'Ad Astra' - [Aoi/Uruha] 1/1
Title: Ad Astra
Description: In which Aoi runs and Uruha notices.
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha
Genre: Introspective, drama, romance
Notes: Based on a moment in Tokyo Dome :)
.:.:.:.:.
Look at me.
Shards of light in his eyes, fiberglass against his navel and bleeding vessels in his chest, Aoi starts running. It's a long runway -- flashes of smiles, tears and screams streak past him in all different hues. Red, blue, yellow, red, red. It's a blear, a blur that sticks against his heart and chokes him. But he's running. Fingertips are pushing into copper strings so tight, he knows crimson will stain them for months, and his pick is lost somewhere in the crowd.
But Aoi can see him -- the blur of yellow and white that makes the stage shine so goddamn bright -- and he's closer with each step, leap and bound. The tunic he threw on in a last-second rush backstage is making his strides shorter and it feels like the hourglass is lodged in his throat. Because if he doesn't make it in time -- those grains lost forever in his bones -- he'll miss it.
And Aoi's not sure what it is --
perhaps the whisper of a knowing smile
of recognition
of love-passion-love-forever
of what he has yearned for with his entire being; ever since that first shared night in the hotel room when Aoi listened to him confess how he hates olives, how the other listened earnestly to the first sloppily put-together chords of Aoi's new song -- what would become Cassis -- and said, "That's beautiful."
when he smiled and laughed and everything became so vivid and right here --
-- but he's sure it's there. Waiting. About to be everlastingly gone if he doesn't hurry the fuck up.
The chords are banging against his chest. He knows that, come morning, the bruises will snake along his ribs, but Aoi doesn't care -- he can see him clearly now. Just hairsbreadths away. Just a couple more feet, a couple more breaths, more sighs, gasps...
And he runs, throws his head back and closes his eyes -- baring his throat and letting the lights take him. He wants to feel ethereal, wants to be perfect for him. He wants him to look.
Because, really, that's what Aoi has wanted all along with every backbend, hip sway and pout.
With every playful grin, purchased coffee and offered cigarette.
With each melody written and each note conceived. Just look at me.
He just wants a glance.
His heart is a nova and it's going to burst -- adrenaline licking his ribcage and sweat smearing his makeup -- and suddenly, as he opens his eyes, it feels so real. And it's so loud. Screams and hollers and whistles and singing. Aoi's fingers still find the notes despite the catch in his breath -- because he'll always have room in his heart for both music and him.
He has five more seconds and stars begin to explode in his eyes. Four. Three. Two --
The smile feels too wide on his lips, the ragged whisper escaping too easily from his throat:
One.
"Kouyou -- "
And for that split moment, that pocketful of precious time held in suspension -- when the crowd is on their knees, the dream is in their hands and they're about to collide --
Uruha looks.
.:.:.:.:.
.:.:.:.:.
A/N: There is just something so compelling about how Aoi seems to adore Uruha. Of course, we fic-writers take it to the extreme -- but the affection he has for him is certainly there. And there's something just so heartbreaking when you read that infamous interview, or see Uruha oblivious to Aoi's advances on stage. Maybe that's why we're so compelled to write them together. Because they just fit. /end ramble.
Anyhoo, this just poured out of me tonight. I ran into the .gif that I put up at the end of this piece and the drabble seemed to write itself. I think that moment is one of the perfect examples of the relationship these guys have. So close, almost colliding, but then it's gone. Oh, Aoi-san. Forever pining.
Hope you enjoyed! I'll have my cracktastic oneshot coming out soon :D
Description: In which Aoi runs and Uruha notices.
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha
Genre: Introspective, drama, romance
Notes: Based on a moment in Tokyo Dome :)
.:.:.:.:.
Look at me.
Shards of light in his eyes, fiberglass against his navel and bleeding vessels in his chest, Aoi starts running. It's a long runway -- flashes of smiles, tears and screams streak past him in all different hues. Red, blue, yellow, red, red. It's a blear, a blur that sticks against his heart and chokes him. But he's running. Fingertips are pushing into copper strings so tight, he knows crimson will stain them for months, and his pick is lost somewhere in the crowd.
But Aoi can see him -- the blur of yellow and white that makes the stage shine so goddamn bright -- and he's closer with each step, leap and bound. The tunic he threw on in a last-second rush backstage is making his strides shorter and it feels like the hourglass is lodged in his throat. Because if he doesn't make it in time -- those grains lost forever in his bones -- he'll miss it.
And Aoi's not sure what it is --
perhaps the whisper of a knowing smile
of recognition
of love-passion-love-forever
of what he has yearned for with his entire being; ever since that first shared night in the hotel room when Aoi listened to him confess how he hates olives, how the other listened earnestly to the first sloppily put-together chords of Aoi's new song -- what would become Cassis -- and said, "That's beautiful."
when he smiled and laughed and everything became so vivid and right here --
-- but he's sure it's there. Waiting. About to be everlastingly gone if he doesn't hurry the fuck up.
The chords are banging against his chest. He knows that, come morning, the bruises will snake along his ribs, but Aoi doesn't care -- he can see him clearly now. Just hairsbreadths away. Just a couple more feet, a couple more breaths, more sighs, gasps...
And he runs, throws his head back and closes his eyes -- baring his throat and letting the lights take him. He wants to feel ethereal, wants to be perfect for him. He wants him to look.
Because, really, that's what Aoi has wanted all along with every backbend, hip sway and pout.
With every playful grin, purchased coffee and offered cigarette.
With each melody written and each note conceived. Just look at me.
He just wants a glance.
His heart is a nova and it's going to burst -- adrenaline licking his ribcage and sweat smearing his makeup -- and suddenly, as he opens his eyes, it feels so real. And it's so loud. Screams and hollers and whistles and singing. Aoi's fingers still find the notes despite the catch in his breath -- because he'll always have room in his heart for both music and him.
He has five more seconds and stars begin to explode in his eyes. Four. Three. Two --
The smile feels too wide on his lips, the ragged whisper escaping too easily from his throat:
One.
"Kouyou -- "
And for that split moment, that pocketful of precious time held in suspension -- when the crowd is on their knees, the dream is in their hands and they're about to collide --
Uruha looks.
.:.:.:.:.
.:.:.:.:.
A/N: There is just something so compelling about how Aoi seems to adore Uruha. Of course, we fic-writers take it to the extreme -- but the affection he has for him is certainly there. And there's something just so heartbreaking when you read that infamous interview, or see Uruha oblivious to Aoi's advances on stage. Maybe that's why we're so compelled to write them together. Because they just fit. /end ramble.
Anyhoo, this just poured out of me tonight. I ran into the .gif that I put up at the end of this piece and the drabble seemed to write itself. I think that moment is one of the perfect examples of the relationship these guys have. So close, almost colliding, but then it's gone. Oh, Aoi-san. Forever pining.
Hope you enjoyed! I'll have my cracktastic oneshot coming out soon :D