"響け Love Love Love"
"響け Love Love Love"
by withcoffee
PG; Shibutani Subaru, Subaru/Yasu; 284 + 1190 words
Because I fell in love with 'My Last Train' from the Puzzle album. The first part is supposed to be able to stand alone, as a vignette, while everything with Yasu is kind of like an extra (that makes up an entire story haha :x)...
In the middle of the night, Subaru likes to steal down to the recording studio and listen to music. He likes to turn off all the lights and just sit in the dark with the speakers blasting, so that he feels wrapped up in the songs.
Within the soundproofed walls of the studio, Subaru lies on the ground and imagines a musical staff twirling and twisting around his body. Sometimes, the picture in his mind is so vivid he almost puts out a hand to catch one of the notes, sure that if he’s just quick enough, he can stash it away in his pocket to keep.
It’s not something he would announce to the world voluntarily - well, maybe it is, and maybe he would - but if questioned, Subaru wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit that he thinks music has a sort of life force. “The power music has makes some people play air guitar and bring tears to the eyes of others,” he tells an interviewer in his mind. “For me? For me, music is… like love.”
Subaru wonders if a person will ever make him feel the way music does.
The crescendo in this song makes his spine tingle. The arpeggios in that song bring tears to his eyes. A great vocalist’s vibrato makes him tipsy with delight. The rhythm of each tune tugs on his pulse until his heart beats in equal time.
In the pause between one song and the next, he recalls the sentimental clichés he’s seen on television dramas and wonders what it would be like to harbor such feelings towards a person.
Then the next track starts up, and he falls in love all over again.
~
A clicking sound interrupts the song Subaru is listening to, and he opens his eyes, alarmed. Somebody’s shadow is framed in the frosted glass of the door and the handle is being turned from the outside.
He makes a sound, deep in his throat, of annoyance. The only reason he comes to the studio at this ungodly hour is to get away from people, to have his music to himself for once, and damned if he’s going to allow himself to be disturbed. As well, he knows he shouldn’t be here, unauthorized, and at this hour; the anxiety bubbling in his gut at getting caught makes his irritation even sharper.
Choice words are ready at the tip of his tongue when the door swings inward and a friendly face shows itself.
“Oh! Shibuyan, it’s you!”
And Shota’s whole face lights up with such a delighted smile that Subaru can only let his irritation dissipate into thin air. Then he smiles warmly back and pats the empty spot on the sofa next to him invitingly.
Shota fusses a bit with his bag and coat and guitar as he settles down, and looks inclined for conversation, but in the end all he says is “This is a good song, isn’t it.”
Subaru nods once in agreement, and asks, “So how come you’re here so late?”
“I was going to work on our song,” Shota replies.
The question Subaru is expecting to follow doesn’t come, which takes him by surprise so much he accidentally says aloud, “You’re not going to ask me to work on it with you?”
“Nope, I’m not even going to work on it.” For emphasis, Shota gives his guitar case a shove with his foot and sends it scooting across the floor. “Would you really want to? Right now?”
And, because it’s three in the morning, and it’s Shota, and he’s Subaru, he honestly replies, “No.”
They don’t talk any more after that.
Subaru leans back and closes his eyes, trying to fold himself back into the music. He expects to have a hard time ignoring the presence of somebody else in the room - even if it is only Shota, who has always been good company - but it’s surprisingly easy to release his inhibitions again. Shota doesn’t chatter, doesn’t move, only sits and breathes; Subaru actually finds it comforting to feel the younger boy breathe next to him.
An hour later, they’re both leaving the building together, huffing mistily into the still-chilly early spring nighttime.
“See you tomorrow,” Shota chirps as they cross the parking lot.
“Yeah, all right,” Subaru agrees.
He doesn’t remember to ask Shota not to mention their meeting tonight until Shota’s headlights are swinging out of the lot and it’s too late.
Shota doesn’t say a thing, however, at practice the next day. He doesn’t even give Subaru any of the cute, knowing smiles that Subaru looks for. He doesn’t show up at night at the studio again, either, though Subaru starts going more than ever - almost every night.
A week passes, a month, and then their album comes out and that means promotions promotions promotions followed by tour tour tour.
Subaru is too tired for any middle-of-the-night forays to the studio. Instead, he tries to lose himself in the music in their concerts, but between the other members, and their back dancers, and the fans, and the stage crew, it’s too difficult to shut the door on the rest of the world. So he forgets for a while, focuses on putting his best foot forward for his job.
Then a teen magazine springs the question on him: What does love mean to you? The question comes at him fast, tucked in between easier ones about things like his favorite foods, and Subaru is too surprised to give the answer he wants to say. All he can remember of the moment, afterwards, is meeting Shota’s smiling eyes with his own as he answered.
He checks the magazine when it comes out, but whatever he’d muttered was evidently so unintelligible it didn’t even get printed.
After the last concert of the tour is over, everyone goes to an izakaya to celebrate. They stumble around the streets, giddy and drunk, and nobody wants to go home so they crash Ryo’s apartment, ignoring his protests in their capacity as his big brothers.
At four, everyone knocks out in a huge pile of arms and legs and somebody’s long hair and somebody else’s smelly feet, except Subaru who still enjoying his buzz.
“Are you awake?” A voice whispers near his ear, and a small but warm hand reaches over to sloppily pat him on the cheek.
“Yassan?” Subaru whispers back. “Aren’t you asleep yet?”
Instead of answering the question, Shota giggles, “Isn’t this nice?” He wriggles contentedly - and drunkenly - causing somebody’s head to slip off his thigh where it was pillowed and fall to the ground with a muted thud. “I love eeeverybody~” he adds.
Subaru laughs a laugh that’s many times softer and gentler than his usual cackle. “Is that right?”
“Mmm.”
After a comfortable pause, Shota speaks up again. “Shibuyan, have you ever been in love?”
“Do you know how old I am? Do you know anybody who’s made it to this age without - ”
“With a person, I mean,” Shota amends.
Subaru’s breath catches in his throat a little, and he thinks the question over properly before answering. Only he takes so long to think about it that Shota falls asleep before he sort of thinks he might have figured out a possible answer.
He says it aloud anyway, even if nobody’s listening, and likes the way Shota’s deep breathing gives rhythm to his words. “Perhaps… maybe… right now.”
There’s a beautiful, sweeping symphony spilling from the speakers in the recording studio. It’s the middle of the night again, and Subaru is standing on the computer desk with the lights on this time, experiencing the music from a different vantage point.
From this high up, it feels like he’s looking at everything for the first time. He examines every inch of the room carefully: the various angles of the walls, none of them parallel to each other for acoustic reasons; the hundreds of buttons and knobs on the soundboard looking even more mechanical and soulless from father away; three guitars and Ohkura’s practice drum set in the corner; black music stands scattered throughout the room. And someone sitting against the door outside.
He leaps to the ground with the grace of a cat and opens the door slowly (in consideration of the person’s balance), but Shota is so startled he tips over anyway.
“I thought it was you,” Subaru says, looking down in amusement.
“Oh! Um!” The younger man scrambles to his feet. “Sorry for interrupting. I thought you wouldn’t want to be disturbed like that other time - so - well - I came to uh - you were already here when - I mean…”
Subaru offers his best smile and helps Shota brush off his clothes. “Come in next time, I don’t mind if it’s you. We’ll listen together.”
A/N: In the title, hibike means 1: to resound; to be heard far away; 2: to reverberate; to shake; to vibrate; 3: to come (home); to remain (with someone); 4: to have an affect; to make an impression. (The title is derived from one of Subaru's lines in 'My Last Train'.)
by withcoffee
PG; Shibutani Subaru, Subaru/Yasu; 284 + 1190 words
Because I fell in love with 'My Last Train' from the Puzzle album. The first part is supposed to be able to stand alone, as a vignette, while everything with Yasu is kind of like an extra (that makes up an entire story haha :x)...
In the middle of the night, Subaru likes to steal down to the recording studio and listen to music. He likes to turn off all the lights and just sit in the dark with the speakers blasting, so that he feels wrapped up in the songs.
Within the soundproofed walls of the studio, Subaru lies on the ground and imagines a musical staff twirling and twisting around his body. Sometimes, the picture in his mind is so vivid he almost puts out a hand to catch one of the notes, sure that if he’s just quick enough, he can stash it away in his pocket to keep.
It’s not something he would announce to the world voluntarily - well, maybe it is, and maybe he would - but if questioned, Subaru wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit that he thinks music has a sort of life force. “The power music has makes some people play air guitar and bring tears to the eyes of others,” he tells an interviewer in his mind. “For me? For me, music is… like love.”
Subaru wonders if a person will ever make him feel the way music does.
The crescendo in this song makes his spine tingle. The arpeggios in that song bring tears to his eyes. A great vocalist’s vibrato makes him tipsy with delight. The rhythm of each tune tugs on his pulse until his heart beats in equal time.
In the pause between one song and the next, he recalls the sentimental clichés he’s seen on television dramas and wonders what it would be like to harbor such feelings towards a person.
Then the next track starts up, and he falls in love all over again.
~
A clicking sound interrupts the song Subaru is listening to, and he opens his eyes, alarmed. Somebody’s shadow is framed in the frosted glass of the door and the handle is being turned from the outside.
He makes a sound, deep in his throat, of annoyance. The only reason he comes to the studio at this ungodly hour is to get away from people, to have his music to himself for once, and damned if he’s going to allow himself to be disturbed. As well, he knows he shouldn’t be here, unauthorized, and at this hour; the anxiety bubbling in his gut at getting caught makes his irritation even sharper.
Choice words are ready at the tip of his tongue when the door swings inward and a friendly face shows itself.
“Oh! Shibuyan, it’s you!”
And Shota’s whole face lights up with such a delighted smile that Subaru can only let his irritation dissipate into thin air. Then he smiles warmly back and pats the empty spot on the sofa next to him invitingly.
Shota fusses a bit with his bag and coat and guitar as he settles down, and looks inclined for conversation, but in the end all he says is “This is a good song, isn’t it.”
Subaru nods once in agreement, and asks, “So how come you’re here so late?”
“I was going to work on our song,” Shota replies.
The question Subaru is expecting to follow doesn’t come, which takes him by surprise so much he accidentally says aloud, “You’re not going to ask me to work on it with you?”
“Nope, I’m not even going to work on it.” For emphasis, Shota gives his guitar case a shove with his foot and sends it scooting across the floor. “Would you really want to? Right now?”
And, because it’s three in the morning, and it’s Shota, and he’s Subaru, he honestly replies, “No.”
They don’t talk any more after that.
Subaru leans back and closes his eyes, trying to fold himself back into the music. He expects to have a hard time ignoring the presence of somebody else in the room - even if it is only Shota, who has always been good company - but it’s surprisingly easy to release his inhibitions again. Shota doesn’t chatter, doesn’t move, only sits and breathes; Subaru actually finds it comforting to feel the younger boy breathe next to him.
An hour later, they’re both leaving the building together, huffing mistily into the still-chilly early spring nighttime.
“See you tomorrow,” Shota chirps as they cross the parking lot.
“Yeah, all right,” Subaru agrees.
He doesn’t remember to ask Shota not to mention their meeting tonight until Shota’s headlights are swinging out of the lot and it’s too late.
Shota doesn’t say a thing, however, at practice the next day. He doesn’t even give Subaru any of the cute, knowing smiles that Subaru looks for. He doesn’t show up at night at the studio again, either, though Subaru starts going more than ever - almost every night.
A week passes, a month, and then their album comes out and that means promotions promotions promotions followed by tour tour tour.
Subaru is too tired for any middle-of-the-night forays to the studio. Instead, he tries to lose himself in the music in their concerts, but between the other members, and their back dancers, and the fans, and the stage crew, it’s too difficult to shut the door on the rest of the world. So he forgets for a while, focuses on putting his best foot forward for his job.
Then a teen magazine springs the question on him: What does love mean to you? The question comes at him fast, tucked in between easier ones about things like his favorite foods, and Subaru is too surprised to give the answer he wants to say. All he can remember of the moment, afterwards, is meeting Shota’s smiling eyes with his own as he answered.
He checks the magazine when it comes out, but whatever he’d muttered was evidently so unintelligible it didn’t even get printed.
After the last concert of the tour is over, everyone goes to an izakaya to celebrate. They stumble around the streets, giddy and drunk, and nobody wants to go home so they crash Ryo’s apartment, ignoring his protests in their capacity as his big brothers.
At four, everyone knocks out in a huge pile of arms and legs and somebody’s long hair and somebody else’s smelly feet, except Subaru who still enjoying his buzz.
“Are you awake?” A voice whispers near his ear, and a small but warm hand reaches over to sloppily pat him on the cheek.
“Yassan?” Subaru whispers back. “Aren’t you asleep yet?”
Instead of answering the question, Shota giggles, “Isn’t this nice?” He wriggles contentedly - and drunkenly - causing somebody’s head to slip off his thigh where it was pillowed and fall to the ground with a muted thud. “I love eeeverybody~” he adds.
Subaru laughs a laugh that’s many times softer and gentler than his usual cackle. “Is that right?”
“Mmm.”
After a comfortable pause, Shota speaks up again. “Shibuyan, have you ever been in love?”
“Do you know how old I am? Do you know anybody who’s made it to this age without - ”
“With a person, I mean,” Shota amends.
Subaru’s breath catches in his throat a little, and he thinks the question over properly before answering. Only he takes so long to think about it that Shota falls asleep before he sort of thinks he might have figured out a possible answer.
He says it aloud anyway, even if nobody’s listening, and likes the way Shota’s deep breathing gives rhythm to his words. “Perhaps… maybe… right now.”
There’s a beautiful, sweeping symphony spilling from the speakers in the recording studio. It’s the middle of the night again, and Subaru is standing on the computer desk with the lights on this time, experiencing the music from a different vantage point.
From this high up, it feels like he’s looking at everything for the first time. He examines every inch of the room carefully: the various angles of the walls, none of them parallel to each other for acoustic reasons; the hundreds of buttons and knobs on the soundboard looking even more mechanical and soulless from father away; three guitars and Ohkura’s practice drum set in the corner; black music stands scattered throughout the room. And someone sitting against the door outside.
He leaps to the ground with the grace of a cat and opens the door slowly (in consideration of the person’s balance), but Shota is so startled he tips over anyway.
“I thought it was you,” Subaru says, looking down in amusement.
“Oh! Um!” The younger man scrambles to his feet. “Sorry for interrupting. I thought you wouldn’t want to be disturbed like that other time - so - well - I came to uh - you were already here when - I mean…”
Subaru offers his best smile and helps Shota brush off his clothes. “Come in next time, I don’t mind if it’s you. We’ll listen together.”
A/N: In the title, hibike means 1: to resound; to be heard far away; 2: to reverberate; to shake; to vibrate; 3: to come (home); to remain (with someone); 4: to have an affect; to make an impression. (The title is derived from one of Subaru's lines in 'My Last Train'.)