I came here with a load, and it feels so much lighter since I've met you.
Fandom: Nabari no Ou
Pairing: Yoite/Miharu
Rating: PG I guess?
Summary: One of the million ways things could turn out.
Notes: Indirect spoilers for Yoite's past? Not necessarily compliant with the last chapter or two of the manga? Gross misinterpretation of the working of Japanese food establishments, of which I know nothing about?
When Sora and his mother enter the okonomiyaki shop, the boy fixing meals at the far table drops his spatula and splatters soy sauce over the suit of an instantly displeased customer. He stares at Sora for a moment, maybe less, before he is mechanically apologizing and cleaning up the mess, but Sora still catches his doe-eyed surprise, even if he’s not sure what to make of it.
His mother clucks in sympathy and automatically steers them to sit at the boy’s recently vacated table. It’s just like her to be charmed by the boy’s misfortune where lesser people would be spurned off by his incompetence, Sora thinks, but doesn’t argue.
Whatever moment the boy had earlier has passed completely by the time they sit down. “Welcome. What would you like?” he asks, gazing steadily at a point somewhere between the two of them. On most people, the expression would scream of boredom and irritation, but there’s an intelligent shine in the boy’s eyes that tells Sora he could probably repeat anything they said back to them without error.
“Shrimp,” Sora says.
“Toppings?”
“Aonori.”
The boy nods his understanding and looks to Sora’s mother, who is shaking her head in exasperation.
“Ah, So-kun is so boring when he orders! I’ll have pork and octopus and pineapple!”
“Those foods don’t go together,” comments Sora. “And pineapple is not an option.”
“Maa, so strict!” she whines and tugs on Sora’s sleeve like a pleading child.
They banter on in that vein for a while, and some of the rigidity to the boy’s stance lessens, the corner of his mouth twitching in what obviously wants to be a smile. He’s never rude, responding quietly to every one of Sora’s mother’s inquiries, but he keeps their interaction to an obvious bare minimum. He also spends the meal sneaking glances at Sora in the least sneaky way possible. More than once, Sora looks up to find himself snared by the other boy’s gaze. The boy stares for a beat, two, then shifts his attention elsewhere as if he’s suddenly remembered that this is the proper response when someone catches you staring. It’s … ridiculous, and makes Sora feel weird in a way that is not entirely uncomfortable.
His mother keeps up a constant delighted chatter throughout the meal, and this earns her some of the shy, wondering stares he’s been gifted with since they walked in. The boy relaxes further as the meal continues, enough so that when they are both sitting back, sated, the small smile fighting for purchase earlier is just beginning to take residence on his mouth.
“How much-”
“Don’t worry about it.” The boy shrugs, finishing his clean up of his cooking area.
His mother starts to protest, but the boy all but flutters off to another table, responding to the people there with such spirited enthusiasm that it’s clear that he could not possibly hear or have time for this conversation. Sora furrows his eyebrows at this blatant(ly strange) dismissal, but his mother just smiles wide once her shock wears off and comments on what a nice boy he was. Sora shrugs a response and does not let himself glance back for a last look when they leave.
The boy doesn’t drop anything when Sora comes back the next day, barely shows any reaction at all, though Sora’s sure that the boy knows he’s there the moment he walks into the room. When he sits down, the boy looks at him, notes there is no one accompanying him, and… continues to look at him. Stare, really. Sora’s not sure he’s blinking. It’s awkward.
“Good evening,” Sora offers quietly, slanting his glance sideways to look at anything other than the boy’s eyes. He thinks maybe coming back was a bad idea, doesn’t even know why he did, but his legs had followed the path without his realizing until he had already been at the establishment’s door and it would have been silly for him to turn around.
His statement, admittedly leaving something to be desired in the realm of conversational prowess, does the trick to loosening something in the boy’s posture. “Shrimp with aonori?” he asks and Sora blinks, once, and inclines his head slightly in an affirmative. He sets about making Sora’s meal and Sora settles in to watch.
“I’m Miharu,” the boy says after a while. He sets Sora’s food in front of him and leans his weight against the table, clearly making himself comfortable there.
“Sora.”
“Sora,” Miharu repeats, tongue sliding over the syllables with anxious delicacy, like too much pressure on the word would cause it to melt like a capsule into something less pleasant but more expected. Heat gathers in his cheeks and he dips his head to eat his okonomiyaki with unnecessary attention.
“That woman, yesterday.”
“My mother.”
Miharu takes this in silence. He smiles, though it is a little sad around the edges. “She’s beautiful.”
Sora nods. When he was little, he was convinced his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and time has done little to change his opinion. “She’s a bit old for you,” he says, straight-faced.
Miharu blinks, smiles wide, and laughs. Sora is startled to find himself wondering what he could do to make Miharu laugh like that forever and feels his cheeks burn again.
He stays there for ages, talking with Miharu when he isn’t busy, watching him move about when he is. He sticks around long enough to offer his assistance in closing up the shop, help which Miharu’s family is delighted to accept. Miharu walks him out when it’s finally time for him to go, and they linger in the quiet night air for a while longer. The tension that had been living in the line of his shoulders is gone, Sora notices, replaced by a lazy contentment mirrored in the smile he hasn’t been able to completely dispel since they had really started talking. The corners of his own mouth twitch a little upwards in response.
“See you later, Sora,” Miharu says.
“See you later, Miharu.”
Sora feels Miharu’s eyes on his back for a long time, and his walk home is much warmer than the night before.
Sora gets sick of okonomiyaki long before he gets sick of Miharu, so eventually they have to start simply spending time together without any pretenses. They look at the train schedules and pick random destinations and spend hours simply exploring them. They feed ducks at the lake, play with other people’s dogs at the park (the fluffier the better), curl up indoors and explore each other with the same unhurried attention that they explore the rest of the world. His mother is ecstatic. She takes to Miharu just as quickly as Sora does, and loves when Miharu comes over and they cook together. Sora loves to eat their food and see how well they get along. Miharu just seems happy to be there. He brings Sora’s mother pineapple the first time Sora brings him home, and it ensures him a place in his mother’s heart until the end of the universe.
There’s something very comfortable about Miharu’s presence in Sora’s life. Sometimes Miharu understands things, knows things about Sora so much faster than the length of time they’ve known each other should allow. It should be eerie or creepy, but for Sora, it is mostly a relief. They meet and skip over so much of the awkward getting-to-know-you phases and dive right into being thick as thieves. Sometimes he feels like Miharu is someone he’s known forever but only recently started to understand. It’s a strange way to think, but it feels right in Sora’s belly, so he leaves it alone.
Today the weather is pleasant, so they spend the afternoon cloud gazing on the hill just past the train station. It has the best, unhindered view of the sky in the whole area, and they return to this place often when they don’t feel like venturing very far.
Sora glances over at Miharu, who is gazing up at the sky with a satisfied expression that Sora wishes he could put in his pocket and carry around with him always. He reaches up and brushes a finger lightly over Miharu’s cheekbone, extending the digit towards Miharu’s nose to show the single eyelash settled on his fingertip. “Make a wish,” he says.
Miharu starts briefly, then flicks the eyelash away lightly with a slight shake of his head. “I made a wish, once.”
“Only once?” He furrows his eyebrows, bemused.
Miharu smiles, tracing his hand over every line and crevice of Sora’s extended finger with more reverence than an ordinary, unblemished hand should warrant. He links their fingers and dusts his knuckles with a light kiss. “The one was all I needed.”
-------
Comments and criticisms muchly appreciated.
Pairing: Yoite/Miharu
Rating: PG I guess?
Summary: One of the million ways things could turn out.
Notes: Indirect spoilers for Yoite's past? Not necessarily compliant with the last chapter or two of the manga? Gross misinterpretation of the working of Japanese food establishments, of which I know nothing about?
When Sora and his mother enter the okonomiyaki shop, the boy fixing meals at the far table drops his spatula and splatters soy sauce over the suit of an instantly displeased customer. He stares at Sora for a moment, maybe less, before he is mechanically apologizing and cleaning up the mess, but Sora still catches his doe-eyed surprise, even if he’s not sure what to make of it.
His mother clucks in sympathy and automatically steers them to sit at the boy’s recently vacated table. It’s just like her to be charmed by the boy’s misfortune where lesser people would be spurned off by his incompetence, Sora thinks, but doesn’t argue.
Whatever moment the boy had earlier has passed completely by the time they sit down. “Welcome. What would you like?” he asks, gazing steadily at a point somewhere between the two of them. On most people, the expression would scream of boredom and irritation, but there’s an intelligent shine in the boy’s eyes that tells Sora he could probably repeat anything they said back to them without error.
“Shrimp,” Sora says.
“Toppings?”
“Aonori.”
The boy nods his understanding and looks to Sora’s mother, who is shaking her head in exasperation.
“Ah, So-kun is so boring when he orders! I’ll have pork and octopus and pineapple!”
“Those foods don’t go together,” comments Sora. “And pineapple is not an option.”
“Maa, so strict!” she whines and tugs on Sora’s sleeve like a pleading child.
They banter on in that vein for a while, and some of the rigidity to the boy’s stance lessens, the corner of his mouth twitching in what obviously wants to be a smile. He’s never rude, responding quietly to every one of Sora’s mother’s inquiries, but he keeps their interaction to an obvious bare minimum. He also spends the meal sneaking glances at Sora in the least sneaky way possible. More than once, Sora looks up to find himself snared by the other boy’s gaze. The boy stares for a beat, two, then shifts his attention elsewhere as if he’s suddenly remembered that this is the proper response when someone catches you staring. It’s … ridiculous, and makes Sora feel weird in a way that is not entirely uncomfortable.
His mother keeps up a constant delighted chatter throughout the meal, and this earns her some of the shy, wondering stares he’s been gifted with since they walked in. The boy relaxes further as the meal continues, enough so that when they are both sitting back, sated, the small smile fighting for purchase earlier is just beginning to take residence on his mouth.
“How much-”
“Don’t worry about it.” The boy shrugs, finishing his clean up of his cooking area.
His mother starts to protest, but the boy all but flutters off to another table, responding to the people there with such spirited enthusiasm that it’s clear that he could not possibly hear or have time for this conversation. Sora furrows his eyebrows at this blatant(ly strange) dismissal, but his mother just smiles wide once her shock wears off and comments on what a nice boy he was. Sora shrugs a response and does not let himself glance back for a last look when they leave.
The boy doesn’t drop anything when Sora comes back the next day, barely shows any reaction at all, though Sora’s sure that the boy knows he’s there the moment he walks into the room. When he sits down, the boy looks at him, notes there is no one accompanying him, and… continues to look at him. Stare, really. Sora’s not sure he’s blinking. It’s awkward.
“Good evening,” Sora offers quietly, slanting his glance sideways to look at anything other than the boy’s eyes. He thinks maybe coming back was a bad idea, doesn’t even know why he did, but his legs had followed the path without his realizing until he had already been at the establishment’s door and it would have been silly for him to turn around.
His statement, admittedly leaving something to be desired in the realm of conversational prowess, does the trick to loosening something in the boy’s posture. “Shrimp with aonori?” he asks and Sora blinks, once, and inclines his head slightly in an affirmative. He sets about making Sora’s meal and Sora settles in to watch.
“I’m Miharu,” the boy says after a while. He sets Sora’s food in front of him and leans his weight against the table, clearly making himself comfortable there.
“Sora.”
“Sora,” Miharu repeats, tongue sliding over the syllables with anxious delicacy, like too much pressure on the word would cause it to melt like a capsule into something less pleasant but more expected. Heat gathers in his cheeks and he dips his head to eat his okonomiyaki with unnecessary attention.
“That woman, yesterday.”
“My mother.”
Miharu takes this in silence. He smiles, though it is a little sad around the edges. “She’s beautiful.”
Sora nods. When he was little, he was convinced his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and time has done little to change his opinion. “She’s a bit old for you,” he says, straight-faced.
Miharu blinks, smiles wide, and laughs. Sora is startled to find himself wondering what he could do to make Miharu laugh like that forever and feels his cheeks burn again.
He stays there for ages, talking with Miharu when he isn’t busy, watching him move about when he is. He sticks around long enough to offer his assistance in closing up the shop, help which Miharu’s family is delighted to accept. Miharu walks him out when it’s finally time for him to go, and they linger in the quiet night air for a while longer. The tension that had been living in the line of his shoulders is gone, Sora notices, replaced by a lazy contentment mirrored in the smile he hasn’t been able to completely dispel since they had really started talking. The corners of his own mouth twitch a little upwards in response.
“See you later, Sora,” Miharu says.
“See you later, Miharu.”
Sora feels Miharu’s eyes on his back for a long time, and his walk home is much warmer than the night before.
Sora gets sick of okonomiyaki long before he gets sick of Miharu, so eventually they have to start simply spending time together without any pretenses. They look at the train schedules and pick random destinations and spend hours simply exploring them. They feed ducks at the lake, play with other people’s dogs at the park (the fluffier the better), curl up indoors and explore each other with the same unhurried attention that they explore the rest of the world. His mother is ecstatic. She takes to Miharu just as quickly as Sora does, and loves when Miharu comes over and they cook together. Sora loves to eat their food and see how well they get along. Miharu just seems happy to be there. He brings Sora’s mother pineapple the first time Sora brings him home, and it ensures him a place in his mother’s heart until the end of the universe.
There’s something very comfortable about Miharu’s presence in Sora’s life. Sometimes Miharu understands things, knows things about Sora so much faster than the length of time they’ve known each other should allow. It should be eerie or creepy, but for Sora, it is mostly a relief. They meet and skip over so much of the awkward getting-to-know-you phases and dive right into being thick as thieves. Sometimes he feels like Miharu is someone he’s known forever but only recently started to understand. It’s a strange way to think, but it feels right in Sora’s belly, so he leaves it alone.
Today the weather is pleasant, so they spend the afternoon cloud gazing on the hill just past the train station. It has the best, unhindered view of the sky in the whole area, and they return to this place often when they don’t feel like venturing very far.
Sora glances over at Miharu, who is gazing up at the sky with a satisfied expression that Sora wishes he could put in his pocket and carry around with him always. He reaches up and brushes a finger lightly over Miharu’s cheekbone, extending the digit towards Miharu’s nose to show the single eyelash settled on his fingertip. “Make a wish,” he says.
Miharu starts briefly, then flicks the eyelash away lightly with a slight shake of his head. “I made a wish, once.”
“Only once?” He furrows his eyebrows, bemused.
Miharu smiles, tracing his hand over every line and crevice of Sora’s extended finger with more reverence than an ordinary, unblemished hand should warrant. He links their fingers and dusts his knuckles with a light kiss. “The one was all I needed.”
-------
Comments and criticisms muchly appreciated.