[07/16] Mixed Messages
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
[18.42, 25 April 2013] Feeling much better. Please enjoy this!
[02.27, 01 December 2013] I had fully planned on giving up on this chaptered story, but what do you know? It wrote itself out in the end. I hope you enjoy this. Thank you so much for being here. :)
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 1,555
Previously:
Episode Six: Christmas Eve
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Seven
Mixed Messages
The fourth week of December
His apartment wasn’t really as big or as grand as the mansions she believed celebrities had the right to live in. But she had long expected that. He had sketched it on television once, for an episode of Share House where Yuuka was the guest, and even then she had thought of it only as a place where he slept.
Mikado Miwa stood in the middle of his living room, a full wall of windows facing the rest of the house. The simple room was bathed in the sunlight peeking through sensible curtains that stretched to the floor. It seemed he had been watching television before she arrived. An NTV afternoon talk show had been muted, and a large stack of paper products were scattered across the coffee table. His furniture was brown, and the place was immaculate.
Miwa quietly congratulated his housekeeper for doing an excellent job.
“What do you think?” Sakurai Sho stood behind her, clad in a plain blue T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He had left his hair barely brushed, and somehow, to Miwa he didn’t seem to have the slightest intention of going out. “You’re probably wondering why it’s so clean - Riki-chan is a perfectionist.”
“Riki-chan?”
“She’s my housekeeper. She’s about 50 - really tiny, scary woman - and I think she has this long-standing battle with bacteria. She can’t seem to stand the sight of dirt.”
“She’s perfect for you then.”
“She is.”
They stared at each other - she waiting right next to his chocolate brown couch, he standing warily by the door. It was their first actual conversation since The Pickles Pickle and The Flower Shop Fiasco. He had not called her or summoned her for more appearances as the decoy bride, but she had attributed that to his crazy-ass schedule around New Year.
Still here he was. One in the afternoon on a Friday, and he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Miwa broke eye contact first, and went to sit on one of the solo chairs without being invited to. She vaguely heard him mutter something that sounded like orange juice, but kept her eyes trained on the coffee table anyway.
She could feel her cheeks burning.
Sakurai had called her earlier that day to ask what she had been planning to do that afternoon. As asking such tepid questions seemed to be a thing for him these days - he had descended to the level of texting every few hours about the most inane things like his manager’s missing game console - she had answered without thinking much about it. She said she had been planning to start on a new scrapbook for Winter 2013 - a lie, of course, as she knew practically nothing about arts and crafts.
The next thing she knew, he had invited her to his house, and she had said yes.
“Could you explain what you want me to do again?” Miwa asked distractedly as she held one of the stationery sets in her hands, Sakurai clearing the table for enough space to place a glass of orange juice on. “I couldn’t really understand what you were trying to say over the phone. Did you want me to help you write letters?”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d help me make New Year’s cards.” He took his spot on the far end of the couch, so they were facing each other, but with the piles on the coffee table between them. “I thought it would be nice if I could - personalize my New Year’s cards. I always send really boring ones, you see-”
“So how were they in the past? You just picked random postcards, and-”
“Sent them to people, yeah,” Sakurai nodded, his own glass of orange juice sweating in his hand. “I just placed my signature and a short message inside the cards, and then mailed them. No originality at all.”
Miwa’s gaze fell on the materials before her. There were tiny packets of buttons and customized frames like the ones she saw in specialty stores, and endless rolls of ribbons in different colors. There were also feathers in various lengths, and so much paper Miwa wondered how many forests the volume had cost. She bit her lower lip anxiously. “Couldn’t Setsu-san help you? I’m sure she’s good at this sort of thing.”
“She’s having her gown fitting today.” There was an odd glimmer in Sakurai’s eyes. “And you’re the only person I know who can deal with this sort of thing.”
He paused, and bit his lower lip as well. “Didn’t you say you liked scrapbooking?”
Miwa stared. From what much, what little she knew of him, he was the type who wouldn’t mind sending ordinary New Year’s cards, if the alternative meant he would have to expend time he often did not have. When he had called that morning, she had believed he was merely desperate and asking a favor from his last possible savior. Yet the Sakurai before her was as relaxed as possible, so at ease she would have doubted the occurrence of the holidays had snow not been piling outside.
Miwa sighed softly, and took another sheet of paper in her hands. “We should get to work then. I have a feeling this will take a long time.” She suddenly remembered it had been a lie - her supposed hobby of making scrapbooks. “Do you have a - well - a list of the people you want to send cards to?”
“Not yet,” he blinked at her, suddenly alert. She reminded herself he knew nothing about scrapbooks, too. It was a favorable circumstance completely to her advantage. “Do you need me to?”
“I just need a clear idea of what I’m making for whom. Whose card do you want to start with?”
“Then - my parents, I guess.” He placed his glass beside hers on the table. “They - what are they like, anyway? - they like the color blue. Our house, the house I grew up in, is blue. I think it would be good to use that thing over there-”
“Blue, all right.” She took the ribbon he had pointed out, and held it in both hands. There was another choice an arm’s throw away that was blue, too. She wondered why Sakurai had chosen this particular shade. Would it really be safe to make a card inspired by the walls of the Sakurai family home? “Blue. I understand. I see-”
“You know, you’re not doing this as a stand-in for Komada Setsu.” She looked up from her ribbon dilemma, and found him staring at her very seriously. “You’re doing this for Sakurai Sho, and you’re doing it for a friend.”
He scanned her face for a reaction. “You know that, don’t you?”
Miwa felt her cheeks flush. She tugged at the ribbon in her hand.
“I know.”
She gestured at him to pass her the scissors.
A/N
I’ll be honest. I started Lifetimes because I felt awful when it was rumored that Mori Izumi was Sakurai Sho’s fiancée. I thought it would be a good way for me to accept reality - please bear with the method, as I think it’s something all newbie fans must go through.
This story, basically, is self-serving. It serves me a cathartic purpose, and though I try to make it appealing to other people as well, I have great doubts that it will sell properly. This is not a sensible story. I’ll keep trying to make stories that I’ll want other people to read and enjoy, but frankly, this story is meant mainly for my enjoyment. Again, please forgive me. Should you wish to read until the end with me, I will be more than willing to share this story with you. Mainly though, it is for my personal healing. So far, it is serving well its purpose.
Thank you very much for reading! I do hope to see you in future chapters. [00.00, 27 April 2013]
Next
Episode Eight: Unpleasant Flavors
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
[18.42, 25 April 2013] Feeling much better. Please enjoy this!
[02.27, 01 December 2013] I had fully planned on giving up on this chaptered story, but what do you know? It wrote itself out in the end. I hope you enjoy this. Thank you so much for being here. :)
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 1,555
Previously:
Episode Six: Christmas Eve
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Seven
Mixed Messages
The fourth week of December
His apartment wasn’t really as big or as grand as the mansions she believed celebrities had the right to live in. But she had long expected that. He had sketched it on television once, for an episode of Share House where Yuuka was the guest, and even then she had thought of it only as a place where he slept.
Mikado Miwa stood in the middle of his living room, a full wall of windows facing the rest of the house. The simple room was bathed in the sunlight peeking through sensible curtains that stretched to the floor. It seemed he had been watching television before she arrived. An NTV afternoon talk show had been muted, and a large stack of paper products were scattered across the coffee table. His furniture was brown, and the place was immaculate.
Miwa quietly congratulated his housekeeper for doing an excellent job.
“What do you think?” Sakurai Sho stood behind her, clad in a plain blue T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He had left his hair barely brushed, and somehow, to Miwa he didn’t seem to have the slightest intention of going out. “You’re probably wondering why it’s so clean - Riki-chan is a perfectionist.”
“Riki-chan?”
“She’s my housekeeper. She’s about 50 - really tiny, scary woman - and I think she has this long-standing battle with bacteria. She can’t seem to stand the sight of dirt.”
“She’s perfect for you then.”
“She is.”
They stared at each other - she waiting right next to his chocolate brown couch, he standing warily by the door. It was their first actual conversation since The Pickles Pickle and The Flower Shop Fiasco. He had not called her or summoned her for more appearances as the decoy bride, but she had attributed that to his crazy-ass schedule around New Year.
Still here he was. One in the afternoon on a Friday, and he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Miwa broke eye contact first, and went to sit on one of the solo chairs without being invited to. She vaguely heard him mutter something that sounded like orange juice, but kept her eyes trained on the coffee table anyway.
She could feel her cheeks burning.
Sakurai had called her earlier that day to ask what she had been planning to do that afternoon. As asking such tepid questions seemed to be a thing for him these days - he had descended to the level of texting every few hours about the most inane things like his manager’s missing game console - she had answered without thinking much about it. She said she had been planning to start on a new scrapbook for Winter 2013 - a lie, of course, as she knew practically nothing about arts and crafts.
The next thing she knew, he had invited her to his house, and she had said yes.
“Could you explain what you want me to do again?” Miwa asked distractedly as she held one of the stationery sets in her hands, Sakurai clearing the table for enough space to place a glass of orange juice on. “I couldn’t really understand what you were trying to say over the phone. Did you want me to help you write letters?”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d help me make New Year’s cards.” He took his spot on the far end of the couch, so they were facing each other, but with the piles on the coffee table between them. “I thought it would be nice if I could - personalize my New Year’s cards. I always send really boring ones, you see-”
“So how were they in the past? You just picked random postcards, and-”
“Sent them to people, yeah,” Sakurai nodded, his own glass of orange juice sweating in his hand. “I just placed my signature and a short message inside the cards, and then mailed them. No originality at all.”
Miwa’s gaze fell on the materials before her. There were tiny packets of buttons and customized frames like the ones she saw in specialty stores, and endless rolls of ribbons in different colors. There were also feathers in various lengths, and so much paper Miwa wondered how many forests the volume had cost. She bit her lower lip anxiously. “Couldn’t Setsu-san help you? I’m sure she’s good at this sort of thing.”
“She’s having her gown fitting today.” There was an odd glimmer in Sakurai’s eyes. “And you’re the only person I know who can deal with this sort of thing.”
He paused, and bit his lower lip as well. “Didn’t you say you liked scrapbooking?”
Miwa stared. From what much, what little she knew of him, he was the type who wouldn’t mind sending ordinary New Year’s cards, if the alternative meant he would have to expend time he often did not have. When he had called that morning, she had believed he was merely desperate and asking a favor from his last possible savior. Yet the Sakurai before her was as relaxed as possible, so at ease she would have doubted the occurrence of the holidays had snow not been piling outside.
Miwa sighed softly, and took another sheet of paper in her hands. “We should get to work then. I have a feeling this will take a long time.” She suddenly remembered it had been a lie - her supposed hobby of making scrapbooks. “Do you have a - well - a list of the people you want to send cards to?”
“Not yet,” he blinked at her, suddenly alert. She reminded herself he knew nothing about scrapbooks, too. It was a favorable circumstance completely to her advantage. “Do you need me to?”
“I just need a clear idea of what I’m making for whom. Whose card do you want to start with?”
“Then - my parents, I guess.” He placed his glass beside hers on the table. “They - what are they like, anyway? - they like the color blue. Our house, the house I grew up in, is blue. I think it would be good to use that thing over there-”
“Blue, all right.” She took the ribbon he had pointed out, and held it in both hands. There was another choice an arm’s throw away that was blue, too. She wondered why Sakurai had chosen this particular shade. Would it really be safe to make a card inspired by the walls of the Sakurai family home? “Blue. I understand. I see-”
“You know, you’re not doing this as a stand-in for Komada Setsu.” She looked up from her ribbon dilemma, and found him staring at her very seriously. “You’re doing this for Sakurai Sho, and you’re doing it for a friend.”
He scanned her face for a reaction. “You know that, don’t you?”
Miwa felt her cheeks flush. She tugged at the ribbon in her hand.
“I know.”
She gestured at him to pass her the scissors.
A/N
I’ll be honest. I started Lifetimes because I felt awful when it was rumored that Mori Izumi was Sakurai Sho’s fiancée. I thought it would be a good way for me to accept reality - please bear with the method, as I think it’s something all newbie fans must go through.
This story, basically, is self-serving. It serves me a cathartic purpose, and though I try to make it appealing to other people as well, I have great doubts that it will sell properly. This is not a sensible story. I’ll keep trying to make stories that I’ll want other people to read and enjoy, but frankly, this story is meant mainly for my enjoyment. Again, please forgive me. Should you wish to read until the end with me, I will be more than willing to share this story with you. Mainly though, it is for my personal healing. So far, it is serving well its purpose.
Thank you very much for reading! I do hope to see you in future chapters. [00.00, 27 April 2013]
Next
Episode Eight: Unpleasant Flavors