[Hyuga ficcage]
Oh, Li....I tried to make regular HS fic. Kind of. But it sort of spiraled out of control. I think I'm just going end up writing a whole bunch of these from different points of view. Maybe next one can be Iruka, ft. Gai. :D But of course my first one had to center on Hiashi & Hizashi. I swear, I'm on a kick. And they're British...somehow. I don't even know.
No mention of the Sexy Sandwich...yet. >3 Hey, this little series of ficlets should be called Sexy Sandwich. (just kidding)
inspired by this fic & Li:
“He’s a complete lunatic, I’m tellin’ ya.” Asuma took another smooth puff of his fag, which seemed a little too artsy for Hiashi’s tastes. He’d always assumed the other boy was dull beyond compare, as opposed to a dark and silent stereotype that most girls in school had reached for.
Hiashi couldn’t argue his logic in this case, though. “I’ve seen it for myself.”
Of course they were discussing their classmate over a cup of tea, served hot and sweet. This one particular classmate that had been unfortunately assigned to them for their project on the culture of Paris, or as Gai liked to say, Parree. Asuma and Hiashi had given up on correcting him. Finally, after being subjected to a good hour of the green hun going on and on about-
“Can ya believe he wanted to go to Paris?” Asuma made a soft scoffing sound with his tongue and glanced out the window, the steam from his tea merging subtly with that from the end of his fag.
Hiashi let the scalding liquid slip past his lips, numbing his taste buds, allowing him to stall for another moment and gather his thoughts. It was more difficult to hold up a conversation with someone that wasn’t his brother than he’d thought. He’d grown so used to it being simple, for the words to roll like a film or a puzzle, with all the pieces matching exactly. Finally, the tea went down, and he made sure the dull pain wasn’t visible.
“I don’t know where your disbelief comes from. I run to Paris all the time. Don’t you?” His sarcasm won him a chuckle from Asuma, whose eyes had turned back on Hiashi.
“I sure do, mate. Sure do.”
A half an hour later found them, after too many minutes of stretched-out silence, wrapped their coats and scarves around themselves once more and left to dare the cold of a mid-February London. They played at breathing fire for a moment, but soon were assaulted by the shame of an adult playing child games, so they ceased and moved on. Hiashi’s shoes were hard against the pavement, his heel striking it violently. He wondered how to excuse himself without sounding like a prick. He didn’t have much faith in his ability to not come off as a galoot, though, so there went that.
Asuma solved that problem as he turned to his companion and grinned loopily. “‘ay, wanna go get arseholed at Westminster?”
He really didn’t at all, to be completely honest. He’d never really felt the inclination to drink at all, much less get quote-unquote arseholed with someone that was basically a stranger. But when would he get this opportunity ever again? To be completely honest, Hiashi wasn’t the most popular person by a long shot, and it wasn’t often that he was in the presence of one that wasn’t his brother. Not that he didn’t love his brother to pieces (not like that, you’ve a mind like a sewer), but it didn’t do very much for his ego.
“Eh, I suppose.” His own acceptance surprised the hell out of Hiashi. He’d never drunk before in his life.
But Asuma didn’t seem to notice his blank-faced shock, and simply went on gabbing as if all were peachy. “Result! I've been meanin’ to get completely rat-faced, but I hate doin’ that shit alone, yanno? Makes me feel like a fuckin’ alcoholic, which I can safely say I am not.”
“Huh.” Hiashi tried his best to respond with only half-hearted grunts rather than actual statements, for fear or making a pansy out of himself by ask something like, where do you get alcohol. Asuma seemed to be walking with a purpose, which was all good and except, except that as Hiashi might have to return drunken and on his own, he sort of wanted to know where they were going. Generally.
But he never found that courage to ask, and he never found that courage to refuse the first drink. Asuma swung the bottle back and too great enthusiastic gulps. Its burn frightened Hiashi, but he didn’t feel much besides a strange heaviness in his stomach. He took drink after drink after drink and he didn’t feel anything at all. Until he did, and he fell over the bench they’d seated themselves on.
There was an odd weightless quality about being drunk, Hiashi realized vaguely, but this thought flew away quickly, and he guffawed loudly at something Asuma said.
Let’s go.
Where.
Anywhere.
Sure.
Afterward, all Hiashi remembered was sitting in front of his house, trying to gather himself, trying to sober up quickly before he went back inside. He had to go inside, after all. The sun had been low on the horizon hours ago, and it was late, so late. But all he could manage was to roll about on the concrete and hit himself in the face in an attempt to get the blur out of his eyes.
And then he was in bed and it was warm, and he felt the thick spew of vomit in the back of his throat, but it didn’t feel like it did when he was sick. Instead, he was far away, as if he were half-asleep and watching it from far away.
In the morning his head hurt, and every movement was like another sharp blow. He groaned and threw the covers back over his head, feeling miserable and---
Shite. How had he gotten into bed? Hell, how had he gotten into the house? He tried to dig through the previous evening, but everything was in pieces. Something about…a postbox. And then Hiashi remembered another guy as more of a concept than anything else. His voice had been low, but strong, and…and…
Hizashi’s voice was at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey, Hiashi…um, you awake?”
Of course. Who else? Who else would? He felt like a complete fool. In front of his brother he’d managed to lower himself to the level of everything else. Hizashi probably thought he was a complete git, a useless paralytic prat. It seemed so goddamed infantile to have gone out and gotten plastered with some…some kid from class. He barely knew him! They had Maths together and that was about it! Honestly, what had Hiashi been thinking?!
His brother was waiting for a response, though, so he cleared his throat and weakly called down the affirmative. His brother’s footsteps were hard on the step and each one matched a beat of Hiashi’s pounding heart. He burst into the room, dressed in tip-top shape and looking positively sound despite Hiashi’s fear of finding Hizashi all strung out.
“Two words, brother. Pavement pizza. You owe me.”
Hiashi threw his pillow at his twin and hid his head once more. Hizashi had no qualms about leaping on top of Hiashi and attempting his smother him with aforementioned pillow.
“I can’t believe you did it! You! I mean, you’re a complete swot.” Hiashi quickly pulled himself out from beneath the covers and threw his brother a look.
“What?”
“No offense, mate, but…you know…I can’t even imagine you doing this.”
“I meant…what in bloody hell is a swot?”
Hizashi laughed and rolled off of his brother, catching the drift. Hiashi was not in the mood for a wrestling match, obviously. “It’s you, Hiashi. Anyway, I can’t believe you did it without me!”
“…Without you?”
“Yeah! You thought I’d chicken out or somethin’?”
Oh, well, at least his brother wasn’t disappointed. Hiashi couldn’t find much relief in this, though. Despite Hizashi only being his junior by about a 538 seconds, Hiashi had always had the sensation of being the older one. He’d always felt somewhat protective of Hizashi, as if he were a little kid who needed guidance. Hiashi had lain in bed feeling the shame of coming home drunk and having your little sibling seeing you at your worst. But somehow it wasn’t playing out like this. Hizashi was…he was disappointed, but in that he hadn’t shared in the same experience. No, no, no, not good.
“It was one of the worst nights of my life, Hizashi. What the hell, you shouldn’t want to drink. It’s very bad for you. Fucks up your liver in all kinds of unpleasant ways. You weren’t paying attention during the assemblies!”
Hizashi cocked an eyebrow and his grin faded. “Niether did you, apparently. You’re always pourin’ it on real thick, y’know, as if I’m some kinda…retard r’somethin’. Damn, you’re such a dickhead!” He stood up violently and paced back and forth for a second like he usually did when he was getting started on a tirade. It always looked like he was preparing himself for a seizure, so Hiashi had to cover up the beginnings of a chuckle.
“I find you outside, so pie-eyed, and I get you in without Ma seein’ you, which weren’t no easy task, I’ll tell you that right now, and I let you throw up on my third favorite pajama bottoms (the ones with the birds on them, that dad sent me two birthday ago, remember? From New Zealand, so when the hell am I gonna replace those?!) and then, I have to undress you with you, like, hittin’ me and shit, and then I stay with you until you fall asleep, with you reeking of vom, ugh, I was so bad. So bad. You owe me, like, your fucking life. So don’t start with this pigshit about me not followin’ in your shoes or whatever, alright?”
“I owe you diddly-squat, Hizashi. Remember that time Anko threw you in the deep end at the pool and you almost died?”
Hizashi’s eyes narrowed. “That was more than ten years ago, bullock-brain!”
“Fifteen years you wouldn’t’ve lived if I hadn’t saved your ass!”
“You threw up on me!”
“I gave you mouth to mouth, you ungrateful little twit!”
“Like you even remember that that much! We were six!”
“Seven!”
“Fuck you, that’s not the point!”
There was a banging on the floor, and the two of them looked down at it in surprise, as if it were going to cave in on them and suck them into a pit of hell. A muffled voice came from downstairs. “Boys, Mama’s trying to sleep, darlings. Shut your pie-holes, please.”
Their argument forgotten, Hiashi raised his eyebrows at his brother. “She didn’t go to work today?”
Hizashi nodded slowly and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s their anniversary tomorrow, so she’s been feeling like shit since yesterday.”
“Oh, damn it.” Every year Hizashi and Hiashi were less and less preoccupied by their father’s lack of presence, and every year their mother became more and more obsessive about it. She’d tried to be brave about it go on as if the day were just another day, but when they had been ten, their mother had just exploded. She’d gone around tearing up all evidence of the man that had once been her husband and had even gone so far as to call him up and tell him she hoped he fell off one of those mountains he was so happy climbing. She came just short of telling him that, well, if he loved them so much why didn’t he just marry them?
Her sons had realized that the best thing to do was to just keep out of her way until she got out of her mood. With this miasma of loss overwhelming them, neither of them could focus on arguing anymore.
“Wanna go to the zoo?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
& I think this is Iruka's song. O: You need to hear it to understand it's true meaning, though, perhaps. It's all jazzesque.
Am I sad?
Not sad enough, really.
Am I mad?
Not mad enough, clearly.
Am I complacent, completely lacking in sincerity?
Yes, indeed I am, really.
Am I tough?
Not tough enough, really.
Am I rough?
Not roughly enough, nearly.
Am I lying here, on the ground, watching you get pushed around?
Yes, indeed, I am, really.
I don't know why I'm such a wimp.
I realize I'm just your pimp.
But what can I do? What can I do?
I feel small.
Not small enough, really.
I feel lame and circumspect.
I feel your pain and yet...
I feel sympathy, empathy,
It's just that i'm super busy right now...really.
I don't know why I'm such a shit
I realize this doesn't help a bit.
But what can I do? What can I do?
I feel bad.
Not bad enough, really.
I feel angry and upset.
I could write you a small check.
Look, I wish you luck,
And here's your buck,
It's just that I'm a yuppie fuck.
Yes, indeed, I am, really.
No mention of the Sexy Sandwich...yet. >3 Hey, this little series of ficlets should be called Sexy Sandwich. (just kidding)
inspired by this fic & Li:
“He’s a complete lunatic, I’m tellin’ ya.” Asuma took another smooth puff of his fag, which seemed a little too artsy for Hiashi’s tastes. He’d always assumed the other boy was dull beyond compare, as opposed to a dark and silent stereotype that most girls in school had reached for.
Hiashi couldn’t argue his logic in this case, though. “I’ve seen it for myself.”
Of course they were discussing their classmate over a cup of tea, served hot and sweet. This one particular classmate that had been unfortunately assigned to them for their project on the culture of Paris, or as Gai liked to say, Parree. Asuma and Hiashi had given up on correcting him. Finally, after being subjected to a good hour of the green hun going on and on about-
“Can ya believe he wanted to go to Paris?” Asuma made a soft scoffing sound with his tongue and glanced out the window, the steam from his tea merging subtly with that from the end of his fag.
Hiashi let the scalding liquid slip past his lips, numbing his taste buds, allowing him to stall for another moment and gather his thoughts. It was more difficult to hold up a conversation with someone that wasn’t his brother than he’d thought. He’d grown so used to it being simple, for the words to roll like a film or a puzzle, with all the pieces matching exactly. Finally, the tea went down, and he made sure the dull pain wasn’t visible.
“I don’t know where your disbelief comes from. I run to Paris all the time. Don’t you?” His sarcasm won him a chuckle from Asuma, whose eyes had turned back on Hiashi.
“I sure do, mate. Sure do.”
A half an hour later found them, after too many minutes of stretched-out silence, wrapped their coats and scarves around themselves once more and left to dare the cold of a mid-February London. They played at breathing fire for a moment, but soon were assaulted by the shame of an adult playing child games, so they ceased and moved on. Hiashi’s shoes were hard against the pavement, his heel striking it violently. He wondered how to excuse himself without sounding like a prick. He didn’t have much faith in his ability to not come off as a galoot, though, so there went that.
Asuma solved that problem as he turned to his companion and grinned loopily. “‘ay, wanna go get arseholed at Westminster?”
He really didn’t at all, to be completely honest. He’d never really felt the inclination to drink at all, much less get quote-unquote arseholed with someone that was basically a stranger. But when would he get this opportunity ever again? To be completely honest, Hiashi wasn’t the most popular person by a long shot, and it wasn’t often that he was in the presence of one that wasn’t his brother. Not that he didn’t love his brother to pieces (not like that, you’ve a mind like a sewer), but it didn’t do very much for his ego.
“Eh, I suppose.” His own acceptance surprised the hell out of Hiashi. He’d never drunk before in his life.
But Asuma didn’t seem to notice his blank-faced shock, and simply went on gabbing as if all were peachy. “Result! I've been meanin’ to get completely rat-faced, but I hate doin’ that shit alone, yanno? Makes me feel like a fuckin’ alcoholic, which I can safely say I am not.”
“Huh.” Hiashi tried his best to respond with only half-hearted grunts rather than actual statements, for fear or making a pansy out of himself by ask something like, where do you get alcohol. Asuma seemed to be walking with a purpose, which was all good and except, except that as Hiashi might have to return drunken and on his own, he sort of wanted to know where they were going. Generally.
But he never found that courage to ask, and he never found that courage to refuse the first drink. Asuma swung the bottle back and too great enthusiastic gulps. Its burn frightened Hiashi, but he didn’t feel much besides a strange heaviness in his stomach. He took drink after drink after drink and he didn’t feel anything at all. Until he did, and he fell over the bench they’d seated themselves on.
There was an odd weightless quality about being drunk, Hiashi realized vaguely, but this thought flew away quickly, and he guffawed loudly at something Asuma said.
Let’s go.
Where.
Anywhere.
Sure.
Afterward, all Hiashi remembered was sitting in front of his house, trying to gather himself, trying to sober up quickly before he went back inside. He had to go inside, after all. The sun had been low on the horizon hours ago, and it was late, so late. But all he could manage was to roll about on the concrete and hit himself in the face in an attempt to get the blur out of his eyes.
And then he was in bed and it was warm, and he felt the thick spew of vomit in the back of his throat, but it didn’t feel like it did when he was sick. Instead, he was far away, as if he were half-asleep and watching it from far away.
In the morning his head hurt, and every movement was like another sharp blow. He groaned and threw the covers back over his head, feeling miserable and---
Shite. How had he gotten into bed? Hell, how had he gotten into the house? He tried to dig through the previous evening, but everything was in pieces. Something about…a postbox. And then Hiashi remembered another guy as more of a concept than anything else. His voice had been low, but strong, and…and…
Hizashi’s voice was at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey, Hiashi…um, you awake?”
Of course. Who else? Who else would? He felt like a complete fool. In front of his brother he’d managed to lower himself to the level of everything else. Hizashi probably thought he was a complete git, a useless paralytic prat. It seemed so goddamed infantile to have gone out and gotten plastered with some…some kid from class. He barely knew him! They had Maths together and that was about it! Honestly, what had Hiashi been thinking?!
His brother was waiting for a response, though, so he cleared his throat and weakly called down the affirmative. His brother’s footsteps were hard on the step and each one matched a beat of Hiashi’s pounding heart. He burst into the room, dressed in tip-top shape and looking positively sound despite Hiashi’s fear of finding Hizashi all strung out.
“Two words, brother. Pavement pizza. You owe me.”
Hiashi threw his pillow at his twin and hid his head once more. Hizashi had no qualms about leaping on top of Hiashi and attempting his smother him with aforementioned pillow.
“I can’t believe you did it! You! I mean, you’re a complete swot.” Hiashi quickly pulled himself out from beneath the covers and threw his brother a look.
“What?”
“No offense, mate, but…you know…I can’t even imagine you doing this.”
“I meant…what in bloody hell is a swot?”
Hizashi laughed and rolled off of his brother, catching the drift. Hiashi was not in the mood for a wrestling match, obviously. “It’s you, Hiashi. Anyway, I can’t believe you did it without me!”
“…Without you?”
“Yeah! You thought I’d chicken out or somethin’?”
Oh, well, at least his brother wasn’t disappointed. Hiashi couldn’t find much relief in this, though. Despite Hizashi only being his junior by about a 538 seconds, Hiashi had always had the sensation of being the older one. He’d always felt somewhat protective of Hizashi, as if he were a little kid who needed guidance. Hiashi had lain in bed feeling the shame of coming home drunk and having your little sibling seeing you at your worst. But somehow it wasn’t playing out like this. Hizashi was…he was disappointed, but in that he hadn’t shared in the same experience. No, no, no, not good.
“It was one of the worst nights of my life, Hizashi. What the hell, you shouldn’t want to drink. It’s very bad for you. Fucks up your liver in all kinds of unpleasant ways. You weren’t paying attention during the assemblies!”
Hizashi cocked an eyebrow and his grin faded. “Niether did you, apparently. You’re always pourin’ it on real thick, y’know, as if I’m some kinda…retard r’somethin’. Damn, you’re such a dickhead!” He stood up violently and paced back and forth for a second like he usually did when he was getting started on a tirade. It always looked like he was preparing himself for a seizure, so Hiashi had to cover up the beginnings of a chuckle.
“I find you outside, so pie-eyed, and I get you in without Ma seein’ you, which weren’t no easy task, I’ll tell you that right now, and I let you throw up on my third favorite pajama bottoms (the ones with the birds on them, that dad sent me two birthday ago, remember? From New Zealand, so when the hell am I gonna replace those?!) and then, I have to undress you with you, like, hittin’ me and shit, and then I stay with you until you fall asleep, with you reeking of vom, ugh, I was so bad. So bad. You owe me, like, your fucking life. So don’t start with this pigshit about me not followin’ in your shoes or whatever, alright?”
“I owe you diddly-squat, Hizashi. Remember that time Anko threw you in the deep end at the pool and you almost died?”
Hizashi’s eyes narrowed. “That was more than ten years ago, bullock-brain!”
“Fifteen years you wouldn’t’ve lived if I hadn’t saved your ass!”
“You threw up on me!”
“I gave you mouth to mouth, you ungrateful little twit!”
“Like you even remember that that much! We were six!”
“Seven!”
“Fuck you, that’s not the point!”
There was a banging on the floor, and the two of them looked down at it in surprise, as if it were going to cave in on them and suck them into a pit of hell. A muffled voice came from downstairs. “Boys, Mama’s trying to sleep, darlings. Shut your pie-holes, please.”
Their argument forgotten, Hiashi raised his eyebrows at his brother. “She didn’t go to work today?”
Hizashi nodded slowly and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s their anniversary tomorrow, so she’s been feeling like shit since yesterday.”
“Oh, damn it.” Every year Hizashi and Hiashi were less and less preoccupied by their father’s lack of presence, and every year their mother became more and more obsessive about it. She’d tried to be brave about it go on as if the day were just another day, but when they had been ten, their mother had just exploded. She’d gone around tearing up all evidence of the man that had once been her husband and had even gone so far as to call him up and tell him she hoped he fell off one of those mountains he was so happy climbing. She came just short of telling him that, well, if he loved them so much why didn’t he just marry them?
Her sons had realized that the best thing to do was to just keep out of her way until she got out of her mood. With this miasma of loss overwhelming them, neither of them could focus on arguing anymore.
“Wanna go to the zoo?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
& I think this is Iruka's song. O: You need to hear it to understand it's true meaning, though, perhaps. It's all jazzesque.
Am I sad?
Not sad enough, really.
Am I mad?
Not mad enough, clearly.
Am I complacent, completely lacking in sincerity?
Yes, indeed I am, really.
Am I tough?
Not tough enough, really.
Am I rough?
Not roughly enough, nearly.
Am I lying here, on the ground, watching you get pushed around?
Yes, indeed, I am, really.
I don't know why I'm such a wimp.
I realize I'm just your pimp.
But what can I do? What can I do?
I feel small.
Not small enough, really.
I feel lame and circumspect.
I feel your pain and yet...
I feel sympathy, empathy,
It's just that i'm super busy right now...really.
I don't know why I'm such a shit
I realize this doesn't help a bit.
But what can I do? What can I do?
I feel bad.
Not bad enough, really.
I feel angry and upset.
I could write you a small check.
Look, I wish you luck,
And here's your buck,
It's just that I'm a yuppie fuck.
Yes, indeed, I am, really.