[04/16] Lifetimes
Lifetimes
November 2012 -
Summary
Mikado Miwa had always been - clichés and all other stereotypes taken into consideration - just an ordinary girl. Pencil pusher-slash-coffee maker in the morning, legendary fanfiction writer and blogger at night. Her stories had been, for more than fifteen years now, about a certain man named Sakurai Sho - idol, rapper, newscaster, godsend. She had been content writing about him, and would have been happy to continue writing about him, had he not one day pulled a pseudo-Akanishi and decided to get himself engaged. It had been a week since that fateful evening the headlines had borne that earth-shattering news. So why was he now standing outside her door in the rain, requesting a place in her life?
A/N
[20.02, 26 December 2012] I calculated how much time I spend on a single chapter of Lifetimes. Judging by my pace so far, I should be able to finish this story if I pitch in about six hours of each day of my Christmas vacation on it. Hmmmmm. Please join me in my literary misery~
PS I really don’t know how Japanese weddings go. I’ll research as I go. Please bear with me~
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
Words 1,893
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Four
Weighed and Found Forever Wanting
The first week of December
She had been to a fair share of grand houses, but the Komada Residence undeniably took the cake.
Mikado Miwa tried not to stare as she and Sakurai Sho were ushered past the foyer into a small anteroom, where yet another ancient arched hallway led one into what she had heard was the smaller receiving room. With the sloping, stone ceiling encompassing an area large enough to house a middle-class family of three, Miwa felt boxed with a collection of tastefully chosen and showcased art pieces, obviously handed down through generations of the Komada family. She resisted the urge to shiver.
“Miwa-san, please make yourself comfortable,” Sakurai invited with a smile as he sat in one of the chocolate brown lounge chairs. “Setsu usually takes her time coming down the stairs. We’ll have to wait a bit.”
Still, she stood in the middle of the receiving room, clutching the Chanel purse that had been part of today’s “choosing the best wedding aisle flowers” disguise. It was hard to believe she lived in the same ward as the Komadas, what with the impressive collection of half-eaten commoner cup noodles in her single-door refrigerator, and the local roses that were slowly dying in her late mother’s flower garden owing to lack of funding for fertilizer. More than feeling privileged at having set foot inside an A-lister’s home, Miwa felt faintly nauseous. She sat slowly, obediently.
Sakurai bit his lip as he watched Miwa struggle not to fidget. “Thank you for coming with me today, Miwa-san. I hope I’m not keeping you from work?”
“Actually, I don’t have heavy responsibilities.” Miwa shook her head. “I’m just an ordinary office lady. I make coffee. I edit outgoing letters.” She paused to take a breath. It was suffocating talking to this man, even weeks after their arrangement. “If we used pencils in our department, it would probably be my job to sharpen them, too.”
Sakurai chuckled nervously, the forced mirth culminating in a hollow echo against the stone ceiling. Trying for another topic, he said, “But you work around the area, don’t you? Just around Minato Ward? You’re very lucky. It’s horrid getting around Tokyo when you live far from your workplace.”
“I would suppose that’s true,” Miwa agreed. “I’ve never really had to go outside Minato on a regular basis though, so I wouldn’t have much to compare with.”
“You’ve lived around here all your life?”
“Yes. I studied at my district’s local schools, and was lucky enough to find employment a short distance away from my home.”
“You’ve been working at your present company since graduation, then?”
“I’ve been privileged enough to have been allowed to stay so long,” Miwa recited out of habit, taking her sunglasses off and stuffing them into the Chanel purse. “I’m not sure I’ve done much for the company. I was always convinced it was just a day job, and that I was meant to do other things.”
She shrugged. “Now if I could only figure out what I’m supposed to be doing, that would be very helpful.”
He was looking at her with an expression far from pity, but not quite of a different branch of emotion. Just as he had started to speak, however, his eyes flew to a spot behind her, and his words died off. Instinctively, he and Miwa got to their feet.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Komada Setsu that evening was, as expected, radiant. Miwa had been told she was undergoing some newfangled exercise routine-slash-diet, and she supposed the bride-to-be’s almost indecent glow of happiness could be attributed to her medical team’s tireless efforts, but there was something about the woman that seemed to go beyond the bounds of multivitamins. Setsu smiled, and even Miwa forgot her loathing. “I was picking out designs for the bridesmaids’ corsages. The samples arrived this afternoon.”
“Why do we even have to have bridesmaids?” Sakurai grumbled as his fiancée stopped a foot away from him. Miwa noticed they neither hugged nor exchanged kisses. She was suddenly reminded of the Showa Era. “We’re Japanese. You walk down the aisle, I meet you at the altar, we exchange vows, and that’s it-”
“Takasugi Keiko insists on being one. You know how important her father’s favor is to our company.” Setsu suddenly smiled at Miwa, as though she had not been casually ignoring the latter all this time. “Mikado-san. Thank you so much for your hard work.”
“It was nothing.” Miwa managed a small smile. She could only hope her lack of enthusiasm could pass off as fatigue. “I’ll be returning these, then-”
She had packed the previous week’s disguise in a nondescript tote bag. Miwa had been given an appropriate wardrobe for her undercover mission, but the rather paranoid people at Johnny’s Rumor Assassinating Division - or whatever the division was supposed to be called - had insisted she borrow some of Komada Setsu’s clothing from time to time. The more Miwa thought about it, the more she understood how Johnny’s talents managed to have almost spotless reputations despite being regular men with perfectly healthy hormone levels.
“Oh, you don’t have to return these to me yet, Mikado-san,” Setsu’s expression didn’t change one bit despite her companions’ obvious lethargy. “In fact I was thinking you might need to take more coats. I saw a tabloid article on you and Arashi-san choosing the members’ tuxedos for the wedding. That faux fur coat looked much too heavy for you-”
“Setsu, can’t you choose Miwa-san’s clothes instead?” Sakurai interrupted, vaguely irritable. He scratched the back of his neck, a habit Miwa had noticed he tended to lapse into when he believed he was wasting his time. “We’ve had much to do today. We’re both tired and-”
“Oh, but I was thinking you might want to help me choose the corsages-”
“Why don’t you just email me the pictures? That’s how we’ve been making decisions for the wedding anyway.”
The couple stared at each other, each gauging the other’s expression. Sakurai was standing almost lazily, resting his weight solely on one leg as he stuffed his hands in his blazer pockets. Setsu was staring at her fiancé almost cautiously, her hands joined daintily right above her stomach. Miwa’s eyes flew between the two of them, as she did her best to merge with the scarlet wallpaper.
It was Sakurai who broke first. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He reached for Setsu’s elbow, rubbing the silk of her blouse gently as though pleading for forgiveness. “I’m just tired, Setsu.”
“I understand.” With the cold tone with which she had replied, Miwa found it even more difficult to believe the woman was actually several years younger than both her and Sakurai. “I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. We’re borrowing a chef from Eri-obasama’s new restaurant tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” Sakurai sounded drained. Remembering his manners, he added, “Miwa-san should stay, too.”
“Of course, she should,” Setsu agreed. Finding Miwa standing a considerable distance away, Setsu’s eyebrows suddenly twitched. It seemed she and Sakurai had a common point, after all. “Mikado-san, why are you standing next to the wall?”
“I’m sorry?” Reclaiming her bearings, Miwa convulsively brushed imaginary lint from her cream slacks. “Yes. I mean, no. I apologize. I’m afraid I can’t join you for dinner-”
“We understand, Mikado-san. You’re tired.” She had the impression Sakurai was trying to get rid of her, though for what reason she couldn’t figure out. “Please don’t feel obligated to stay.”
“I’ll be taking my leave, then.” Miwa bowed timidly, barely looking at either of the sparkly people before her. The sooner she left the presence of these inhuman outliers, the sooner her self-esteem would recharge. “I’ll just leave these clothes here, then.”
“Yes, of course, Mikado-san. Please don’t worry about them.” Setsu smiled briefly, her hands still joined before her. “I’ll have a new batch delivered to your home by tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be at work though-”
“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?” Setsu laughed softly, a tinkling laugh that seemed to lift the corners of Sakurai’s lips. “I’ll find a way for you to receive it at your convenience. I’m terribly sorry for being inconsiderate-”
“No, please don’t apologize.” Slightly hunching as she made to exit the way she had come from, Miwa kept an awkward grin plastered to her face. It was a good thing she did not work for the Human Resources division. She was far too awkward. “I’ll be on my way, then-”
“Miwa-san!” Sakurai abruptly exclaimed, literally jumping from his exhausted torpor as he took several quick steps forward. “I’m so sorry. I’m being so careless. Would you mind leaving by one of the side wings? Only someone might have followed us here, and you might be found out.”
“Paparazzi?” Miwa chuckled nervously. “No, of course, I don’t mind. I didn’t think of them - so silly of me.”
During the short exchange Setsu somehow conjured a maid in uniform to accompany Miwa out of the house. “Yamada-san will lead the way, Mikado-san. Thank you once again for your hard work.”
“It was nothing,” Miwa said for what felt like the millionth time. Avoiding Sakurai’s gaze as she slowly walked across the room towards yet another hallway, she bit her tongue and kept her eyes low.
“Thank you for your hard work, Miwa-san,” Sakurai said in almost a whisper.
Merely bowing as she stepped past him, Miwa almost ran after the maid, Yamada.
As she left, she could hear the couple-to-be arguing.
A/N
I know I said I patterned Komada Setsu after Crown Princess Masako, but I realized I tend to write her with entirely another person in mind. Her name is Kujoin Arisa, and she is yet another character in one of my - yes, mushy, mushy - stories, Joyride. Yey for shameless promotion! Thank you so much for reading! ::D Ahlabshu~ [23.01, 26 December 2012]
November 2012 -
Summary
Mikado Miwa had always been - clichés and all other stereotypes taken into consideration - just an ordinary girl. Pencil pusher-slash-coffee maker in the morning, legendary fanfiction writer and blogger at night. Her stories had been, for more than fifteen years now, about a certain man named Sakurai Sho - idol, rapper, newscaster, godsend. She had been content writing about him, and would have been happy to continue writing about him, had he not one day pulled a pseudo-Akanishi and decided to get himself engaged. It had been a week since that fateful evening the headlines had borne that earth-shattering news. So why was he now standing outside her door in the rain, requesting a place in her life?
A/N
[20.02, 26 December 2012] I calculated how much time I spend on a single chapter of Lifetimes. Judging by my pace so far, I should be able to finish this story if I pitch in about six hours of each day of my Christmas vacation on it. Hmmmmm. Please join me in my literary misery~
PS I really don’t know how Japanese weddings go. I’ll research as I go. Please bear with me~
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
Words 1,893
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Four
Weighed and Found Forever Wanting
The first week of December
She had been to a fair share of grand houses, but the Komada Residence undeniably took the cake.
Mikado Miwa tried not to stare as she and Sakurai Sho were ushered past the foyer into a small anteroom, where yet another ancient arched hallway led one into what she had heard was the smaller receiving room. With the sloping, stone ceiling encompassing an area large enough to house a middle-class family of three, Miwa felt boxed with a collection of tastefully chosen and showcased art pieces, obviously handed down through generations of the Komada family. She resisted the urge to shiver.
“Miwa-san, please make yourself comfortable,” Sakurai invited with a smile as he sat in one of the chocolate brown lounge chairs. “Setsu usually takes her time coming down the stairs. We’ll have to wait a bit.”
Still, she stood in the middle of the receiving room, clutching the Chanel purse that had been part of today’s “choosing the best wedding aisle flowers” disguise. It was hard to believe she lived in the same ward as the Komadas, what with the impressive collection of half-eaten commoner cup noodles in her single-door refrigerator, and the local roses that were slowly dying in her late mother’s flower garden owing to lack of funding for fertilizer. More than feeling privileged at having set foot inside an A-lister’s home, Miwa felt faintly nauseous. She sat slowly, obediently.
Sakurai bit his lip as he watched Miwa struggle not to fidget. “Thank you for coming with me today, Miwa-san. I hope I’m not keeping you from work?”
“Actually, I don’t have heavy responsibilities.” Miwa shook her head. “I’m just an ordinary office lady. I make coffee. I edit outgoing letters.” She paused to take a breath. It was suffocating talking to this man, even weeks after their arrangement. “If we used pencils in our department, it would probably be my job to sharpen them, too.”
Sakurai chuckled nervously, the forced mirth culminating in a hollow echo against the stone ceiling. Trying for another topic, he said, “But you work around the area, don’t you? Just around Minato Ward? You’re very lucky. It’s horrid getting around Tokyo when you live far from your workplace.”
“I would suppose that’s true,” Miwa agreed. “I’ve never really had to go outside Minato on a regular basis though, so I wouldn’t have much to compare with.”
“You’ve lived around here all your life?”
“Yes. I studied at my district’s local schools, and was lucky enough to find employment a short distance away from my home.”
“You’ve been working at your present company since graduation, then?”
“I’ve been privileged enough to have been allowed to stay so long,” Miwa recited out of habit, taking her sunglasses off and stuffing them into the Chanel purse. “I’m not sure I’ve done much for the company. I was always convinced it was just a day job, and that I was meant to do other things.”
She shrugged. “Now if I could only figure out what I’m supposed to be doing, that would be very helpful.”
He was looking at her with an expression far from pity, but not quite of a different branch of emotion. Just as he had started to speak, however, his eyes flew to a spot behind her, and his words died off. Instinctively, he and Miwa got to their feet.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Komada Setsu that evening was, as expected, radiant. Miwa had been told she was undergoing some newfangled exercise routine-slash-diet, and she supposed the bride-to-be’s almost indecent glow of happiness could be attributed to her medical team’s tireless efforts, but there was something about the woman that seemed to go beyond the bounds of multivitamins. Setsu smiled, and even Miwa forgot her loathing. “I was picking out designs for the bridesmaids’ corsages. The samples arrived this afternoon.”
“Why do we even have to have bridesmaids?” Sakurai grumbled as his fiancée stopped a foot away from him. Miwa noticed they neither hugged nor exchanged kisses. She was suddenly reminded of the Showa Era. “We’re Japanese. You walk down the aisle, I meet you at the altar, we exchange vows, and that’s it-”
“Takasugi Keiko insists on being one. You know how important her father’s favor is to our company.” Setsu suddenly smiled at Miwa, as though she had not been casually ignoring the latter all this time. “Mikado-san. Thank you so much for your hard work.”
“It was nothing.” Miwa managed a small smile. She could only hope her lack of enthusiasm could pass off as fatigue. “I’ll be returning these, then-”
She had packed the previous week’s disguise in a nondescript tote bag. Miwa had been given an appropriate wardrobe for her undercover mission, but the rather paranoid people at Johnny’s Rumor Assassinating Division - or whatever the division was supposed to be called - had insisted she borrow some of Komada Setsu’s clothing from time to time. The more Miwa thought about it, the more she understood how Johnny’s talents managed to have almost spotless reputations despite being regular men with perfectly healthy hormone levels.
“Oh, you don’t have to return these to me yet, Mikado-san,” Setsu’s expression didn’t change one bit despite her companions’ obvious lethargy. “In fact I was thinking you might need to take more coats. I saw a tabloid article on you and Arashi-san choosing the members’ tuxedos for the wedding. That faux fur coat looked much too heavy for you-”
“Setsu, can’t you choose Miwa-san’s clothes instead?” Sakurai interrupted, vaguely irritable. He scratched the back of his neck, a habit Miwa had noticed he tended to lapse into when he believed he was wasting his time. “We’ve had much to do today. We’re both tired and-”
“Oh, but I was thinking you might want to help me choose the corsages-”
“Why don’t you just email me the pictures? That’s how we’ve been making decisions for the wedding anyway.”
The couple stared at each other, each gauging the other’s expression. Sakurai was standing almost lazily, resting his weight solely on one leg as he stuffed his hands in his blazer pockets. Setsu was staring at her fiancé almost cautiously, her hands joined daintily right above her stomach. Miwa’s eyes flew between the two of them, as she did her best to merge with the scarlet wallpaper.
It was Sakurai who broke first. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He reached for Setsu’s elbow, rubbing the silk of her blouse gently as though pleading for forgiveness. “I’m just tired, Setsu.”
“I understand.” With the cold tone with which she had replied, Miwa found it even more difficult to believe the woman was actually several years younger than both her and Sakurai. “I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. We’re borrowing a chef from Eri-obasama’s new restaurant tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” Sakurai sounded drained. Remembering his manners, he added, “Miwa-san should stay, too.”
“Of course, she should,” Setsu agreed. Finding Miwa standing a considerable distance away, Setsu’s eyebrows suddenly twitched. It seemed she and Sakurai had a common point, after all. “Mikado-san, why are you standing next to the wall?”
“I’m sorry?” Reclaiming her bearings, Miwa convulsively brushed imaginary lint from her cream slacks. “Yes. I mean, no. I apologize. I’m afraid I can’t join you for dinner-”
“We understand, Mikado-san. You’re tired.” She had the impression Sakurai was trying to get rid of her, though for what reason she couldn’t figure out. “Please don’t feel obligated to stay.”
“I’ll be taking my leave, then.” Miwa bowed timidly, barely looking at either of the sparkly people before her. The sooner she left the presence of these inhuman outliers, the sooner her self-esteem would recharge. “I’ll just leave these clothes here, then.”
“Yes, of course, Mikado-san. Please don’t worry about them.” Setsu smiled briefly, her hands still joined before her. “I’ll have a new batch delivered to your home by tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be at work though-”
“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?” Setsu laughed softly, a tinkling laugh that seemed to lift the corners of Sakurai’s lips. “I’ll find a way for you to receive it at your convenience. I’m terribly sorry for being inconsiderate-”
“No, please don’t apologize.” Slightly hunching as she made to exit the way she had come from, Miwa kept an awkward grin plastered to her face. It was a good thing she did not work for the Human Resources division. She was far too awkward. “I’ll be on my way, then-”
“Miwa-san!” Sakurai abruptly exclaimed, literally jumping from his exhausted torpor as he took several quick steps forward. “I’m so sorry. I’m being so careless. Would you mind leaving by one of the side wings? Only someone might have followed us here, and you might be found out.”
“Paparazzi?” Miwa chuckled nervously. “No, of course, I don’t mind. I didn’t think of them - so silly of me.”
During the short exchange Setsu somehow conjured a maid in uniform to accompany Miwa out of the house. “Yamada-san will lead the way, Mikado-san. Thank you once again for your hard work.”
“It was nothing,” Miwa said for what felt like the millionth time. Avoiding Sakurai’s gaze as she slowly walked across the room towards yet another hallway, she bit her tongue and kept her eyes low.
“Thank you for your hard work, Miwa-san,” Sakurai said in almost a whisper.
Merely bowing as she stepped past him, Miwa almost ran after the maid, Yamada.
As she left, she could hear the couple-to-be arguing.
A/N
I know I said I patterned Komada Setsu after Crown Princess Masako, but I realized I tend to write her with entirely another person in mind. Her name is Kujoin Arisa, and she is yet another character in one of my - yes, mushy, mushy - stories, Joyride. Yey for shameless promotion! Thank you so much for reading! ::D Ahlabshu~ [23.01, 26 December 2012]