(no subject)
Fic; Won 2nd Place at pot_challenge.
Title: White &black
Rating: PG13?
Genre: Romance, angst, random?
Pairing/Characters: d1
Short Summary/Comments: Silver and red is the colour of blood and paint on the stark whiteness of pure untainted snow.
White &black
Silver and red is the colour of blood and paint on the stark whiteness of pure untainted snow. Red is blood sluggish from a wound too much exposed; silver of the bleach freshly applied, glistening in the faint moonlight of a late night. Yagyuu stands under a tree stripped bare, shivering from the cold. Niou has stolen his coat and is faking death. Lying stock still and half frozen in the snow stained with the black of night, Niou makes a surprisingly good actor. The wound; Yagyuu remembers. Real blood in a simulated performance seems too eerie a touch. Not for Niou though; he can always do better.
At twelve minutes to twelve Yagyuu’s watch is threatening suicide and his coat a shade of charred water, soaked through with the cold fluid melted from snow and ice with the body heat that is Niou’s and only Niou’s. Home is a word fiercely emblazed in Yagyuu’s mind, sneakily accompanied by the imagery of a heater working under-time and hot chocolate. Home is a word and a place that Yagyuu firmly reminds Niou to go back to; knowing even before the words depart his chapped lips that this will cause Niou to stay even longer.
Corpses don’t talk, Niou shouts back, completely contradicting this fact. False bravado interlaced with bitter happiness do nothing to disguise the clinking of teeth against teeth or the decreased volume of Niou’s voice. A quiet shudder rips through Niou’s unexpectedly fragile frame. Yagyuu imagines him worn and torn, shreds of Niou fluttering away into a merciless wind to disappear into the dark well of midnight.
You’re not dead, Yagyuu retorts in the mildest, most calmly infuriating manner he can manage, silently-secretly willing Niou to raise to the bait, so they can return to their respective homes with the shouts of “Tadaima” that remind him so much of long lost childhood.
Niou doesn’t.
The silence of too many words left unsaid mocks the tense bubble of desiccated air around them. Yagyuu watches his watch’s last final enduring ticks; listens, as the beat of its heart dies down and out to leave an empty casket in its (funeral) wake; the road to death and a shiny-new battery to be installed within its confines.
Stop it, Niou-kun. Yagyuu whispers into vacant space of a vacuum, where time almost but not quite stops and death is a point of view. Of death being not a game; Yagyuu wonders if Niou recognizes that concept as fact; that Death isn’t a tamed schoolgirl that Niou can court at his own personal pleasure.
Masaharu-, his voice sharp as splintered glass, before it breaks and everything falls still.
Twelve minutes past twelve Niou gets up, movements too slow and too sluggish, expression all bluster and trying not to fall. He latches onto Yagyuu like a leech. I knew you couldn’t resist me are the first words that erupt in the form of Niou’s shaky laughter. Yagyuu needs to restrain the urge to hurt Niou. But Sanada is their fukubuchou and Yagyuu is Yagyuu (is Niou), and their need to cause Niou bodily harm is far less. Revenge is Yagyuu’s later because Niou does not want and does not need to return to his own home.
For now Yagyuu is Yagyuu (is Niou) and Niou is a human leech needing Yagyuu. And they go home, running away from the white and the black and the black and the white and the black-white blurring into white-black blurring into glorious, oblivion-grey.
End
Second Place. Yupps. Um... more stories coming after exams? ^___^; Oh dear, only 3 more dayssss... D;
Wish me luck. ;D
Title: White &black
Rating: PG13?
Genre: Romance, angst, random?
Pairing/Characters: d1
Short Summary/Comments: Silver and red is the colour of blood and paint on the stark whiteness of pure untainted snow.
White &black
Silver and red is the colour of blood and paint on the stark whiteness of pure untainted snow. Red is blood sluggish from a wound too much exposed; silver of the bleach freshly applied, glistening in the faint moonlight of a late night. Yagyuu stands under a tree stripped bare, shivering from the cold. Niou has stolen his coat and is faking death. Lying stock still and half frozen in the snow stained with the black of night, Niou makes a surprisingly good actor. The wound; Yagyuu remembers. Real blood in a simulated performance seems too eerie a touch. Not for Niou though; he can always do better.
At twelve minutes to twelve Yagyuu’s watch is threatening suicide and his coat a shade of charred water, soaked through with the cold fluid melted from snow and ice with the body heat that is Niou’s and only Niou’s. Home is a word fiercely emblazed in Yagyuu’s mind, sneakily accompanied by the imagery of a heater working under-time and hot chocolate. Home is a word and a place that Yagyuu firmly reminds Niou to go back to; knowing even before the words depart his chapped lips that this will cause Niou to stay even longer.
Corpses don’t talk, Niou shouts back, completely contradicting this fact. False bravado interlaced with bitter happiness do nothing to disguise the clinking of teeth against teeth or the decreased volume of Niou’s voice. A quiet shudder rips through Niou’s unexpectedly fragile frame. Yagyuu imagines him worn and torn, shreds of Niou fluttering away into a merciless wind to disappear into the dark well of midnight.
You’re not dead, Yagyuu retorts in the mildest, most calmly infuriating manner he can manage, silently-secretly willing Niou to raise to the bait, so they can return to their respective homes with the shouts of “Tadaima” that remind him so much of long lost childhood.
Niou doesn’t.
The silence of too many words left unsaid mocks the tense bubble of desiccated air around them. Yagyuu watches his watch’s last final enduring ticks; listens, as the beat of its heart dies down and out to leave an empty casket in its (funeral) wake; the road to death and a shiny-new battery to be installed within its confines.
Stop it, Niou-kun. Yagyuu whispers into vacant space of a vacuum, where time almost but not quite stops and death is a point of view. Of death being not a game; Yagyuu wonders if Niou recognizes that concept as fact; that Death isn’t a tamed schoolgirl that Niou can court at his own personal pleasure.
Masaharu-, his voice sharp as splintered glass, before it breaks and everything falls still.
Twelve minutes past twelve Niou gets up, movements too slow and too sluggish, expression all bluster and trying not to fall. He latches onto Yagyuu like a leech. I knew you couldn’t resist me are the first words that erupt in the form of Niou’s shaky laughter. Yagyuu needs to restrain the urge to hurt Niou. But Sanada is their fukubuchou and Yagyuu is Yagyuu (is Niou), and their need to cause Niou bodily harm is far less. Revenge is Yagyuu’s later because Niou does not want and does not need to return to his own home.
For now Yagyuu is Yagyuu (is Niou) and Niou is a human leech needing Yagyuu. And they go home, running away from the white and the black and the black and the white and the black-white blurring into white-black blurring into glorious, oblivion-grey.
End
Second Place. Yupps. Um... more stories coming after exams? ^___^; Oh dear, only 3 more dayssss... D;
Wish me luck. ;D