Gravitation » Every Song I Sing
Title Every Song I Sing
Theme October 11: No Place Like Home at 31_days
Character/Pairing Shuichi Shindou/Eiri Yuki
Rating G or Kids
Warning Perhaps mild spoilers for end of anime...ish. I can't remember the chapter numbers right now. ^^;
Wordcount 532
Note Not terribly happy with the way this one turned out. Ironically, I have been into Gravitation for some...six or seven years, and this is the first piece of fiction I have ever written to completion for it. Still, I may go back some time and spruce this up. We'll see. :3 At the very least, have the song that inspired me.
The plane landed, jostling the passengers in their seats and making Shuichi grab his armrest just a little tighter, though his knuckles had already paled. Hiro moved his own hand to rest over Shuichi's, and Shuichi turned to smile at him, meekly. Hiro and Suguru both knew how much he hated flying - well, less the flying and more the ever-unpredictable moment of the landing. At least they were coming home.
The seatbelt lights dimmed, and passengers began to rustle through their carry-on luggage, standing up in fives and tens to race each other into the aisle. Shuichi, trapped by the window by his bandmates, was nervous-excited as he waited, his imaptience bubbling away in his stomach like indigestion. It was all he could focus on, and it took a less-than-gentle hand from Hiro wrapped around his wrist to drag him off the plane.
Suguru waited for them just inside the terminal, holding Shuichi's bag. He promptly handed it to his bandmate before allowing him to continue along with Hiro. Shuichi strapped it on dutifully, breathing deeply and letting the air out slowly, trying to trap the smell and feel in his lungs for just a little bit. Trying to get himself back after such a long time touring the United States.
He'd missed Japan. He'd missed that scent it carried - though that may have been due more than a little to memories than to any actual smells in the air. He'd missed the familiarity of these surroundings - his English was still so sub-par; twice in New York he'd gotten lost, despite having been there with Yuki for so long before. He'd missed this food - even his iron-clad stomach could only take so much strange cuisine. He'd missed these people, but, truly, only ever one in particular.
"Yuki!" Dropping his bag and any sense of formality, Shuichi rushed his lover only to be fought back by a single hand to his forehead to keep him at bay. The other hand was clearly already itching for a cigarette. Still, Shuichi scrambled and clawed and fought, as he always had with him, until he finally got his way and his arms bolted around Yuki's waist.
"Baka," was all Yuki replied, but he threaded fingers into Shuichi's hair anyway. Half-laughing, half-crying, Shuichi pulled his face away from Yuki's chest just long enough to offer him a watery grin of appreciation and relief.
This was what he'd missed. Not just the person, but the being. A voice through a telephone receiver could never be the same as the real thing, just as an e-mail could never be the same as a painstakingly handwritten letter. This was the sight he'd missed: touseled and confidant. This was the smell he'd missed: stale cigarettes and too many nights without enough sleep, making deadlines and worrying over things he'd never admit to. And despite all protests and attempts at physical restraint, Shuichi managed to get a little taste of what he'd missed too, in the middle of the airport, and much to the chagrin of his manager, his keyboardist, and his lover, who made no qualms about immediately bonking him on the head with a fist, then stalking away in disgust.
Theme October 11: No Place Like Home at 31_days
Character/Pairing Shuichi Shindou/Eiri Yuki
Rating G or Kids
Warning Perhaps mild spoilers for end of anime...ish. I can't remember the chapter numbers right now. ^^;
Wordcount 532
Note Not terribly happy with the way this one turned out. Ironically, I have been into Gravitation for some...six or seven years, and this is the first piece of fiction I have ever written to completion for it. Still, I may go back some time and spruce this up. We'll see. :3 At the very least, have the song that inspired me.
The plane landed, jostling the passengers in their seats and making Shuichi grab his armrest just a little tighter, though his knuckles had already paled. Hiro moved his own hand to rest over Shuichi's, and Shuichi turned to smile at him, meekly. Hiro and Suguru both knew how much he hated flying - well, less the flying and more the ever-unpredictable moment of the landing. At least they were coming home.
The seatbelt lights dimmed, and passengers began to rustle through their carry-on luggage, standing up in fives and tens to race each other into the aisle. Shuichi, trapped by the window by his bandmates, was nervous-excited as he waited, his imaptience bubbling away in his stomach like indigestion. It was all he could focus on, and it took a less-than-gentle hand from Hiro wrapped around his wrist to drag him off the plane.
Suguru waited for them just inside the terminal, holding Shuichi's bag. He promptly handed it to his bandmate before allowing him to continue along with Hiro. Shuichi strapped it on dutifully, breathing deeply and letting the air out slowly, trying to trap the smell and feel in his lungs for just a little bit. Trying to get himself back after such a long time touring the United States.
He'd missed Japan. He'd missed that scent it carried - though that may have been due more than a little to memories than to any actual smells in the air. He'd missed the familiarity of these surroundings - his English was still so sub-par; twice in New York he'd gotten lost, despite having been there with Yuki for so long before. He'd missed this food - even his iron-clad stomach could only take so much strange cuisine. He'd missed these people, but, truly, only ever one in particular.
"Yuki!" Dropping his bag and any sense of formality, Shuichi rushed his lover only to be fought back by a single hand to his forehead to keep him at bay. The other hand was clearly already itching for a cigarette. Still, Shuichi scrambled and clawed and fought, as he always had with him, until he finally got his way and his arms bolted around Yuki's waist.
"Baka," was all Yuki replied, but he threaded fingers into Shuichi's hair anyway. Half-laughing, half-crying, Shuichi pulled his face away from Yuki's chest just long enough to offer him a watery grin of appreciation and relief.
This was what he'd missed. Not just the person, but the being. A voice through a telephone receiver could never be the same as the real thing, just as an e-mail could never be the same as a painstakingly handwritten letter. This was the sight he'd missed: touseled and confidant. This was the smell he'd missed: stale cigarettes and too many nights without enough sleep, making deadlines and worrying over things he'd never admit to. And despite all protests and attempts at physical restraint, Shuichi managed to get a little taste of what he'd missed too, in the middle of the airport, and much to the chagrin of his manager, his keyboardist, and his lover, who made no qualms about immediately bonking him on the head with a fist, then stalking away in disgust.