Chocolate Fic for tinyangl
To: tinyangl
From: b2uty
Title: Alignment.
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo (NEWS) x Kashino Yuka (Perfume).
Rating: G.
Summary: They move like planets and crash like waves.
A/N: I really hope this makes sense.
moon
Words spill out haphazardly without a beat or a rhythm to hold them in, and for a long time he struggles to find something to compare her to. For so long in fact that when it hits him, it's so obvious that he should have known it forever ago.
She is the moon.
She's confident, quiet and dark and bright and older than she is. She's blinding one day and invisible the next. There's no denying her, not for long. And even if she is just reflecting light, something about her makes it such an elegant thing.
Other pinpricks of light in the sky try vainly to be half of what she is, while pretending to themselves that they themselves are suns, burning hot and yellow such a long way away. The lights of the city cloak them from view like a dirty yellow shawl. And she shines on, so oblivious and above the rabble, so separate but always undeniably there.
Even if he is just a boy, just a man laying back in the dew on a grassy hill watching her go by, it doesn't matter. Because when he looks, sometimes she looks back.
earth
She doesn't know what he calls her in his own private imaginings, but neither does he know what she thinks about when she thinks of him. She's not a particularly creative person, doesn't write lyrics or poetry or make music herself - she even claims not to be very good at singing. But even so the comparison had been obvious to her from the very beginning.
What can he possibly be but the earth?
The first thing she can ever think of is how warm he is - no, not warm, hot. However much he stays aloof, separates himself, he's always burning hot as though from the inside out. She may never have felt his white hot core herself, but she's seen the evidence of it from the outside, knows that it's there.
And then there's the cooler outer layer, separating the core from the outside world. He's constantly a flurry of activity in himself, and so loath to reach out to others for help with anything. And there's a strange sense of age to him, like he always knows more than he's letting on, is always one step ahead of the situation even if he's deciding to play stupid for whatever reasons he might have. He's beautiful from far away and fascinating close up.
It's not uncommon she wonders about the outer shell. Is it to protect himself from others, or to protect others from him?
roof
The first photograph she ever takes of him is on a rooftop. He's always very wary of her camera, knowing how a contraption so tiny in the wrong hands can make or break a career in this line of work. But she's just as wary as he is, though her enthusiasm for photography hides it. She's careful that she doesn't appear in any of the shots herself. The view, the door, a curiously shaped shadow - but not her, never her. Even when she seems to be swinging the viewfinder around without a care, finding shapes and patterns that appeal and clicking away at the shutter with abandon, any evidence of her presence always ends up just out of shot.
Initially he doesn't like the photo, when she first shows it to him. There's a cigarette in his hand, the wind blows his hair crazily across his face and it's not until he sees it in pixel form that he notices this t-shirt has seen better days. He tells her precisely what he thinks and she tells him precisely what he can do about it. In retrospect, he probably could have just taken the camera from her and deleted it himself, but the cold unending silence is never worth the tiny and possibly even imagined scrap of regained dignity.
She keeps taking him up there. It's her favourite place, and even when it seems like she must have photographed every inch of the place three or four times over, she always manages to find something new. Everything is something more to her. And she always gets a photograph of him.
He never likes them, but she never cares.
drive
He likes to drive. She's not exactly sure why she hadn't seen that coming - he has one of the shiniest cars she's ever seen, and men tend to like that sort of thing anyway. She doesn't know anything about cars, but is still interested to hear his explanation of how this thing works and what that thing does. He seems to know the full history of every moving and non-moving part of this great, silver, mobile heap of metal. Perhaps it does go in one ear and out the other for her, but it's still nice to see him pretending not to be excited about new models and upgrades and suchlike.
It's raining the first time he takes her out just for a drive, but neither of them mind. She watches the patterns of endless billions of raindrops chasing each other down the windows, and he takes the opportunity to drive safe and build up trust for later occasions when better conditions will mean he can go as fast as he likes.
She keeps glancing over. In the multi-coloured glitter of Tokyo streets he looks like a hero from a storybook, strong and magical. She laughs quietly at her own ideas and he doesn't ask why when he smiles too.
He puts the radio on. She turns it up. He turns it back down. She concedes the point.
The place where he stops looks like one of those pretty places couples drive to, but nobody else is here and she's never seen it before. It's dark and still raining, and they're away from the glitter now but it's somehow beautiful in its own quietly magical way. They sit for hours talking about everything and nothing, debating choices of radio stations and watching the sun slowly light the sky as it rises to meet the day.
On a whim, they go out to meet it. The heavens, having opened yesterday, still haven't closed. They're soaked to the skin within seconds. An impromptu game of oni breaks out. When he kisses her, he tastes rainwater and toothpaste. Halfway through the drive back to her place, she falls asleep in the passenger seat. He doesn't wake her up.
They may not have carved their names on a tree, but they're carved just as plainly in the air between them.
KY ♥ NR
From: b2uty
Title: Alignment.
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo (NEWS) x Kashino Yuka (Perfume).
Rating: G.
Summary: They move like planets and crash like waves.
A/N: I really hope this makes sense.
moon
Words spill out haphazardly without a beat or a rhythm to hold them in, and for a long time he struggles to find something to compare her to. For so long in fact that when it hits him, it's so obvious that he should have known it forever ago.
She is the moon.
She's confident, quiet and dark and bright and older than she is. She's blinding one day and invisible the next. There's no denying her, not for long. And even if she is just reflecting light, something about her makes it such an elegant thing.
Other pinpricks of light in the sky try vainly to be half of what she is, while pretending to themselves that they themselves are suns, burning hot and yellow such a long way away. The lights of the city cloak them from view like a dirty yellow shawl. And she shines on, so oblivious and above the rabble, so separate but always undeniably there.
Even if he is just a boy, just a man laying back in the dew on a grassy hill watching her go by, it doesn't matter. Because when he looks, sometimes she looks back.
earth
She doesn't know what he calls her in his own private imaginings, but neither does he know what she thinks about when she thinks of him. She's not a particularly creative person, doesn't write lyrics or poetry or make music herself - she even claims not to be very good at singing. But even so the comparison had been obvious to her from the very beginning.
What can he possibly be but the earth?
The first thing she can ever think of is how warm he is - no, not warm, hot. However much he stays aloof, separates himself, he's always burning hot as though from the inside out. She may never have felt his white hot core herself, but she's seen the evidence of it from the outside, knows that it's there.
And then there's the cooler outer layer, separating the core from the outside world. He's constantly a flurry of activity in himself, and so loath to reach out to others for help with anything. And there's a strange sense of age to him, like he always knows more than he's letting on, is always one step ahead of the situation even if he's deciding to play stupid for whatever reasons he might have. He's beautiful from far away and fascinating close up.
It's not uncommon she wonders about the outer shell. Is it to protect himself from others, or to protect others from him?
roof
The first photograph she ever takes of him is on a rooftop. He's always very wary of her camera, knowing how a contraption so tiny in the wrong hands can make or break a career in this line of work. But she's just as wary as he is, though her enthusiasm for photography hides it. She's careful that she doesn't appear in any of the shots herself. The view, the door, a curiously shaped shadow - but not her, never her. Even when she seems to be swinging the viewfinder around without a care, finding shapes and patterns that appeal and clicking away at the shutter with abandon, any evidence of her presence always ends up just out of shot.
Initially he doesn't like the photo, when she first shows it to him. There's a cigarette in his hand, the wind blows his hair crazily across his face and it's not until he sees it in pixel form that he notices this t-shirt has seen better days. He tells her precisely what he thinks and she tells him precisely what he can do about it. In retrospect, he probably could have just taken the camera from her and deleted it himself, but the cold unending silence is never worth the tiny and possibly even imagined scrap of regained dignity.
She keeps taking him up there. It's her favourite place, and even when it seems like she must have photographed every inch of the place three or four times over, she always manages to find something new. Everything is something more to her. And she always gets a photograph of him.
He never likes them, but she never cares.
drive
He likes to drive. She's not exactly sure why she hadn't seen that coming - he has one of the shiniest cars she's ever seen, and men tend to like that sort of thing anyway. She doesn't know anything about cars, but is still interested to hear his explanation of how this thing works and what that thing does. He seems to know the full history of every moving and non-moving part of this great, silver, mobile heap of metal. Perhaps it does go in one ear and out the other for her, but it's still nice to see him pretending not to be excited about new models and upgrades and suchlike.
It's raining the first time he takes her out just for a drive, but neither of them mind. She watches the patterns of endless billions of raindrops chasing each other down the windows, and he takes the opportunity to drive safe and build up trust for later occasions when better conditions will mean he can go as fast as he likes.
She keeps glancing over. In the multi-coloured glitter of Tokyo streets he looks like a hero from a storybook, strong and magical. She laughs quietly at her own ideas and he doesn't ask why when he smiles too.
He puts the radio on. She turns it up. He turns it back down. She concedes the point.
The place where he stops looks like one of those pretty places couples drive to, but nobody else is here and she's never seen it before. It's dark and still raining, and they're away from the glitter now but it's somehow beautiful in its own quietly magical way. They sit for hours talking about everything and nothing, debating choices of radio stations and watching the sun slowly light the sky as it rises to meet the day.
On a whim, they go out to meet it. The heavens, having opened yesterday, still haven't closed. They're soaked to the skin within seconds. An impromptu game of oni breaks out. When he kisses her, he tastes rainwater and toothpaste. Halfway through the drive back to her place, she falls asleep in the passenger seat. He doesn't wake her up.
They may not have carved their names on a tree, but they're carved just as plainly in the air between them.
KY ♥ NR