(no subject)
title: 001 drabbles
author: chartre
rating: pg to pg-13
pairing: koyashige, nishikato, ryopi, ryotego, tegomasu, tegopi, tegoshige
summary: infatuation ensues for certain reasons.
notes: fictional. some genderbending, made sometime before just for fun. these are probably failed attempts of oneshots where inspiration comes from various sources, go figure. :p
afterglow
tegoshige
they lie down on a field on a summer’s day, the air cool, the grass moist. she snuggles against his shoulder, her hands in the air as if trying to reach the sky. she talks about william blake, forgets a few lines and he chuckles. he has not a clue what she’s saying.
“it’s english poetry,” she says, “i must create a system, or be enslaved by another man’s.”
“what does that mean?” he twirls her hair with his fingers.
“i don’t really know.” she has the sweetest laugh, he remembers.
she’s the love of everyone’s life, and he wonders how she’s taken to choose him over all the idiots who’ve fallen for the same girl for a few years and so, he being the worst of the worst. they all must think he’s a joke, some comical man jumped out of the conspiracies of high school. no one had seen this coming.
“yuya,” he whispers her name, his face pressed to her cheek. “guess what.”
she giggles, “i know,” and squints her eyes against the sun’s light. “i know.”
this is when he falls in love.
wistful thinking
koyashige
he lies on the apartment floor listening to the answering machine. the messages he hears are mostly repeated reminders from his mother and his sister, saying “please come to work, honey,” and “you can’t trap yourself in your apartment for the rest of your life, keiichiro,” and he’s getting sick and tired of it.
“shige, where are you,” he gets up, rubs his eyes clear and starts wandering off in the empty apartment. he hears the sound of his guitar, his voice quite experimental over some lyrics he has just newly composed a few days ago. “here I am.”
koyama passes the living room and stops halfway, sees from his peripheral vision the guitar on the sofa, untouched for some days now. the lyrics are still unfinished, sitting still and indifferent on the coffee table. something brushes his skin, and he makes it to the closet, grabs shige’s coat and tries to fill in the spaces. i’ll grow into it, he says, I’ll be able to.
the next morning his mother comes, and she finds her son in bed, buried under the covers with his cellphone to his ear, tears and tears and tears. another cellphone rings the same message over and over again in the next room: “this is kato shigeaki. please leave a message. this is kato shigeaki. please leave a message.”
dysphoria
ryopi
on mornings like these-the kitchen cabinets empty, the sink filled with soiled utensils and chinaware, and the day bright as any other lovely day-ryo felt like throwing a fit.
"pi, clean it up," he ordered him as if he were his personal maid.
pi looked at him. a few blinks and wrinkling of his nose, he then looked back at the book he was reading. "clean it yourself," he said scornfully. "it's your house."
ryo hissed at him and ran up to his bedroom, sat down at the edge of his bed and thought for awhile.
ryo often felt guilty. here he was, a grown 24-year-old man with no cleaning abilities, he pitied himself a lot. he pitied pi a lot.
sometime after ten in the morning, pi was leaving his place. he was going to work; some new drama coming up by january next year. again, ryo wanted to throw a fit.
"don't go."
"i have to go," he said as he reached for the door. "it's work."
"i said don't go, damn it,"
on mornings like these-timing a little on his side, the white curtains drawn and the sofa empty as always-ryo made love to pi on the living room floor, and he couldn't refuse.
a little later, with ryo lying on pi's stomach, conversation ensued. "i have to go to work."
"just stay at home," ryo threaded his fingers with his. "it's better staying here."
pi knew why.
a few more other things
tegopi
when pi told tegoshi he loved him, he asked him why. pi couldn't give him a reason.
there were a million and one reasons to why he felt ridiculously infatuated with him; he just couldn't put it into words.
one day, pi stared into the mirror of the dressing room, thinking about we-all-knew-what. why was he in love? who in the universe made him fall for an immature, self-centered boy, anyway?
"pi?" the door sprung open, and tegoshi peeked his head in. "we have to go."
during their concert encore, pi watched him move across the stage. he had poise, that soothing voice, and that irrevocably beautiful smile. tegoshi looked back at him for awhile he hadn't noticed, smiled and held his hand, pulled him towards the front stage.
something happened, and a few more other things happened after that.
tegoshi threaded fingers with him, and they both smiled. pi could see from behind tegoshi, ryo was watching them. everyone had been watching, of course; (what idiot would go to a concert and not pay attention?) and they kissed.
the stadium grew boisterous. tegoshi wouldn't let go of his lips. cameras were flashing away photos for johnny's j-web. koyama started screaming into the mic.
that evening, fangirls were stirred with everything possibly inane. they demanded to see it again in the next concert.
tegoshi and pi exchanged looks, smiled and then laughed. this was something they couldn't possibly refuse to do.
midday break
tegomass
masuda drove themselves to an open field with tall green grass, and where the sun shown itself at best. it was somewhen mid-summer, and tegoshi was loving every moment of that summer.
masuda killed the engine of the old chevrolet, rusting in all its vintage glory. the puttering slowly disappeared in white noise, and they could hear the wind, the rustling trees, smell the moist soil beneath their feet. they lied on the grass and smelled the interesting smells.
they started growing lazy as time passed, the sun right above them from their last notice had now been on the left side of the sky. tegoshi could feel the sweat on his nape, the cool brush of wind through his fingers. he had fallen asleep, and masuda had been watching him.
"it's so quiet," he said, wrinkled his nose. the wind passed them again, and the grass bent to the direction according to it. "too quiet."
tegoshi creased his lips as they met with masuda's. there was no noise. the trees rustled, the grass swayed. for awhile under the quiet heat, tegoshi heard birds chirping, felt a cold brush on his cheek.
tastes like fireworks
nishikato
on a winter's night they walk around the park watching the world go by: singing carols and doing last minute shopping. ryo says he wants to go ice skating, but shige simply isn't cut out for his games tonight.
"i'll drive you back, i'm sure your family wants you home."
some old english christmas song plays in ryo's car, and it is by far no accident when he decides to sing to the catchy tune. he tries to keep calm all throughout the drive, shige, his fingers tapping on his lap to the song.
something experimental happens when they've reached shige's condo, and ryo insists on bringing him up to his unit on the twelfth floor. ryo leads him into the elevator, leans back so casually on the wall as if he owns the place and tugs on the scarf hung around shige's neck when the doors close behind him-and he kisses him. shige responds, fingers through the beltloops of his pants, and right before the elevator doors open, they pull apart, faces flushed.
"tastes sweet," ryo drawls, brushes his lip over shige's. "i was waiting for that all night."
shige stammers, his breath dusting, "do you want to come in…? i mean, just to…”
ryo nudges him off from the lift and smiles before the doors close again, "merry christmas, shige."
adagio; giselle
ryotego
ryo finds her in front of the wall of mirrors, her knee in midair and her entire stance carried on toes. she stretches her arms across the vast space around her, the liberal estrangement engulfing her. he thinks she is beautiful.
he watches her from the terrace, the music tinkling softly through the stereo as she dances. her shoes are worn from endless and grueling practice, and a certain part upsets her because she could never get it right; it is a difficult piece. the story depicts the tragic emotions of a young girl in love, and dies from madness and of a broken heart, and they all seem to know why.
"depend on my weight," ryo tells her when he meets her in front of the wall of mirrors. she doesn't have his faith, but she takes his hand. "ryo,"
"lift your leg and turn," he tells her and she does, slowly. he smells something sweet and mysterious when he holds her waist and carefully turns, feet curled and toes firm on a point.
she leans back on his neck and gasps, his fingers running across her collar. it's a perfect dance for two, and she feels as light as a feather.
"you're beautiful when you dance," ryo whispers, and that gives her his faith.
author: chartre
rating: pg to pg-13
pairing: koyashige, nishikato, ryopi, ryotego, tegomasu, tegopi, tegoshige
summary: infatuation ensues for certain reasons.
notes: fictional. some genderbending, made sometime before just for fun. these are probably failed attempts of oneshots where inspiration comes from various sources, go figure. :p
afterglow
tegoshige
they lie down on a field on a summer’s day, the air cool, the grass moist. she snuggles against his shoulder, her hands in the air as if trying to reach the sky. she talks about william blake, forgets a few lines and he chuckles. he has not a clue what she’s saying.
“it’s english poetry,” she says, “i must create a system, or be enslaved by another man’s.”
“what does that mean?” he twirls her hair with his fingers.
“i don’t really know.” she has the sweetest laugh, he remembers.
she’s the love of everyone’s life, and he wonders how she’s taken to choose him over all the idiots who’ve fallen for the same girl for a few years and so, he being the worst of the worst. they all must think he’s a joke, some comical man jumped out of the conspiracies of high school. no one had seen this coming.
“yuya,” he whispers her name, his face pressed to her cheek. “guess what.”
she giggles, “i know,” and squints her eyes against the sun’s light. “i know.”
this is when he falls in love.
wistful thinking
koyashige
he lies on the apartment floor listening to the answering machine. the messages he hears are mostly repeated reminders from his mother and his sister, saying “please come to work, honey,” and “you can’t trap yourself in your apartment for the rest of your life, keiichiro,” and he’s getting sick and tired of it.
“shige, where are you,” he gets up, rubs his eyes clear and starts wandering off in the empty apartment. he hears the sound of his guitar, his voice quite experimental over some lyrics he has just newly composed a few days ago. “here I am.”
koyama passes the living room and stops halfway, sees from his peripheral vision the guitar on the sofa, untouched for some days now. the lyrics are still unfinished, sitting still and indifferent on the coffee table. something brushes his skin, and he makes it to the closet, grabs shige’s coat and tries to fill in the spaces. i’ll grow into it, he says, I’ll be able to.
the next morning his mother comes, and she finds her son in bed, buried under the covers with his cellphone to his ear, tears and tears and tears. another cellphone rings the same message over and over again in the next room: “this is kato shigeaki. please leave a message. this is kato shigeaki. please leave a message.”
dysphoria
ryopi
on mornings like these-the kitchen cabinets empty, the sink filled with soiled utensils and chinaware, and the day bright as any other lovely day-ryo felt like throwing a fit.
"pi, clean it up," he ordered him as if he were his personal maid.
pi looked at him. a few blinks and wrinkling of his nose, he then looked back at the book he was reading. "clean it yourself," he said scornfully. "it's your house."
ryo hissed at him and ran up to his bedroom, sat down at the edge of his bed and thought for awhile.
ryo often felt guilty. here he was, a grown 24-year-old man with no cleaning abilities, he pitied himself a lot. he pitied pi a lot.
sometime after ten in the morning, pi was leaving his place. he was going to work; some new drama coming up by january next year. again, ryo wanted to throw a fit.
"don't go."
"i have to go," he said as he reached for the door. "it's work."
"i said don't go, damn it,"
on mornings like these-timing a little on his side, the white curtains drawn and the sofa empty as always-ryo made love to pi on the living room floor, and he couldn't refuse.
a little later, with ryo lying on pi's stomach, conversation ensued. "i have to go to work."
"just stay at home," ryo threaded his fingers with his. "it's better staying here."
pi knew why.
a few more other things
tegopi
when pi told tegoshi he loved him, he asked him why. pi couldn't give him a reason.
there were a million and one reasons to why he felt ridiculously infatuated with him; he just couldn't put it into words.
one day, pi stared into the mirror of the dressing room, thinking about we-all-knew-what. why was he in love? who in the universe made him fall for an immature, self-centered boy, anyway?
"pi?" the door sprung open, and tegoshi peeked his head in. "we have to go."
during their concert encore, pi watched him move across the stage. he had poise, that soothing voice, and that irrevocably beautiful smile. tegoshi looked back at him for awhile he hadn't noticed, smiled and held his hand, pulled him towards the front stage.
something happened, and a few more other things happened after that.
tegoshi threaded fingers with him, and they both smiled. pi could see from behind tegoshi, ryo was watching them. everyone had been watching, of course; (what idiot would go to a concert and not pay attention?) and they kissed.
the stadium grew boisterous. tegoshi wouldn't let go of his lips. cameras were flashing away photos for johnny's j-web. koyama started screaming into the mic.
that evening, fangirls were stirred with everything possibly inane. they demanded to see it again in the next concert.
tegoshi and pi exchanged looks, smiled and then laughed. this was something they couldn't possibly refuse to do.
midday break
tegomass
masuda drove themselves to an open field with tall green grass, and where the sun shown itself at best. it was somewhen mid-summer, and tegoshi was loving every moment of that summer.
masuda killed the engine of the old chevrolet, rusting in all its vintage glory. the puttering slowly disappeared in white noise, and they could hear the wind, the rustling trees, smell the moist soil beneath their feet. they lied on the grass and smelled the interesting smells.
they started growing lazy as time passed, the sun right above them from their last notice had now been on the left side of the sky. tegoshi could feel the sweat on his nape, the cool brush of wind through his fingers. he had fallen asleep, and masuda had been watching him.
"it's so quiet," he said, wrinkled his nose. the wind passed them again, and the grass bent to the direction according to it. "too quiet."
tegoshi creased his lips as they met with masuda's. there was no noise. the trees rustled, the grass swayed. for awhile under the quiet heat, tegoshi heard birds chirping, felt a cold brush on his cheek.
tastes like fireworks
nishikato
on a winter's night they walk around the park watching the world go by: singing carols and doing last minute shopping. ryo says he wants to go ice skating, but shige simply isn't cut out for his games tonight.
"i'll drive you back, i'm sure your family wants you home."
some old english christmas song plays in ryo's car, and it is by far no accident when he decides to sing to the catchy tune. he tries to keep calm all throughout the drive, shige, his fingers tapping on his lap to the song.
something experimental happens when they've reached shige's condo, and ryo insists on bringing him up to his unit on the twelfth floor. ryo leads him into the elevator, leans back so casually on the wall as if he owns the place and tugs on the scarf hung around shige's neck when the doors close behind him-and he kisses him. shige responds, fingers through the beltloops of his pants, and right before the elevator doors open, they pull apart, faces flushed.
"tastes sweet," ryo drawls, brushes his lip over shige's. "i was waiting for that all night."
shige stammers, his breath dusting, "do you want to come in…? i mean, just to…”
ryo nudges him off from the lift and smiles before the doors close again, "merry christmas, shige."
adagio; giselle
ryotego
ryo finds her in front of the wall of mirrors, her knee in midair and her entire stance carried on toes. she stretches her arms across the vast space around her, the liberal estrangement engulfing her. he thinks she is beautiful.
he watches her from the terrace, the music tinkling softly through the stereo as she dances. her shoes are worn from endless and grueling practice, and a certain part upsets her because she could never get it right; it is a difficult piece. the story depicts the tragic emotions of a young girl in love, and dies from madness and of a broken heart, and they all seem to know why.
"depend on my weight," ryo tells her when he meets her in front of the wall of mirrors. she doesn't have his faith, but she takes his hand. "ryo,"
"lift your leg and turn," he tells her and she does, slowly. he smells something sweet and mysterious when he holds her waist and carefully turns, feet curled and toes firm on a point.
she leans back on his neck and gasps, his fingers running across her collar. it's a perfect dance for two, and she feels as light as a feather.
"you're beautiful when you dance," ryo whispers, and that gives her his faith.