Gift fic for starry_
To: starry_
From: pinkpapyrus
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: Chronology
Pairing/Group: Ryo/Shige, News
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Shige could pull away, but it's easier to risk the kiss than the rejection.
In a year, Shige’s bed will sit against the wall of Ryo’s bedroom.
In ten months, Shige’s books will outweigh Ryo’s CDs, and the shelf will break off the wall.
In eight months, Shige’s shoes will sit next to Ryo’s by the door.
In six months, Ryo’s kitchen will smell of fish that he doesn’t like.
In four months, Ryo’s condoms will be reallocated from the box to specific niches in every room.
In two months, Ryo’s missing shirt will reappear washed and folded on his pillow.
In a week, a kiss.
Tomorrow, a smile.
Today, an observation.
‘’
Four months from now -
An uninvited January breeze runs wild through Ryo’s apartment, ruffling the pages of opened textbooks and shoving a stack of DVDs off the TV. Ryo, shirtless and kneeling on the floor, shivers as he slips his fist between the sofa cushions. He leaves two condoms there, upping the living room’s total to ten - two in the couch, two beneath the lamp and six in DVDs none of his friends like.
The chill starts lifting the hair on Ryo’s neck, so he returns to his bedroom to close the window, pull on a shirt and get a refill from the box.
The bathroom has four, the kitchen nine.
Two go in his wallet before Ryo shuts the window and leaves to meet Shige at the radio station.
‘’
A week from now -
Shige could pull away, but he’s thinking of the consequences.
Pulling away means they’ll have to confront what they’ve just done.
Pulling away means saving face by pretending he didn’t sneak the tip of his tongue through Ryo’s opening lips.
Pulling away means the threat of awkward silence that Ryo will fill with poisoned denial.
Pulling away means the absence of Ryo’s thumb stroking Shige’s neck. Shige could pull away, but it’s easier to risk the kiss than the rejection.
‘’
Ten months from now -
For three years, all that Ryo’s shelf supported was a row of empty CD cases. Now, with the added weight of four basic law books and two mystery novels Koyama gave Shige for his birthday, the shelf has to struggle to hold onto the wall.
Ryo keeps his actual CDs in a folder, and Shige uses more advanced books these days, so neither notices the shelf or its growing strain until the middle of July.
It’s mid-morning and the heat, their unrelenting proximity to each other and twelve unspoken trivialities all suddenly combine to ignite a furious shouting match. Shige’s anger melts his usual reticence, and Ryo untethers what rudimentary restraint he normally puts on his sharp tongue.
Though Shige resists the urge to punch Ryo in the head, he slams into Ryo’s shoulder on his way to the front door. Ryo hits the wall, right beneath the shelf.
The shudder, reminiscent of an earthquake, holds Ryo frozen in bewilderment. Then he hears Shige curse, his voice high and anxious, before the shelf gives and Shige yanks him away by the wrist. Stunned, they watch CDs and books spill out over the floor. The shelf, clinging to the wall by one stubborn screw, swings like a metronome.
They look at each other absently, then at their argument’s shrapnel on the floor. Ryo feels Shige’s fingers tighten.
They spend the next hour filling a shoebox with Ryo’s CDs and piling Shige’s books under the bed, their fingers frequently and leisurely grazing.
‘’
Today -
Shige watches Ryo’s pick skim the taut strings. Imagines the sound it makes. Watches Ryo twist a tuner and stroke another chord too soft to cut through the wax and wane of rushing people in their dressing room. Ryo’s fingers move automatically, practiced and familiar as they smooth the guitar’s neck and ribs. Shige, hidden beneath a towel, watches Ryo go farther and farther from their world into his own.
When their manager raps on the door, Ryo stops playing, but the music continues in Shige’s head. Then Ryo looks directly into Shige’s towel cave, and Shige, falling obliviously for miles, hits hard.
‘’
Two months from now -
Ryo wakes up to tangible warmth in his arms. The window he shut last night is open, letting in the rushing hum of traffic and a soft March breeze. Shige, fully dressed and even in socks, breathes softly against Ryo’s lips. Ryo, in boxers only, slides his arms beneath Shige’s shirt seeking smooth heat. Shige sighs. Ryo kisses him, mouthing his bottom lip.
Behind Ryo’s head, a shirt he believed he’d lost sits folded on his pillow, giving off the lavender scent of the fabric softener Shige’s mother uses.
‘’
In a year -
They break Ryo’s bed. They don’t regret it.
Shige decides to put his old bed to good use and takes a trip to his family’s house. Shige’s mother plies her son with food and makes him promise to let her see the boys’ apartment once Shige’s bed is set up there.
She asks, “You’re sure both beds will fit in that room?”
Shige repeats what Ryo made him rehearse in front of the bathroom mirror this morning. “He has a futon.” And silently adds, “That he keeps in the closet.”
Ryo is in Osaka for the day, so Shige’s enlisted Koyama’s help in transporting and putting the bed together.
The moment they’ve gotten every piece into the bedroom, Shige tries to forget the number of hours it took them to do it. While he sits against the wall, panting, Koyama sprawls on his stomach, arms and legs splayed like a starfish.
“I don’t love you anymore, Shige.”
Shige grins. “Okay.”
Koyama flops his arm out, aiming his open palm at Shige’s foot. Shige tugs his leg to the side, and Koyama ends up slapping the floor.
“Divorce,” Koyama moans.
“I don’t think Ryo liked our friendly marriage much anyway.”
Koyama is quiet for a few minutes, long enough for Shige to worry and prod Koyama’s arm with his toe. Koyama lifts up onto his hands and knees and crawls over to sit next to Shige. He drops his head on Shige’s shoulder and says, “You’ll always be my Shige.”
Shige pillows his cheek in Koyama’s hair. “We still have to put the bed together.”
Koyama whines.
That night, Ryo and Uchi open the front door and find the apartment quiet. They consult each other with frowns of various nuances, then decide to split up. While Uchi heats the food Ryo’s mother packed for them, Ryo investigates the silence in the bedroom.
The bed is at a slant in the middle of the room, surrounded by a ring of debris. Ryo steps over the tools and printed instructions off the internet, studying the bed itself. Sheets and blankets lie in wrinkled chaos on top of a knitted thing that covers the entire bare mattress. Hidden in the middle of it is Shige, hair mussed and face smooth in sleep.
Ryo sits near where he guesses Shige’s knees are to stroke the warm skin of Shige’s bare arm.
When the microwave chimes, Uchi goes in search of Ryo and finds Koyama napping on the couch. Grinning, he holds Koyama’s nostrils closed until Koyama reanimates with a splutter.
“Uchi, that was unprovoked! And mean!”
As Koyama’s complaining has broken the silence, Uchi feels justified in calling, “Ryo-chan, dinner!” in a practiced falsetto.
When there’s no answer, Koyama shouts, “Shige?”
In the bedroom, Ryo and Shige remain asleep, tangled in a knot they’ll forget how to unravel upon waking.
‘’
Tomorrow -
Their newest single’s dance routine requires Ryo to backflip. He’s never fumbled it. Then, overconfident and tired, Ryo backflips off the mark, lands awkwardly and nearly falls offstage.
Shige appears from nowhere and pulls him back.
Ryo says, “Thanks,” and then, “Where’d you come from?”
hige points to the other side of the stage.
Slowly, Ryo smiles and Shige barely manages to return it, his face hot.
‘’
Six months from now -
The refrigerator doesn’t contain anything that appeals to them, so Ryo orders food. The delivery man calls to report that he’s lost, so Ryo spends five minutes on the phone with him until it becomes clear that the man is on the other side of the city, at an address that could, to creative ears, sound like Ryo’s. The man is mortified, but Ryo brushes it off with an annoyed sound and tells the man he’ll pick up the food at the restaurant.
Shige, lying underneath him and panting, says, “You’ll do what?”
Ryo kisses his forehead and says, “It won’t take long. Read a book or something.”
Shige stares at him. Ryo says, “I’ll get you sushi.”
When he returns, Ryo has two bags in one hand and his cell phone in the other.
Shige, lounging on the floor absorbed in Ryo’s Nintendo DS, automatically calls, “Okaeri.”
Ryo sets the bags down in the kitchen, then takes his place on the sofa and props his feet on Shige’s ass. Rolling his eyes, Shige aims a kick back and nicks Ryo’s ankle. Ryo’s side of the conversation provides a layer of sound on top of the game’s cheerful bleeping. When Ryo starts to knead his toes in Shige’s thigh, Shige forces himself not to squirm.
Shige doesn’t realize Ryo’s hung up until Ryo straddles his back.
“One second,” Shige says.
Ryo says, “Oh - jump now.”
Shige jumps. Shige dies. “Ryo!”
Ryo grins and notches his chin on Shige’s shoulder. “Relax, it’s easy to get back there.”
“It took me an hour.”
“So save your game.”
Shige blinks. “How do you save it?”
Ryo laughs and lowers down until his chest rests on Shige’s back. He reaches around Shige’s shoulders and frames Shige’s hands on the console. He can’t rescue Shige’s previous attempt, but he shows Shige the faster way to get back to where he was. For ten minutes, Ryo’s thumbs rapidly tap buttons and Shige loses interest in trying to memorize how Ryo’s playing.
He rubs his cheek against Ryo’s, then mouths his jaw.
Ryo pauses the game.
By morning, the scent of Shige’s sushi has fused to the walls.
‘’
Eight months from now -
Sometime in the dark stretch between midnight and dawn, Ryo arrives back in Tokyo. He lingers in a sleepy haze as he approaches his apartment building, the strap of his bag cutting deep into his sore shoulder muscle. In the elevator, he hears his cell phone chime and reads a message from Yasu, [Go right to sleep, okay?] He responds, [Zzz,] one-handed while he searches his bag for his keys.
He trips two steps into the apartment. The bathroom light is still on, and the bedroom door is open. Ryo toes off his shoes, leaves his bag on the kitchen counter, rushes through all hygiene requirements and climbs naked into bed behind Shige.
Shige’s breathing is off, so Ryo whispers, “Stop leaving your shoes directly in front of the door.”
“Sorry.”
“I tripped on them.”
“I heard. You woke me up.”
Ryo pokes him hard in the back. “Liar.” He reaches under the pillow and unearths his Nintendo DS, still on but muted.
Shige grins over his shoulder. Ryo turns Shige onto his back, asks, “Missed me?” and kisses a path from shoulder to shoulder.
Shige says, “Yes,” and guides Ryo’s mouth to his.
From: pinkpapyrus
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: Chronology
Pairing/Group: Ryo/Shige, News
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Shige could pull away, but it's easier to risk the kiss than the rejection.
In a year, Shige’s bed will sit against the wall of Ryo’s bedroom.
In ten months, Shige’s books will outweigh Ryo’s CDs, and the shelf will break off the wall.
In eight months, Shige’s shoes will sit next to Ryo’s by the door.
In six months, Ryo’s kitchen will smell of fish that he doesn’t like.
In four months, Ryo’s condoms will be reallocated from the box to specific niches in every room.
In two months, Ryo’s missing shirt will reappear washed and folded on his pillow.
In a week, a kiss.
Tomorrow, a smile.
Today, an observation.
‘’
Four months from now -
An uninvited January breeze runs wild through Ryo’s apartment, ruffling the pages of opened textbooks and shoving a stack of DVDs off the TV. Ryo, shirtless and kneeling on the floor, shivers as he slips his fist between the sofa cushions. He leaves two condoms there, upping the living room’s total to ten - two in the couch, two beneath the lamp and six in DVDs none of his friends like.
The chill starts lifting the hair on Ryo’s neck, so he returns to his bedroom to close the window, pull on a shirt and get a refill from the box.
The bathroom has four, the kitchen nine.
Two go in his wallet before Ryo shuts the window and leaves to meet Shige at the radio station.
‘’
A week from now -
Shige could pull away, but he’s thinking of the consequences.
Pulling away means they’ll have to confront what they’ve just done.
Pulling away means saving face by pretending he didn’t sneak the tip of his tongue through Ryo’s opening lips.
Pulling away means the threat of awkward silence that Ryo will fill with poisoned denial.
Pulling away means the absence of Ryo’s thumb stroking Shige’s neck. Shige could pull away, but it’s easier to risk the kiss than the rejection.
‘’
Ten months from now -
For three years, all that Ryo’s shelf supported was a row of empty CD cases. Now, with the added weight of four basic law books and two mystery novels Koyama gave Shige for his birthday, the shelf has to struggle to hold onto the wall.
Ryo keeps his actual CDs in a folder, and Shige uses more advanced books these days, so neither notices the shelf or its growing strain until the middle of July.
It’s mid-morning and the heat, their unrelenting proximity to each other and twelve unspoken trivialities all suddenly combine to ignite a furious shouting match. Shige’s anger melts his usual reticence, and Ryo untethers what rudimentary restraint he normally puts on his sharp tongue.
Though Shige resists the urge to punch Ryo in the head, he slams into Ryo’s shoulder on his way to the front door. Ryo hits the wall, right beneath the shelf.
The shudder, reminiscent of an earthquake, holds Ryo frozen in bewilderment. Then he hears Shige curse, his voice high and anxious, before the shelf gives and Shige yanks him away by the wrist. Stunned, they watch CDs and books spill out over the floor. The shelf, clinging to the wall by one stubborn screw, swings like a metronome.
They look at each other absently, then at their argument’s shrapnel on the floor. Ryo feels Shige’s fingers tighten.
They spend the next hour filling a shoebox with Ryo’s CDs and piling Shige’s books under the bed, their fingers frequently and leisurely grazing.
‘’
Today -
Shige watches Ryo’s pick skim the taut strings. Imagines the sound it makes. Watches Ryo twist a tuner and stroke another chord too soft to cut through the wax and wane of rushing people in their dressing room. Ryo’s fingers move automatically, practiced and familiar as they smooth the guitar’s neck and ribs. Shige, hidden beneath a towel, watches Ryo go farther and farther from their world into his own.
When their manager raps on the door, Ryo stops playing, but the music continues in Shige’s head. Then Ryo looks directly into Shige’s towel cave, and Shige, falling obliviously for miles, hits hard.
‘’
Two months from now -
Ryo wakes up to tangible warmth in his arms. The window he shut last night is open, letting in the rushing hum of traffic and a soft March breeze. Shige, fully dressed and even in socks, breathes softly against Ryo’s lips. Ryo, in boxers only, slides his arms beneath Shige’s shirt seeking smooth heat. Shige sighs. Ryo kisses him, mouthing his bottom lip.
Behind Ryo’s head, a shirt he believed he’d lost sits folded on his pillow, giving off the lavender scent of the fabric softener Shige’s mother uses.
‘’
In a year -
They break Ryo’s bed. They don’t regret it.
Shige decides to put his old bed to good use and takes a trip to his family’s house. Shige’s mother plies her son with food and makes him promise to let her see the boys’ apartment once Shige’s bed is set up there.
She asks, “You’re sure both beds will fit in that room?”
Shige repeats what Ryo made him rehearse in front of the bathroom mirror this morning. “He has a futon.” And silently adds, “That he keeps in the closet.”
Ryo is in Osaka for the day, so Shige’s enlisted Koyama’s help in transporting and putting the bed together.
The moment they’ve gotten every piece into the bedroom, Shige tries to forget the number of hours it took them to do it. While he sits against the wall, panting, Koyama sprawls on his stomach, arms and legs splayed like a starfish.
“I don’t love you anymore, Shige.”
Shige grins. “Okay.”
Koyama flops his arm out, aiming his open palm at Shige’s foot. Shige tugs his leg to the side, and Koyama ends up slapping the floor.
“Divorce,” Koyama moans.
“I don’t think Ryo liked our friendly marriage much anyway.”
Koyama is quiet for a few minutes, long enough for Shige to worry and prod Koyama’s arm with his toe. Koyama lifts up onto his hands and knees and crawls over to sit next to Shige. He drops his head on Shige’s shoulder and says, “You’ll always be my Shige.”
Shige pillows his cheek in Koyama’s hair. “We still have to put the bed together.”
Koyama whines.
That night, Ryo and Uchi open the front door and find the apartment quiet. They consult each other with frowns of various nuances, then decide to split up. While Uchi heats the food Ryo’s mother packed for them, Ryo investigates the silence in the bedroom.
The bed is at a slant in the middle of the room, surrounded by a ring of debris. Ryo steps over the tools and printed instructions off the internet, studying the bed itself. Sheets and blankets lie in wrinkled chaos on top of a knitted thing that covers the entire bare mattress. Hidden in the middle of it is Shige, hair mussed and face smooth in sleep.
Ryo sits near where he guesses Shige’s knees are to stroke the warm skin of Shige’s bare arm.
When the microwave chimes, Uchi goes in search of Ryo and finds Koyama napping on the couch. Grinning, he holds Koyama’s nostrils closed until Koyama reanimates with a splutter.
“Uchi, that was unprovoked! And mean!”
As Koyama’s complaining has broken the silence, Uchi feels justified in calling, “Ryo-chan, dinner!” in a practiced falsetto.
When there’s no answer, Koyama shouts, “Shige?”
In the bedroom, Ryo and Shige remain asleep, tangled in a knot they’ll forget how to unravel upon waking.
‘’
Tomorrow -
Their newest single’s dance routine requires Ryo to backflip. He’s never fumbled it. Then, overconfident and tired, Ryo backflips off the mark, lands awkwardly and nearly falls offstage.
Shige appears from nowhere and pulls him back.
Ryo says, “Thanks,” and then, “Where’d you come from?”
hige points to the other side of the stage.
Slowly, Ryo smiles and Shige barely manages to return it, his face hot.
‘’
Six months from now -
The refrigerator doesn’t contain anything that appeals to them, so Ryo orders food. The delivery man calls to report that he’s lost, so Ryo spends five minutes on the phone with him until it becomes clear that the man is on the other side of the city, at an address that could, to creative ears, sound like Ryo’s. The man is mortified, but Ryo brushes it off with an annoyed sound and tells the man he’ll pick up the food at the restaurant.
Shige, lying underneath him and panting, says, “You’ll do what?”
Ryo kisses his forehead and says, “It won’t take long. Read a book or something.”
Shige stares at him. Ryo says, “I’ll get you sushi.”
When he returns, Ryo has two bags in one hand and his cell phone in the other.
Shige, lounging on the floor absorbed in Ryo’s Nintendo DS, automatically calls, “Okaeri.”
Ryo sets the bags down in the kitchen, then takes his place on the sofa and props his feet on Shige’s ass. Rolling his eyes, Shige aims a kick back and nicks Ryo’s ankle. Ryo’s side of the conversation provides a layer of sound on top of the game’s cheerful bleeping. When Ryo starts to knead his toes in Shige’s thigh, Shige forces himself not to squirm.
Shige doesn’t realize Ryo’s hung up until Ryo straddles his back.
“One second,” Shige says.
Ryo says, “Oh - jump now.”
Shige jumps. Shige dies. “Ryo!”
Ryo grins and notches his chin on Shige’s shoulder. “Relax, it’s easy to get back there.”
“It took me an hour.”
“So save your game.”
Shige blinks. “How do you save it?”
Ryo laughs and lowers down until his chest rests on Shige’s back. He reaches around Shige’s shoulders and frames Shige’s hands on the console. He can’t rescue Shige’s previous attempt, but he shows Shige the faster way to get back to where he was. For ten minutes, Ryo’s thumbs rapidly tap buttons and Shige loses interest in trying to memorize how Ryo’s playing.
He rubs his cheek against Ryo’s, then mouths his jaw.
Ryo pauses the game.
By morning, the scent of Shige’s sushi has fused to the walls.
‘’
Eight months from now -
Sometime in the dark stretch between midnight and dawn, Ryo arrives back in Tokyo. He lingers in a sleepy haze as he approaches his apartment building, the strap of his bag cutting deep into his sore shoulder muscle. In the elevator, he hears his cell phone chime and reads a message from Yasu, [Go right to sleep, okay?] He responds, [Zzz,] one-handed while he searches his bag for his keys.
He trips two steps into the apartment. The bathroom light is still on, and the bedroom door is open. Ryo toes off his shoes, leaves his bag on the kitchen counter, rushes through all hygiene requirements and climbs naked into bed behind Shige.
Shige’s breathing is off, so Ryo whispers, “Stop leaving your shoes directly in front of the door.”
“Sorry.”
“I tripped on them.”
“I heard. You woke me up.”
Ryo pokes him hard in the back. “Liar.” He reaches under the pillow and unearths his Nintendo DS, still on but muted.
Shige grins over his shoulder. Ryo turns Shige onto his back, asks, “Missed me?” and kisses a path from shoulder to shoulder.
Shige says, “Yes,” and guides Ryo’s mouth to his.