THREE random drabbles
The following were written for a drabble prompts exercise at my journal, originally written in November. Woefully unedited but highly entertaining. The reason there's only three is because another, unposted one totally took over my brain and I didn't finish the rest of the prompts. :/
unsettled. for spurious
G. Arashi & NewS. Gen. 527 words.
Shige didn't consider himself a restless person, usually. He was perfectly happy to sit in silence, in the company of a good book in his tidy bedroom, without anything interrupting him except the occasional text message or hunger pangs that needed tending to; in fact, given all the choices in the world, this would tie with wandering in the park playing with his new fisheye lens or the macro settings on his camera as his favorite activity for a day off. However, when it comes to sitting on a boat for ten hours with Ohno Satoshi, something in his personality obviously comes unhinged and the whole concept of sitting quietly manages to seem quite foreign to him. Not that this is a very common occurrence, but the first time Shige finds himself on a fishing expedition with the other man, he finds Ohno's calm exterior at odds with his own feelings - almost upsetting. It seems to Shige as though Ohno has forgotten the existence of anything except his line, the box of tackle, and the cooler of beer. Shige finds himself tapping beats on his thigh, counting backwards from 万, and having entire conversations in his head with Ohno, who hasn't said a word to him since they left the pier two hours ago.
It's at about the three-hour (and four-beer) mark that Ohno says anything. "Having fun?"
Shige's not quite sure how to answer the question, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before tilting his head and answering. "It's much quieter here than my bedroom." It's the most honest answer he could give, and for a moment he's embarrassed that he actually said it. Then Ohno chuckles quietly - almost as though he's laughing to himself - and nods, eyes still out on the water.
"That's why I love ocean fishing. The only sound around is water and your heartbeat." He pauses then, taking a sip of his beer before he turns to Shige. "You seem a little unsettled, though. I hope you don't mind the quiet."
Shige bites back the immediate "it's okay". The look in Ohno's eyes doesn't seem to ask anything more the truth, and Shige has the strange feeling that he could see through any white lies he cared to deliver. So he shrugs instead. "I'm just not used to it. It's a good skill you have, to be able to sit quietly. I'm not sure anyone I know could do it." The smile that appears on Ohno's face sends the strangest rush of warmth through Shige's body, and he can't help but return the gesture. "Thank you for inviting me."
"Any time, Kato-kun," Ohno replies, and though he turns back to the sea the next moment, looking out at it with a placid expression, Shige can't help but feel as though he has been extended an open invitation.
The thought calms him, and his mind seems to wander so calmly around the landscape of the world that it knows, distracted only by the occasional tug at his line or the offer of another beer, that the sky turns to twilight before he thinks to count the hours.
a for effort! for spurious
G. Arashi. AU/Gen. 701 words.
"I think I'm going to kill myself," Ninomiya-sensei said dramatically as he entered the teacher's lounge.
"Again?" Matsumoto-sensei said blithely, not looking up from his stack of essays. There was a red pen in one hand and a large mug of coffee in the other, and the look he gave Nino over the top of his glasses suggested there was only one person in the room worthy of committing suicide.
"I just had five girls complain of period pain so severe they couldn't read the questions on their exams. I excused them, of course, because how can I prove otherwise, and the guys went into a fury. Meanwhile, Tanaka-kun throws up right on the floor from all the stress... seriously, you'd think this was kindergarten." Nino flopped down into the couch across from Matsumoto, who just blinked.
"You have no control over a class, do you?"
"Like you do, Matsumoto," Sakurai-sensei put in as he, Aiba-sensei and Ohno-sensei entered the room. "You don't have control over a class, you just charm them into liking you. All the girls swoon over you and all the guys want to be like you."
"Look who's talking about himself again," Aiba teased, poking Sakurai in the ribs playfully before going over to sit beside Matsumoto-sensei. "Hey, Jun-kun, let me help you," he said, easing the mug of coffee carefully from the other man's fingers. Matsumoto-sensei made a low, growling noise that didn't deter Aiba whatsoever from fussing further over him and pushing the glasses up over the bridge of Jun's nose as though the eyes behind them weren't glaring daggers at him.
"How are your classes, Ohno-sensei?" Nino asked as Ohno sat beside him on the couch.
"Tiring," Ohno replied, handing a stack of drawing pads to Nino, who snorted at the suggestion. Ohno was the art teacher for the upperclassmen, those who had taken the extra time in their timetables and put it towards studying art. He always argued that it was better to teach these classes because they were actually interested in the subject, but the rest of them were pretty sure that it was because he didn't have to teach as many classes.
"Really? Tiring? It's just art," Nino replied, flicking through the first drawing pad on the pile.
"You try grading shitty sketches of a fruit bowl all day. There's only so many ways you can gently encourage them to find another hobby."
"Grading art must be tough, though," Sakurai said, pulling a pile of papers from his bag that was at least twice as large as Matsumoto's. "I mean with history, just like with math, Ninomiya-sensei, there's almost always just one right answer. You grade based on their answer; understanding concepts and showing depth of knowledge is important, too, but most of the time you can say basically if something is correct or incorrect. Art is so subjective."
Ohno just shrugged. "It's not so bad. If the kid can tell me why he wanted to paint a red banana and an orange apple, I'll let him pass."
"Sounds like PE!" Aiba exclaimed. "A for effort!"
Jun closed his eyes at the volume beside him. "Aiba-sensei, as much as I appreciate your efforts, these papers aren't going to get graded any faster with you yelling in my ear."
"What are the essays about?" Aiba asked, seeming to ignore the not-so subtle suggestion that he leave Jun alone (though he did lower his voice). Matsumoto blinked incredulously at Aiba over his glasses, but when all he received in return was a bright smile and inquisitive eyes, he gave in.
"The transition of styles of poetry during the Meiji period." Matsumoto looked pained even as he said it, reaching beneath his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "I hate poetry fortnight."
"So do we," Nino retorted, just smirking against another harsh glare from Jun.
"Come on," Sakurai said in his teacher voice, barely looking over at the two of them as he scanned the first of many essays he had to grade, himself. "We all want to make it to the end of the day alive, and if you two start fighting then we'll all get caught in the cross-fire."
dying young. for grapewhine
G. KAT-TUN. Gen. 391 words.
Celebrity is not for the weak, and Kame knows this. He's always known it, of course, but sometimes the knowledge weighs on his shoulders just a little more than usual. When he has a cold, it gets to him the most. It's easy to get wrapped up in the idea of your own immortality, your own invincibility to things going on around you, but when he finally comes down with a flu that takes him out for more than a few days, his delusions come crashing down around him. He has to be rugged up, tucked in by his mother or a friend, fed miso soup and hot tea and nasty herbal remedies, relegated to sleeping on the couch and feeling chills run through him when he has to get up to go to the bathroom. He's transported worlds away from what he knows, and when he goes back it's as though nothing ever happened. Life resumes as though he hadn't even left it, and he thinks (in his weirder moments) that it's probably what a time traveler would feel like.
Most of the time, he comes back from a cold feeling refreshed, but every time he bounces back he wonders how far away he is from not making a recovery. Every time he falls ill, every time he feels the way his bones settle and muscles ache after a concert, he wonders whether it's possible that he might not make it the next time. He pushes himself hard because he's a good worker, because he loves what he does, but sometimes he wonders if he's not chopping years off his life. Every late night, every skipped meal, every cough and cold and ache, a small part of him wonders if these things add up on the end of your life and if he will eventually, one day, meet the day that it all catches up for him. The thought worries him a little, because he knows he has already done enough for a lifetime; won't his end come sooner than everyone thinks?
He's not invincible, and he knows it. But he lives every day as though he was because one day, he's convinced, it will all catch up with him. And wouldn't it be better to know that he's done everything he can rather than everything he knew was safe?
unsettled. for spurious
G. Arashi & NewS. Gen. 527 words.
Shige didn't consider himself a restless person, usually. He was perfectly happy to sit in silence, in the company of a good book in his tidy bedroom, without anything interrupting him except the occasional text message or hunger pangs that needed tending to; in fact, given all the choices in the world, this would tie with wandering in the park playing with his new fisheye lens or the macro settings on his camera as his favorite activity for a day off. However, when it comes to sitting on a boat for ten hours with Ohno Satoshi, something in his personality obviously comes unhinged and the whole concept of sitting quietly manages to seem quite foreign to him. Not that this is a very common occurrence, but the first time Shige finds himself on a fishing expedition with the other man, he finds Ohno's calm exterior at odds with his own feelings - almost upsetting. It seems to Shige as though Ohno has forgotten the existence of anything except his line, the box of tackle, and the cooler of beer. Shige finds himself tapping beats on his thigh, counting backwards from 万, and having entire conversations in his head with Ohno, who hasn't said a word to him since they left the pier two hours ago.
It's at about the three-hour (and four-beer) mark that Ohno says anything. "Having fun?"
Shige's not quite sure how to answer the question, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before tilting his head and answering. "It's much quieter here than my bedroom." It's the most honest answer he could give, and for a moment he's embarrassed that he actually said it. Then Ohno chuckles quietly - almost as though he's laughing to himself - and nods, eyes still out on the water.
"That's why I love ocean fishing. The only sound around is water and your heartbeat." He pauses then, taking a sip of his beer before he turns to Shige. "You seem a little unsettled, though. I hope you don't mind the quiet."
Shige bites back the immediate "it's okay". The look in Ohno's eyes doesn't seem to ask anything more the truth, and Shige has the strange feeling that he could see through any white lies he cared to deliver. So he shrugs instead. "I'm just not used to it. It's a good skill you have, to be able to sit quietly. I'm not sure anyone I know could do it." The smile that appears on Ohno's face sends the strangest rush of warmth through Shige's body, and he can't help but return the gesture. "Thank you for inviting me."
"Any time, Kato-kun," Ohno replies, and though he turns back to the sea the next moment, looking out at it with a placid expression, Shige can't help but feel as though he has been extended an open invitation.
The thought calms him, and his mind seems to wander so calmly around the landscape of the world that it knows, distracted only by the occasional tug at his line or the offer of another beer, that the sky turns to twilight before he thinks to count the hours.
a for effort! for spurious
G. Arashi. AU/Gen. 701 words.
"I think I'm going to kill myself," Ninomiya-sensei said dramatically as he entered the teacher's lounge.
"Again?" Matsumoto-sensei said blithely, not looking up from his stack of essays. There was a red pen in one hand and a large mug of coffee in the other, and the look he gave Nino over the top of his glasses suggested there was only one person in the room worthy of committing suicide.
"I just had five girls complain of period pain so severe they couldn't read the questions on their exams. I excused them, of course, because how can I prove otherwise, and the guys went into a fury. Meanwhile, Tanaka-kun throws up right on the floor from all the stress... seriously, you'd think this was kindergarten." Nino flopped down into the couch across from Matsumoto, who just blinked.
"You have no control over a class, do you?"
"Like you do, Matsumoto," Sakurai-sensei put in as he, Aiba-sensei and Ohno-sensei entered the room. "You don't have control over a class, you just charm them into liking you. All the girls swoon over you and all the guys want to be like you."
"Look who's talking about himself again," Aiba teased, poking Sakurai in the ribs playfully before going over to sit beside Matsumoto-sensei. "Hey, Jun-kun, let me help you," he said, easing the mug of coffee carefully from the other man's fingers. Matsumoto-sensei made a low, growling noise that didn't deter Aiba whatsoever from fussing further over him and pushing the glasses up over the bridge of Jun's nose as though the eyes behind them weren't glaring daggers at him.
"How are your classes, Ohno-sensei?" Nino asked as Ohno sat beside him on the couch.
"Tiring," Ohno replied, handing a stack of drawing pads to Nino, who snorted at the suggestion. Ohno was the art teacher for the upperclassmen, those who had taken the extra time in their timetables and put it towards studying art. He always argued that it was better to teach these classes because they were actually interested in the subject, but the rest of them were pretty sure that it was because he didn't have to teach as many classes.
"Really? Tiring? It's just art," Nino replied, flicking through the first drawing pad on the pile.
"You try grading shitty sketches of a fruit bowl all day. There's only so many ways you can gently encourage them to find another hobby."
"Grading art must be tough, though," Sakurai said, pulling a pile of papers from his bag that was at least twice as large as Matsumoto's. "I mean with history, just like with math, Ninomiya-sensei, there's almost always just one right answer. You grade based on their answer; understanding concepts and showing depth of knowledge is important, too, but most of the time you can say basically if something is correct or incorrect. Art is so subjective."
Ohno just shrugged. "It's not so bad. If the kid can tell me why he wanted to paint a red banana and an orange apple, I'll let him pass."
"Sounds like PE!" Aiba exclaimed. "A for effort!"
Jun closed his eyes at the volume beside him. "Aiba-sensei, as much as I appreciate your efforts, these papers aren't going to get graded any faster with you yelling in my ear."
"What are the essays about?" Aiba asked, seeming to ignore the not-so subtle suggestion that he leave Jun alone (though he did lower his voice). Matsumoto blinked incredulously at Aiba over his glasses, but when all he received in return was a bright smile and inquisitive eyes, he gave in.
"The transition of styles of poetry during the Meiji period." Matsumoto looked pained even as he said it, reaching beneath his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "I hate poetry fortnight."
"So do we," Nino retorted, just smirking against another harsh glare from Jun.
"Come on," Sakurai said in his teacher voice, barely looking over at the two of them as he scanned the first of many essays he had to grade, himself. "We all want to make it to the end of the day alive, and if you two start fighting then we'll all get caught in the cross-fire."
dying young. for grapewhine
G. KAT-TUN. Gen. 391 words.
Celebrity is not for the weak, and Kame knows this. He's always known it, of course, but sometimes the knowledge weighs on his shoulders just a little more than usual. When he has a cold, it gets to him the most. It's easy to get wrapped up in the idea of your own immortality, your own invincibility to things going on around you, but when he finally comes down with a flu that takes him out for more than a few days, his delusions come crashing down around him. He has to be rugged up, tucked in by his mother or a friend, fed miso soup and hot tea and nasty herbal remedies, relegated to sleeping on the couch and feeling chills run through him when he has to get up to go to the bathroom. He's transported worlds away from what he knows, and when he goes back it's as though nothing ever happened. Life resumes as though he hadn't even left it, and he thinks (in his weirder moments) that it's probably what a time traveler would feel like.
Most of the time, he comes back from a cold feeling refreshed, but every time he bounces back he wonders how far away he is from not making a recovery. Every time he falls ill, every time he feels the way his bones settle and muscles ache after a concert, he wonders whether it's possible that he might not make it the next time. He pushes himself hard because he's a good worker, because he loves what he does, but sometimes he wonders if he's not chopping years off his life. Every late night, every skipped meal, every cough and cold and ache, a small part of him wonders if these things add up on the end of your life and if he will eventually, one day, meet the day that it all catches up for him. The thought worries him a little, because he knows he has already done enough for a lifetime; won't his end come sooner than everyone thinks?
He's not invincible, and he knows it. But he lives every day as though he was because one day, he's convinced, it will all catch up with him. And wouldn't it be better to know that he's done everything he can rather than everything he knew was safe?