GWR: Aftermath - Day One: Yao and Kiku. Writer!Anon is sorry for lateness!
anonymous
July 19 2009, 04:11:44 UTC
[[Wah, I'm so slow! Sorry, everyone! ;A; I just got a bit obsessive about finding the right place to take Yao and Kiku. BTW, beware of angsty mood whiplash here.]]
Kiku woke hours before even the earliest hint of dawn splashed across the early morning sky. He pulled aside the drapes on his half of the room and opened the blinds, peering into the black and deep blues that shadowed the buildings, then sat down on his bed, propping his arms up on his knees. He willed a diversion to distract him from thoughts of the day ahead, but none came; as such, he could only think about what would come of it, if anything.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the windows, he glanced over at his bedroom partner to make sure it didn’t bother the latter, only to note the pained expression on the Chinese man’s face. Curiosity getting the better of him, Kiku rose and moved to Yao’s bedside. The sound of footsteps stirred Yao, however, and Kiku was left hiding an awkwardness behind an impassive mask as Yao rose groggily to stare at him, dazed confusion replacing the lingering specters of nightmare in his half-lidded eyes.
“Up already, aru?” Yao mumbled through a yawn, vaguely wondering what the day had in store for him, but trusting Kiku’s prudence enough not to be particularly concerned.
“Woke up too early,” the Japanese man replied evenly. His face did not betray his thoughts - he wanted to ask what the nightmare was about, almost fearful of the answer; however, he smothered the idea. There was no point in asking such a personal question.
“Ah... well,” Yao murmured after a pregnant pause, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, “What are your plans for the day, aru? I mean, aside from heading to Beijing and catching a train to Shanghai?”
“I have no particular plans,” Kiku replied carefully after deliberation, eliciting a surprised look from his elder, “Nothing more than that we simply spend the day together without intrusions, personal or political.” Recalling the often rocky relationship that their respective nations had and the effect it had on their bond, he reflected that there was perhaps nothing more he could want - for life to be simple again.
“...If you’re sure that’s what you want, aru.” The quiet, contented smile on Yao’s face erased any doubts Kiku had on his decision. It was a smile he hadn’t seen in decades.
-----
With no destination in mind, the two took the first tour bus departing from the hotel, leaving the others behind. The bus smelled of the cigarette ash that caked thinly on the windows, puffed by passengers who shot none too kind glances at Japanese man as though his foreignness was written on his face. Unsettled by their obvious dislike, even contempt of him, Kiku turned to the window and stared blankly outwards. He willed himself to think of something to do, or at least something to say while he had Yao to himself, but nothing came. Breathing a sigh of frustration, he’d just put on his headphones when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Are you all right, aru?” Concern etched itself into Yao’s eyes. This was supposed to be Kiku’s award, after all, and Yao, for all he resented having to obey the others, didn’t want to disappoint - especially not Kiku, who was being so civil about it all. The elder Asian’s heart twinged with guilt as the venomous glances continued, the bus’s atmosphere as cold as the summer weather was hot. He wrung his hands, fidgeting. Lowly, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, aru. I have no idea why they’re doing that, aru.”
“They must have reason to,” Kiku stated matter-of-factly before turning to the window again, watching the lockjammed traffic meander its way through the sprawling districts of Beijing. Soon, however, the traffic let up a little as they drove further from the business centers of the city.
“We’re approaching the memorial bridge,” the guide said, “Please remember to be respectful.”
“Memorial bridge, aru?” Yao glanced about; in his worries, he hadn’t noticed it, but the majority of the other occupants carried flowers with them, some even bringing incense. Alarmed, he turned to the guide. “Where is this tour bus going?”
“To Luguo Bridge, known as Marco Polo bridge, the site where the second Sino-Japanese war broke out with a Japanese invasion of Beijing.”
Kiku woke hours before even the earliest hint of dawn splashed across the early morning sky. He pulled aside the drapes on his half of the room and opened the blinds, peering into the black and deep blues that shadowed the buildings, then sat down on his bed, propping his arms up on his knees. He willed a diversion to distract him from thoughts of the day ahead, but none came; as such, he could only think about what would come of it, if anything.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the windows, he glanced over at his bedroom partner to make sure it didn’t bother the latter, only to note the pained expression on the Chinese man’s face. Curiosity getting the better of him, Kiku rose and moved to Yao’s bedside. The sound of footsteps stirred Yao, however, and Kiku was left hiding an awkwardness behind an impassive mask as Yao rose groggily to stare at him, dazed confusion replacing the lingering specters of nightmare in his half-lidded eyes.
“Up already, aru?” Yao mumbled through a yawn, vaguely wondering what the day had in store for him, but trusting Kiku’s prudence enough not to be particularly concerned.
“Woke up too early,” the Japanese man replied evenly. His face did not betray his thoughts - he wanted to ask what the nightmare was about, almost fearful of the answer; however, he smothered the idea. There was no point in asking such a personal question.
“Ah... well,” Yao murmured after a pregnant pause, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, “What are your plans for the day, aru? I mean, aside from heading to Beijing and catching a train to Shanghai?”
“I have no particular plans,” Kiku replied carefully after deliberation, eliciting a surprised look from his elder, “Nothing more than that we simply spend the day together without intrusions, personal or political.” Recalling the often rocky relationship that their respective nations had and the effect it had on their bond, he reflected that there was perhaps nothing more he could want - for life to be simple again.
“...If you’re sure that’s what you want, aru.” The quiet, contented smile on Yao’s face erased any doubts Kiku had on his decision. It was a smile he hadn’t seen in decades.
-----
With no destination in mind, the two took the first tour bus departing from the hotel, leaving the others behind. The bus smelled of the cigarette ash that caked thinly on the windows, puffed by passengers who shot none too kind glances at Japanese man as though his foreignness was written on his face. Unsettled by their obvious dislike, even contempt of him, Kiku turned to the window and stared blankly outwards. He willed himself to think of something to do, or at least something to say while he had Yao to himself, but nothing came. Breathing a sigh of frustration, he’d just put on his headphones when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Are you all right, aru?” Concern etched itself into Yao’s eyes. This was supposed to be Kiku’s award, after all, and Yao, for all he resented having to obey the others, didn’t want to disappoint - especially not Kiku, who was being so civil about it all. The elder Asian’s heart twinged with guilt as the venomous glances continued, the bus’s atmosphere as cold as the summer weather was hot. He wrung his hands, fidgeting. Lowly, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, aru. I have no idea why they’re doing that, aru.”
“They must have reason to,” Kiku stated matter-of-factly before turning to the window again, watching the lockjammed traffic meander its way through the sprawling districts of Beijing. Soon, however, the traffic let up a little as they drove further from the business centers of the city.
“We’re approaching the memorial bridge,” the guide said, “Please remember to be respectful.”
“Memorial bridge, aru?” Yao glanced about; in his worries, he hadn’t noticed it, but the majority of the other occupants carried flowers with them, some even bringing incense. Alarmed, he turned to the guide. “Where is this tour bus going?”
“To Luguo Bridge, known as Marco Polo bridge, the site where the second Sino-Japanese war broke out with a Japanese invasion of Beijing.”
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment