[One-shot] Labels
Labels
HSJ - Takaki, slight Takaki/Inoo, cameos from the rest of BEST
1057 words, PG, AU, 2nd person
de·fine [dih-fahyn] verb, de·fined, de·fin·ing.
verb (used with object)
1. to explain or identify the nature or essential qualities of; describe
"The whole is greater than the sum of its parts." - Aristotle
Takaki was more than just his label.
[Notes.]So I wrote the original piece about a week ago and I just loved it, it was kind of perfect! But due to Evernote apparently despising my soul, it lost the entire thing and traumatized my soul. I knew I could never recreate it, but after stepping back for a few days, I was able to write this piece. It might not be what the original one is, but I'm still very proud of it.
I'm also just super happy to be writing HSJ fic again. It's been a really long time and I've missed it. ♥
---
You sat in class and idly picked at your label. You weren’t really looking at it, but you didn’t have to. By then, every letter could be recalled in perfect detail. It was all anyone saw then they looked at you.
‘Stupid’.
You didn’t know how the labels began, nor who picked them out for every wave of new students . It was just part of school, had been long before you showed up for orientation. Your label would be waiting for you at your locker.
There were all kinds of labels, most of them typical or normal -‘Jaded’, ‘Happy’, ‘Loser’, and so on. Of course, there were rare and unusual ones as well. One girl’s label read ‘Lorem Ipsum’ and nobody really understood what that was supposed to mean.
‘Stupid’.
At first you thought it was just a joke, something that would pass with time. Like hazing and teasing. They saw your label, sneered, and walked away because that’s what they’re supposed to do. It wouldn’t always be like that.
But as time passed, it was always like that. All the other kids could see was your label. When they spoke to you, they were really speaking to your label. Sometimes it was with a sort of pitying sympathy, but most of the time it was ill-concealed disdain and amusement.
You hated it.
Once you figured the labels out, the hierarchy of the school became clear. Kids with good labels were cool, popular, talented. They flocked together, were praised by everyone, and had bright futures. The average kids had average labels, and though they did well enough, they were always trailing behind all those kids with the good labels.
Then there were the bad labels.
At first you thought that the kids with bad labels would stick together, that they’d be some sort of retreat to safety after the disdainful treatment from the other kids. You realize that they’re even colder, though. Who wanted to be seen with another bad label? It would validate and cement the opinion against you. So they turn away just as quickly.
You sadly think that you wouldn’t mind your label so much if it weren’t so lonely and quiet.
‘Stupid’.
You get by, day in and day out. You have to, but you don’t really want to. What was the point, when people just pointedly looked at your label when you tried to say something. You stopped trying so much after the first year.
“It’s bullshit,” someone said next to you, and it took you nearly a minute to realize that they were talking to you.
“What?” you said, taken aback. You could see his label - ‘Smart’ - and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of prank. You kept your head down most of the time, but sometimes you couldn’t avoid it with a bad label.
He regarded you for a moment before pointing right at your label “That. It’s all bullshit.”
You stayed quiet, tense and uncomfortable because you had no idea what he was doing. People are staring, openly gawking because they could see your labels. They, like you, didn’t understand what was going on.
He must have seen that, because, much to your surprise, his expression softened. It wasn’t pity or anything you’d seen for a long time. It was understanding.
“What do they know about me and you?” he asked, smiling slightly. “It’s dumb. It’s stupid that we play the game when it’s all made up anyway.”
His smile, his words, they all threw you off-kilter. A part of you desperately wanted it to be true and real, because it’s what you had felt for all those years. But he had a good label, and sometimes tricks were just that elaborate, with just that one touch to make it look authentic.
“What would you know?” you mutter, shrinking away from him. People were still watching you both, now tittering, some voices curious, others judgemental. You didn’t want to be there.
“Wait!” he persisted, reaching out to snag your sleeve. You freeze, waiting for it, eyes closed.
“I know,” he said, more quietly. When nothing happened, you cracked an eye open, peering at him. He stood there, holding onto your sleeve, his label staring you in the face.
‘Smart’.
‘Stupid’.
“You’re right, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I know it isn’t fair. It’s not fair for any of us.” He tapped his label. “This isn’t everything, you know? It’s not all of me. They look at it and that’s all they see.”
You nodded slowly. You wondered if this was how a rabbit felt as the car rushed towards it, but his touch was feather light, as if he was ready to let go if you pulled back.
“What do you want?” you asked, because you were so confused. Afraid, but still tentatively hopeful. You wanted to believe him so badly.
“Come with me. With us,” he corrected, pointing to the door. “Let’s not play the game.”
When he pulled gently at your sleeve, you followed him, letting him guide you. Kids watched, and you could feel the horrified and shocked looks following you. You almost wanted to pull away, but you didn’t. You were too curious now.
Outside there were others waiting for the two of you. Three other boys. They all had their own labels (‘Short’ read one. Another said ‘Joker’. The last boy’s label was ‘Leader’.) They all smiled, unreserved, happy and you returned a smile to them. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d smiled like that, and truly felt it.
“Come on,” the boy who brought you here urged, peeling off his label. You gaped, because nobody ever did that, but the other boys were all taking theirs off as well, and you realized how good it felt, quickly ripping yours off.
“Takaki Yuya,” you said, as the boy dropped ‘Smart’ onto the ground. You felt different now, loose and free like you hadn’t felt in a long time.
You felt like yourself.
“Inoo,” he said, grinning back at you. “Inoo Kei.”
---
HSJ - Takaki, slight Takaki/Inoo, cameos from the rest of BEST
1057 words, PG, AU, 2nd person
de·fine [dih-fahyn] verb, de·fined, de·fin·ing.
verb (used with object)
1. to explain or identify the nature or essential qualities of; describe
"The whole is greater than the sum of its parts." - Aristotle
Takaki was more than just his label.
[Notes.]So I wrote the original piece about a week ago and I just loved it, it was kind of perfect! But due to Evernote apparently despising my soul, it lost the entire thing and traumatized my soul. I knew I could never recreate it, but after stepping back for a few days, I was able to write this piece. It might not be what the original one is, but I'm still very proud of it.
I'm also just super happy to be writing HSJ fic again. It's been a really long time and I've missed it. ♥
---
You sat in class and idly picked at your label. You weren’t really looking at it, but you didn’t have to. By then, every letter could be recalled in perfect detail. It was all anyone saw then they looked at you.
‘Stupid’.
You didn’t know how the labels began, nor who picked them out for every wave of new students . It was just part of school, had been long before you showed up for orientation. Your label would be waiting for you at your locker.
There were all kinds of labels, most of them typical or normal -‘Jaded’, ‘Happy’, ‘Loser’, and so on. Of course, there were rare and unusual ones as well. One girl’s label read ‘Lorem Ipsum’ and nobody really understood what that was supposed to mean.
‘Stupid’.
At first you thought it was just a joke, something that would pass with time. Like hazing and teasing. They saw your label, sneered, and walked away because that’s what they’re supposed to do. It wouldn’t always be like that.
But as time passed, it was always like that. All the other kids could see was your label. When they spoke to you, they were really speaking to your label. Sometimes it was with a sort of pitying sympathy, but most of the time it was ill-concealed disdain and amusement.
You hated it.
Once you figured the labels out, the hierarchy of the school became clear. Kids with good labels were cool, popular, talented. They flocked together, were praised by everyone, and had bright futures. The average kids had average labels, and though they did well enough, they were always trailing behind all those kids with the good labels.
Then there were the bad labels.
At first you thought that the kids with bad labels would stick together, that they’d be some sort of retreat to safety after the disdainful treatment from the other kids. You realize that they’re even colder, though. Who wanted to be seen with another bad label? It would validate and cement the opinion against you. So they turn away just as quickly.
You sadly think that you wouldn’t mind your label so much if it weren’t so lonely and quiet.
‘Stupid’.
You get by, day in and day out. You have to, but you don’t really want to. What was the point, when people just pointedly looked at your label when you tried to say something. You stopped trying so much after the first year.
“It’s bullshit,” someone said next to you, and it took you nearly a minute to realize that they were talking to you.
“What?” you said, taken aback. You could see his label - ‘Smart’ - and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of prank. You kept your head down most of the time, but sometimes you couldn’t avoid it with a bad label.
He regarded you for a moment before pointing right at your label “That. It’s all bullshit.”
You stayed quiet, tense and uncomfortable because you had no idea what he was doing. People are staring, openly gawking because they could see your labels. They, like you, didn’t understand what was going on.
He must have seen that, because, much to your surprise, his expression softened. It wasn’t pity or anything you’d seen for a long time. It was understanding.
“What do they know about me and you?” he asked, smiling slightly. “It’s dumb. It’s stupid that we play the game when it’s all made up anyway.”
His smile, his words, they all threw you off-kilter. A part of you desperately wanted it to be true and real, because it’s what you had felt for all those years. But he had a good label, and sometimes tricks were just that elaborate, with just that one touch to make it look authentic.
“What would you know?” you mutter, shrinking away from him. People were still watching you both, now tittering, some voices curious, others judgemental. You didn’t want to be there.
“Wait!” he persisted, reaching out to snag your sleeve. You freeze, waiting for it, eyes closed.
“I know,” he said, more quietly. When nothing happened, you cracked an eye open, peering at him. He stood there, holding onto your sleeve, his label staring you in the face.
‘Smart’.
‘Stupid’.
“You’re right, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I know it isn’t fair. It’s not fair for any of us.” He tapped his label. “This isn’t everything, you know? It’s not all of me. They look at it and that’s all they see.”
You nodded slowly. You wondered if this was how a rabbit felt as the car rushed towards it, but his touch was feather light, as if he was ready to let go if you pulled back.
“What do you want?” you asked, because you were so confused. Afraid, but still tentatively hopeful. You wanted to believe him so badly.
“Come with me. With us,” he corrected, pointing to the door. “Let’s not play the game.”
When he pulled gently at your sleeve, you followed him, letting him guide you. Kids watched, and you could feel the horrified and shocked looks following you. You almost wanted to pull away, but you didn’t. You were too curious now.
Outside there were others waiting for the two of you. Three other boys. They all had their own labels (‘Short’ read one. Another said ‘Joker’. The last boy’s label was ‘Leader’.) They all smiled, unreserved, happy and you returned a smile to them. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d smiled like that, and truly felt it.
“Come on,” the boy who brought you here urged, peeling off his label. You gaped, because nobody ever did that, but the other boys were all taking theirs off as well, and you realized how good it felt, quickly ripping yours off.
“Takaki Yuya,” you said, as the boy dropped ‘Smart’ onto the ground. You felt different now, loose and free like you hadn’t felt in a long time.
You felt like yourself.
“Inoo,” he said, grinning back at you. “Inoo Kei.”
---