[PoT] Straight Lines (won't lead us anywhere) (Yanagi/Kirihara - PG)
Title: Straight lines (won't lead us anywhere)
Pairing/Characters: Yanagi/Kirihara
Rating: PGish
Warnings: None, really. Overly descriptive maybe. XD
Summary: Summertime -one year later, have things really changed?
Sunset through the mosquito sash: an infinitely simple equation mapped out on the minuscule grid, the last rays sinking down the y axis in a blurring crimson line. Outside, the hushed sound of traffic and the faint hum of power lines map out z, the softly musical third dimension.
The environment inside is controlled -the faint clink of a tea cup against the porcelain saucer, echoes of a violin concerto drifting from one of the upstairs rooms; and on the calendar, a single note: june 21 is circled neatly, a thin blue line on the off-white paper.
"Ah," Renji says, "summer has come."
-
They find him on the rooftop the next day, dragging puffs from a long white cigarette, legs swinging lazily over the guardrail and his eyes lost somewhere in the hazy skyline. Renji is the first to arrive; he explains about the traffic holding them up, and lets him keep the cigarette as an apology.
Kirihara nods, almost imperceptibly; high noon and the details are blurred, but Renji follows the flitting half-shadows and thinks he finds the hint of a smile. Their arms brush when Niou ruffles his hair and congratulates him on graduating, sun-warmed skin against the cooler one, like a snake shedding his skin. An electric microsecond.
In the east the clouds seem to fade into the too-bright sky.
-
Marui has brought cake but no knife, and the icing melts in sticky clumps on their hands; Sanada watches Yukimura lick his fingers, and tilts his head forward a fraction, dark eyes glinting in the shade of his cap. Niou whispers something in Yagyuu's ear, and the latter pretends not to notice Niou's cream-coated finger make a beeline for his mouth.
There is sugar on his shirt where he tries to wrestle the trickster off of him; somewhere behind them, Jackal chuckles, and Kirihara grins, the knot of tension in his shoulders dissolving unconsciously.
Maybe things haven't really changed at all, he muses before snatching Marui's strawberry smoothie.
-
He's not sure who mentions it first, Niou or Renji or maybe even Yukimura, all of them going somewhere together, but once the idea's out in the open, suggestions and ideas collide in a chaotic chorus, like they've never been apart, like last year never really happened.
Dizzied by their own energy under the cloudless sky, their voices eventually die down, but there is a new spring in their step as they agree to meet on the following monday. Kirihara doesn't miss the gleam in Niou's eyes as he busies himself dragging Yagyuu down a side street, muttering something about college funds being put to good use.
-
He shows up at the wheel of a van that looks older than all of them combined, windows rattling in their frames and the engine sputtering to an unsteady stop in the parking lot. A few lonely drops of oil drip down, hissing when they reach the burning asphalt, and Yagyuu spots powdered rust fly out when he opens the passenger door.
Sanada looks less than happy to even consider getting inside, but Kirihara's already thrown his duffel bag in the back and called shotgun: he caves eventually, pulling his cap off as he climbs somewhat ungracefully on the back bench. Jackal settles down next to him, noticing the miniature disco ball hanging from the rear view mirror.
"But, did you really have to paint it this colour, Niou-kun?"
Niou just laughs and turns the radio up, static filling the air while he looks for a station.
"If Abba comes on, I swear I will reach over there and kill you myself," Yagyuu says from the second bench, and angles his head to catch the reflection of the sun in his glasses.
-
There are cookie crumbs on the floor and squashed juice boxes under the seats when they make it to Renji's summer house at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by so many trees they don't actually spot it until the last turn, when the wheels of the van skid off the side, gravel flying off to warn the local wildlife of their impending arrival.
A cloud of black-winged birds erupts noisily from the closest tree, casting fleeting shadows across the late afternoon sun.
"I knew it was a bad idea to let the kid drive," Jackal chuckles as he slides the rear door open and gets out, stretching cramped muscles. One by one they pile out of the van, watching with mild fascination the hulking metal carcass raise up incrementally, groaning and shuddering for all its worth.
"Please, follow me," Renji says, already ahead and opening the door with a long silver key. There is a peculiar smile on his face, like he's allowing newcomers in his sanctuary, and Kirihara pauses, whispering as he toes off his sneakers:
"So this is your fortress of solitude, sempai?"
Bare footsteps kick up the dust from the polished wooden floor, and Yanagi is left alone with his answer, watching sunlight stream through the open door.
Everything smells more real here, somehow.
-
Kirihara sneezes, a cobweb caught in his curls, and that's all the convincing he needs to grab a broom and start sweeping. Yukimura's taken over the kitchen, and they can hear pots banging and rattling as he looks for a cupboard to shove their groceries in, much to the dismay of Sanada, who then takes great pain to sort out the numerous bags in what he deems to be the proper places.
Renji is still getting used to hearing Seiichi laugh again -these are the times, he thinks, when he realizes how much he's missed it-.
-
The sun sets differently here: quieter, a richer array of colours in harmony with the thousand crickets chirping just out of sight.
A curtain of humidity encompassing the heady scents of the earth rises up like a mantle on their shoulders, almost strong enough to taste. It is disconcerting at first, a tickling at the back of the throat, the feeling they have awakened from a long slumber, freer than they've ever been before.
After all, they have nothing to prove here.
-
They make instant noodles on the gas stove and perch on the kitchen counter when they run out of chairs around the table, praising Sanada's skill as he neatly opens the plastic flavouring packets and sprinkles them, one after the other, on top of the boiling water.
Kirihara reaches for a pair of chopsticks in the drawer and tries to peek over his vice-captain's shoulder: "I never realized ramen was such an exact.. science, Sanada," he manages before bursting out laughing, the rest of the room following suit soon after.
He earns himself another elbow to the ribs when Sanada spots him mouthing "tarundoru!" behind his back.
-
Sleeping arrangements are left up to chance on the first night, most of the futons still in the living room where they spread them out to air in the afternoon. Marui nearly trips down the stairs carrying a huge bundle of blankets, landing on top of Jackal with a muffled oomph! as the corner of a sheet wraps around his ankle. Niou and Kirihara 'volunteer' to untangle them, and it doesn't take much more to start off their first pillow fight.
When they collapse, spent, Renji feels Kirihara's curls brushing against his arm in the darkness, soft, slightly damp. A smile flits on his lips: he is asleep soon after.
-
The week goes by fast, too fast almost. There are expeditions to the lake; a glistening emerald pool, uneven yet perfect, bordered by tall reeds and a thousand forgotten promises. The water is cool, the depths uncertain -they fade from sight as soon as they dive, pale shapes moving under the surface like wandering ghosts-.
Marui takes pictures: of the water running in thin rivulets down their backs, drying quickly in the moist heat, of the abstract pattern of ripples and reflections, of their shadows, lean and long as they take the winding path back home.
-
They drive off the next day, most of the group: there is talk of another house further down south, smaller. Apologetic grins and heartfelt handshakes, but Renji doesn't mind -this is his retreat, after all-.
"Sempai, you don't mind if I stay, do you?"
Renji shakes his head, amused. Kirihara watches the dust settle after the van leaves: he hadn't realized until now how much he had needed this week. A sense of belonging, implicit in their words and actions, the easy touch of a hand on his shoulder, rubbing aloe vera on burnt skin. A place to call home, in a way.
-
The dynamic is different, with just the two of them in the house; but their words fill the empty spaces, softer, echoing against their doubts and hopes.
Kirihara starts talking: Renji is cooking, his back turned to him -an invitation, maybe-. He talks about school and tennis and tournaments, he talks about the freshmen and the burden of being captain. He talks and Renji thinks Kirihara has grown up without him noticing, and in his mind a voice says you always knew he was going to go far.
Kirihara talks animatedly, curses sometimes, his hands living punctuation of his words, talks like a man coming out of a desert, like Renji is his oasis.
"Akaya," Renji says when he is done talking, assorted bowls steaming silently on the table, "it is good to have you back."
This night they move the futons back up, to Renji's room -when the lights go out, it is Renji's turn to talk. After a while, Kirihara can make out his lips moving in the near-darkness, and he hears all the things Renji doesn't say out loud.
-
The next morning they drive down to the village on rusty bicycles they find in the garage -relics of generations past, the handles worn smooth with use, brakes worn down to nothing-. Renji finds a basket, fastens it to the front: they bring home fruits from the market, ripe and shining under the sun.
Later, they lay on the grass, a blanket spread beneath them: Kirihara bites into a plum, juice running down his chin, and the curls around his face like a playful Adonis. A soft breeze murmurs between them, teasing, a shared breath travelling the length of their tanned bodies.
Renji thinks maybe he's found his secret garden here -hidden moments, a treasure trove of memories that will never dull with time-.
Kirihara thinks about the world changing around him, and how maybe, he would like to come back to this place next time -and with it comes the realization, he wants there to be a next time.
-
That night their hands find each other; the rest follows later, in their sleep: bodies seeking the quiet reassurance brought about by the twin beating of their hearts.
Skin to skin.
Heart to heart.
+end+
Pairing/Characters: Yanagi/Kirihara
Rating: PGish
Warnings: None, really. Overly descriptive maybe. XD
Summary: Summertime -one year later, have things really changed?
Sunset through the mosquito sash: an infinitely simple equation mapped out on the minuscule grid, the last rays sinking down the y axis in a blurring crimson line. Outside, the hushed sound of traffic and the faint hum of power lines map out z, the softly musical third dimension.
The environment inside is controlled -the faint clink of a tea cup against the porcelain saucer, echoes of a violin concerto drifting from one of the upstairs rooms; and on the calendar, a single note: june 21 is circled neatly, a thin blue line on the off-white paper.
"Ah," Renji says, "summer has come."
-
They find him on the rooftop the next day, dragging puffs from a long white cigarette, legs swinging lazily over the guardrail and his eyes lost somewhere in the hazy skyline. Renji is the first to arrive; he explains about the traffic holding them up, and lets him keep the cigarette as an apology.
Kirihara nods, almost imperceptibly; high noon and the details are blurred, but Renji follows the flitting half-shadows and thinks he finds the hint of a smile. Their arms brush when Niou ruffles his hair and congratulates him on graduating, sun-warmed skin against the cooler one, like a snake shedding his skin. An electric microsecond.
In the east the clouds seem to fade into the too-bright sky.
-
Marui has brought cake but no knife, and the icing melts in sticky clumps on their hands; Sanada watches Yukimura lick his fingers, and tilts his head forward a fraction, dark eyes glinting in the shade of his cap. Niou whispers something in Yagyuu's ear, and the latter pretends not to notice Niou's cream-coated finger make a beeline for his mouth.
There is sugar on his shirt where he tries to wrestle the trickster off of him; somewhere behind them, Jackal chuckles, and Kirihara grins, the knot of tension in his shoulders dissolving unconsciously.
Maybe things haven't really changed at all, he muses before snatching Marui's strawberry smoothie.
-
He's not sure who mentions it first, Niou or Renji or maybe even Yukimura, all of them going somewhere together, but once the idea's out in the open, suggestions and ideas collide in a chaotic chorus, like they've never been apart, like last year never really happened.
Dizzied by their own energy under the cloudless sky, their voices eventually die down, but there is a new spring in their step as they agree to meet on the following monday. Kirihara doesn't miss the gleam in Niou's eyes as he busies himself dragging Yagyuu down a side street, muttering something about college funds being put to good use.
-
He shows up at the wheel of a van that looks older than all of them combined, windows rattling in their frames and the engine sputtering to an unsteady stop in the parking lot. A few lonely drops of oil drip down, hissing when they reach the burning asphalt, and Yagyuu spots powdered rust fly out when he opens the passenger door.
Sanada looks less than happy to even consider getting inside, but Kirihara's already thrown his duffel bag in the back and called shotgun: he caves eventually, pulling his cap off as he climbs somewhat ungracefully on the back bench. Jackal settles down next to him, noticing the miniature disco ball hanging from the rear view mirror.
"But, did you really have to paint it this colour, Niou-kun?"
Niou just laughs and turns the radio up, static filling the air while he looks for a station.
"If Abba comes on, I swear I will reach over there and kill you myself," Yagyuu says from the second bench, and angles his head to catch the reflection of the sun in his glasses.
-
There are cookie crumbs on the floor and squashed juice boxes under the seats when they make it to Renji's summer house at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by so many trees they don't actually spot it until the last turn, when the wheels of the van skid off the side, gravel flying off to warn the local wildlife of their impending arrival.
A cloud of black-winged birds erupts noisily from the closest tree, casting fleeting shadows across the late afternoon sun.
"I knew it was a bad idea to let the kid drive," Jackal chuckles as he slides the rear door open and gets out, stretching cramped muscles. One by one they pile out of the van, watching with mild fascination the hulking metal carcass raise up incrementally, groaning and shuddering for all its worth.
"Please, follow me," Renji says, already ahead and opening the door with a long silver key. There is a peculiar smile on his face, like he's allowing newcomers in his sanctuary, and Kirihara pauses, whispering as he toes off his sneakers:
"So this is your fortress of solitude, sempai?"
Bare footsteps kick up the dust from the polished wooden floor, and Yanagi is left alone with his answer, watching sunlight stream through the open door.
Everything smells more real here, somehow.
-
Kirihara sneezes, a cobweb caught in his curls, and that's all the convincing he needs to grab a broom and start sweeping. Yukimura's taken over the kitchen, and they can hear pots banging and rattling as he looks for a cupboard to shove their groceries in, much to the dismay of Sanada, who then takes great pain to sort out the numerous bags in what he deems to be the proper places.
Renji is still getting used to hearing Seiichi laugh again -these are the times, he thinks, when he realizes how much he's missed it-.
-
The sun sets differently here: quieter, a richer array of colours in harmony with the thousand crickets chirping just out of sight.
A curtain of humidity encompassing the heady scents of the earth rises up like a mantle on their shoulders, almost strong enough to taste. It is disconcerting at first, a tickling at the back of the throat, the feeling they have awakened from a long slumber, freer than they've ever been before.
After all, they have nothing to prove here.
-
They make instant noodles on the gas stove and perch on the kitchen counter when they run out of chairs around the table, praising Sanada's skill as he neatly opens the plastic flavouring packets and sprinkles them, one after the other, on top of the boiling water.
Kirihara reaches for a pair of chopsticks in the drawer and tries to peek over his vice-captain's shoulder: "I never realized ramen was such an exact.. science, Sanada," he manages before bursting out laughing, the rest of the room following suit soon after.
He earns himself another elbow to the ribs when Sanada spots him mouthing "tarundoru!" behind his back.
-
Sleeping arrangements are left up to chance on the first night, most of the futons still in the living room where they spread them out to air in the afternoon. Marui nearly trips down the stairs carrying a huge bundle of blankets, landing on top of Jackal with a muffled oomph! as the corner of a sheet wraps around his ankle. Niou and Kirihara 'volunteer' to untangle them, and it doesn't take much more to start off their first pillow fight.
When they collapse, spent, Renji feels Kirihara's curls brushing against his arm in the darkness, soft, slightly damp. A smile flits on his lips: he is asleep soon after.
-
The week goes by fast, too fast almost. There are expeditions to the lake; a glistening emerald pool, uneven yet perfect, bordered by tall reeds and a thousand forgotten promises. The water is cool, the depths uncertain -they fade from sight as soon as they dive, pale shapes moving under the surface like wandering ghosts-.
Marui takes pictures: of the water running in thin rivulets down their backs, drying quickly in the moist heat, of the abstract pattern of ripples and reflections, of their shadows, lean and long as they take the winding path back home.
-
They drive off the next day, most of the group: there is talk of another house further down south, smaller. Apologetic grins and heartfelt handshakes, but Renji doesn't mind -this is his retreat, after all-.
"Sempai, you don't mind if I stay, do you?"
Renji shakes his head, amused. Kirihara watches the dust settle after the van leaves: he hadn't realized until now how much he had needed this week. A sense of belonging, implicit in their words and actions, the easy touch of a hand on his shoulder, rubbing aloe vera on burnt skin. A place to call home, in a way.
-
The dynamic is different, with just the two of them in the house; but their words fill the empty spaces, softer, echoing against their doubts and hopes.
Kirihara starts talking: Renji is cooking, his back turned to him -an invitation, maybe-. He talks about school and tennis and tournaments, he talks about the freshmen and the burden of being captain. He talks and Renji thinks Kirihara has grown up without him noticing, and in his mind a voice says you always knew he was going to go far.
Kirihara talks animatedly, curses sometimes, his hands living punctuation of his words, talks like a man coming out of a desert, like Renji is his oasis.
"Akaya," Renji says when he is done talking, assorted bowls steaming silently on the table, "it is good to have you back."
This night they move the futons back up, to Renji's room -when the lights go out, it is Renji's turn to talk. After a while, Kirihara can make out his lips moving in the near-darkness, and he hears all the things Renji doesn't say out loud.
-
The next morning they drive down to the village on rusty bicycles they find in the garage -relics of generations past, the handles worn smooth with use, brakes worn down to nothing-. Renji finds a basket, fastens it to the front: they bring home fruits from the market, ripe and shining under the sun.
Later, they lay on the grass, a blanket spread beneath them: Kirihara bites into a plum, juice running down his chin, and the curls around his face like a playful Adonis. A soft breeze murmurs between them, teasing, a shared breath travelling the length of their tanned bodies.
Renji thinks maybe he's found his secret garden here -hidden moments, a treasure trove of memories that will never dull with time-.
Kirihara thinks about the world changing around him, and how maybe, he would like to come back to this place next time -and with it comes the realization, he wants there to be a next time.
-
That night their hands find each other; the rest follows later, in their sleep: bodies seeking the quiet reassurance brought about by the twin beating of their hearts.
Skin to skin.
Heart to heart.
+end+