arashi fiction 44 - when reposting and procrastinating become one
Title: Steadfast
Rating: PG?
Who: Sho/Nino
Summary: AU based on "The Steadfast Tin Soldier." Nino loves Sho like burning.
Notes: Originally for the shoneenclub Halloween contest.
He wasn't a very good dancer. It was the girls who moved with grace and precision, who mesmerized an audience with shining slippers and frilly tutus; they were the ones who could catch and keep attention, and earned the description. Those girls could dance, those girls were artists, those girls but definitely not him.
His muscles tensed awkwardly. His steps shifted and couldn't glide. He made still pictures, not poetry in motion. He liked the music too much as he hummed and the performance not enough as he traveled across the stage. And yet, no matter how many times he took his minute in the spotlight, it was a minute that just wasn't long enough.
Nino wanted to watch him always.
"He must not have any friends," Nino muttered to himself, "he's always dancing solo."
And me, Nino's thoughts continued, I know exactly how that feels. Because Nino was always found alone, a solitary dancer in his own way.
But that was probably because he had a habit of talking when no one was around to hear, not to mention the way he hid in the wings every evening, eyes fixed on the figure on stage, who swept up flowers and picked up chocolates and danced as if no one was watching.
Sometimes Nino thought he could sense the man looking too, when Nino's back was turned and he pulled the curtains closed and there was simply no way of knowing for sure. Those were the moments he liked second best. There was a tingling in his spine and a hope in his heart and everything felt possible, even for a nobody, a shadow always working and waiting like him.
"I could be in love with him," Nino whispered one evening as the man picked up the last rose and disappeared, "but he deserves restaurants and movies. I have ramen and games."
It wasn't fair to make him settle, if he'd even be willing to take Nino's hand.
"Nice job, soldier," the Prima ballerina teased him, appearing suddenly at his side. She was the type to be jealous and overbearing, an ego so large she suffocated a room. She demanded attention both on stage and off, and that meant from everyone - stage sweepers, curtain pullers, and audience members alike. Nino knew she'd heard everything and cringed as he anticipated more of her words. "But maybe next time keep your eyes to yourself."
Attention from everyone. No exceptions. No romances. No love but love for her.
But watching the man dance was Nino's favorite part of the day, and so he pretended not to hear.
"Wait until tomorrow," she finished, her tone as cold as ice. An empty threat for certain, or so Nino dared to believe.
He'd never watched anyone but the awkward dancer, but that was hardly a line of defense. One word from the Prima ballerina was all it took. No longer were his gazes directed toward one man, looks of longing. Now they were lecherous, dangerous, and meant for a room full of changing girls. It was a lie, and it was damaging, but it wasn't the unemployment that hurt Nino the most.
It was the scene he'd stumbled upon on his way out the door that made his chest painfully tight. The perfect picture of the awkward dancer, talking and laughing, joined by three smiling friends.
He didn't notice the smiles fading as he left without goodbye.
After that it was one bad happening after another. Torrential rain and angry teenage boys, a missing wallet and a cold that lasted days. A twisted ankle and an hour spent curled up on the floor outside his apartment, where any neighbor could have found him if he'd only called out for help. Maybe he didn't want to be noticed.
Or maybe, he thought as he lay there, it's another injury that won't be healed.
"What am I going to do now?" he wondered when he was once more walking. He passed from place to place, searching for a job, only to be turned away again and again.
A poor economy, a lack of experience, a broken heart all fought against him. You can't pass this way they told him, echoing with every step he took. From the post office to the bakery, from the bakery to the jail, from the jail to the toy shop, from the toy shop toward the theater once more.
"I wish," he whispered as he chanced one more look at the building in the distance, crying out as his eyes settled on the flames.
He rushed forward without hesitation, battling the waves of people crashing against him as they fled. He thought not about becoming a hero, nor about revenge on the Prima ballerina. He wasn't even attempting to make a rescue. He thought only of one thing.
All he wanted was one more minute, one more minute of the man and his dance.
You're an idiot, his mind screamed, he'd not be dancing, he'd be running away!
Still, he soldiered on.
He was close to giving up entirely. The flames grew higher and his legs wearier, the stage was too far and his sight blurred by smoke. He'd never make it to his destination, and if he did the man wouldn't be there. He'd been stupid, so stupid. Why had he waited so long to be brave and jump in?
"You!" he heard somewhere behind him, no time to process the sound as he was tugged violently in the opposite direction.
"I'm not going to lose you again!" the dancer pulled him closer, voice cracking like sparks from the fire.
He was hardly breathing, his heart beating, like a fast and heavy drumbeat that pounded endlessly in his ears. It wasn't fear and it wasn't adrenaline, it was a song... maybe a plea. It was a horrible heat made worse by the warmth of his feelings, but he wanted it, and held it as they burst into the street and sunlight, collapsing into each other's arms.
Nino looked at the dancer and the dancer looked at him; he felt as though he were melting, but he still managed to keep his hands on sloping shoulders, clutching with all his might. Nino fell from his lips and Sho fell from the other's before they met in a full and steady kiss.
Oh, how they burned.
Rating: PG?
Who: Sho/Nino
Summary: AU based on "The Steadfast Tin Soldier." Nino loves Sho like burning.
Notes: Originally for the shoneenclub Halloween contest.
He wasn't a very good dancer. It was the girls who moved with grace and precision, who mesmerized an audience with shining slippers and frilly tutus; they were the ones who could catch and keep attention, and earned the description. Those girls could dance, those girls were artists, those girls but definitely not him.
His muscles tensed awkwardly. His steps shifted and couldn't glide. He made still pictures, not poetry in motion. He liked the music too much as he hummed and the performance not enough as he traveled across the stage. And yet, no matter how many times he took his minute in the spotlight, it was a minute that just wasn't long enough.
Nino wanted to watch him always.
"He must not have any friends," Nino muttered to himself, "he's always dancing solo."
And me, Nino's thoughts continued, I know exactly how that feels. Because Nino was always found alone, a solitary dancer in his own way.
But that was probably because he had a habit of talking when no one was around to hear, not to mention the way he hid in the wings every evening, eyes fixed on the figure on stage, who swept up flowers and picked up chocolates and danced as if no one was watching.
Sometimes Nino thought he could sense the man looking too, when Nino's back was turned and he pulled the curtains closed and there was simply no way of knowing for sure. Those were the moments he liked second best. There was a tingling in his spine and a hope in his heart and everything felt possible, even for a nobody, a shadow always working and waiting like him.
"I could be in love with him," Nino whispered one evening as the man picked up the last rose and disappeared, "but he deserves restaurants and movies. I have ramen and games."
It wasn't fair to make him settle, if he'd even be willing to take Nino's hand.
"Nice job, soldier," the Prima ballerina teased him, appearing suddenly at his side. She was the type to be jealous and overbearing, an ego so large she suffocated a room. She demanded attention both on stage and off, and that meant from everyone - stage sweepers, curtain pullers, and audience members alike. Nino knew she'd heard everything and cringed as he anticipated more of her words. "But maybe next time keep your eyes to yourself."
Attention from everyone. No exceptions. No romances. No love but love for her.
But watching the man dance was Nino's favorite part of the day, and so he pretended not to hear.
"Wait until tomorrow," she finished, her tone as cold as ice. An empty threat for certain, or so Nino dared to believe.
He'd never watched anyone but the awkward dancer, but that was hardly a line of defense. One word from the Prima ballerina was all it took. No longer were his gazes directed toward one man, looks of longing. Now they were lecherous, dangerous, and meant for a room full of changing girls. It was a lie, and it was damaging, but it wasn't the unemployment that hurt Nino the most.
It was the scene he'd stumbled upon on his way out the door that made his chest painfully tight. The perfect picture of the awkward dancer, talking and laughing, joined by three smiling friends.
He didn't notice the smiles fading as he left without goodbye.
After that it was one bad happening after another. Torrential rain and angry teenage boys, a missing wallet and a cold that lasted days. A twisted ankle and an hour spent curled up on the floor outside his apartment, where any neighbor could have found him if he'd only called out for help. Maybe he didn't want to be noticed.
Or maybe, he thought as he lay there, it's another injury that won't be healed.
"What am I going to do now?" he wondered when he was once more walking. He passed from place to place, searching for a job, only to be turned away again and again.
A poor economy, a lack of experience, a broken heart all fought against him. You can't pass this way they told him, echoing with every step he took. From the post office to the bakery, from the bakery to the jail, from the jail to the toy shop, from the toy shop toward the theater once more.
"I wish," he whispered as he chanced one more look at the building in the distance, crying out as his eyes settled on the flames.
He rushed forward without hesitation, battling the waves of people crashing against him as they fled. He thought not about becoming a hero, nor about revenge on the Prima ballerina. He wasn't even attempting to make a rescue. He thought only of one thing.
All he wanted was one more minute, one more minute of the man and his dance.
You're an idiot, his mind screamed, he'd not be dancing, he'd be running away!
Still, he soldiered on.
He was close to giving up entirely. The flames grew higher and his legs wearier, the stage was too far and his sight blurred by smoke. He'd never make it to his destination, and if he did the man wouldn't be there. He'd been stupid, so stupid. Why had he waited so long to be brave and jump in?
"You!" he heard somewhere behind him, no time to process the sound as he was tugged violently in the opposite direction.
"I'm not going to lose you again!" the dancer pulled him closer, voice cracking like sparks from the fire.
He was hardly breathing, his heart beating, like a fast and heavy drumbeat that pounded endlessly in his ears. It wasn't fear and it wasn't adrenaline, it was a song... maybe a plea. It was a horrible heat made worse by the warmth of his feelings, but he wanted it, and held it as they burst into the street and sunlight, collapsing into each other's arms.
Nino looked at the dancer and the dancer looked at him; he felt as though he were melting, but he still managed to keep his hands on sloping shoulders, clutching with all his might. Nino fell from his lips and Sho fell from the other's before they met in a full and steady kiss.
Oh, how they burned.