Remix of sanjihan
Title: fresh ivy
Rating: PG
Group/Pairing: KAT-TUN; Junno-centric gen.
Warnings: none.
Notes: I was so excited to see that I had the opportunity to remix your fic, Tara...but then I realized I was also terrified of doing so. Erm. Oops? Either way, I hope that you enjoy this viewpoint of your story as much as I enjoyed writing this, despite my own lack of foresight and the inevitable time-crunch. Thank you my beta who agreed to do this incredibly last minute, and thank you to the mods who were so amazingly patient with me -- I promise I'll do better next time!
Link to Original Story: watching, waiting, wishing
Link to Original Writer: sanjihan
For as long as he can remember, whenever he decided to stop and seriously think about what he wanted to do with his life, Junno always came back with one thought -- he wanted to make people happy, help them when they needed it. It was in this train of thought that he considered and took a shot at a bunch of different professions -- he was a preschool teacher until he realized that he, himself, wasn't even mature enough to be considered a fine example to lead the next generation. He became a nurse only to quit a year or so later because most of the time, the suffering of the patients under his care far outweighed the occurrences of him potentially saving a life. After years of trying and trying and with very little to actually show for it, Junno now sits wide awake in his apartment one night, looking out at the bare-bones balcony he had. It'd be nice to have something liven it up, he thought. Like a potted plant. Maybe a flowerpot. After a few days of considering it left and right, and with very little else to do with his time besides his part-time job, he decides to go for it.
Just a little something to make himself happy, first.
Eventually, as he plants and tends, his little garden is full with fresh flowers and he realizes that he has a bit of a talent with this. He wonders if, maybe, he could make a living out of it. To do that, though, he needs to start small.
The next time he sees his landlord, he titters about for a few seconds, making small talk, before blurting out his wish to tend to the lawns and the flowers, if his landlord will allow him. His landlord readily agrees, somewhat happy for one thing off his to-do list permanently. Armed with an agreement to lower his rent a little bit in exchange, Junno soon finds himself with a day of landscaping on Wednesday mornings.
Some of the architecture around the apartment block is interesting, as there are dozens of tiny spaces in between apartments that Junno dutifully cuts and weeds, humming happily in the mid-autumn breeze. He wants to think of things to do with them, but he as was instructed by his landlord to strictly stick to mowing the grass, he shelves most of his ideas and just concentrates on the task at hand.
There's one little plot of grass that he, unknowingly at first, pays most attention to. It's right by a Japanese maple growing by the roadside, but the tree wasn't what piqued his initial curiosity. Rather, it was the piece of paper sticking to the window of one of the apartments, a morning greeting written on it. Junno stops and looks at it, tilting his head to the side to wonder why there was a note stuck to the window, facing out, when out the corner of his eye, there was a bit of movement in the window on the other side. Junno turns his head to look, and there stands a man with a mop of black hair, taping a piece of paper to his window.
'Good morning, buta," the note says. Junno ducks and begins pushing the lawnmower around when the man's gaze lands on him, but in the back of his mind, he thinks this system of paper-texting is kind of neat and cute. But it isn't any of his business, so he just sticks to his lawnmower and trims the grass.
From what Junno can tell, the notes on the window continue like this week after week, maybe day after day, and over time, Junno is fascinated. He would go about his business, but he kept a surreptitious eye out for any movement, reading the messages the two gentlemen wrote to each other. Some days they were amusing, like the argument comparing okonomiyaki in Osaka and Tokyo. Other times they were laced with concern and inquiries of well-being, and Junno finds himself wanting to read it all. He sometimes varies the time at which he goes over to cut that particular plot, just to see if he can catch them in the act, but from what he can see, they both have their own lives -- work, friends, family. It's probably a little nosy of him to quasi-snoop so much, but Junno is utterly captivated by what transpires a little ways above this plot of fresh, green grass.
He mentions it on an outing with some friends around Christmas; the winter renders his mowing job pretty useless as there's snow covering the ground half the time, and he can't help but wonder how the two messengers are. His best friend, Ueda, tells him to stop being creepy. It's okay, though -- Junno doesn't think he's being creepy. It's completely natural to wonder.
Part of him thinks it would be really lovely if something grand, something magical came out of all of this. Not necessarily his pseudo-spying on fellow tenants of the apartment block, but maybe there could be potential; one particular Wednesday morning, there's a succinct 'Can't sleep?' on one of the windows, and Junno wonders what happened. He's in the middle of his thoughts when a movement catches his eye and, there in the window, the piece of paper is taken down, replaced with a note with just a day, time, and, he assumes, a place. The man disappears. Junno stops his wondering and gets to work.
Like all great novels and stories, there comes a pause.
There are no more notes on windows, Junno notes sadly, or if there are, they're not there when he's around. He's also sad to admit that he's actually disappointed, that he looked forward to reading the next bit in the story, as it were. He frowns a little, but eventually decides to let it be. Maybe something happened. Maybe one of them moved out. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He figures it would be best to just let it go unfinished.
With his mind off of the paper-messengers, he finds himself with more ideas, trying to get a gardening business together, even if it's just himself and his thumb. He takes to sketching in his spare time, garden designs and cute little duck ponds, flowers of all colors and types arranged meticulously. He tries his best; he's not the most wonderful artist, but with a little help from a friend and his own imagination, they come up with some really great landscapes. His artist friend, Nakamaru, asks him what the point is of having an entire folder of landscapes when all he does is cut his apartment complex's grass, but Junno shrugs. The logical part of him thinks the same, but the dreamer in him merely thinks it's better to get it all down when you have it. Junno tries to explain this to Nakamaru, but he just stares at Junno like he's got a few heads too many. Junno shakes his head and lightly taps the tabletop, prompting him to get back to work.
There's one small garden he dreamed up in particular that he likes the most; it's just a small, quaint garden, full of yellows and blues and oranges, flowers surrounding a flat expanse of smooth brick with an iron-wrought bench. He wants to see if, maybe, when spring comes, his landlord will let him brighten up some areas of the complex.
His landlord says no to the brick and the bench, but yes to a few flowers here and there. Junno takes what he can get.
He's carefully considering the grass between the two apartments of notes past when he realizes, for the first time in the ten minutes he's been standing there, that there's a note on the window. He looks up, surprised and a little excited; the note says, 'You're on the wrong side, dumbass,' which Junno puzzles over. What could it possibly mean? It could mean a dozen things, given that it's out of context and Junno has no idea what the story is behind it, and he starts thinking they might be fighting when, for the first time since Junno started this gardening job, he sees the man at the other window; fashionable red hair, jeans, loose t-shirt covered in stars. He tapes a piece of paper to the window and then disappears. Junno stares at this piece of paper for a few moments, then chuckles to himself. He text messages Ueda, telling him something wonderful has happened, but ignores his friend's inquiry to clarify. He wouldn't get it, anyway.
The next week, the heart is still taped to the redhead's window. Underneath the windowsill, Junno is happily planting bright yellow daisies, humming to a Perfume song piping through his headphones, the first few days of spring looming over him in an array of bright sunshine and blue skies.
Rating: PG
Group/Pairing: KAT-TUN; Junno-centric gen.
Warnings: none.
Notes: I was so excited to see that I had the opportunity to remix your fic, Tara...but then I realized I was also terrified of doing so. Erm. Oops? Either way, I hope that you enjoy this viewpoint of your story as much as I enjoyed writing this, despite my own lack of foresight and the inevitable time-crunch. Thank you my beta who agreed to do this incredibly last minute, and thank you to the mods who were so amazingly patient with me -- I promise I'll do better next time!
Link to Original Story: watching, waiting, wishing
Link to Original Writer: sanjihan
For as long as he can remember, whenever he decided to stop and seriously think about what he wanted to do with his life, Junno always came back with one thought -- he wanted to make people happy, help them when they needed it. It was in this train of thought that he considered and took a shot at a bunch of different professions -- he was a preschool teacher until he realized that he, himself, wasn't even mature enough to be considered a fine example to lead the next generation. He became a nurse only to quit a year or so later because most of the time, the suffering of the patients under his care far outweighed the occurrences of him potentially saving a life. After years of trying and trying and with very little to actually show for it, Junno now sits wide awake in his apartment one night, looking out at the bare-bones balcony he had. It'd be nice to have something liven it up, he thought. Like a potted plant. Maybe a flowerpot. After a few days of considering it left and right, and with very little else to do with his time besides his part-time job, he decides to go for it.
Just a little something to make himself happy, first.
Eventually, as he plants and tends, his little garden is full with fresh flowers and he realizes that he has a bit of a talent with this. He wonders if, maybe, he could make a living out of it. To do that, though, he needs to start small.
The next time he sees his landlord, he titters about for a few seconds, making small talk, before blurting out his wish to tend to the lawns and the flowers, if his landlord will allow him. His landlord readily agrees, somewhat happy for one thing off his to-do list permanently. Armed with an agreement to lower his rent a little bit in exchange, Junno soon finds himself with a day of landscaping on Wednesday mornings.
Some of the architecture around the apartment block is interesting, as there are dozens of tiny spaces in between apartments that Junno dutifully cuts and weeds, humming happily in the mid-autumn breeze. He wants to think of things to do with them, but he as was instructed by his landlord to strictly stick to mowing the grass, he shelves most of his ideas and just concentrates on the task at hand.
There's one little plot of grass that he, unknowingly at first, pays most attention to. It's right by a Japanese maple growing by the roadside, but the tree wasn't what piqued his initial curiosity. Rather, it was the piece of paper sticking to the window of one of the apartments, a morning greeting written on it. Junno stops and looks at it, tilting his head to the side to wonder why there was a note stuck to the window, facing out, when out the corner of his eye, there was a bit of movement in the window on the other side. Junno turns his head to look, and there stands a man with a mop of black hair, taping a piece of paper to his window.
'Good morning, buta," the note says. Junno ducks and begins pushing the lawnmower around when the man's gaze lands on him, but in the back of his mind, he thinks this system of paper-texting is kind of neat and cute. But it isn't any of his business, so he just sticks to his lawnmower and trims the grass.
From what Junno can tell, the notes on the window continue like this week after week, maybe day after day, and over time, Junno is fascinated. He would go about his business, but he kept a surreptitious eye out for any movement, reading the messages the two gentlemen wrote to each other. Some days they were amusing, like the argument comparing okonomiyaki in Osaka and Tokyo. Other times they were laced with concern and inquiries of well-being, and Junno finds himself wanting to read it all. He sometimes varies the time at which he goes over to cut that particular plot, just to see if he can catch them in the act, but from what he can see, they both have their own lives -- work, friends, family. It's probably a little nosy of him to quasi-snoop so much, but Junno is utterly captivated by what transpires a little ways above this plot of fresh, green grass.
He mentions it on an outing with some friends around Christmas; the winter renders his mowing job pretty useless as there's snow covering the ground half the time, and he can't help but wonder how the two messengers are. His best friend, Ueda, tells him to stop being creepy. It's okay, though -- Junno doesn't think he's being creepy. It's completely natural to wonder.
Part of him thinks it would be really lovely if something grand, something magical came out of all of this. Not necessarily his pseudo-spying on fellow tenants of the apartment block, but maybe there could be potential; one particular Wednesday morning, there's a succinct 'Can't sleep?' on one of the windows, and Junno wonders what happened. He's in the middle of his thoughts when a movement catches his eye and, there in the window, the piece of paper is taken down, replaced with a note with just a day, time, and, he assumes, a place. The man disappears. Junno stops his wondering and gets to work.
Like all great novels and stories, there comes a pause.
There are no more notes on windows, Junno notes sadly, or if there are, they're not there when he's around. He's also sad to admit that he's actually disappointed, that he looked forward to reading the next bit in the story, as it were. He frowns a little, but eventually decides to let it be. Maybe something happened. Maybe one of them moved out. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He figures it would be best to just let it go unfinished.
With his mind off of the paper-messengers, he finds himself with more ideas, trying to get a gardening business together, even if it's just himself and his thumb. He takes to sketching in his spare time, garden designs and cute little duck ponds, flowers of all colors and types arranged meticulously. He tries his best; he's not the most wonderful artist, but with a little help from a friend and his own imagination, they come up with some really great landscapes. His artist friend, Nakamaru, asks him what the point is of having an entire folder of landscapes when all he does is cut his apartment complex's grass, but Junno shrugs. The logical part of him thinks the same, but the dreamer in him merely thinks it's better to get it all down when you have it. Junno tries to explain this to Nakamaru, but he just stares at Junno like he's got a few heads too many. Junno shakes his head and lightly taps the tabletop, prompting him to get back to work.
There's one small garden he dreamed up in particular that he likes the most; it's just a small, quaint garden, full of yellows and blues and oranges, flowers surrounding a flat expanse of smooth brick with an iron-wrought bench. He wants to see if, maybe, when spring comes, his landlord will let him brighten up some areas of the complex.
His landlord says no to the brick and the bench, but yes to a few flowers here and there. Junno takes what he can get.
He's carefully considering the grass between the two apartments of notes past when he realizes, for the first time in the ten minutes he's been standing there, that there's a note on the window. He looks up, surprised and a little excited; the note says, 'You're on the wrong side, dumbass,' which Junno puzzles over. What could it possibly mean? It could mean a dozen things, given that it's out of context and Junno has no idea what the story is behind it, and he starts thinking they might be fighting when, for the first time since Junno started this gardening job, he sees the man at the other window; fashionable red hair, jeans, loose t-shirt covered in stars. He tapes a piece of paper to the window and then disappears. Junno stares at this piece of paper for a few moments, then chuckles to himself. He text messages Ueda, telling him something wonderful has happened, but ignores his friend's inquiry to clarify. He wouldn't get it, anyway.
The next week, the heart is still taped to the redhead's window. Underneath the windowsill, Junno is happily planting bright yellow daisies, humming to a Perfume song piping through his headphones, the first few days of spring looming over him in an array of bright sunshine and blue skies.