Hierarchy of Desires 2 & 3
fanfic series title: Hierarchy of Desires
manga series: Honey and Clover
genre: introspection
characters, pairings: Takemoto x Hagu, Yamazaki x Miwako (mwahahahaha)
spoilers?: The special chapter in volume 5 (or 6, I can't check right now.)
summary: Takemoto ponders on the meaning of furniture in Closet I. Yamazaki reconsiders his wardrobe in Closet II.
The first H&C vignette is here
Closet I
Hagu was asleep in the corner, as if all the art in the world had exhausted her soul. She lay there limply, with that menacing poodle snoring beside her.
Takemoto wasn’t jealous of the dog at all. In fact, he got so absorbed into the Herculean task of making this Versailles suite, he almost forgot about Hagu’s presence in the room.
That’s about it. Any more wood shaven off, and these delicate inverse C-scrolls will break off. Just a little bit of sanding on top… there. Where’s that new special varnish?
It was only slightly larger than the palm of his hand, but in his eyes it was a perfect copy of Madame du Barry’s mahogany armoire that once occupied a place in the Petit Trianon.
That’s the problem with me, isn’t it? Takemoto sighed. I’m good at copying things down to the last curl. Give me a ton of references and I will reverse-engineer any structure. But when it comes to making something new out of nothing… I simply fall apart.
His eyes drifted over to the girl, whose eyes took in everything, whose hands performed amazing feats of creation.
The girl. He wished he didn’t feel so much for her that it left his chest feeling hollow inside.
If Takemoto could build himself a new heart out of hardwood and metal, one that didn’t ache with longing and low self-esteem, would he still be the same man?
He didn’t know the answer to that question. He didn’t know he was even subconsciously asking himself such things. Skimming on the surface of his own thoughts, ignoring the obvious, he did the only thing he knew how to do automatically: Takemoto continued working.
He tightened the tiny screws, then gently oiled the hinges of the new armoire, wiping off the excess oil with care.
Takemoto studied his work with satisfaction. There. Now it was perfect.
The tiny doors opened up to reveal a fine empty space. Hagu will fill this with doll clothes soon, he thought. Perhaps without a second thought to the long hours that have gone into it.
I am like a good piece of furniture. Comfortable. Functional. Attention is only drawn to me when I cease to work properly.
Takemoto’s maudlin thoughts ceased only when exhaustion overcame him. He fell into a deep sleep, his hand curled around his tiny creation.
Closet II
The empty space was now bursting with shirts and vests that he didn’t buy for himself. He had scores of colorful slacks and designer jeans, and dozens of shirts and jackets that he couldn’t afford on his junior architect salary. Even if Yamazaki scrimped on the non-essentials, he would have gone bankrupt six months ago if he had charged all these items to his credit card.
This wardrobe belongs to her, Yamazaki thought. Every single thread here belongs to Miwako-san.
Yet like every cuckold in love, he was the last to know the truth that his lady was playing him for a fool.
Everyone at Fujiwara Architects knew that the firm funded Yamazaki’s wardrobe. The guy from Accounting was rather vocal about the problem, everyone else kept their mouths shut upon the threat of death by doggie tongue bath. Miwako-san and Leader made a threatening combination when cornered.
Yamazaki, of course, remained blissfully unaware of the situation. All that he knew was that if she demanded all the clothes back on a whim, he would have nothing left on his back except a badly inked tattoo and some questionable Wile E. Coyote boxers. He had tossed out all his old togs long ago, to make closet space for her monthly gifts.
He thought the world about Miwako-san, of course. It never occurred to him that she wanted him to look like a buffoon.
Yamazaki was merely grateful that she knew that he was alive. The fierce joy that emanated from that thought made him stand up taller and straighter. He couldn’t help but smile more. Her gifts made him work smarter and faster. He couldn’t help, sometimes, to strut around the neighborhood and feel like that he owned the world.
His confidence level soared with each new shirt, no matter how garish. He could take on peacock feathers, neon sequins, embossed metallic robots, animal prints and heraldic devices on any shirt that came bearing the words “from Miwako-san.”
Yamazaki took a faintly macho pleasure in the idea that her hands must have fingered the fabric at some point or another. How could she have not, when she selected each item with such loving care?
It was almost as good as the thought of her one day touching him intimately for real. The hope was distant, but still... wasn’t he allowed to dream?
And Yamazaki’s daydreams of Miwako-san always made him smile.
And that’s the charismatic self those fashion photographers of M Street Magazine always captured: a young man smitten, for better or for worse, with his older female colleague. Optimism always turned on the light bulb of charm inside his head, illuminating his smile from within.
Sorry, I could NOT resist writing this vignette for Yamazaki and Miwako. They have got to be my favorite josei side-characters. XD
Un-betaed as usual. Le sigh. Corrections are always welcome.
manga series: Honey and Clover
genre: introspection
characters, pairings: Takemoto x Hagu, Yamazaki x Miwako (mwahahahaha)
spoilers?: The special chapter in volume 5 (or 6, I can't check right now.)
summary: Takemoto ponders on the meaning of furniture in Closet I. Yamazaki reconsiders his wardrobe in Closet II.
The first H&C vignette is here
Closet I
Hagu was asleep in the corner, as if all the art in the world had exhausted her soul. She lay there limply, with that menacing poodle snoring beside her.
Takemoto wasn’t jealous of the dog at all. In fact, he got so absorbed into the Herculean task of making this Versailles suite, he almost forgot about Hagu’s presence in the room.
That’s about it. Any more wood shaven off, and these delicate inverse C-scrolls will break off. Just a little bit of sanding on top… there. Where’s that new special varnish?
It was only slightly larger than the palm of his hand, but in his eyes it was a perfect copy of Madame du Barry’s mahogany armoire that once occupied a place in the Petit Trianon.
That’s the problem with me, isn’t it? Takemoto sighed. I’m good at copying things down to the last curl. Give me a ton of references and I will reverse-engineer any structure. But when it comes to making something new out of nothing… I simply fall apart.
His eyes drifted over to the girl, whose eyes took in everything, whose hands performed amazing feats of creation.
The girl. He wished he didn’t feel so much for her that it left his chest feeling hollow inside.
If Takemoto could build himself a new heart out of hardwood and metal, one that didn’t ache with longing and low self-esteem, would he still be the same man?
He didn’t know the answer to that question. He didn’t know he was even subconsciously asking himself such things. Skimming on the surface of his own thoughts, ignoring the obvious, he did the only thing he knew how to do automatically: Takemoto continued working.
He tightened the tiny screws, then gently oiled the hinges of the new armoire, wiping off the excess oil with care.
Takemoto studied his work with satisfaction. There. Now it was perfect.
The tiny doors opened up to reveal a fine empty space. Hagu will fill this with doll clothes soon, he thought. Perhaps without a second thought to the long hours that have gone into it.
I am like a good piece of furniture. Comfortable. Functional. Attention is only drawn to me when I cease to work properly.
Takemoto’s maudlin thoughts ceased only when exhaustion overcame him. He fell into a deep sleep, his hand curled around his tiny creation.
Closet II
The empty space was now bursting with shirts and vests that he didn’t buy for himself. He had scores of colorful slacks and designer jeans, and dozens of shirts and jackets that he couldn’t afford on his junior architect salary. Even if Yamazaki scrimped on the non-essentials, he would have gone bankrupt six months ago if he had charged all these items to his credit card.
This wardrobe belongs to her, Yamazaki thought. Every single thread here belongs to Miwako-san.
Yet like every cuckold in love, he was the last to know the truth that his lady was playing him for a fool.
Everyone at Fujiwara Architects knew that the firm funded Yamazaki’s wardrobe. The guy from Accounting was rather vocal about the problem, everyone else kept their mouths shut upon the threat of death by doggie tongue bath. Miwako-san and Leader made a threatening combination when cornered.
Yamazaki, of course, remained blissfully unaware of the situation. All that he knew was that if she demanded all the clothes back on a whim, he would have nothing left on his back except a badly inked tattoo and some questionable Wile E. Coyote boxers. He had tossed out all his old togs long ago, to make closet space for her monthly gifts.
He thought the world about Miwako-san, of course. It never occurred to him that she wanted him to look like a buffoon.
Yamazaki was merely grateful that she knew that he was alive. The fierce joy that emanated from that thought made him stand up taller and straighter. He couldn’t help but smile more. Her gifts made him work smarter and faster. He couldn’t help, sometimes, to strut around the neighborhood and feel like that he owned the world.
His confidence level soared with each new shirt, no matter how garish. He could take on peacock feathers, neon sequins, embossed metallic robots, animal prints and heraldic devices on any shirt that came bearing the words “from Miwako-san.”
Yamazaki took a faintly macho pleasure in the idea that her hands must have fingered the fabric at some point or another. How could she have not, when she selected each item with such loving care?
It was almost as good as the thought of her one day touching him intimately for real. The hope was distant, but still... wasn’t he allowed to dream?
And Yamazaki’s daydreams of Miwako-san always made him smile.
And that’s the charismatic self those fashion photographers of M Street Magazine always captured: a young man smitten, for better or for worse, with his older female colleague. Optimism always turned on the light bulb of charm inside his head, illuminating his smile from within.
Sorry, I could NOT resist writing this vignette for Yamazaki and Miwako. They have got to be my favorite josei side-characters. XD
Un-betaed as usual. Le sigh. Corrections are always welcome.