{fire drabbles} // Kis-My-Ft2
This was supposed to be a playing-in-other-people's-AUs drabble post, except it ended up being just Rin's AUs. Whoops.
First one is connected to Braving the Storm (you could consider it a remix I suppose), and the second one is from her striketeam!AU and occurs sometime after Tick-tock, tick-tock. I'd strongly suggest reading those first.
Open Fire
Yokoo/Fujigaya, Kitayama/Fujigaya
PG, 668 words
(Yokoo sees the rain clouds, but can only watch from far away. He soaks up every drop of water when it hits him, takes it inside himself and tries to show Fujigaya how the water can be nourishing to life on the good earth, but he's powerless to prevent the storm from breaking.
Kitayama is like the sun - he's fire and light and the kind of quick strength that gets things done. The earth has strength too, but it's slow and stubborn; there's nothing for Yokoo to do but watch as the sun plays love games with the rain clouds.)
~
Fujigaya rains on everyone's parade, which makes Kitayama mildly irritated.
At first, he figures he'll wait out the rainy season, making a mental note to stay high and dry as much as possible. He doesn't like the rain. It's, well, it's wet, and sad, and lonely, and he doesn't want his own light to be put out thankyouverymuch.
But the rain affects him no matter how much he keeps his distance, because he's called on to dry out the other members, to warm and comfort them after the wake of Fujigaya's storms.
Don't take it to heart, Kento, I'm sure he's just having a bad day. and to the staff: Excuse us, I'm sorry, I'll apologize for him. It won't happen again.
Slowly, Kitayama feels the irritation burn inside himself, a flame springing to life from quietly glowing embers.
He's goes from annoyance to anger as Fujigaya's storm becomes more destructive towards those around them.
But then, as the fire inside him burns hotter and brighter, it illuminates shadows cast by Fujigaya's storm clouds. The fire provides a more steady light than the ephemeral flashes of lightning that tear open the skies for only a moment at a time.
Kitayama can see clearly now.
He sees how the others are afraid of the thunderstorm, how they scramble for safety and shelter in corners of the dressing room, how they pity Fujigaya with his everlasting rain but don't know how to blow away the clouds. He sees, also, how Fujigaya isolates himself in an ocean of loneliness, how Fujigaya is drowning himself in self-hate.
And suddenly - he doesn’t know how it happened - Kitayama can't tear his eyes away from the beauty of Fujigaya's self-destruction. He’s never found chaos and turmoil attractive, preferring to have everything neatly in its place, but the way Fujigaya breaks down leaves him burning for more.
The heat of his anger, and then his passion, wakes him up from the inside, embers stirred from a warm somnolence to a fiery hunger that feels suddenly out of control.
Water, he thinks, water will put out the fire.
So he puts aside his reservations and braves the storm; he knows he has enough confidence, enough fire, to warm them both. He pulls Fujigaya away to talk, just the two of them.
I know, he tells Fujigaya. The younger man's hand is icy cold in his own, and he wills himself to blaze brighter still. He's determined to reach Fujigaya with the warmth of his fire, even if it means he has to burn himself from the inside out.
It's okay to need us too. You can lean on us, Taisuke, we can help you weather the storm.
Then Fujigaya breaks down, tears flooding like a river in spring thaw, and Kitayama breathes a sigh of relief. He puts his arms around Fujigaya and holds on tight, while the younger man’s shoulders shake as though Kitayama’s protective embrace is all that’s keeping him in one piece.
Kitayama has always preferred to let people deal with their own problems. He plays well with others, but burns too hot for most people to handle, so he's learned to leave well enough alone. But Fujigaya, it seems, needs the burn of Kitayama's fire: to cauterize his wounds, to keep him warm.
The silver lining, Kitayama reflects. It's up to him to put the silver lining in the clouds.
Set Fire
Kitayama/Fujigaya
PG-13, 878 words, [Warning]PTSD
It felt black, and it felt like ice. It felt like the edges of his consciousness were being frozen, bleak and brittle and dead.
Fujigaya tried to breathe, but coldness pierced his lungs. 'Be calm,' he told himself, 'Be calm, be calm, becalm becalmbecalmbecalm.' He chanted it in his mind like a mantra, and maybe he was chanting it aloud as well since he wasn't sure he had enough control over himself in these moments to keep himself quiet anyway.
It didn't take much for the panic attacks to happen. Sometimes it was the memories; sometimes it was the sudden blast of the air conditioner turning on, or the unbidden feeling of the white walls closing in around him; sometimes it was a random, insignificant comment that sent him gasping and shaking into frozen terror.
"Beer is best straight from the fridge, when it's all cold and there's condensation running down the side of the can," Nikaido said, innocuously, in response to some equally unobtrusive comment of Yokoo's.
And Fujigaya felt, physically, the blood drain out of his face. He dug his fingers into the sheets, hiding his fisted hands underneath the hospital blankets as well as he could so that they wouldn't see him desperately clinging on to his shattered sanity. He adjured himself breathe, to remain calm, to fight the rising panic.
But he was fighting an impossible battle, he knew; it was just a matter of reigning in the hysteria, the insanity and his self-loathing, until everyone got out of the room.
Kitayama was the one who noticed - Kitayama always noticed these days - and made everyone leave. "Out, get out!" he ordered, abruptly cutting Miyata off in the middle of a word. The others, trained to obey their superiors, disappeared almost before Kitayama had finished his words.
Then it was quiet. It was too quiet. There was only the pounding silence inside his head, making the walls around him pulsate and press in upon him, and the ice in his mind that closed in on him and threatened to freeze him from the inside out.
Desperately, Fujigaya jumped out of bed, tearing away the sheets tangled between his legs so quickly that they burned his skin. He lunged at Kitayama, clawing through his clothing until he found the lighter he knew the older man would be carrying a pocket and then scrambled back to his bedside table for the roll of today's newspaper. He flicked open the lighter, heart leaping with unholy joy at the golden flame, and brought it to an edge of the paper.
Burn it.
Burn away the ice, the frozen wasteland of his panic.
Fujigaya would burn himself if he could. He had tried to, weeks ago, but he’d found, to his disappointment, the synthetic fibers of hospital gowns completely resistant to fire.
He clutched the roll of newspaper to himself, trying to get as close to the heat as possible. He didn't care that his hands were getting burned - relished it, in fact - and he couldn't feel Kitayama trying to pry his arms away from the fire he was hugging to his chest like a lover. He couldn't feel anything, completely absorbed in fighting the spreading blackness inside himself.
It was the acrid smell of his own hair (his precious hair, that he'd taken such particular care of before all of this happened), getting singed by the fire, and then Kitayama dumping a bucket of water over his head, that brought him back enough to understand what Kitayama was saying to him.
"Stop it! Stop it, Taisuke," Kitayama said, half commanding and half begging. "Stop that, just stop!"
"It’s cold," rasped Fujigaya, only half-seeing Kitayama out of wild eyes. Did Kitayama think he enjoyed this? He wanted to stop, he was trying to; he wanted nothing more than to put a stop to it all.
He shivered. The draught from the air conditioner blew over his wet clothes and made goose bumps rise on his skin.
Noticing this, Kitayama bit his lip and looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do, and you were burning yourself-"
"No, it's fine," Fujigaya said, and that much was true. The physical cold was infinitely preferable to the psychological cold. "But I-I was so cold, Kitayama." As Fujigaya spoke, he pulled his wet robe tighter around himself, trying to keep in body heat that was barely there.
Unceremoniously, Kitayama dragged the blanket off his bed, wrapping it around Fujigaya with surprisingly gentle hands. Kitayama had such warm hands, observed Fujigaya, his thoughts a little disjointed. He watched absently as those hands rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to create enough heat through friction to warm him up.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn’t enough for Fujigaya, who was cold from the inside out and didn’t know how to tell Kitayama that because they’d never been anything more than co-workers. They’d never really talked to one another, before the disaster of the last mission, and he didn’t know quite how to start communicating now. So, words failing him, Fujigaya leaned forward and embraced Kitayama tightly, clutching the shorter man to him the way he'd done with the burning newspaper.
He found that Kitayama was just as warm, burned just as brightly, as any fire.
First one is connected to Braving the Storm (you could consider it a remix I suppose), and the second one is from her striketeam!AU and occurs sometime after Tick-tock, tick-tock. I'd strongly suggest reading those first.
Open Fire
Yokoo/Fujigaya, Kitayama/Fujigaya
PG, 668 words
(Yokoo sees the rain clouds, but can only watch from far away. He soaks up every drop of water when it hits him, takes it inside himself and tries to show Fujigaya how the water can be nourishing to life on the good earth, but he's powerless to prevent the storm from breaking.
Kitayama is like the sun - he's fire and light and the kind of quick strength that gets things done. The earth has strength too, but it's slow and stubborn; there's nothing for Yokoo to do but watch as the sun plays love games with the rain clouds.)
~
Fujigaya rains on everyone's parade, which makes Kitayama mildly irritated.
At first, he figures he'll wait out the rainy season, making a mental note to stay high and dry as much as possible. He doesn't like the rain. It's, well, it's wet, and sad, and lonely, and he doesn't want his own light to be put out thankyouverymuch.
But the rain affects him no matter how much he keeps his distance, because he's called on to dry out the other members, to warm and comfort them after the wake of Fujigaya's storms.
Don't take it to heart, Kento, I'm sure he's just having a bad day. and to the staff: Excuse us, I'm sorry, I'll apologize for him. It won't happen again.
Slowly, Kitayama feels the irritation burn inside himself, a flame springing to life from quietly glowing embers.
He's goes from annoyance to anger as Fujigaya's storm becomes more destructive towards those around them.
But then, as the fire inside him burns hotter and brighter, it illuminates shadows cast by Fujigaya's storm clouds. The fire provides a more steady light than the ephemeral flashes of lightning that tear open the skies for only a moment at a time.
Kitayama can see clearly now.
He sees how the others are afraid of the thunderstorm, how they scramble for safety and shelter in corners of the dressing room, how they pity Fujigaya with his everlasting rain but don't know how to blow away the clouds. He sees, also, how Fujigaya isolates himself in an ocean of loneliness, how Fujigaya is drowning himself in self-hate.
And suddenly - he doesn’t know how it happened - Kitayama can't tear his eyes away from the beauty of Fujigaya's self-destruction. He’s never found chaos and turmoil attractive, preferring to have everything neatly in its place, but the way Fujigaya breaks down leaves him burning for more.
The heat of his anger, and then his passion, wakes him up from the inside, embers stirred from a warm somnolence to a fiery hunger that feels suddenly out of control.
Water, he thinks, water will put out the fire.
So he puts aside his reservations and braves the storm; he knows he has enough confidence, enough fire, to warm them both. He pulls Fujigaya away to talk, just the two of them.
I know, he tells Fujigaya. The younger man's hand is icy cold in his own, and he wills himself to blaze brighter still. He's determined to reach Fujigaya with the warmth of his fire, even if it means he has to burn himself from the inside out.
It's okay to need us too. You can lean on us, Taisuke, we can help you weather the storm.
Then Fujigaya breaks down, tears flooding like a river in spring thaw, and Kitayama breathes a sigh of relief. He puts his arms around Fujigaya and holds on tight, while the younger man’s shoulders shake as though Kitayama’s protective embrace is all that’s keeping him in one piece.
Kitayama has always preferred to let people deal with their own problems. He plays well with others, but burns too hot for most people to handle, so he's learned to leave well enough alone. But Fujigaya, it seems, needs the burn of Kitayama's fire: to cauterize his wounds, to keep him warm.
The silver lining, Kitayama reflects. It's up to him to put the silver lining in the clouds.
Set Fire
Kitayama/Fujigaya
PG-13, 878 words, [Warning]PTSD
It felt black, and it felt like ice. It felt like the edges of his consciousness were being frozen, bleak and brittle and dead.
Fujigaya tried to breathe, but coldness pierced his lungs. 'Be calm,' he told himself, 'Be calm, be calm, becalm becalmbecalmbecalm.' He chanted it in his mind like a mantra, and maybe he was chanting it aloud as well since he wasn't sure he had enough control over himself in these moments to keep himself quiet anyway.
It didn't take much for the panic attacks to happen. Sometimes it was the memories; sometimes it was the sudden blast of the air conditioner turning on, or the unbidden feeling of the white walls closing in around him; sometimes it was a random, insignificant comment that sent him gasping and shaking into frozen terror.
"Beer is best straight from the fridge, when it's all cold and there's condensation running down the side of the can," Nikaido said, innocuously, in response to some equally unobtrusive comment of Yokoo's.
And Fujigaya felt, physically, the blood drain out of his face. He dug his fingers into the sheets, hiding his fisted hands underneath the hospital blankets as well as he could so that they wouldn't see him desperately clinging on to his shattered sanity. He adjured himself breathe, to remain calm, to fight the rising panic.
But he was fighting an impossible battle, he knew; it was just a matter of reigning in the hysteria, the insanity and his self-loathing, until everyone got out of the room.
Kitayama was the one who noticed - Kitayama always noticed these days - and made everyone leave. "Out, get out!" he ordered, abruptly cutting Miyata off in the middle of a word. The others, trained to obey their superiors, disappeared almost before Kitayama had finished his words.
Then it was quiet. It was too quiet. There was only the pounding silence inside his head, making the walls around him pulsate and press in upon him, and the ice in his mind that closed in on him and threatened to freeze him from the inside out.
Desperately, Fujigaya jumped out of bed, tearing away the sheets tangled between his legs so quickly that they burned his skin. He lunged at Kitayama, clawing through his clothing until he found the lighter he knew the older man would be carrying a pocket and then scrambled back to his bedside table for the roll of today's newspaper. He flicked open the lighter, heart leaping with unholy joy at the golden flame, and brought it to an edge of the paper.
Burn it.
Burn away the ice, the frozen wasteland of his panic.
Fujigaya would burn himself if he could. He had tried to, weeks ago, but he’d found, to his disappointment, the synthetic fibers of hospital gowns completely resistant to fire.
He clutched the roll of newspaper to himself, trying to get as close to the heat as possible. He didn't care that his hands were getting burned - relished it, in fact - and he couldn't feel Kitayama trying to pry his arms away from the fire he was hugging to his chest like a lover. He couldn't feel anything, completely absorbed in fighting the spreading blackness inside himself.
It was the acrid smell of his own hair (his precious hair, that he'd taken such particular care of before all of this happened), getting singed by the fire, and then Kitayama dumping a bucket of water over his head, that brought him back enough to understand what Kitayama was saying to him.
"Stop it! Stop it, Taisuke," Kitayama said, half commanding and half begging. "Stop that, just stop!"
"It’s cold," rasped Fujigaya, only half-seeing Kitayama out of wild eyes. Did Kitayama think he enjoyed this? He wanted to stop, he was trying to; he wanted nothing more than to put a stop to it all.
He shivered. The draught from the air conditioner blew over his wet clothes and made goose bumps rise on his skin.
Noticing this, Kitayama bit his lip and looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do, and you were burning yourself-"
"No, it's fine," Fujigaya said, and that much was true. The physical cold was infinitely preferable to the psychological cold. "But I-I was so cold, Kitayama." As Fujigaya spoke, he pulled his wet robe tighter around himself, trying to keep in body heat that was barely there.
Unceremoniously, Kitayama dragged the blanket off his bed, wrapping it around Fujigaya with surprisingly gentle hands. Kitayama had such warm hands, observed Fujigaya, his thoughts a little disjointed. He watched absently as those hands rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to create enough heat through friction to warm him up.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn’t enough for Fujigaya, who was cold from the inside out and didn’t know how to tell Kitayama that because they’d never been anything more than co-workers. They’d never really talked to one another, before the disaster of the last mission, and he didn’t know quite how to start communicating now. So, words failing him, Fujigaya leaned forward and embraced Kitayama tightly, clutching the shorter man to him the way he'd done with the burning newspaper.
He found that Kitayama was just as warm, burned just as brightly, as any fire.