[drabble] some beasts;
here's a terrible 8059 drabble for your entertainment. D:
it is a warm day in namimori when yamamoto hits the first grand slam of his junior high career. the ball soars high through the air and out of sight, the opposing team scrambling about to the sound of ear-splitting cheers from the crowd. it is a warm day, yamamoto will remember years from now, because as he is running the bases like his legs are on fire, he catches a glimpse of the crowd, and sees a distinct shape of grey hair. on closer inspection, the boy in question had ditched his usual short-sleeved shirt for a loose wifebeater, which highlighted not only his sculpted shoulders and toned arms, but served to remind yamamoto just how skinny the boy was. how, with his hair messily tied back in a spiky ponytail, the elegant slant of his neck had just a thin veil of dampness, simple yet sinfully ravishing. he liked how the rings stacked on the boy's slender fingers glittered in the sunlight, and how even though he had once made the off-hand comment that gokudera wore too much jewelry, the young italian had shown up the next day wearing even more bangles, belt buckles, chains around his neck. as yamamoto slid into home base, the world erupting around him as his teammates lifted him onto their shoulders chanting victory songs, he felt celebrated, liberated, loved, for reasons entirely unrelated to baseball.
after the game, hayato leans against the lockers without a word. yamamoto, in the middle of changing his shirt, looks up and smiles.
"hey. i thought you said you weren't going to come today. thanks for watching the game anyway, it really means a lot --"
he gives a loud scoff. "don't get your panties in a twist. i was bored and wanted to see what the fuss was about." a slanted look at yamamoto. "it's confirmed. baseball is for idiots."
pulling a clean white t-shirt over his head, yamamoto continues smiling anyway. "i'm just glad you came, that's all."
there's a softness in gokudera's eyes when he "tch"s and looks away. "what is it that you hit? a grand...?"
"a grand slam. it's when you hit a home run with bases loaded. it's pretty hard to get, especially on a junior high level."
"well, congratulations, then," he says, turning to leave. "seems that among idiots, you are the king."
"wait!" yamamoto reaches out and grabs gokudera's arm, gathering the smaller boy into a tight hug. "i..."
how do you say 'i love you' to someone who doesn't want to hear it?
slowly, gokudera's stiff body relaxes in the embrace. then, quietly, brokenly -- "i know."
-
here I love you.
here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
-pablo neruda
it is a warm day in namimori when yamamoto hits the first grand slam of his junior high career. the ball soars high through the air and out of sight, the opposing team scrambling about to the sound of ear-splitting cheers from the crowd. it is a warm day, yamamoto will remember years from now, because as he is running the bases like his legs are on fire, he catches a glimpse of the crowd, and sees a distinct shape of grey hair. on closer inspection, the boy in question had ditched his usual short-sleeved shirt for a loose wifebeater, which highlighted not only his sculpted shoulders and toned arms, but served to remind yamamoto just how skinny the boy was. how, with his hair messily tied back in a spiky ponytail, the elegant slant of his neck had just a thin veil of dampness, simple yet sinfully ravishing. he liked how the rings stacked on the boy's slender fingers glittered in the sunlight, and how even though he had once made the off-hand comment that gokudera wore too much jewelry, the young italian had shown up the next day wearing even more bangles, belt buckles, chains around his neck. as yamamoto slid into home base, the world erupting around him as his teammates lifted him onto their shoulders chanting victory songs, he felt celebrated, liberated, loved, for reasons entirely unrelated to baseball.
after the game, hayato leans against the lockers without a word. yamamoto, in the middle of changing his shirt, looks up and smiles.
"hey. i thought you said you weren't going to come today. thanks for watching the game anyway, it really means a lot --"
he gives a loud scoff. "don't get your panties in a twist. i was bored and wanted to see what the fuss was about." a slanted look at yamamoto. "it's confirmed. baseball is for idiots."
pulling a clean white t-shirt over his head, yamamoto continues smiling anyway. "i'm just glad you came, that's all."
there's a softness in gokudera's eyes when he "tch"s and looks away. "what is it that you hit? a grand...?"
"a grand slam. it's when you hit a home run with bases loaded. it's pretty hard to get, especially on a junior high level."
"well, congratulations, then," he says, turning to leave. "seems that among idiots, you are the king."
"wait!" yamamoto reaches out and grabs gokudera's arm, gathering the smaller boy into a tight hug. "i..."
how do you say 'i love you' to someone who doesn't want to hear it?
slowly, gokudera's stiff body relaxes in the embrace. then, quietly, brokenly -- "i know."
-
here I love you.
here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
-pablo neruda