Fic - YukimuraxAkaya, G, Oneshot
Title: ~shiroi~
Author:
ishougen
Characters/Pairing: YukimuraxAkaya (slight)
Genre: Mild angst
Rating: G as G can get. No spoilers.
Length: 708 words. (Oneshot)
Summary: Yukimura liked flowers, but the kind he loved most was the kind he couldn't have.
Disclaimer: If I owned PoT Yukimura would have way more screentime and the doubles pairs of Fudo, Rudo and Yama would be cooler. >_<
Author’s Note: I wrote this for
crimson_raining after a late(ish)night conversation, so if it’s a little cracky/OOC, I apologize. It’s also the first time I’ve written a oneshot in awhile. As well, it's my first time posting any media to this comm, so... please treat me kindly! >_<'
Yukimura had always loved plants, especially flowers. As a small child, he would often spend his free time in gardens or dreaming about fields in the countryside, where sunflowers grew taller than people. He didn’t really understand why he was so fond of them; there was just something about their ability to live in harsh conditions, the way they seemed to wave when a breeze caught them, and how they could suddenly brighten up a room and a life just by being around.
However, despite having his hospital room filled with various botanicals of all colours and sizes, Yukimura was still not happy. Ah, perhaps “happy” wasn’t the right word; he was truly very touched that his family and friends went out of their way to brighten up his life in a way that he enjoyed so much. No, the word for it was “discontent”; for, although he was surrounded by the one thing he loved just as much as tennis, he still had yet to lay his eyes upon his favourite kind of flower.
Yukimura sighed and closed his eyes, lying back in his hospital bed, clothed in his hospital gown, with the hospital’s smell infiltrating his nose. It seemed as though even the massive amounts of blossoms all around him couldn’t disguise the scent of his lonely home.
The colours were wonderful, but… Sometimes, they were just too much. He enjoyed the brightness, but when he was tired and weak he really only wanted to look at the soft, white petals of the plant that had always been able to enrapture him.
He felt himself drifting off into a fitful sleep, as he had so many times before, full of visions - of his team, alternately winning and losing; of his parents, alternately rejoicing and crying; and of himself, alternately living and dying - until he heard a sudden noise coming from his left. Opening his eyes, he turned, and was met with a sight that was all too welcome to his sickly eyes.
Akaya had been rapping his fist against the window, but that wasn’t what made Yukimura so happy - not that he disliked seeing his violence-oriented kouhai. What Yukimura was truly smiling at was the small pot Akaya was carrying with his left hand, and, more specifically, what was inside said pot.
Grinning, Yukimura got to his feet and quickly made his way to the window, rolling his IV hookup along behind him. Opening the window, and feeling exceedingly grateful to his parents for getting him a first-floor room, he smiled warmly down at Akaya.
“What’s this, Akaya? Are you skipping practice? I don’t want Sanada to get angry with you.”
Akaya blushed a little and held out the small plant. “Ano… buchou, I heard you liked them, so… I got you one. Here. Get better soon, okay?”
Yukimura took the pot, unable to contain the grin that was now blossoming across his face. “Thank you, Akaya. I appreciate it.” He looked down at the small white flowers sadly, continuing in a quieter tone, “Unfortunately, I am not permitted to keep this in my room… my mother is a little superstitious, you see.”
“Oh.” Akaya’s face fell, and he grumbled something under his breath about the symbol of death being him with a tennis racket and that buchou was fine since he was on the first floor. Yukimura laughed softly, handing the pot back out to the younger boy, who took it grudgingly.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Akaya, and I promise that as soon as I’m out of the hospital I will visit you to pick it up.”
The young troublemaker seemed to perk up at the thought of his buchou visiting him before anyone else, and smiled a little. “Okay, Yukimura-buchou. I’ll take care of it ‘till then.”
The two exchanged a few parting words, then Akaya ran off to practice and Yukimura closed his window. It wouldn’t do him any good to catch a cold now - especially when he wanted to go back to his comfortable home with those white chrysanthemums that Akaya - with Yanagi’s help, no doubt, as Akaya didn’t know him nearly well enough to know his favourite flower - had so graciously bought for him.
~End~
AN: White chrysanthemums are supposed to be a symbol of death in Japan, as is the number four (the words for “death” and “four” are very similar) - so, Akaya mutters about Yukimura being alright since he’s on the first floor, and not the fourth.
Author:
ishougen
Characters/Pairing: YukimuraxAkaya (slight)
Genre: Mild angst
Rating: G as G can get. No spoilers.
Length: 708 words. (Oneshot)
Summary: Yukimura liked flowers, but the kind he loved most was the kind he couldn't have.
Disclaimer: If I owned PoT Yukimura would have way more screentime and the doubles pairs of Fudo, Rudo and Yama would be cooler. >_<
Author’s Note: I wrote this for
crimson_raining after a late(ish)night conversation, so if it’s a little cracky/OOC, I apologize. It’s also the first time I’ve written a oneshot in awhile. As well, it's my first time posting any media to this comm, so... please treat me kindly! >_<'
Yukimura had always loved plants, especially flowers. As a small child, he would often spend his free time in gardens or dreaming about fields in the countryside, where sunflowers grew taller than people. He didn’t really understand why he was so fond of them; there was just something about their ability to live in harsh conditions, the way they seemed to wave when a breeze caught them, and how they could suddenly brighten up a room and a life just by being around.
However, despite having his hospital room filled with various botanicals of all colours and sizes, Yukimura was still not happy. Ah, perhaps “happy” wasn’t the right word; he was truly very touched that his family and friends went out of their way to brighten up his life in a way that he enjoyed so much. No, the word for it was “discontent”; for, although he was surrounded by the one thing he loved just as much as tennis, he still had yet to lay his eyes upon his favourite kind of flower.
Yukimura sighed and closed his eyes, lying back in his hospital bed, clothed in his hospital gown, with the hospital’s smell infiltrating his nose. It seemed as though even the massive amounts of blossoms all around him couldn’t disguise the scent of his lonely home.
The colours were wonderful, but… Sometimes, they were just too much. He enjoyed the brightness, but when he was tired and weak he really only wanted to look at the soft, white petals of the plant that had always been able to enrapture him.
He felt himself drifting off into a fitful sleep, as he had so many times before, full of visions - of his team, alternately winning and losing; of his parents, alternately rejoicing and crying; and of himself, alternately living and dying - until he heard a sudden noise coming from his left. Opening his eyes, he turned, and was met with a sight that was all too welcome to his sickly eyes.
Akaya had been rapping his fist against the window, but that wasn’t what made Yukimura so happy - not that he disliked seeing his violence-oriented kouhai. What Yukimura was truly smiling at was the small pot Akaya was carrying with his left hand, and, more specifically, what was inside said pot.
Grinning, Yukimura got to his feet and quickly made his way to the window, rolling his IV hookup along behind him. Opening the window, and feeling exceedingly grateful to his parents for getting him a first-floor room, he smiled warmly down at Akaya.
“What’s this, Akaya? Are you skipping practice? I don’t want Sanada to get angry with you.”
Akaya blushed a little and held out the small plant. “Ano… buchou, I heard you liked them, so… I got you one. Here. Get better soon, okay?”
Yukimura took the pot, unable to contain the grin that was now blossoming across his face. “Thank you, Akaya. I appreciate it.” He looked down at the small white flowers sadly, continuing in a quieter tone, “Unfortunately, I am not permitted to keep this in my room… my mother is a little superstitious, you see.”
“Oh.” Akaya’s face fell, and he grumbled something under his breath about the symbol of death being him with a tennis racket and that buchou was fine since he was on the first floor. Yukimura laughed softly, handing the pot back out to the younger boy, who took it grudgingly.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Akaya, and I promise that as soon as I’m out of the hospital I will visit you to pick it up.”
The young troublemaker seemed to perk up at the thought of his buchou visiting him before anyone else, and smiled a little. “Okay, Yukimura-buchou. I’ll take care of it ‘till then.”
The two exchanged a few parting words, then Akaya ran off to practice and Yukimura closed his window. It wouldn’t do him any good to catch a cold now - especially when he wanted to go back to his comfortable home with those white chrysanthemums that Akaya - with Yanagi’s help, no doubt, as Akaya didn’t know him nearly well enough to know his favourite flower - had so graciously bought for him.
~End~
AN: White chrysanthemums are supposed to be a symbol of death in Japan, as is the number four (the words for “death” and “four” are very similar) - so, Akaya mutters about Yukimura being alright since he’s on the first floor, and not the fourth.