postscript [the boys]
postscript: the boys
A Tale of Horikoshi, or alternatively, how Bee characterizes them.
ryosuke/mirai/mariya, yuuto/suzuka, yuuri/saaya/umika, jingi/mirai/saaya, kamiki/everyone.
001.
Perfect defines Yamada Ryosuke, or at least it seems to be, a perfect angel smile hiding a mask of arrogance and failed pickup lines. Instead, he dangles his heart out on a string in a desperate attempt for her to even look at his way. Yet he chooses not her and gives it away first to long model legs with the name of a saint, quick to love and quick to forgive.
He smirks with the confidence of a prince, and chokes down a smile when the girls-she doesn’t-don’t give him a second glance. Their eyes waver at the boys next to him, one with his sunshine smile and easy demeanor, the other with his cyanide words and bright, bright promises. They laugh behind their fingers and shuffle off to the corner of the room, pulling alongside them the girl of a thousand faces.
002.
Nakajima Yuuto has girls flocking him in hoards. He is the type of boy to offer you his arm when you’re out on a movie date and kiss you at the climax of said movie yet gets so nervous and misses. Girls like to hook their arms around his and gasp, their cheeks flushed, “Nakajima-kun!” They crowd him for comfort the tunnel-vision prince and boy with cyanide words cannot give.
Instead of helping, he gives out his heart out in pieces, clumsily separated and feelings stretched thin and it never stays whole. He divides it between tears cried on his shoulder and days spent over cartons of ice cream and a tissue paper always at hand. He draws with water paints a girl as cold as diamonds with sharp, sharp eyes and shades in charcoal a girl who doesn’t really exist.
003.
Chiinen Yuuri keeps his heart close and his enemies closer. They simply don’t understand and still hang on his every word, giggling like what he says has any substance to it other than sharp remarks and sweet, hollow phrases. His eyes don’t twinkle as fingers searching for theirs blindly before he tightens his grip over their hands, focus somewhere far away. And no matter how hard they try, they love to fill a void that never stops growing.
So when he catches her staring at him with a long, soulful stare, his windpipe constricts and he can’t breathe. He has to shake himself softly and remind himself that she is not longer his, with her cat gaze no match for his cyanide. The girl beside him smells of the sea and wind, her head resting on his arm. He watches as she curls up beside the boy who shares her name, laughing in a way she never did around him.
004.
Irie Jingi glows like the sun, the archetypical hero who saves the maiden and whisks them away from tall towers, cape and all. He does not need to be the idol who gives away his heart to anyone who needs it, or build his walls up with poison and insecurities that eat at his defenses. He keeps himself occupied and kisses his girlfriend (whomever that would be at the moment-it was once the girl of a thousand faces and is now the girl who shares his name) good morning whenever he gets to chance to.
He is not like the trio girls who watch television so often fawn over, with his typical ways and typical smile and typical looks. He becomes real and solid and plays basketball with his friends as often as he can and tries so hard to stay the boy he once was so many years ago and keep his heart close to himself. And the girls in his class chase him because he is the realest they will ever feel in this industry of steel and knives.
005.
Kamiki Ryunosuke keeps his mind vacant and his heart full to the brim, the gears in his head whirring and his intentions clear. He loves without boundaries and keeps his chin high and his smile even higher. It keeps him safe and snug and secure so he can smile like everything doesn’t hurt him at all. Not the girl of a thousand faces, not the girl who smells of the sea and wind, and certainly never any of those girls who hide behind their fingers and smile.
The scars hide themselves under his skin and his vacant stares. They resurface with every “Hello my name is ____, and I think I love you,” spoken from lips cherry red and he frowns, shaking his head. They don’t blame him, and instead he becomes best friends with them, waiting for the scars to fade. They never do and he claws with sharp nails that dig deep into his skin.
Author’s Note:
GUH. I am so out of practice.
disclaimer: this is purely fictional. any coincidences with things in real life, dead or alive, coincidental or not, are for fictional purposes only.
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