes. Yukimura was standing there, cheeks flushed and miserable.
“It’s a mistake, isn’t it? To stick ourselves here in this shithole, worn out and broke! We never should have married in the first place, what were we thinking - “
It would have done Sanada good to have remembered that Yukimura was as stubborn as he was short-tempered, reliant as he was independent; but the taller man only had to take one look at the anguish on Yukimura’s delicate features to find himself storming out the door, shaking with disappointment - not at the other man, but at himself. Outside the weather was fair and people around him were talking and laughing, but to Sanada his world had crashed onto his shoulders.
It was easy to be idealistic and think that everything would be alright as long as they were together, but now Sanada understood that it took more than that. Yukimura was always strict in his demand for perfection, and now it dawned upon him how hard it must have been for Yukimura all this time, to smile within the dreary walls or laugh above the noise from the road outside of their window; the man loved beautiful things, and yet he had to content himself with their rundown apartment.
In that moment Sanada hated himself for not being able to give Yukimura more than they already had. It was a mistake. Perhaps it would always be a mistake. But Sanada stopped before the old lady selling flowers by the street side and spent the last of his yen on red roses.
He returned to find Yukimura sitting by the window seat that evening, cheeks pale and expression passive as he stared into the empty plant bed just outside the window sill. When he looked up at Sanada and saw the roses, he thought for a moment that Yukimura was going to cry.
Spring turned to summer and into late autumn, and they were on the verge of a cold winter. They shuffled between school and odd-jobs, pinching wherever they could so they could afford a meal at a restaurant once in awhile.
Yukimura tried his best to save, but sometimes he would return with a vase (for the lilies, he protested when Sanada attempted a glare) or a pretty piece of furniture (wouldn’t this chair be perfect for you, Genichirou?). Sanada could never say no to Yukimura’s whims, and to make up for it he would work twice as hard so that one day he could let Yukimura buy whatever he wanted without worrying. In the weekends, when he returned home from work, he would take a look at the pipes for awhile so he could try to stop them from leaking into the wooden floorboards.
They sat together in one of those rare evenings that were too cold to do anything. Their central heating only worked half the time, so they huddled together like kids under Yukimura’s fuzzy duvet. They had no television - they hadn’t the time to watch TV, anyway - and so the wall was simply filled by the landscape portrait that Yukimura had painted from his art elective class.
It was perhaps one of the things in the house that Sanada loved; the painting showed a long, green field that seemed only to end inside of the horizon, the sky as blue as Yukimura’s eyes. It reminded him of the times they had out in the sunlight playing tennis. The blue-haired man curled into Sanada, sighing quietly into his shoulder. Sanada glanced at him to notice the slight smile that had curved onto Yukimura’s lips.
“It’s a mistake, isn’t it, Genichirou?” he murmured.
And yet as they sat there with the duvet pulled to their chin, Sanada felt as thought nothing was more right in the world than the two of them. They had their share of fights and broken windows, and once in awhile there was laughter amidst the pillow fights, but everything was right where Sanada wished for them to be. The roses in the antique vase, the pipes leaking only once a week if they were lucky, and the occasional dinner in the sushi bar down the street from college. And most of all, Yukimura beside him.
That could never be a mistake.
“Why did you marry me?” Sanada found himself asking. He didn’t expect an answer, and when minutes passed without response from his husband Sanada moved to lift Yukimura from the couch and move him into their room, but instead he was startled to see blue eyes wide open, lips curved into a smile.
“Because I wanted to.”
Even if it could have been a mistake. Yukimura’s eyes had fallen shut, head inclined forward into Sanada’s shoulder as he clutched almost childishly at the duvet. “Nobody can take care of me better than you,” he murmured, “Genichirou.”
And that, even to Sanada, was the truth.
The sakura always made Yukimura sneeze, but the mere sight of such earthly beauty was enough to lend Yukimura his good mood. Sanada followed behind him, carrying several wrapped panels under his arm. He would have told Yukimura to slow down and wait for him, but he enjoyed the sight of his former captain running under the lazy pink petals, laughter in his eyes and strands of hair brushing against his cheeks. “You’re getting slow,” Yukimura was shouting; Sanada watched his Rikkai scarf curl around the breeze. “Hurry, I want to put in our new window.”
Sanada grunted. “Well, maybe you should take your turn with carrying this.”
“Nonsense, you’re a strong man, aren’t you,” Yukimura pointed out good-naturedly. “And you don’t look in the least excited. A new window, Genichirou!”
There wasn’t much point in getting excited over a new window. All there was to it was the simple fact that the sunlight would come in through a clear pane now, instead of dusty, cracked glass. And Yukimura would be able to see the sky clearer than ever, chin tilted upward with a smile flitting through his features. He could already imagine Yukimura calling to him - doesn’t that cloud look a little bit like Renji?
And there would be spills of vibrant morning at their feet.
Sanada had to smile.