Blurred Lines - Oneshot (Takeru!centric)
Title: Blurred Lines
Author: kayjayloves
Length: 1/1
Pairing: Takeru!centric
Band: SuG
Genre: introspection? angst?
Rating: G
Warning: crossdressing.
Disclaimer: Don't own these people, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: Let's play a game. Two out of three (and blur the rules, please.)
Comments: Fic #1 xD Um, finally wrote the Takeru fic that I was supposed to write a year ago, and somehow it became kind of wtf-ish and he's crossdressing. I really don't know. Blame it on Takeru and the way he looks like a girl.
"Let’s play a game," Takeru said once, to Mitsuru and Chiyu, in front of make-up mirrors, eyeliner pencil in his hand and foundation caked on his face. He’d grinned a little too wide. "Two out of three."
"The heck are you talking about?" Chiyu had started, both him and Mitsuru staring at Takeru - waiting for another crazy idea, another odd thought, to come pouring out of his mouth. But Masato burst into the room - camera man behind him, video camera up and loaded - and they’d forgotten.
The game is this: Takeru’s walking down the street, one of those crowded roads thick with school girls and potential fans. He’s walking down this street and they should be recognizing him - by now, there’s enough fame for the fans to dive in, vicious-hungry for a quick snapshot of any celebrity.
They aren’t. Takeru’s in high heels and make-up and the black wig with the curls that fall just right over the curves of his shoulder blades. The shoes click every step he takes; he’s grinning wide and easy.
"Um, miss," someone calls, "you dropped this."
The only rule is this: Fool everyone.
"I wonder if fame is as dangerous as they say," Yuji had said once, back when he and Takeru were a little bit younger and a little bit softer, still two members of Travel. "I wonder if it can really make you do crazy things - like you’re suffocating under it."
Takeru had laughed - he was going to welcome fame with open arms and bared teeth; just watch, because they were going to be known by everyone and he was going to thrive under the spotlights - in heat of packed lives and sold-out shows. A performer, a singer, that was everything.
"Yeah, but," Yuji plucked nervously at his guitar. Takeru shrugged. Why worry?
"Let’s play a game," Takeru murmurs, plucks at the pleat of his skirt ( so maybe he’s drowning). In everything he can see the scrutiny and the record deals and the sudden realization that here or there or anywhere could be another ticking time bomb - he’s never alone. It’s TakeruTheRisingMusicianofPSC, or TakeruofSuGandbandmates or TakeruofSuGandthefans. There’s no - justTakeru.
So let’s play a game - two out of three; the fans, the strangers. (three out of three; can you fool yourself?)
Because - "See," he's saying, "Not really me."
Author: kayjayloves
Length: 1/1
Pairing: Takeru!centric
Band: SuG
Genre: introspection? angst?
Rating: G
Warning: crossdressing.
Disclaimer: Don't own these people, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: Let's play a game. Two out of three (and blur the rules, please.)
Comments: Fic #1 xD Um, finally wrote the Takeru fic that I was supposed to write a year ago, and somehow it became kind of wtf-ish and he's crossdressing. I really don't know. Blame it on Takeru and the way he looks like a girl.
"Let’s play a game," Takeru said once, to Mitsuru and Chiyu, in front of make-up mirrors, eyeliner pencil in his hand and foundation caked on his face. He’d grinned a little too wide. "Two out of three."
"The heck are you talking about?" Chiyu had started, both him and Mitsuru staring at Takeru - waiting for another crazy idea, another odd thought, to come pouring out of his mouth. But Masato burst into the room - camera man behind him, video camera up and loaded - and they’d forgotten.
The game is this: Takeru’s walking down the street, one of those crowded roads thick with school girls and potential fans. He’s walking down this street and they should be recognizing him - by now, there’s enough fame for the fans to dive in, vicious-hungry for a quick snapshot of any celebrity.
They aren’t. Takeru’s in high heels and make-up and the black wig with the curls that fall just right over the curves of his shoulder blades. The shoes click every step he takes; he’s grinning wide and easy.
"Um, miss," someone calls, "you dropped this."
The only rule is this: Fool everyone.
"I wonder if fame is as dangerous as they say," Yuji had said once, back when he and Takeru were a little bit younger and a little bit softer, still two members of Travel. "I wonder if it can really make you do crazy things - like you’re suffocating under it."
Takeru had laughed - he was going to welcome fame with open arms and bared teeth; just watch, because they were going to be known by everyone and he was going to thrive under the spotlights - in heat of packed lives and sold-out shows. A performer, a singer, that was everything.
"Yeah, but," Yuji plucked nervously at his guitar. Takeru shrugged. Why worry?
"Let’s play a game," Takeru murmurs, plucks at the pleat of his skirt ( so maybe he’s drowning). In everything he can see the scrutiny and the record deals and the sudden realization that here or there or anywhere could be another ticking time bomb - he’s never alone. It’s TakeruTheRisingMusicianofPSC, or TakeruofSuGandbandmates or TakeruofSuGandthefans. There’s no - justTakeru.
So let’s play a game - two out of three; the fans, the strangers. (three out of three; can you fool yourself?)
Because - "See," he's saying, "Not really me."