Metamorphosis
Title: Metamorphosis
Pairing: KamiShi (Kamiki Ryuunosuke x Shida Mirai)
Notes: First time finally finishing a KamiShi fanfic. Each part can be read separately, but it's better to read it in order to get the flow of the story. Each part is written parallel to the stages of the life of a butterfly... so, be guided by that? :)
Summary: They were best friends to each other... or is there something more? Maybe. Maybe not.
I.
At first, it was just a flutter, a tiny insignificant feeling in her stomach that anyone can easily disregard. She ignored it at first, just like how anyone else would do. But then it came again once, twice, until she began to lose track. Those details that were meaningless to others became her world. And then he made her world start spinning. Each new revolution, he was the cause. He started everything.
II.
There doesn't seem to be a particular reason that she could pinpoint, but whenever he was around she just couldn't sit still. She would feel fidgety, nervous, and every synonym of uncomfortable. The fluttering materialized into tiny, fragile butterflies; each creature's purpose in life seeming to be a reminder of something she was uncertain of; something she was unconsciously denying. He was just a classmate, a close acquaintance, a friend... her best friend. No, the butterflies protested, making their presence felt in their agitation. He must be something more than just a friend.
He's like the brother she would never have. He would always be there for her when she needs him, and he has all the qualities a girl can ask for in a boy friend. Of course he's more than just a friend; he's my best friend.
No, the butterflies insisted, their movements becoming more pronounced. He MUST be more than that. Otherwise, how would you explain why we exist in the first place?
Oh shut up, she would scold them... and then she would stop and ask herself why she was talking to mental butterflies in the first place.
It's his fault, she decided. It's his fault for making her feel confused. It's his fault for making her feel this way to begin with. As always, he started everything.
III.
Stolen glances. Furtive, hurried, short and fleeting, and yet always filled with meaning. She never quite understood, but every glance he sends towards her direction would send an electric jolt through her body like she was being Tasered... and yet it was not unpleasant. Always she would quickly look away, and yet she would always sneak a look back. He would always have that small, secret smile on his face, and she couldn't help but notice that it also made the corners of her mouth turn up for no apparent reason. Sometimes she could escape unnoticed, but he was too quick for her own good. His eyes would hold hers prisoner, immobilizing every muscle, banishing every coherent thought from her mind, surrendering herself to that immeasurable moment. They hold that stance until he breaks it off with a smirk and he returns to whatever he was previously doing. She comes back to her senses and she pouts at him for penetrating her barriers once again... and from the corner of her eye she sees his smirk slowly change back to that small, secret smile that she love--
PAUSE. STOP. REWIND. DELETE. PLAY.
That awkward game when you're staring at a boy, and he catches you so you look away. Then a few moments later you catch him staring, and he looks away. It goes on forever... the butterflies said with lingering laughter in their voices, in a suggestive tone that she did not fail to notice.
Well, he started everything anyway... might as well just go with the flow... she wryly said to herself.
IV.
Talking without words, a world where every insignificant movement speaks volumes, a universe that they have unconsciously made for themselves. She could never begin to comprehend how or why, but it was as if he can anticipate her feelings, as precise as a clock tells time, He can gauge her reactions and mood swings so well, she would sometimes wonder if she was that easy to read. But strangely, she could read him as well as he reads her. A pout, a smile, a frown, a smile, a laugh, a tear, a sob--every nuance, every single expression has its own catalog, a special list that only she could access. She could tell him anything, for he understands better than anyone else. When she's happy he's just as happy for her, just as he would be the one to scold her when she's wrong.
He can see through her pretenses. When she feels down, he would always be the first to send her those caring mails... messages of never giving up that saved her for many a time. Those days when she felt like the whole world was against her, and he would always be there. You should go ahead and cry when you feel like crying, he would whisper softly into her ear and reach her heart, just like those annoying butterflies would always do. But then he would offer his shoulder silently, and then before she knew it she was poring her heart out on his shoulder. He would stare off for a while. Just look straight, never saying a word. And then slowly, hesitatingly, his hand would splay over the small of her back. Small, gentle circles, rubbed onto her back and into her very core, a hundred thousand different messages sent with one simple action. She knew she had to stay strong, but there was no use in pretending whenever he was concerned; she could be his normal girl friend, and other things that would further complicate matters can be put aside. And she knew that whenever he needed his shoulder, his whispered soothing nothings, and those comforting circles rubbed into her back, he would always be at her side, her greatest ally that no one can replace. Even as they just sit together and they let the silence envelope them, they can very well understand each other. They never needed words to begin with; their silence was all they needed, and the fact that they were beside each other, for each other. No matter what the consequences were, that's what all that matters.
Only someone special can listen to you when you are silent. It was the butterflies, again reminding her of that one crucial fact: the fact that somewhere, somehow, at a time she cannot place, a feeling that the butterflies in her stomach had reached her heart.
Oh shut up, came her usual, almost tired reply. Tired of all the guesswork she was doing. Tired of all the confusion and breathless episode he was giving her. Tired of all the denial she was giving herself.
Are you really sure that you don't need any words? Don't you want to hear those three words? Don't you want to know how he feels? Don't you want to know if he feels the same way? the butterflies asked.
Why do you sound so sure when I don't even know the answer myself?! she finally said in exasperation, hands running through her hair in frustration for added effect.
The heart is our favorite flower, they said enigmatically, retreating on their own accord and fading out before she can even ask a question.
Even if he started everything, this was something she needs to finish. She has to come up with a decision. And soon. Even if he was beside her. this was one thing she had to do alone.
She has to make herself accept the fact that she likes him. In that more-than-a-friend way.
V.
He started everything. It was only natural that he had to end it. He had to be true to what he feels. He can't keep lying to himself forever; sooner or later, he has to face the thing that he fears. He has to risk her anger, her disbelief, her indifference, her ridicule, and even her absolute refusal. He has to prepare himself for the worst-case scenario. He has to face the fact that they may never be friends after this.
He has to end this, once and for all.
He prepared his whole speech. He had watched enough dramas and researched on the perfect line to find words that will be enough mask his embarrassment while not neglecting the purpose of confession. He invited her to eat lunch with him on the rooftop, away from the teasing glances of his friends and the prying eyes of other people. He was trying to find the right timing to start on his declaration, but she made things a little difficult by speaking first. And her words made the situation a little complicated.
"I like you,"
"I like you too. You know that," he said, confused by the sudden turn of events. This wasn't the way he planned it to be. He ran through the mental script of his ideal confession scene. By this time he should be down on his knees and poring out his heart to her. Then they would hug and kiss passionately. That was what he planned anyway.
"No! I meant... I like you in a different way than you think," she said, twisting the napkin on her lap between her fingers. He tilted his head to the side, not knowing where this conversation was headed. "Oh, you're just making this harder for me! Why won't you just realize this on your own?"
"Huh?!" Okay, now he was completely confused.
"I like you... in a more-than-a-friend way," she said. Short. Frank. Simple. Straight to the point. Her confession was just like her. The way she was talking, you'd think she asked your opinion on the weather. But this was more serious than any natural disaster he could think of. He mentally threw away the script he has rehearsed. He doesn't need another person's lines. This was his feelings. This should be his words.
"I like you too. In that more-than-a-friend way. In fact, I think I love you already. In a more-than-friend way too," he said, in response to the sudden searching look that she shot towards his direction. Both of them grinned as the enormity of the situation hit them. Then they began giggling, and without realizing it they had unconsciously leaned towards each other.
Their lips met for that sweet first time, a moment when all the feelings that they have kept from each other come out, overlapping, engulfing, overwhelming, filling them to the brim. The butterflies came out from their hiding place, filling their tummies and their hearts.
We told you so, they smugly said, fluttering about, satisfied for a job well done.
Oh shut up, she thought with a laugh.
Endings are the beginnings of beautiful things Their doubts were replaced with contentment, fear with love. Unknowingly, they each set off a spark in the other that soon became a blazing passion. He may be the cause, she may be the catalyst, but all that matters is that they were now together.
It was the start of their everything.
Pairing: KamiShi (Kamiki Ryuunosuke x Shida Mirai)
Notes: First time finally finishing a KamiShi fanfic. Each part can be read separately, but it's better to read it in order to get the flow of the story. Each part is written parallel to the stages of the life of a butterfly... so, be guided by that? :)
Summary: They were best friends to each other... or is there something more? Maybe. Maybe not.
I.
At first, it was just a flutter, a tiny insignificant feeling in her stomach that anyone can easily disregard. She ignored it at first, just like how anyone else would do. But then it came again once, twice, until she began to lose track. Those details that were meaningless to others became her world. And then he made her world start spinning. Each new revolution, he was the cause. He started everything.
II.
There doesn't seem to be a particular reason that she could pinpoint, but whenever he was around she just couldn't sit still. She would feel fidgety, nervous, and every synonym of uncomfortable. The fluttering materialized into tiny, fragile butterflies; each creature's purpose in life seeming to be a reminder of something she was uncertain of; something she was unconsciously denying. He was just a classmate, a close acquaintance, a friend... her best friend. No, the butterflies protested, making their presence felt in their agitation. He must be something more than just a friend.
He's like the brother she would never have. He would always be there for her when she needs him, and he has all the qualities a girl can ask for in a boy friend. Of course he's more than just a friend; he's my best friend.
No, the butterflies insisted, their movements becoming more pronounced. He MUST be more than that. Otherwise, how would you explain why we exist in the first place?
Oh shut up, she would scold them... and then she would stop and ask herself why she was talking to mental butterflies in the first place.
It's his fault, she decided. It's his fault for making her feel confused. It's his fault for making her feel this way to begin with. As always, he started everything.
III.
Stolen glances. Furtive, hurried, short and fleeting, and yet always filled with meaning. She never quite understood, but every glance he sends towards her direction would send an electric jolt through her body like she was being Tasered... and yet it was not unpleasant. Always she would quickly look away, and yet she would always sneak a look back. He would always have that small, secret smile on his face, and she couldn't help but notice that it also made the corners of her mouth turn up for no apparent reason. Sometimes she could escape unnoticed, but he was too quick for her own good. His eyes would hold hers prisoner, immobilizing every muscle, banishing every coherent thought from her mind, surrendering herself to that immeasurable moment. They hold that stance until he breaks it off with a smirk and he returns to whatever he was previously doing. She comes back to her senses and she pouts at him for penetrating her barriers once again... and from the corner of her eye she sees his smirk slowly change back to that small, secret smile that she love--
PAUSE. STOP. REWIND. DELETE. PLAY.
That awkward game when you're staring at a boy, and he catches you so you look away. Then a few moments later you catch him staring, and he looks away. It goes on forever... the butterflies said with lingering laughter in their voices, in a suggestive tone that she did not fail to notice.
Well, he started everything anyway... might as well just go with the flow... she wryly said to herself.
IV.
Talking without words, a world where every insignificant movement speaks volumes, a universe that they have unconsciously made for themselves. She could never begin to comprehend how or why, but it was as if he can anticipate her feelings, as precise as a clock tells time, He can gauge her reactions and mood swings so well, she would sometimes wonder if she was that easy to read. But strangely, she could read him as well as he reads her. A pout, a smile, a frown, a smile, a laugh, a tear, a sob--every nuance, every single expression has its own catalog, a special list that only she could access. She could tell him anything, for he understands better than anyone else. When she's happy he's just as happy for her, just as he would be the one to scold her when she's wrong.
He can see through her pretenses. When she feels down, he would always be the first to send her those caring mails... messages of never giving up that saved her for many a time. Those days when she felt like the whole world was against her, and he would always be there. You should go ahead and cry when you feel like crying, he would whisper softly into her ear and reach her heart, just like those annoying butterflies would always do. But then he would offer his shoulder silently, and then before she knew it she was poring her heart out on his shoulder. He would stare off for a while. Just look straight, never saying a word. And then slowly, hesitatingly, his hand would splay over the small of her back. Small, gentle circles, rubbed onto her back and into her very core, a hundred thousand different messages sent with one simple action. She knew she had to stay strong, but there was no use in pretending whenever he was concerned; she could be his normal girl friend, and other things that would further complicate matters can be put aside. And she knew that whenever he needed his shoulder, his whispered soothing nothings, and those comforting circles rubbed into her back, he would always be at her side, her greatest ally that no one can replace. Even as they just sit together and they let the silence envelope them, they can very well understand each other. They never needed words to begin with; their silence was all they needed, and the fact that they were beside each other, for each other. No matter what the consequences were, that's what all that matters.
Only someone special can listen to you when you are silent. It was the butterflies, again reminding her of that one crucial fact: the fact that somewhere, somehow, at a time she cannot place, a feeling that the butterflies in her stomach had reached her heart.
Oh shut up, came her usual, almost tired reply. Tired of all the guesswork she was doing. Tired of all the confusion and breathless episode he was giving her. Tired of all the denial she was giving herself.
Are you really sure that you don't need any words? Don't you want to hear those three words? Don't you want to know how he feels? Don't you want to know if he feels the same way? the butterflies asked.
Why do you sound so sure when I don't even know the answer myself?! she finally said in exasperation, hands running through her hair in frustration for added effect.
The heart is our favorite flower, they said enigmatically, retreating on their own accord and fading out before she can even ask a question.
Even if he started everything, this was something she needs to finish. She has to come up with a decision. And soon. Even if he was beside her. this was one thing she had to do alone.
She has to make herself accept the fact that she likes him. In that more-than-a-friend way.
V.
He started everything. It was only natural that he had to end it. He had to be true to what he feels. He can't keep lying to himself forever; sooner or later, he has to face the thing that he fears. He has to risk her anger, her disbelief, her indifference, her ridicule, and even her absolute refusal. He has to prepare himself for the worst-case scenario. He has to face the fact that they may never be friends after this.
He has to end this, once and for all.
He prepared his whole speech. He had watched enough dramas and researched on the perfect line to find words that will be enough mask his embarrassment while not neglecting the purpose of confession. He invited her to eat lunch with him on the rooftop, away from the teasing glances of his friends and the prying eyes of other people. He was trying to find the right timing to start on his declaration, but she made things a little difficult by speaking first. And her words made the situation a little complicated.
"I like you,"
"I like you too. You know that," he said, confused by the sudden turn of events. This wasn't the way he planned it to be. He ran through the mental script of his ideal confession scene. By this time he should be down on his knees and poring out his heart to her. Then they would hug and kiss passionately. That was what he planned anyway.
"No! I meant... I like you in a different way than you think," she said, twisting the napkin on her lap between her fingers. He tilted his head to the side, not knowing where this conversation was headed. "Oh, you're just making this harder for me! Why won't you just realize this on your own?"
"Huh?!" Okay, now he was completely confused.
"I like you... in a more-than-a-friend way," she said. Short. Frank. Simple. Straight to the point. Her confession was just like her. The way she was talking, you'd think she asked your opinion on the weather. But this was more serious than any natural disaster he could think of. He mentally threw away the script he has rehearsed. He doesn't need another person's lines. This was his feelings. This should be his words.
"I like you too. In that more-than-a-friend way. In fact, I think I love you already. In a more-than-friend way too," he said, in response to the sudden searching look that she shot towards his direction. Both of them grinned as the enormity of the situation hit them. Then they began giggling, and without realizing it they had unconsciously leaned towards each other.
Their lips met for that sweet first time, a moment when all the feelings that they have kept from each other come out, overlapping, engulfing, overwhelming, filling them to the brim. The butterflies came out from their hiding place, filling their tummies and their hearts.
We told you so, they smugly said, fluttering about, satisfied for a job well done.
Oh shut up, she thought with a laugh.
Endings are the beginnings of beautiful things Their doubts were replaced with contentment, fear with love. Unknowingly, they each set off a spark in the other that soon became a blazing passion. He may be the cause, she may be the catalyst, but all that matters is that they were now together.
It was the start of their everything.