she comes and goes and no one knows she's slipping through my hands
i think this is what late night watching of japanese drama with an angsty pair youngsters (what are they?! are they even friends? or can i think of them as lovers? does he even like her?! what does she want from him!?) do to you.
Neon
Kurosagi Fic (based on drama-verse please, thank you very much)
977 words
no betas.
Neon
by lynn
I can't be her angel now
You know it's not my place to hold her down
And it's hard for me to take a stand
When I would take her anyway I can
-Neon / John Mayer
Tsurara hadn’t slept much.
Whenever her sempai asked why she looked so bone-weary, Tsurara blamed it on the exams. Her sempai gave her a dubious look and replied yes, there were countless tests and assignments to do, on top of her part time work, but it should still allow her a few hours of sleep per night.
Tsurara would just smile and thank her for her concern, and return to her books.
It seemed like she was in hiding; she had become quiet, her eyes always observing the people and happenings around her at school and in her neighbourhood. She spent much time in the coffee house staring into space whenever she wasn’t pouring through her textbooks, and even her boss had been concerned enough to ask if she wanted a few days off.
But Tsurara couldn’t. She was afraid if she stopped working, stopped moving, she would think about him.
Just the cat was enough to drive her crazy sometimes. One night, she was deranged enough to have a long conversation with Neko (as she had taken to calling it), asking Neko if it knew how he was, and if he was still eating those awful instant noodles of his.
Then sometimes when she did not have the mood to cook, she would end up buying those god-awful things herself and eating them.
She couldn’t explain her strange behaviour. In the end, she contributed it to over-work and stress, and made herself go to the hospital and get a prescription for sleeping pills, swearing sleep that night.
But she still couldn’t.
So she took a double dosage of the pills. Just as she was finally about to doze off, thinking about large balls of wool and clouds in her futile attempt at counting sheep, she heard a loud crash, and she got up, wide awake.
Creeping out of bed, she reached for a spare plank, left over from her construction days and started for the door. After he left, she had become a little too paranoid at people appearing at her door.
Slowly inching over, she opened her door a crack and tip-toed out…
“You know that’s not going to hurt anybody, Yoshida.”
She dropped the plank in surprise.
He was standing there, looking a little thinner from the last time she saw him at the lighthouse, starring at her.
“Why, you…” she stammered.
“I’ve locked myself out,” he said. “I left an extra key in your apartment.”
Then he breezed past her into her room.
She stumbled in after him, wondering when and where he had placed his ‘extra-key’ (to Tsurara’s knowledge, there shouldn’t even be a key anymore; the police had broken the lock during their raid of his apartment), but he side-stepped her books and dirty laundry scattered on the floor over to the window and pulled it open.
Sure enough wedged in the far side of the windowsill was a slightly rusted key. So that was why the window could never close properly, Tsurara thought, feeling slightly groggy. Was it the shock that was making her head spin?
He grabbed the key and popped it into his pocket, then turned around. He paused, finally noticing the state of the room. Books everywhere, dirty clothes spilling out of a basket near the kitchen, and the dusty pieces of wood piled on a corner haphazardly from the aborted shelving project.
“Oi Yoshida, you’re slacking aren’t…”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence; Tsurara crossed the room over to him, tripping over a dictionary and her blanket on the way. Before he knew it, she placed a hand on his cheek. He startled, too surprised to do anything.
“Are you drunk?” he asked.
She just smiled and shook her head. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said; then he saw the white of her eyes and she collapsed backwards onto the futon.
“Oi, oi!”
The next morning, Tsurara woke up with a pounding headache; maybe taking a double dosage of sleeping pills wasn’t a very good idea. She reached over for her alarm clock…
But it wasn’t there.
Opening her eyes a crack; she squinted and saw a foot in her face. She jumped and let out a loud squeak, before placing her hands over her mouth quickly.
Using an old tee shirt wrapped around two textbooks as a pillow; he was sleeping on the floor next to her futon.
“Kurosaki,” she whispered.
He didn’t stir. Where had he come from? She looked him over carefully. He was dressed in black, like he always was. His trench coat was lying by the floor near the door. Even when he slept, he was frowning, and his hands were fisted, as though he was ready to fight.
Tsurara had a million questions in her mind, about where he had been all this while and what had he been doing, but one glance at the clock told her she was late for class. She didn’t want to leave him but she knew it would be worse if she…
Quietly, she got out of bed. She hung his trench coat on a hook by the door and changed quickly, packed the books she needed (he was actually sleeping on one of them but she decided she could last one class without it). She made herself a sandwich for lunch, and thinking about it, made a second one, wrapping it with cling film and placing it conspicuously near him.
“Itte kimasu,” she whispered. She allowed herself one more look at him before opening the door and walking out.
When she returned from work that night, the room was empty. Her books were scattered haphazardly on the ground, the trench coat was no longer hanging at the door, and a closer look showed that the silver key was wedged back into the windowsill.
She blinked away the tears that traitorously appeared in her eyes.
The sandwich sat, untouched where she had left it. Neko must have tried to eat it; but it was still there, tightly wrapped in the cling film.
“Itte rasshai,” she whispered to the empty room.
Neon
Kurosagi Fic (based on drama-verse please, thank you very much)
977 words
no betas.
Neon
by lynn
I can't be her angel now
You know it's not my place to hold her down
And it's hard for me to take a stand
When I would take her anyway I can
-Neon / John Mayer
Tsurara hadn’t slept much.
Whenever her sempai asked why she looked so bone-weary, Tsurara blamed it on the exams. Her sempai gave her a dubious look and replied yes, there were countless tests and assignments to do, on top of her part time work, but it should still allow her a few hours of sleep per night.
Tsurara would just smile and thank her for her concern, and return to her books.
It seemed like she was in hiding; she had become quiet, her eyes always observing the people and happenings around her at school and in her neighbourhood. She spent much time in the coffee house staring into space whenever she wasn’t pouring through her textbooks, and even her boss had been concerned enough to ask if she wanted a few days off.
But Tsurara couldn’t. She was afraid if she stopped working, stopped moving, she would think about him.
Just the cat was enough to drive her crazy sometimes. One night, she was deranged enough to have a long conversation with Neko (as she had taken to calling it), asking Neko if it knew how he was, and if he was still eating those awful instant noodles of his.
Then sometimes when she did not have the mood to cook, she would end up buying those god-awful things herself and eating them.
She couldn’t explain her strange behaviour. In the end, she contributed it to over-work and stress, and made herself go to the hospital and get a prescription for sleeping pills, swearing sleep that night.
But she still couldn’t.
So she took a double dosage of the pills. Just as she was finally about to doze off, thinking about large balls of wool and clouds in her futile attempt at counting sheep, she heard a loud crash, and she got up, wide awake.
Creeping out of bed, she reached for a spare plank, left over from her construction days and started for the door. After he left, she had become a little too paranoid at people appearing at her door.
Slowly inching over, she opened her door a crack and tip-toed out…
“You know that’s not going to hurt anybody, Yoshida.”
She dropped the plank in surprise.
He was standing there, looking a little thinner from the last time she saw him at the lighthouse, starring at her.
“Why, you…” she stammered.
“I’ve locked myself out,” he said. “I left an extra key in your apartment.”
Then he breezed past her into her room.
She stumbled in after him, wondering when and where he had placed his ‘extra-key’ (to Tsurara’s knowledge, there shouldn’t even be a key anymore; the police had broken the lock during their raid of his apartment), but he side-stepped her books and dirty laundry scattered on the floor over to the window and pulled it open.
Sure enough wedged in the far side of the windowsill was a slightly rusted key. So that was why the window could never close properly, Tsurara thought, feeling slightly groggy. Was it the shock that was making her head spin?
He grabbed the key and popped it into his pocket, then turned around. He paused, finally noticing the state of the room. Books everywhere, dirty clothes spilling out of a basket near the kitchen, and the dusty pieces of wood piled on a corner haphazardly from the aborted shelving project.
“Oi Yoshida, you’re slacking aren’t…”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence; Tsurara crossed the room over to him, tripping over a dictionary and her blanket on the way. Before he knew it, she placed a hand on his cheek. He startled, too surprised to do anything.
“Are you drunk?” he asked.
She just smiled and shook her head. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said; then he saw the white of her eyes and she collapsed backwards onto the futon.
“Oi, oi!”
The next morning, Tsurara woke up with a pounding headache; maybe taking a double dosage of sleeping pills wasn’t a very good idea. She reached over for her alarm clock…
But it wasn’t there.
Opening her eyes a crack; she squinted and saw a foot in her face. She jumped and let out a loud squeak, before placing her hands over her mouth quickly.
Using an old tee shirt wrapped around two textbooks as a pillow; he was sleeping on the floor next to her futon.
“Kurosaki,” she whispered.
He didn’t stir. Where had he come from? She looked him over carefully. He was dressed in black, like he always was. His trench coat was lying by the floor near the door. Even when he slept, he was frowning, and his hands were fisted, as though he was ready to fight.
Tsurara had a million questions in her mind, about where he had been all this while and what had he been doing, but one glance at the clock told her she was late for class. She didn’t want to leave him but she knew it would be worse if she…
Quietly, she got out of bed. She hung his trench coat on a hook by the door and changed quickly, packed the books she needed (he was actually sleeping on one of them but she decided she could last one class without it). She made herself a sandwich for lunch, and thinking about it, made a second one, wrapping it with cling film and placing it conspicuously near him.
“Itte kimasu,” she whispered. She allowed herself one more look at him before opening the door and walking out.
When she returned from work that night, the room was empty. Her books were scattered haphazardly on the ground, the trench coat was no longer hanging at the door, and a closer look showed that the silver key was wedged back into the windowsill.
She blinked away the tears that traitorously appeared in her eyes.
The sandwich sat, untouched where she had left it. Neko must have tried to eat it; but it was still there, tightly wrapped in the cling film.
“Itte rasshai,” she whispered to the empty room.