various drabbles - JE - G/PGish
Author: anamuan
A/N: more results of the drabble meme. After this, there's only one more to write, but 4 more potential 'fic,' so. Dou darou. I guess if anyone wants a drabble and is willing to wait until I feel like doing it, they can head on over and leave me a prompt.
I think I caught all the typos, but you never know. con-crit? let me know~
If only I had a _time-machine_ | never good enough, never enough | the truth behind 'Gomen ne, Juliet'
Prompt: If only I had a _time-machine_; sillyandmorbid
Pairing: TomaPi
Word Count: 388
Rating: G? Idk, 'G' makes me think of happy and bunnies.
They get coffee in the little place down on the corner. It's a Tully's, but still manages to pull off 'homey' despite the franchise. And their cookies all come from a local bakery and are kind of like heaven on earth. It is unexpected, unplanned, downtime and a rescheduled interview coinciding by chance, but this is their usual place, or it would be if they had one, so this is where they go.
It feels like they haven't seen each other in weeks, haven't actually talked in forever, and maybe they haven't. They have their busy schedules and their busy lives: an album release for Yamapi; for Toma, it's another drama coming on the heels of the last. 4TOPS was a long time ago; friends are friends, but maybe they aren't exactly, as time and distance take their toll and suddenly you notice all the little things you don't know anymore. Toma gets his usual coffee and wonders if the latte and cookie Yamapi orders are Yamapi's usual, or if Yamapi's being adventurous today.
Yamapi shreds his cookie before he eats it, dissecting it for the chocolate chips and leaving the sad remains of the dough as a pile of rubble on the plastic wrap the cookie came in. Toma thinks it looks like a broken building, sad and lonely, so he eats it even though he hadn't wanted a cookie because he doesn't like feeling lonely.
Toma turns the cup in his hands slowly, watching the steam rise and the cup swirl around the warm milky brown liquid inside. It's funny, how the cup moves, but the coffee doesn't want to, whirlpooling reluctantly into a darker brown spiral and milky-light arms. "I wish I had a time-machine," he says.
Yamapi looks at him, but Toma keeps his eyes on the rotating cup like he's watching the world turn and if he stops the world just might stop too. "Why?" Yamapi asks.
"To make time." Toma replies. He doesn't want to change the past, and he doesn't need to see the future. He just wants a little bit more of the present. "To make more time," he repeats, slowly, thoughtful, and Yamapi wonders where he really is right now, not knowing that Toma is all there, all the time. Because it's Yamapi. To make more time. With you.
Prompt: never good enough, never enough; inevitabilityy
Pairing: Ryo/Shige
Word Count: 103
Rating: G?
Shige lived the fine line between no confidence and utter arrogance, with the two blurring together in such ways that sometimes he wasn't sure anymore where one ended and the other began. It all came out the same anyway--never good enough, never enough, too much--so Shige wasn't sure how much it mattered.
Except with Ryo. Ryo always seemed to be curbing Shige's excesses and supplementing the spaces shige lacked, and his 'never good enough's always seemed to mean 'but only because you're capable of so much better' instead of 'because you never will be anyway, so why are you still trying?'
Prompt: the truth behind "Gomen ne, Juliet"; nihongofrancais
Pairing: Pi/Koyama
Word Count: 497
Rating: PG
Yamapi was nineteen the first time he kissed Koyama. Koyama kissed him. At any rate, their first kiss. Yamapi was nineteen the first time they kissed. He didn't like to think of himself as either bright-eyed or bushy-tailed at that point, but maybe, upon reflection, he was a bit of both.
Yamapi wasn't really sure what it was or what it meant, but he took solace in the fact that Koyama didn't really seem to either. They didn't talk about it, because talking about things made them real. Yamapi liked the ambiguity, needed it. His girlfriend never suspected anything. Yamapi felt the most guilty about that part. She was small and cute and just the right amount of feminine, cooked wonderfully, and was understanding about his work. But she wasn't Koyama, and something just seemed like it was missing.
Stolen kisses backstage. Cancelled dates with his girlfriend so Yamapi could have coffee with Koyama. More kisses on dark corners on the way home. "Group stuff" was such a convenient blanket excuse.
...---***---...---***---...
"I think we should stop," Koyama said suddenly, weeks, months after things started. Yamapi had been twenty for two months. He wasn't really sure what to do, so he nodded dumbly, numbly, and suddenly, like it started, it was over.
They didn't talk about that either.
Yamapi's girlfriend didn't notice at the time because his work picked up, and his cancelled dates really were because he was working; but then, she never knew any differently. Yamapi told himself that he didn't have to feel guilty about lying anymore. It almost felt good enough.
...---***---...---***---...
It was the day after Yamapi's twenty-first birthday. Technically, anyway. In his head, it still felt like his birthday, because what was midnight, anyway? The party wasn't nearly as crazy as his twentieth, but it was still an excuse for a good time and in reflection, Yamapi would probably admit that he'd gotten carried away. At the moment, Yamapi wasn't thinking about such things.
The last of his acquaintences had bowed their way out, and even his friends were starting to look a little tired in their old age, and Koya-mama volunteered to make sure the birthday boy made it home in one piece.
Short elevator ride down three floors to the lobby, out the little entrance. It wasn't much of a place from the outside. Stepping out into slightly chilly air, Yamapi paused; Koyama stopped too, checking that his charge was ok.
"I broke up with my girlfriend," Yamapi said suddenly, with a drunkard's logic, and kissed Koyama on the lips softly in the shadow of the building. It wasn't a long kiss, but it felt like forever since the last time they'd done that, and through the alcohol-haze, Yamapi wanted to savour it, memorize it in case it never happened again.
Koyama broke the kiss gently, rested his forehead against Yamapi's. "Gomen ne, Juliet," Koyama whispered, their lips nearly touching, breathing the same air.
Yamapi was twenty-one. He kissed Koyama again.
A/N: more results of the drabble meme. After this, there's only one more to write, but 4 more potential 'fic,' so. Dou darou. I guess if anyone wants a drabble and is willing to wait until I feel like doing it, they can head on over and leave me a prompt.
I think I caught all the typos, but you never know. con-crit? let me know~
If only I had a _time-machine_ | never good enough, never enough | the truth behind 'Gomen ne, Juliet'
Prompt: If only I had a _time-machine_; sillyandmorbid
Pairing: TomaPi
Word Count: 388
Rating: G? Idk, 'G' makes me think of happy and bunnies.
They get coffee in the little place down on the corner. It's a Tully's, but still manages to pull off 'homey' despite the franchise. And their cookies all come from a local bakery and are kind of like heaven on earth. It is unexpected, unplanned, downtime and a rescheduled interview coinciding by chance, but this is their usual place, or it would be if they had one, so this is where they go.
It feels like they haven't seen each other in weeks, haven't actually talked in forever, and maybe they haven't. They have their busy schedules and their busy lives: an album release for Yamapi; for Toma, it's another drama coming on the heels of the last. 4TOPS was a long time ago; friends are friends, but maybe they aren't exactly, as time and distance take their toll and suddenly you notice all the little things you don't know anymore. Toma gets his usual coffee and wonders if the latte and cookie Yamapi orders are Yamapi's usual, or if Yamapi's being adventurous today.
Yamapi shreds his cookie before he eats it, dissecting it for the chocolate chips and leaving the sad remains of the dough as a pile of rubble on the plastic wrap the cookie came in. Toma thinks it looks like a broken building, sad and lonely, so he eats it even though he hadn't wanted a cookie because he doesn't like feeling lonely.
Toma turns the cup in his hands slowly, watching the steam rise and the cup swirl around the warm milky brown liquid inside. It's funny, how the cup moves, but the coffee doesn't want to, whirlpooling reluctantly into a darker brown spiral and milky-light arms. "I wish I had a time-machine," he says.
Yamapi looks at him, but Toma keeps his eyes on the rotating cup like he's watching the world turn and if he stops the world just might stop too. "Why?" Yamapi asks.
"To make time." Toma replies. He doesn't want to change the past, and he doesn't need to see the future. He just wants a little bit more of the present. "To make more time," he repeats, slowly, thoughtful, and Yamapi wonders where he really is right now, not knowing that Toma is all there, all the time. Because it's Yamapi. To make more time. With you.
Prompt: never good enough, never enough; inevitabilityy
Pairing: Ryo/Shige
Word Count: 103
Rating: G?
Shige lived the fine line between no confidence and utter arrogance, with the two blurring together in such ways that sometimes he wasn't sure anymore where one ended and the other began. It all came out the same anyway--never good enough, never enough, too much--so Shige wasn't sure how much it mattered.
Except with Ryo. Ryo always seemed to be curbing Shige's excesses and supplementing the spaces shige lacked, and his 'never good enough's always seemed to mean 'but only because you're capable of so much better' instead of 'because you never will be anyway, so why are you still trying?'
Prompt: the truth behind "Gomen ne, Juliet"; nihongofrancais
Pairing: Pi/Koyama
Word Count: 497
Rating: PG
Yamapi was nineteen the first time he kissed Koyama. Koyama kissed him. At any rate, their first kiss. Yamapi was nineteen the first time they kissed. He didn't like to think of himself as either bright-eyed or bushy-tailed at that point, but maybe, upon reflection, he was a bit of both.
Yamapi wasn't really sure what it was or what it meant, but he took solace in the fact that Koyama didn't really seem to either. They didn't talk about it, because talking about things made them real. Yamapi liked the ambiguity, needed it. His girlfriend never suspected anything. Yamapi felt the most guilty about that part. She was small and cute and just the right amount of feminine, cooked wonderfully, and was understanding about his work. But she wasn't Koyama, and something just seemed like it was missing.
Stolen kisses backstage. Cancelled dates with his girlfriend so Yamapi could have coffee with Koyama. More kisses on dark corners on the way home. "Group stuff" was such a convenient blanket excuse.
...---***---...---***---...
"I think we should stop," Koyama said suddenly, weeks, months after things started. Yamapi had been twenty for two months. He wasn't really sure what to do, so he nodded dumbly, numbly, and suddenly, like it started, it was over.
They didn't talk about that either.
Yamapi's girlfriend didn't notice at the time because his work picked up, and his cancelled dates really were because he was working; but then, she never knew any differently. Yamapi told himself that he didn't have to feel guilty about lying anymore. It almost felt good enough.
...---***---...---***---...
It was the day after Yamapi's twenty-first birthday. Technically, anyway. In his head, it still felt like his birthday, because what was midnight, anyway? The party wasn't nearly as crazy as his twentieth, but it was still an excuse for a good time and in reflection, Yamapi would probably admit that he'd gotten carried away. At the moment, Yamapi wasn't thinking about such things.
The last of his acquaintences had bowed their way out, and even his friends were starting to look a little tired in their old age, and Koya-mama volunteered to make sure the birthday boy made it home in one piece.
Short elevator ride down three floors to the lobby, out the little entrance. It wasn't much of a place from the outside. Stepping out into slightly chilly air, Yamapi paused; Koyama stopped too, checking that his charge was ok.
"I broke up with my girlfriend," Yamapi said suddenly, with a drunkard's logic, and kissed Koyama on the lips softly in the shadow of the building. It wasn't a long kiss, but it felt like forever since the last time they'd done that, and through the alcohol-haze, Yamapi wanted to savour it, memorize it in case it never happened again.
Koyama broke the kiss gently, rested his forehead against Yamapi's. "Gomen ne, Juliet," Koyama whispered, their lips nearly touching, breathing the same air.
Yamapi was twenty-one. He kissed Koyama again.