Epsilon Part IIa: Yamada
Dedicated to jay_ay90. Happy (belated) birthday! Sorry for the late present.
1sentence challenge table; theme set Epsilon
#11 - Blur
#12 - Wait
#13 - Change
#14 - Command
#15 - Hold
#11 - Blur
The swirls of neon lights and hurried pace of Tokyo’s lifestyle startled him when he entered the city for the second time, alone and barely nineteen, and for the first time since his father’s death, he felt unsettled.
#12 - Wait
“Oi, Yamada! What was that?"
He turned away to hide his sudden grin, focusing his attention instead on opening the can of Pocari Sweat in his hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But hey, the first set went kinda well, don’t you thi- ?”
Rando’s glare, 100% accusatory, cut him off mid-sentence. “I should never have agreed to include ‘Treble Clef’ in our program; you made me hold that note for eight full seconds! I’m not Mariah Carey, alright - you were supposed to come in by the third bar! What were you thinking?!”
“The fans loved your vibrato, though,” he responded teasingly, handing the rest of the drink to him. “Here.”
“Easy for you to say; after all, you’re not the vocalist of T.S.D.!” came the annoyed reply, along with a firm refusal of his proffered drink. “My. Lungs. Were. On. Fire! Were you trying to kill me, Yamada?! Never, ever, make me have to wait for your solo part again, deliberately or otherwise!”
#13 - Change
He stared at the mirror. Green was definitely more striking; highlighting the darkness of his outfit, but black would be the sensible choice, given the sit-down dinner and all…but wait! - didn’t the invitation state that it was going to be held at the beach terrace? So the event must be pretty informal, despite that…it wouldn’t hurt to add a little more colour, right?
Hmm. Black did look rather classy, though…
“Yamada! Make a decision already! We’ve got to go soon!”
Green. Black. Green. Black. Greenblackgreenblackgreenblack…
“Yamada!”
Oh, this combination looked good!
“Okay, okay! I’m ready!”
And so it was that Sayato Yamada ended up wearing mismatched green and black shoes to Akari’s nineteenth birthday party, much to the chagrin of the other three band members.
#14 - Command
The mail reveals itself bit by bit - bills, a shop catalogue, more bills, and the last, a slim, mildly damp letter with a familiar scrawl on the front. Heart beating a little faster, she places the rest of the post somewhere and slits the envelope open with the sharp end of the pin of her hairclip, unfolding the letter with slightly shaking fingers:
Mother,
All’s well here in Tokyo. Everything’s pretty expensive compared to what we have back home, but I’m managing, thanks to Mabui-san’s cousin at the guitar shop and this apartment. Don’t worry, I haven’t burnt the place down yet with my cooking attempts (if you can call following the instructions on the back of instant food packages cooking, that is). No fear, though! There’s this family next door, the Kirigawas, who’ve been supplying me with some proper nutrition other than what I can get from instant noodles and microwaved tinned curry. As of this week, I’ve been invited to dinner five out of six evenings already, and despite my best attempts to firmly refuse their offers (politely - though sometimes rather half-heartedly, especially when Kirigawa-san makes that fish of hers), I always wind up eating at their place.
…did I mention that Mr. Kirigawa’s a lawyer?
Another thing about the family next door - they have this pretty, talented son, Rando (I mean ‘pretty talented’, not pretty and talented - that smudge from my teacup that looks like a comma can’t get lost, apparently). But don’t worry, I’ll be saving that adjective for my dream girl and definitely not for some mad, slave-driver kid who pounds on my door sharp at six on Saturday mornings, demanding that we get started on rehearsal. Kid’s a little mental, I tell ‘ya. That aside, he’s quite a good vocalist. We’ve already started working on a couple of songs, and I think there’s something about our music…it just fits when we work together, y’know? As of now, we’re lacking a drummer and another instrument - I’m thinking bass, or maybe keyboard? Doesn’t matter though, we’ll figure it out. Watch out for us! If my instinct’s on target (and y’know, it always is *wink*), we’ll break through sooner or later!
I miss all of you, by the way. Give Yasuda, Yumiko, and Michiru my love and a strict, no-nonsense command from their onii-chan: hug your mother at least once a day, or else.
Craving desperately for a couple of your red bean buns,
Yamada
#15 - Hold
He’s stretched out in an L-shape, allowing one leg to rest against the base of the loveseat as he places both palms on the floor, braces the rest of his body’s weight with the other foot firmly on the ground and leans back to look up at her, brown eyes dancing with suppressed excitement and slight anxiety, but never wavering from her form.
She, however, is sitting noncommittally on crossed jean-clad legs on the right seat of the couch, nursing a cup of green tea. Even so, her body’s angled just the slightest degree southwest, and the teacup clasped between her hands barely gets lifted to her lips as she replies quietly to his questions and listens to his voice. Not really knowing where to look, she’s mildly unnerved by his gaze yet can’t help but be taken in by it, all at the same time.
They stay like this for quite some time until Akari, suddenly appearing in the doorway, coughs and glances at her wall clock pointedly. He gets up, dusts off his jeans and offers a hand to her, which, after a little hesitation, she takes. They apologise sheepishly to the birthday girl for being the last ones to leave as they exit, and he accompanies her all the way to her front door, though his apartment is located in the opposite direction from hers.
She holds his hand all the way home.
1sentence challenge table; theme set Epsilon
#11 - Blur
#12 - Wait
#13 - Change
#14 - Command
#15 - Hold
#11 - Blur
The swirls of neon lights and hurried pace of Tokyo’s lifestyle startled him when he entered the city for the second time, alone and barely nineteen, and for the first time since his father’s death, he felt unsettled.
#12 - Wait
“Oi, Yamada! What was that?"
He turned away to hide his sudden grin, focusing his attention instead on opening the can of Pocari Sweat in his hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But hey, the first set went kinda well, don’t you thi- ?”
Rando’s glare, 100% accusatory, cut him off mid-sentence. “I should never have agreed to include ‘Treble Clef’ in our program; you made me hold that note for eight full seconds! I’m not Mariah Carey, alright - you were supposed to come in by the third bar! What were you thinking?!”
“The fans loved your vibrato, though,” he responded teasingly, handing the rest of the drink to him. “Here.”
“Easy for you to say; after all, you’re not the vocalist of T.S.D.!” came the annoyed reply, along with a firm refusal of his proffered drink. “My. Lungs. Were. On. Fire! Were you trying to kill me, Yamada?! Never, ever, make me have to wait for your solo part again, deliberately or otherwise!”
#13 - Change
He stared at the mirror. Green was definitely more striking; highlighting the darkness of his outfit, but black would be the sensible choice, given the sit-down dinner and all…but wait! - didn’t the invitation state that it was going to be held at the beach terrace? So the event must be pretty informal, despite that…it wouldn’t hurt to add a little more colour, right?
Hmm. Black did look rather classy, though…
“Yamada! Make a decision already! We’ve got to go soon!”
Green. Black. Green. Black. Greenblackgreenblackgreenblack…
“Yamada!”
Oh, this combination looked good!
“Okay, okay! I’m ready!”
And so it was that Sayato Yamada ended up wearing mismatched green and black shoes to Akari’s nineteenth birthday party, much to the chagrin of the other three band members.
#14 - Command
The mail reveals itself bit by bit - bills, a shop catalogue, more bills, and the last, a slim, mildly damp letter with a familiar scrawl on the front. Heart beating a little faster, she places the rest of the post somewhere and slits the envelope open with the sharp end of the pin of her hairclip, unfolding the letter with slightly shaking fingers:
Mother,
All’s well here in Tokyo. Everything’s pretty expensive compared to what we have back home, but I’m managing, thanks to Mabui-san’s cousin at the guitar shop and this apartment. Don’t worry, I haven’t burnt the place down yet with my cooking attempts (if you can call following the instructions on the back of instant food packages cooking, that is). No fear, though! There’s this family next door, the Kirigawas, who’ve been supplying me with some proper nutrition other than what I can get from instant noodles and microwaved tinned curry. As of this week, I’ve been invited to dinner five out of six evenings already, and despite my best attempts to firmly refuse their offers (politely - though sometimes rather half-heartedly, especially when Kirigawa-san makes that fish of hers), I always wind up eating at their place.
…did I mention that Mr. Kirigawa’s a lawyer?
Another thing about the family next door - they have this pretty, talented son, Rando (I mean ‘pretty talented’, not pretty and talented - that smudge from my teacup that looks like a comma can’t get lost, apparently). But don’t worry, I’ll be saving that adjective for my dream girl and definitely not for some mad, slave-driver kid who pounds on my door sharp at six on Saturday mornings, demanding that we get started on rehearsal. Kid’s a little mental, I tell ‘ya. That aside, he’s quite a good vocalist. We’ve already started working on a couple of songs, and I think there’s something about our music…it just fits when we work together, y’know? As of now, we’re lacking a drummer and another instrument - I’m thinking bass, or maybe keyboard? Doesn’t matter though, we’ll figure it out. Watch out for us! If my instinct’s on target (and y’know, it always is *wink*), we’ll break through sooner or later!
I miss all of you, by the way. Give Yasuda, Yumiko, and Michiru my love and a strict, no-nonsense command from their onii-chan: hug your mother at least once a day, or else.
Craving desperately for a couple of your red bean buns,
Yamada
#15 - Hold
He’s stretched out in an L-shape, allowing one leg to rest against the base of the loveseat as he places both palms on the floor, braces the rest of his body’s weight with the other foot firmly on the ground and leans back to look up at her, brown eyes dancing with suppressed excitement and slight anxiety, but never wavering from her form.
She, however, is sitting noncommittally on crossed jean-clad legs on the right seat of the couch, nursing a cup of green tea. Even so, her body’s angled just the slightest degree southwest, and the teacup clasped between her hands barely gets lifted to her lips as she replies quietly to his questions and listens to his voice. Not really knowing where to look, she’s mildly unnerved by his gaze yet can’t help but be taken in by it, all at the same time.
They stay like this for quite some time until Akari, suddenly appearing in the doorway, coughs and glances at her wall clock pointedly. He gets up, dusts off his jeans and offers a hand to her, which, after a little hesitation, she takes. They apologise sheepishly to the birthday girl for being the last ones to leave as they exit, and he accompanies her all the way to her front door, though his apartment is located in the opposite direction from hers.
She holds his hand all the way home.