[JExStardust] batch of drabbles
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo and Sawajiri Erika
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by songs.
Vulnerable (Secondhand Serenade)
"I love you," he blurts out, and the way she looks at him makes him feel as if he's said something forbidden, unforgivable, impossible. He looks away, wanting to swallow up the words, take them back, write them on a piece of paper and tear it into pieces in front of her--then she clears her throat, and when he looks at her he can see the mask is back in place and it makes him feel hopeless and stupid and a little angry.
"I know," she answers coolly, face calm in the storm of his emotions. She raises a hand to brush her hair away; he glimpses it trembling as it touches her skin and he knows, he knows she's not invincible after all.
Home (Vanessa Carlton)
Leaving Takashiro had been easy enough--she never loved the man, anyway. It had been easy to pack all her suitcases and vacate the million-yen mansion he was renting for them in London, never once looking back, even as he pleaded and begged for her to not leave him--eventually cursing and hurling all sorts of expletives at her and blaming her for his current debts.
Going back to Japan was easy, too--so was ignoring the reporters and paparazzi as they swarmed around her even though her flight had landed in the wee hours of the morning, her shades thankfully shielding her eyes from the blinding flashes of the cameras.
What wasn't easy was dealing with the sudden feeling of helplessness that seemed to envelope her whole being the moment she arrived back at her own apartment in Tokyo; the darkness and emptiness of the place bearing down, suffocating her.
It was easy to go out of her building and into a cab; it wasn't easy deciding where to head to, though his address slipped from her tongue easily enough.
It was easy knocking on his door, but not to wait for it to open, and abruptly she realizes that she doesn't have any idea if he's actually home or perhaps out partying like he's known to be, and she thinks maybe she should just leave when the door does open--and there he is in only his boxer shorts, hair tousled and eyes bleary from sleep. He blinks at her for several moments, and then without a word, pulls her inside, down the hallway, into his bedroom, down on his bed and under the covers, shoes and all.
"Ryo, what--" she begins, but he shushes her.
"'S too early," he says, almost whining, the Kansai accent thick in the sleep in his voice. His bare arms pull her close, nose burying in the crook of her neck. "Talk... later..."
He drifts back into slumber, and she takes a moment to kick off her shoes before settling into him and closing her eyes.
It was easy to be back home, after all.
The Great Escape (Boys Like Girls)
In Ryo's opinion they look pretty inconspicuous--him in ratty jeans, equally ratty sneakers, and a shirt he'd randomly snatched from his clean clothes pile; while her in designer jeans, just slightly ratty flip flops and one of his older, now smaller shirts--but Erika still thinks otherwise, looking around surreptitiously once in a while for reporters or hidden cameras. They stand there in the middle of the airport, carrying nothing but several clothes, underwear, sunblock, passports and credit cards thrown haphazardly into the backpacks now slinging over their shoulders.
"Hawaii."
"No."
"Well, where."
"Anywhere." And they both know she means it. Anywhere, as long as we're together.
There is laughter in his voice. "Hawaii."
There is exasperation in hers. "No."
"Fine." He steps up to the counter, flashing a grin at the woman sitting behind it. "Two tickets to the Bahamas, please."
Bottle It Up (Sara Bareilles)
Erika thinks it's rather maddening, really, living in this brightly-colored house in Osaka, where his whole family is--where the television is always on and everyone speaks in Kansai-ben and everyone speaks in loud Kansai-ben to be heard over the television, where the sound of footsteps always running either up or down the stairs echo throughout the entire house, where people wait for their turn in the bathroom and where there is always the sound of a baby crying at least every three hours-- where everyone looks so goddamned alike and really, she is not so pleased when a distant aunt declares that Erika was starting to look like their Ryo-chan.
She gets to meet old rice cooker-san and then promptly burns the rice for dinner the night she gets assigned to cook it. Everyone clucks over the waste, and tears burn at the back of her throat and sometimes she wonders why she even tries so hard to please them. Still, she perseveres. It takes her some time to finally cook miso soup the way the entire family likes, but she gets it. For every day that goes by, she thinks, I am going to yell at my husband for this later, and then go back to vigorously chopping the vegetables.
Then sometime during the course of the day, she'd catch a glimpse of him grinning boyishly at her, looking proud; sometimes he'd come up and hug her from behind, nuzzling the back of her neck before settling beside her and help with whatever she'd be doing.
And at night, in their room, he'd pull her on his lap and start massaging her shoulders; somewhere in between his massages would turn into caresses and they would always, always end up making love on the bed he'd slept in as a child, holding each other close as they moved, muffling their laughter as they try to not be heard by everyone.
Sometimes, Erika thinks she could live everyday like this.
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by songs.
Vulnerable (Secondhand Serenade)
"I love you," he blurts out, and the way she looks at him makes him feel as if he's said something forbidden, unforgivable, impossible. He looks away, wanting to swallow up the words, take them back, write them on a piece of paper and tear it into pieces in front of her--then she clears her throat, and when he looks at her he can see the mask is back in place and it makes him feel hopeless and stupid and a little angry.
"I know," she answers coolly, face calm in the storm of his emotions. She raises a hand to brush her hair away; he glimpses it trembling as it touches her skin and he knows, he knows she's not invincible after all.
Home (Vanessa Carlton)
Leaving Takashiro had been easy enough--she never loved the man, anyway. It had been easy to pack all her suitcases and vacate the million-yen mansion he was renting for them in London, never once looking back, even as he pleaded and begged for her to not leave him--eventually cursing and hurling all sorts of expletives at her and blaming her for his current debts.
Going back to Japan was easy, too--so was ignoring the reporters and paparazzi as they swarmed around her even though her flight had landed in the wee hours of the morning, her shades thankfully shielding her eyes from the blinding flashes of the cameras.
What wasn't easy was dealing with the sudden feeling of helplessness that seemed to envelope her whole being the moment she arrived back at her own apartment in Tokyo; the darkness and emptiness of the place bearing down, suffocating her.
It was easy to go out of her building and into a cab; it wasn't easy deciding where to head to, though his address slipped from her tongue easily enough.
It was easy knocking on his door, but not to wait for it to open, and abruptly she realizes that she doesn't have any idea if he's actually home or perhaps out partying like he's known to be, and she thinks maybe she should just leave when the door does open--and there he is in only his boxer shorts, hair tousled and eyes bleary from sleep. He blinks at her for several moments, and then without a word, pulls her inside, down the hallway, into his bedroom, down on his bed and under the covers, shoes and all.
"Ryo, what--" she begins, but he shushes her.
"'S too early," he says, almost whining, the Kansai accent thick in the sleep in his voice. His bare arms pull her close, nose burying in the crook of her neck. "Talk... later..."
He drifts back into slumber, and she takes a moment to kick off her shoes before settling into him and closing her eyes.
It was easy to be back home, after all.
The Great Escape (Boys Like Girls)
In Ryo's opinion they look pretty inconspicuous--him in ratty jeans, equally ratty sneakers, and a shirt he'd randomly snatched from his clean clothes pile; while her in designer jeans, just slightly ratty flip flops and one of his older, now smaller shirts--but Erika still thinks otherwise, looking around surreptitiously once in a while for reporters or hidden cameras. They stand there in the middle of the airport, carrying nothing but several clothes, underwear, sunblock, passports and credit cards thrown haphazardly into the backpacks now slinging over their shoulders.
"Hawaii."
"No."
"Well, where."
"Anywhere." And they both know she means it. Anywhere, as long as we're together.
There is laughter in his voice. "Hawaii."
There is exasperation in hers. "No."
"Fine." He steps up to the counter, flashing a grin at the woman sitting behind it. "Two tickets to the Bahamas, please."
Bottle It Up (Sara Bareilles)
Erika thinks it's rather maddening, really, living in this brightly-colored house in Osaka, where his whole family is--where the television is always on and everyone speaks in Kansai-ben and everyone speaks in loud Kansai-ben to be heard over the television, where the sound of footsteps always running either up or down the stairs echo throughout the entire house, where people wait for their turn in the bathroom and where there is always the sound of a baby crying at least every three hours-- where everyone looks so goddamned alike and really, she is not so pleased when a distant aunt declares that Erika was starting to look like their Ryo-chan.
She gets to meet old rice cooker-san and then promptly burns the rice for dinner the night she gets assigned to cook it. Everyone clucks over the waste, and tears burn at the back of her throat and sometimes she wonders why she even tries so hard to please them. Still, she perseveres. It takes her some time to finally cook miso soup the way the entire family likes, but she gets it. For every day that goes by, she thinks, I am going to yell at my husband for this later, and then go back to vigorously chopping the vegetables.
Then sometime during the course of the day, she'd catch a glimpse of him grinning boyishly at her, looking proud; sometimes he'd come up and hug her from behind, nuzzling the back of her neck before settling beside her and help with whatever she'd be doing.
And at night, in their room, he'd pull her on his lap and start massaging her shoulders; somewhere in between his massages would turn into caresses and they would always, always end up making love on the bed he'd slept in as a child, holding each other close as they moved, muffling their laughter as they try to not be heard by everyone.
Sometimes, Erika thinks she could live everyday like this.