spangles for plums

pouting to the massive

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 18:00:31 GMT

I'm sick. Been hacking away like a witch with a frog in her throat. I've been popping cherry Soothers and honey and lemon Strepsils and I really tried to drink Lemsip and while it smells lovely, there aren't enough additives to not make it taste like medicine.

So I've been home all day, just downloading and watching things. Watched the latest Supernatural, lots of love for Castiel's failure as Dean's wing man, and Grey's Anatomy. I cried lots. Illness has made me soft :/ I'm only really in it for Christina and Lexie. Off to go watch House and Glee. I need some happy happy times.

It made me smile when I heard builders playing Katy Perry's Waking Up in Vegas. That's a scale of my melancholy.

SRLY BIG YAY for NEWS DVD! I'm not sure how I feel about Yamapi's solo stuff. It's a big deal for him and it's not for that long but I'm still :| about it. I hope he goes back to straight flippy hair for it. He should know full well by now that it suits him best.

it's a kind of magic

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 22:41:33 GMT

Watched the series 2 premiere of Merlin and I've come to two conclusions:

This man will never not be gorgeous. Smug smile or no smug smile.

This man will never not be adorable. Horse poo or no horse poo.

Arthur was a clotpoll, Merlin looked like he was pining all the time, and the writers need to know you can't have lines like "Everything I do is for him ~~and he just thinks I'm an idiot~~" and get away with it being *friendship*. Not after that episode last series where their '~~love~~ pure hearts' brought a unicorn back to life.

The promos do look epic though I got worried for a minute when they were showing the preview at the end and there was blatant Arthur/Gwen. That threw me because I thought they were taking it slow~ but then I realised it was just a compilation of snippets. Next episode is the jousting tournament if I trust wikipedia enough which should be good because it's fun watching Arthur being all athletic.

hello september, it's me anon-san fic writer

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 09:10:38 GMT

Summer is overrrr.

As usual, I feel as though I've wasted it. I've been having difficulty determining how to fic properly (it feels as though I want to write epic epicness but they take too long so it feels like nothing gets finished), so I've been hanging out at the anonymemes, I think some of the prompts are quite good and when I recognise one from an old one it makes me sad that it hasn't been written yet D; Ryo = House, people! It feels like there's been three memes and I keep losing the links so I'm googling really ambiguous things in speech marks trying to find the prompts I wanted to write.

NEWS fandom's been real quiet. I know this is the space where NWPD DVD was supposed to be but on the other hand, it's been 10 months since color so maybe there's an album in the works? Maybe? November-time?

To fill up my need to fangirl, I've turned to Supernatural and Merlin, and I'm gonna dip my toe in Glee. SPN fandom can get a little scary sometimes but the crazy/wank seems to be located in certain places so I just stay away, everything else is just wonderful with epic gif spams of pretty boys making funny faces. Merlin fandom is awesome, really, everyone is just so happy with love for everyone and they have such organised events like this and this and this. It'd be nice if there was JE equivalent but I'm not sure how it'd work strategically... A NEWSweeeek. Pffft. I'm lame. I know. I'd really like a list of old fic memes too, just for the memories. Ryo/cement block = OTP. I'm joshing.

I've been swept up in the wave of Korean girl bands and pretty much know the names of all the main playaaz (the duos, not so much). LA chA TA is my jam. I know the dance XDDD Trendy and age appropriate. Well done SM.

LJ clearly hates me

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 23:19:12 GMT

It seems LJ doesn't like me very much and has been refusing to load on my laptop even though it appears fine on my mobile browser. Nevermind. I've got a month left of summer. I intend to push out fic, I'm currently working on a monster. A FREAKING MONSTER, I TELLS YA. I'm almost 7,000 words in and all I've done is get Koyama wasted. It's a beautiful thing. It truly is. It feels as though my writing has changed. It's... trashy in an almost adorable way.

“It’s my first raucous party, I love it, we should have one too. Someone taught me how to knot a cherry stalk with my tongue,” Shige thinks Koyama says that with a bit too much pride, possibly a bit too much of a smile too. Scratch that – Shige knows there’s a bit too much tongue.

FWAHAHAHA. That's around the 6,000 word mark. I'm still undecided over who Koyama will wake up in the bathtub with the next morning but it'll come to me. I've been reading Merlin fics recently. It's astounding how many epic fic lengths there are... It feels as though 2/5th are over 4,000 words, several of those over 10,000. I think it's affecting my pacing now which is why I'm leisurely taking my time with plot. Monster fic will be eating words. Chewing them, spitting them out, setting them on fire with toxic breath.

I'm in a giddy mood. S4 of Psych has started. I love it. I love the Mentalist reference and the Shawn/Juliet 'date' even though I know he's totally dating Abigail and Abigail is really sweet and I love her being the 'one that got away' but didn't. She deserves a happy ending f'realz. Blah. It's tugging at my heartstrings.

Mother has started watching 24. She says it's so exciting she needs anti-anxiety meds to get through it XDDD

i is born-ee-mouth-bound

Sat, 08 Aug 2009 00:34:59 GMT

~~Tomorrow~~ Today is the local Fili Association trip to Bornemouth. All the Filipinos in the area I live in are going to the beach. There are quite a lot considering that they've booked two coaches to transport everyone. I'm half-excited, half-dreading it. It'll be nice to see everyone and all that heartwarming shizz they seem to talk about in dramas but I absolutely hate the beach, the sea, the sun, everything that is construed from those summertime themes. In that sense, me and Yamapi would not see eye to eye at all. I wouldn't mind it so much but it'll be hot and disgusting on a coach where the children are hyperactive and unless they all got DS's and someone's got a Mario Kart game cartridge for multiplayer, I'll not be best pleased for the duration of that trip.

I'm only joking. I'll love it really. Hopefully.

4hrs 30 mins ETD. Should I bother sleeping now?

"it can fly already!"

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 14:57:55 GMT

Now that my phone is not so shiny, I've been on the lookout for one to buy since it'll be another year until I can get a free upgrade. My current X1 is battered and worn and so full of junk that refuses to delete itself no matter how many times I try. I went a little overboard when I first got it and tried to fully pimp it out hardcore-like. It can't be normal to spend half a day looking at phones and reviews back and forth and still not come to a conclusion, is it? I do know that I've gone right off Nokia and Sony Ericsson though (though the upcoming SE Satio/Idou looks like my cup of tea) so I'm looking at LG and Samsung. I saw the promotion for the LG GM730 and it looks sweet but there's no UK release date yet ):

I also had a go at cleaning up my hard drive. My podcast folder was indeed unnecessarily cluttered so I listened through the ones that I wanted to keep. Below are a few clips that I found particularly funny. The parrot one is possibly my favourite.

fake baby colin harry potter wangs

parrot riding bike dog adopts pig

dropped like a raindrop

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:05:22 GMT

I'm giving up. I just can't find the motivation to finish these fics but I think it's a shame to just delete them. Some of them are things I've promised but I just can't. I'm really sorry. Some of these are pretty old so ignore my inconsistencies and typos and really dodgy HMTL. Prod me to finish one if it really takes your fancy - seriously - prod me. Prod me hard. So here for your incomplete viewing pleasure...

blame it on the weatherman
News is serious business.

It’s on the hour every hour and depending on your medium, you can be informed of the news all day, everyday. People say that if you want to live a happier life then you should stop watching the news because the stories that are reported are – more often than not – depressing and traumatic, with the exception of the final couple of stories that are quirky and about a guy winning an omelette eating competition and tiny pigs that can fit into teacups.

News really is serious business.

You can’t go around reporting on wars with a smile plastered on your face and follow it by singing a little ditty about politicians afterwards. Yamashita Tomohisa thought that to be in the profession you had to keep your emotions in check and report to the viewers with serious expressions, not even batting an eyelid or twitching an eyebrow because it is just not professional to and that was all he wanted to be. He could do that. He could totally do that.

That was until he met the weatherman.

“Today the sky will be a perfect sky blue but I wonder what colour Yamashita-san’s underwear is? Back to you!”

So the weather may not be the same as the news, Yamashita could deal with that, after all, there were generally more catastrophes in the news than there were in the weather, however it was hard to forgive the weatherman, Koyama Keiichiro, for taking the job so lightly. Underwear, indeed. The only time Yamashita could see that being appropriate would be when some idiotic guy set his pants alight for the sake of a world record.

Then again, perhaps Koyama Keiichiro had the right idea; they didn’t exactly have the prime time slot, there wasn’t really any need for formalities when viewer ratings weren’t that high to begin with. To put it simply, the numbers of complaints from viewers were never going to be high enough to get them off the air.

That meant the weather fairy could present the weather in whatever way he liked.

Even in cosplay.

---

Extra Early Hour TV was just what it said on the label; it broadcasted in the early hours of the morning, just between three and five, and the news aired in the last half-hour. Yamashita was a news broadcaster who had just been transferred from the twelve o’clock broadcast to the early morning programme due to certain circumstances concerning him and his brutal ways of journalism.

It had been a week and thus far, the staff had been very welcoming to their star newsreader, gave him the presidential treatment, including a mint on the pillow of his chair. He would have been enjoying it, if not for the fact that no one would talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Apart from that fairy weatherman of a man.

“Hey, Yamashita-san, wanna go out to dinner or lunch… breakfast?” Koyama fluttered through to the news desk where Yamashita was looking over some notes for the following day’s broadcast.

Yamashita knew what Koyama meant. These days, their body clocks were out of sync with the norm so timings for meals were now pretty much whenever there was a break. While the staff were friendly, Koyama was over-friendly, too open and constantly trying to push the same kind of enthusiasm he gave his weather report into making friends with him. The main word being trying.

“No thank you,” Yamashita replied somewhat offhandedly, thoroughly captivated by a story about a shoplifting bird. “I already ate earlier.”

Koyama made a slight whine, like he knew that was a lie and he scooted over onto the desk, leaning over the papers to obstruct the distraction that was so obviously in the way of getting attention, “That’s not true, you haven’t eaten in… I’m guessing six hours.”

At that point, Yamashita would have given in to pretty much anybody but this was an overgrown kitten laying on his script for tomorrow’s programme. Literally.

“Koyama-san? Your… cat ears are slipping.”

“Eh?” Koyama brought up his hands to the headband that had been falling lopsided and tugged them to symmetry, looking at his reflection in Yamashita’s glasses. “Is that better? I can’t quite see, your glasses are a bit dusty.”

“Um, yeah, it’s fine now,” he replied while wiping his glasses on the cuff of his sleeve.

“So, lunch?” Koyama smiled eagerly, looked up with a look of expectancy and Yamashita found it hard to turn down the offer. “I have extra homemade bento?”

That smile brought him to the rooftop or perhaps it was the idea of homemade food that called out to his grumbling stomach but either way, Yamashita greeted the morning sun with edible food cooked and arranged by Koyama’s own hands into cute happy faces, hearts and stars.

“How is it? Okay? Cold? Better warmed? Salty? Spicy?” Koyama leaned in close and with a flurry of opinions stated in question form, he watched Yamashita eat. “Cheesy?”

Yamashita thought it would be best to answer because as much as happy Koyama was a pain, anxious Koyama was even worse. “It’s good.”

And then with a heavily relieved sigh, Koyama sat back and stabbed at white rice with his chopsticks. They sat together, squatted like school kids, watching the sun rise high, warming the skies from the tinged grey to clear blue.

“It really is blue,” Yamashita found himself saying because he really didn’t expect it, especially not when it had been so cloudy the day before, especially not when Koyama had been the weatherman who had reported it.

“Of course!” Koyama replied, a full smile of smugness spread across his face. “I can predict the weather perfectly.”

“I suppose so, with all the technology around these days.”

“Oh, I don’t use computers.”

“What?”

“I don’t use computers?” Koyama repeated, eyebrows quirking as he stuffed a prawn in his mouth.

“So how can you tell?”

“Mmagh herrh.”

“Excuse me?”

Koyama pats his chest, chokes and coughs a little to move the food down his throat quicker, “My hair.”

“You tell the weather with your hair…” Yamashita said, slowly, only half-believing those words because Koyama spoke with such conviction.

“Yep!”

“That’s… some skill you got there.”

“Thank you very much!” Koyama smiled – looking rather please with himself – and Yamashita was sure he saw butterflies and sunshine there.

When they finished eating, they sat for a while in silence. Yamashita watched as Koyama spread his arms and closed his eyes, leaned back and turned towards the sun, all butter-yellow and gentle heat. Strands of his hair caught in the light, his skin glowed and Yamashita thought that was possibly the calmest he had ever seen Koyama before; still and silent, soft sways of windswept hair the only movement.

“Hey, Yamashita-san?” Koyama’s sudden eye contact was startling and made Yamashita turn against the breeze and despite this action looking anti-social, Koyama persisted with his questioning. “What’s your favourite kind of weather?”

“I…” Yamashita tilted towards the sun. “-like the rainy season.”

“Really?” Koyama didn’t think that was true, not when Yamashita had opened himself to the sun so willingly.

---

It wasn’t as though he hated his job, on the contrary, Yamashita enjoyed reporting the news, he was good at reporting the news and as long as there were viewers who were willing to watch then he’d do his best while on the job. That didn’t make it easy though, especially when he had to hand over five minutes to a weatherman who decided to wear pyjamas while on TV.

“Ow, Yamashita-san! Oww!”

“What’s with all the fuss, Koyama?”

“Ah, Nishikido-san, hey, I was just getting head locked by Yamashita-san here!”

“And that makes you happy why?”

Nishikido Ryo was the current producer, whose word was law and all that jazz. He was a well-respected man, personally recruiting staff by hand and sacking them the same way if necessary. Nishikido, as Yamashita’s close friend, knew that there were issues to deal with concerning Koyama but Nishikido was sure to keep Koyama above board as he proved very popular with viewers.

Koyama blabbed on about being taken seriously (not a question, actually a statement) while Yamashita and Nishikido fazed out and talked about the following programme’s schedule. It wasn’t really something that needs to be discussed but they have lunch under that guise.

“How are you finding things here?” Nishikido asked, gestures a hand for a waiter to take their plates away. “I know it’s different from daytime.”

“It’s…” Yamashita paused and tried to think of the most delicate way to phrase what he felt because he knew that Nishikido had the power to make his life at the station very difficult, “going to take some time getting use to it.”

“Be nice to Koyama, okay?” Nishikido warned and Yamashita was taken aback by the sudden sternness in his voice.

“How can you even let him present the weather with the way he dresses?”

“Kitten works hard and he gets viewers so… nuh.”

There is no argument to counter with so Yamashita was left with explicit instructions to ‘back off’ and ‘take care’ of the weatherman that like to dress up (the next outfit planned was something resembling a kindergarten uniform, light blue with a white hat and cute yellow chicks).

no smoke without fire
//red/white/blue//

Tegoshi Yuya has one name.

That one name, however, belongs to three different people.

There is one that knows everything, that sees everything, the one that is left to sort out the messes the other two make. He is the sensible one, the one that does all the schoolwork, the one who exerts all his efforts into maintaining a healthy eating balance and enough exercise to make up for the other two.

Tegoshi Yuya is a hardworking student, the likeable person everyone likes, would lean on as he had stable shoulders and sympathetic ears. Two of both, in fact, though what people don’t know is that each pair is already being used.

Then there are the other two who have lapses in their memory, they come and go as they please, do whatever they want; they lack consciousness and inhibitions. There is one who is two-faced – two people in himself but both have the same motives. He is out for number one but on rare occasions, he may grace that privilege to someone other than himself.

The other is pure of heart, follows all his feelings freely, skips around when he feels like dancing, hums when he feels like singing. He thinks not for the sake of those around him, just his own needs, though it would be a lie if it was said that he didn’t enjoy other people’s smiles.

Tegoshi Yuya is many people.

//blue//

Tegoshi wakes up to the sound of a bleeping alarm. He whines, his body aches all over, his head thumps to the beat of a non-existent drum, he groans as he turns over and scrunches his face when he sees that there’s someone else in this bed that isn’t his.

Tegoshi doesn’t have to struggle to recall what happened, he was there, amongst all the alcohol that is still swimming around in his blood. He recoils thinking about everything they had done, all places he was touched, it makes his gut twist to think that he wasn’t in control.

“Good morning,” Tegoshi hears and he doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want to face this man who doesn’t know him.

“Yeah,” Tegoshi replies, avoiding any contact, he just wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “Where are my clothes?”

“Why?” Tegoshi feels the bed shift a bit and when he hears the clink of metal, he turns to see last night’s cohort flick a lighter up to a cigarette against pressed lips. “Got somewhere you need to be?”

Tegoshi makes a sound, enforces the meaning with a nod; he holds his breath, doesn’t want to breathe in the smoky air. He spots some of his clothes on the laminated floorboards, he reaches out as far as he can and drags them towards him with one outstretched foot.

Quickly dressing, knowing full well that he has eyes on him, Tegoshi quickly excuses himself (minus underwear he knows he wasn’t wearing last night) but before he can even get to the door, he’s pinned against the wall and his heart rate jumps upon impact.

“When will I see you again?” Tegoshi tries to avoid eye contact but when another forehead is flush against his own, he can do nothing but look into those eyes that focus all on him.

“Some… other time?” he replies, slumps down against the wall and slips away, but not before he gets lip locked.

He gets every molecule of air from his lungs sucked out, another tongue tasting all he is and he’s torn between reluctance and acceptance of it all. Although he's aware this person knows nothing of him, he's a damn good kisser.

watching the bays erode away
Having such a high chair serves a double purpose. The first is that it enables lifeguards to see far and wide into the distance and the other is that it makes a great umpire’s seat for volleyball matches. Koyama would know, he spends most of his time sat on it while his fellow lifeguard in crime gets called this way and that, pretty young things asking him about CPR and running poolside with flip-flops and why red is such an apparent colour in their craft.

Yamapi knows all the right things to say.

Koyama just likes red.

As lifeguards they save lives, fewer lives than Koyama had originally thought when he started this stint. Though the greatest cause of it is Yamapi’s over-enthusiasm and the fact that people prefer him saving them. Koyama totally understands the reason why; Yamapi does look better than he does with water drops cascading down the contours of his naked body.

It’s a large outdoor pool with a wave machine and a couple of slides, and Koyama loves it with all his heart. He gets a nice tan and occasionally, there’s something that requires him to flex his deceptively strong muscles, though usually it’s just carrying little kids around when they get tired from the heat.

“Slow day today, huh?” Yamapi sighs and takes a swig of his orange sports drink, slotting it back in the holder in his chair.

“Yeah,” Koyama sighs too, only more audibly and more forlored. “I know I shouldn’t wish people would drown but I promise if they did I’d save them with all my heart.”

“I know.”

Yamapi smiles to himself because Koyama always makes the sunny days pass with a breeze, he’d sit out in the blazing sunshine if Koyama was there and not just because Koyama has really nice smelling sunscreen. He remembers his first day, Koyama was a perky puppy ready to put his training into action but there was nothing for him to do because holidays were over and no one was using the pool.

“You wanna play cards?”

So they play Go Fish to pass the time, Yamapi finds the fish themed playing cards very cute, they suit Koyama somewhat, bright and cheery, a little androgynous but vibrant like a rainbow. It’s all so simple with Koyama, it’s the easy life, they get paid enough and it’s not as though there are commissions per life saved.

On one of the longer days, Koyama’s mind wanders into strange and wonderful colourful lands though he thinks it’s the chlorine fumes evaporating into the air. He has wonderful dreams about fishes flying in the sky and striped red and white inflatable rings that look like giant mint flavoured candy.

my eye’s apple is not mine
Everyday, same time as always, Ryo peers out of his office window and lets his mind drift.

His thoughts slide with clouds in the sky, over the tops of buildings, going to places he will never find himself in person. He imagines the lives of the people down below, what makes them tick, what they think the moment their foot leaves the pavement and lands onto the road. For some it is more easier than others. These people show their lifestyles through their appearance, bright colours, shiny hair, pierced lips, tattooed arms illustrated with their beliefs.

There are those more difficult, changing wardrobes, poker faces, nothing is really given away and Ryo likes those people the most because they are the ones who surprise him best. They help old people carry their shopping, pick up other people’s litter and hold open doors for others.

From where he sits, he can see the train station’s entrance and just like clockwork, as seven minutes pass nine, Ryo sees him exit and walk the three minutes down the road to the optician’s. Ryo doesn’t know his name, doesn’t know his age, doesn’t know anything about him and though he shouldn’t want to, shouldn’t have this urge to see him up close, he does and he takes the initiative when his sight becomes blurred even though the windowpane is clean.

He books an appointment over the phone, wonders if the voice he hears belongs to him and he takes the day off work even though he only needs the morning. Ryo feels a little bit like a stalker, he waits at the train station and follows him there, walking about five paces behind. Today he wears a white shirt and a loose black tie, it is not his usual fashion, that is more like a boring salary man with one item bright in colour.

He pushes the door, there is a quaint little jingle above his head, he walks to the desk, there are rows of glasses of different sizes and colours, shiny and fingerprint-free. Ryo peers and scrutinises the designs. Rimless. Plastic. Coated. Glare-free. Ryo likes them all.

“How can I help you, sir?”

It’s him. He has a nice smile, straight teeth, bright like his name badge. Kato Shigeaki, it says. Now, Ryo knows his name, it’s part-normal, part-distinctive, a little like the person himself.

“I’m here for my appointment,” Ryo says, all professional and polite, and the shiny silver bell on the counter doesn’t look out of place at all, not with the one above the door.

cupid has always been a fallen angel in disguise ~jusqu'à ce que la mort~

His blood runs cold,                                                                                                                    He’s so solid,
it used to be so warm.                                                                                                      before it was translucent.

The night he died,                                                                                                                   The morning he was killed,
he’d never bled so much before.                                                                                                something he so wanted to forget.

               They met on a rainy day, the grey pavements blotted greyer by the drops, he was looking for shelter and found an abandoned house. Boarded up windows in a little nook behind an alley. There was nothing appealing about it, it was no place a human could find attractive, no place a human would want to live in. He supposed that made it just perfect for him.

               Cold bricks he could only remember as cold now seemed lukewarm beneath his palm. He sat at the doorstep, shading all but his boots because they didn’t matter. He was a photograph, frozen in time, wet feet wouldn’t change that, wet matted hair wouldn’t change that either.

               Even if he had been able to crack open the door, Yamapi wouldn’t have been able to cross over the threshold. It wasn’t his property, he had no right to enter. Despite the ice in his veins, he felt the weather, saw the deserted streets and he couldn’t help but be reminded of old customs of heading inwards.

               Numb. His every extremity was numb and had been for so long, and no amount of rest was enough to restore feeling.

               “Hello?”

               A crack between two planks of wood nailed into brick and Yamapi could see two eyes looking directly at him, right at the soul he no longer had.

               “Do you want to come inside?”

               “Is that all right?”

               He asked just to make sure. A suggestion wasn’t the same as an invitation.

               A vague nod, the eyes duck beneath the gap, and the latch of the door clunked and clinkered. His black boots now squelching as he stood up, Yamapi shifted from foot to foot, just to avoid the water settling between his toes. His first invitation in three years, the last one he’d ever need.

He was famous once,                                                                                              He’d spent his lifetime caring for others,
in a time no one quite remembers.                                                                               in his last moments he wished he was selfish.

Attention lavished on him,                                                                                                                 All he thought of was happiness,
he lived an indulgent life,                                                                                                                               for everyone he saw,
only to have it taken.                                                                                                                     mirrors didn’t make a difference.

               Abandoned was completely the word necessary for the house, narrow and kitsch to boot. He had two of them after all so why not? Just as derelict should be, there were no forms of furniture safe for a tattered sofa and a small coffee table. Respectfully, Yamapi wiped his feet on the straw doormat, the one that said ‘home svet home’ after all the wear.

               He closed the door behind him, stepped forward into darkness, not expecting much from the host who graciously let him in. Contrary to the schema he’d gained from such a rickety house, the current owner looked out of place.

               “So you can see me?”

               It seemed like an odd question but Yamapi supposed that for a creature such as the one before him, it was a necessary one.

               “You’re a ghost,” he couldn’t help but smile a little as the fact slipped between his lips. “Not often you see one so... solid.”

               The oxymoronic ghost bowed his head as though it was something to be ashamed of. On the contrary, it wasn’t something Yamapi was judging, for who was he to judge a spirit who refused to walk into the light? There was no such thing as heaven, not for creatures like him anyway.

               His name was Koyama Keiichiro, he clung to a house he could no longer live in because he wasn’t breathing anymore, he couldn’t fill it with warmth that he so missed and as a result of his will to stay there, to hold onto the human life he had, he haunted the house he could not care for by hand.

               It’s all about what you see, the impact on your eyes, the formation of lines and the use of light. Art is visual. All that matters is what is present visually, or not present if you’re minimalist.

               Whilst in high school, Kato Shigeaki dabbled a bit in photography, a camera was initially something he had to record memories for a looming yearbook. Subjects were people or places, if it wasn’t a person’s face taking up the frame then it was an empty classroom looking lonely. Over time, a shutter click became addictive to his ears, a camera lens to his eyes, capturing moments regardless of their trivialities.

               When it came to deciding his future, Shige’s first thought about seeing the world through adult eyes was framed by white angles of a camera. For his eyes to skim past something, it would first have to involve imagining its best angle, colourings and contrasts, and if deemed uninteresting it’s pushed away for something more visually stimulating.

               Albeit having a distinct lack of passion covered by intellectual words, Shige entered an art college on scholarship. Part of him was thankful for the relief it gave his parents, another part felt guilty for taking a place that could have gone to a talent with drive. Nevertheless, he signed up to dorm to save even farther on transport and living costs and found out on the first day that he was to share a room with a budding children’s book illustrator.

               To each his own, Shige thought, mainstream photography for magazines and adverts was his trail to getting by in life. He had heard what his roommate was going to be like from the administrator. A nice happy person he was told, the sweetest student there ever could be, so nice his default face was set on smile and he probably shat rainbows and glitter for all his niceness. A children’s book illustrator seemed to be a fitting pursuit.

               He remembers it distinctly well, he’d mapped out the scene in his mind several times so he wouldn’t forget it should he choose to capture it in photograph. A bunk bed to the right after a jutting wall secluding the bathroom, a laptop on a desk, a complete shelf of manga to match the stack by the radiator just below a window.

               It was quiet, the perfect scene to depict a lazy Sunday afternoon, all yellow and light, distinct lines and shadows, Shige had only a duffle bag stuffed with clothes he regularly wore, the rest he’d get sent by his parents. Seeing the top bunk with a cover hanging off led Shige to believe the bottom one was for him. He slung his bag down, it bounced a little before settling and Shige couldn’t help but wonder when sunshine was going to turn up.

               He turned up a while later, when the five o’clock shadow graced Shige’s chin at seven, just as he was about to start his student life officially with student food. Cup ramen, seafood flavour because the vending machine ran out of chicken. He had just taken his glasses off, the steam was fogging up his vision, and snapped the wooden chopsticks in half.

               “Hello, I’m Tegoshi,” Shige remembers the chime, like the bleeping of an alarm clock, a voice that commands attention to it immediately. “You’re Kato, right?”

               Such familiar terms so soon, Shige thought, a lasting impression that would last for everyone. Nothing would be safe from sharing. No cup of ramen would survive. Tegoshi’s lips had encased the end of the chopsticks and once he had slurped up what was on the end, he recommended Shige used sporks in future because he liked to have some soup along with the ramen.

               It seemed Tegoshi loved sound, liked playing music all day, if it wasn’t booming out from speakers, it was leaking out from headphones, and for four months, Shige said nothing about it because Tegoshi would sing along in such a way that he didn’t mind it so much. Then came the time for their first formal assessments and while Shige was doing his best to explain why he had chosen his project to be predominantly in grey scale, he couldn’t have driven beats thumping in his ears.

               Clearly, Tegoshi was very much only interested in himself, he’d spend his free time lounging about, dangling limbs off his bedside, complaining about how it was such a surprise that his muscles ached even though he had spent the previous four hours playing football and running around like he was seven and it was summer.

               Only when a member of his study group pointed it out did Shige realise that Tegoshi didn’t spend much time drawing. In fact, he did little regarding art in general. The dorm was just where he lived, not where he worked, though Shige had difficulty imagining that at all.

               “Hey, Tegoshi-san?”

               “Yes, Shige?” Tegoshi peered over his bunk, dangled his head down, straight hair evidently straight.

               “What’s your drawing like?”

               Shige noted how Tegoshi’s pout seemed the same upside-down. He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sliding to the side as he swung side to side, hair following him like a mop.

               “It’s okay.”

               “Can I... see?”

               Tegoshi disappeared and after some shuffling, a sketchbook dropped down and Tegoshi said nothing more. Taking it in his hands, Shige could smell the fixing spray, he carefully peeled the pages apart where they stuck and struggled to keep his amusement silent. Not to say that the illustrations were bad but Shige was fairly sure that whatever they were, they weren’t what he thought they were. A white cow was actually a whale and a pink rabbit was a hedgehog. Or so the captions said.

               Drawing wasn’t really Shige’s thing but he was certain that even he could do better.

               Yamapi couldn’t fight the urge to touch Koyama in some way. They were squatting on the floor, positions of their childhood, telling their life stories though most of the talking was on Koyama’s part. He was working part-time in a library, read books with a dictionary by his side, liked the ones with pictures the most, scans of sepia-toned ancient art too fragile and expensive for hands to touch.

               Would Koyama be the same, just an image of the real thing, would he still feel warm beneath his hand as when blood pumped through his veins? Though what would he know? His hands have long been ice.

               “How did you die?”

               A question on the tips of his taste buds, tasting the air and all curiousness that hung in it. Koyama smiled, a smile for himself as though his amusement couldn’t be kept inside, as though he had expectations of such a thing.

               “I really don’t remember.”

               From someone who seemed so true and honest, Yamapi knew the moment lies began to slip. Of course, Koyama would remember, it was his death, the most important moment when his breath was taken and his life stolen.

this is the moment that you smile before you cry
koyama vowed never to fall in love.

ryo called him a fool.

ryo couldn't understand why koyama had made such a promise.

koyama couldn't tell him that it was ryo's fault.

it began with that girl ryo went out with, the nice polite one with the shiny hair that ryo set the doraemon theme tune for as her custom ringtone on his phone. not to say that he was crazy about her, but ryo was thinking about introducing her to his parents, maybe meeting hers, possibly finding out the circumference of her ring finger.

in any case, it was a relationship that was edging onto serious, one of the monumental steps into maturity - adulthood, somewhat (even grown ups make mistakes in marriage). it would definitely be an ending to the part of ryo who was young, the -chan of him would be gone because it would be passed onto offspring (and ryo knew of no married man still called -chan).

koyama was naturally happy for him, genuinely, honestly, he was proud of the path ryo chose. he wasn't blind to ryo's previous reputation and to see him so focussed on one person, to truly give his all, was awe inspiring. ryo would do anything for her. he'd persevere to be everything, give anything that made her happy, a large wedding, white roses, like swans they'd meet, crane their necks to make a heart which would be a sign of their everlasting love.

perhaps it was his day-to-day disposition that caused ryo to talk to koyama about his wedding day jitters, his cold feet or whatever extremity was appropriate. koyama knew that yamapi was always going to be the best man, no matter what, but he still felt privileged that he was sought out. it was exciting, it was something new and koyama had the incredible knack of experiencing it through ryo's eyes.

then the day of the wedding came, all snow and lace, everyone stood to attention, the distinct smell of roses breezing in the air. koyama watched as all eyes turned to the back, rows upon rows of eyes, just waiting for the bride in the white dress to appear. koyama remembered watching a film with a lady who liked to look at the groom in that moment (and was far too pretty to have remained unmarried if that was what she wanted). koyama liked the way that she thought, liked to see the sheen of amazement she talked about come across ryo's face.

so, as he faced the front, koyama waited for that moment while the band striked up. ryo licked his lips, pressed them together before swiping his tongue once more and following it up with a swallow. the evident anticipation slowly fell. His mouth fell open and when koyama heard muttering, he turned away and looked to the back, looked to the grand open doors and where there was supposed to be a white flowing gown and scattered petals instead there was nothing.

koyama thought that it was absolutely horrible.

ryo told him to get over it.

koyama couldn't help but feel as though he should have been stepping on eggshells.

ryo felt like an omlette.

koyama felt so helpless, the congregation turned to ryo with sympathetic eyes, yamapi was already there with his hand on ryo's shoulder for support, and koyama had the bench between them.

he wondered later if ryo knew how much he wanted to be there, the boastful part of koyama knew that he was a good friend, a brilliant friend, he had mastered comforting, he'd taught classes in support 101. he may not have actually done that but he was sure that he could. however, koyama is not boastful, he's modest and careful, and he decides to wisely advise yamapi when he asks about the best way to handle ryo.

take care, he said, he's like a egg.

apropriate simile or not, that was what koyama thought was right, it was strategically safe. sometimes though, the safest option isn't always the best.

the original plan to mend ryo's broken heart was to go along with his every whim, it worked for the first couple of weeks when all ryo wanted to do was sit at home and watch tv. then it got scary when he tried to contact her. it was obvious he wanted answers, it was natural, understandable, but ryo's methods were obsessive, he slurred drunken pleads down the phone to a line that wouldn't be answered, to a voicemail message that wouldn't be replied to. she had left him: a note, a ring and her name under his contact list was all he had to prove that she was ever there.

i love you, so, so much, he hiccupped, please come back to me, an-and if you don't... just please don't ever play me back this message.

things are getting confusing...

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 13:25:50 GMT

I just finished watching BBC's Psychoville. It's a thriller/drama/comedy thing. Essentially, it's about five ex-psychiatric patients being contacted by an anonymous 'blackmailer' accusing them of the murder of a nurse at the hospital. There's a dwarf actor, a blind millionaire, a midwife who believes a doll is her child, a one-handed clown and a serial killer obsessed man-child. Now with those kind of characters you know it's going to be quirkily interesting. I quite like the blind man if only for the fact that he calls his assistant guy 'Tea Leaf'.

It's not really scary, it is very funny and had I not been made to watch Hitchcock's Rope at film club last year in school I wouldn't have gotten the homage in episode 4.

Let me just say for the 'concluding' finale, it was... truly exciting. Such a twisty ending (don't wiki it because it gives it all away). It is a show with a bit of everything genre-wise, there's even a musical montage in one episode. I highly recommend it for the thrill of the mystery.

It reminds me of a game show a few years back. There was a sleepy village with a 'serial murderer' and the contestants were given files on people in the village and they had to find clues and talk to people in order to find out who it was. And one by one, as the contestants made misjudgements, they would get 'killed off' one by one. I only really remember it because when it got down to the last two, they had to go and meet with someone and choose one of two locations. One lady chose to go in a barn and I remember the hay as the murderer approached and killed her off. I say 'game show' it was really more like a documentary-style thing with recorded dramatic sequences to piece together stories of the villagers. It's a shame I can't remember the name of it though.

You can find many DDL links for Psychoville here to suit your host of preference, just check the comments.

no heroics.exe

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:42:10 GMT

title: no heroics.exe
pairing: gen
rating: pg-13
summary: ryo’s an undecided cape who gives being a supervillain a go for a while and uses a not-so secret identity to set up a software company to code a virus as his first attempt at being evil. unbeknownst to him, he’s employed moonlighting off-duty superheroes to do his bidding.
notes: this has been nagging me for a while so i thought i’d just get it all out so it’s quite rushed in parts. totally stole the title from the tv show. any weird names are superhero names. there's the smidgiest bit of tegoshige and mild language. but um, not really. please excuse any openness, i lost track at some points.

no heroics.exe
4280~

part 000
filename: company

Nishikido keeps mixed company; he likes the superhero bar more than the supervillain hideout but he finds it hard to keep up with the day-to-day goodness that he’s supposed to uphold. It’s not his fault that he just stands by and watches old people and children fall down in the snow. He just likes it.

As a general rule, Nishikido is against hurting innocent people though he thinks idiots get what they deserve when they take offers that are too good to be true. Superhero or not, no one gives free flights across the world unless they intend to drop their passengers next to a volcano or on a deserted island. The supervillain gig does seem slimy but Nishikido reckons he should give it an honest go to see if it works for him because being a superhero that can talk to computers doesn’t exactly have action and excitement written all over it.

On the fourth day of June, Nishikido rents out the sixth floor of a small skyscraper for his business using the money from his sidekick insurance blip a couple of months ago. It’s not enough for a long stretch so Nishikido plans his world domination to cover a month and decides to see where things go from there.

part 001
filename: boss

Nishikido establishes himself as ‘Boss’, thinks that he should get his lackeys used to calling him that from the get-go and has it printed on business cards (handmade by XeroxCopy because the original XeroxMan was busy at an office party). He intends to give them no opportunity of calling him something else and decides to keep it a secret.

Fitting out the one floor office space with cheap budget-made computers, all Nishikido has to do is talk in that vocoded way he knows how to get them to listen and download the necessary programming software all in one go. He gets tired calling them by their serial numbers and gives them nicknames, affectionately calling the one in his office Tommy. There’s Pineapple, Kate, Jimmy, Rika, Red and Sousuke, and Nishikido leaves the rest alone. He’s never been good at nicknames. Nishikido thinks he and Sousuke won’t get along because he has a tendency to work really well at first before stabbing its user in the back before the save button can be clicked. Despite that, Nishikido’s proud of his computers (even Sousuke who managed to sort out an installation error by himself).

Once he’s kitted out the office with everything he thinks is needed, his only purchase besides computery things is a water cooler, Nishikido gets to work employing people to work under him. For what is a supervillain without lackeys to do their bidding?

part 002
filename: assistant

Nishikido enlists a fellow graduate from the Superpower Academy to help him out. As far as future ambitions went, world domination was definitely not on this guy’s list. Tentatively called a cross between Santa and Cupid -... Sapid. Cu-ta. Nishikido can’t quite remember which namesquish is used - it’s not hard to imagine Koyama shitting butterflies and rainbows and having sweetness coming out of his pores.

Adequately aware of his people skills, Nishikido asks Koyama to be his assistant, to manage people and bring out the best in them. What Nishikido is really asking is nothing more than Koyama to just be Koyama, and thus leaves him to handle the interviews of prospective workers.

Unlike most possessing superpowers, Koyama took the middle ground, becoming neither superhero nor supervillain, just Average Joe the Temp from the Temp Agency. Koyama goes where he’s needed: the Mary Poppins of the office world, his presence seems magical and when Nishikido asks him to lend a hand, he’s only too glad to be of assistance. The day he comes in, Nishikido can’t help but smile when Koyama uses the elevator to get to the sixth floor despite having the ability to sprout wings and call up flying reindeers.

“You know I don’t like to make a scene,” Koyama says. “Especially when I don’t have a costume.”

Nishikido can taste the jibe in those words, “Hey, my mother made me mine.”

“I know, it was your graduation present,” Koyama points and swoops an R in the air. “I was the one who did your insignia.”

Koyama’s first task under Nishikido’s command is to screen through applicants with programming knowledge that will be assets to the company, make it so his plight for computer infections spread under his name will be achieved.

However, Koyama doesn’t really do bad things, he prides himself on having a karma rating that’s through the roof so it comes as no surprise that the people he’s employed to work are superheroes with light schedules. Koyama knows that they won’t be any real help in progression for Nishikido’s quest for power but he just can’t say no to whoever asks.

“Please Kei-chan,” Koyama doesn’t even have to look at Tegoshi to know that he’s pouting. “Do you know how hard it is for a sidekick to go solo?”

“Shh,” Koyama raises a finger to his lips and looks around the department store as though scandal will strike at any moment. “You’re supposed to be keeping your head low.”

Tegoshi rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh that whistles through the air. Koyama looks horrified.

“Stop using your powers! Dogs all over the city will have pricked their ears up because of you,” Koyama claps a hand over Tegoshi’s mouth for a brief moment to silence him before he tears away and puts on full stroppy mode.

“But I need a job and you know I hate corporate gigs,” Tegoshi tugs at a rack of clothes and looks like a child denied of chocolate completely, he pauses for a moment and his timbre changes, “They always make me feel like I’m a B-list superhero.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do,” Koyama sighs defeated. “But did you have to use Shige’s voice to tell me?”

Tegoshi winks and beams a smile just under five hundred watts, “You know you love it.”

Koyama gives Tegoshi explicit instructions to hide his identity because he knows that Nishikido has no intention of having superheroes meddling in his business. Unfortunately, Tegoshi seems to have missed that message as he rocks up to the gig with fellow capers in tow (albeit in normal clothing).

part 003
filename: employee

Koyama’s feelings bounce from sheer horror to utter disappointment in himself when Tegoshi brings friends to work as though he’s given the authority to employ them himself.

“What are you doing here?” Koyama tugs Kato to the side though there’s no crowd in the room to hide the fact that they’re having a private discussion.

“You offer Tegoshi a job and not me?” Kato almost sounds a little hurt. “You know I’ve needed non-super work and you know I hate-”

“Corporate gigs,” Koyama finishes because he does know.

Apart from Tegoshi, Kato and Masuda (who goes along because Tegoshi says they’ll be free catering for lunch), everyone else who works there are from Koyama’s well established connections at various temping agencies, perfectly normal people with adequate computer skills.

The tippy-tappy typing is like music to his ears when Nishikido arrives after lunch; like a little puppy dog, Koyama bundles up to him with a smile, his intention to greet Nishikido but to everyone else it looks as though he’s seeking some kind of reward.

“I’m impressed,” Nishikido says and Koyama knows he means it because it’s an incredible feat to achieve. He distinctly remembers Nishikido being fairly blasé in college when he’d won a trip in a helicopter, which Koyama doesn’t understand because even though he can fly by himself, it’s still a trip in a helicopter. How can that not be awesome?

“That’s good,” Koyama smiles.

Nishikido fights the temptation to ruffle Koyama’s hair because not only would that be totally condescending, it would be unmentionably awkward with the height difference between them. Instead, he gives a discomfited manly slap on the back that lands more like a pat on Koyama’s shoulder.

Tegoshi takes his eyes away from his current minesweeper game, making sure to minimize it before leaning to the side, “I bet you they fucked in college.”

“Shit,” Kato snaps back almost immediately though he’s very aware to keep his voice hushed, “Will you stop using my voice when you talk to me?”

“I like it,” Tegoshi says back in his normal light and breezy tone before switching once more. “It’s deep and sexy like you’ve just done oral.”

Kato is left mouthing unintelligible sounds in reply, though it’s not the first time Tegoshi’s stolen his voice and said indecent things. Kato will never forget the time Tegoshi called his mother under his guise and told her that he was getting married to a transsexual. He had a hard time talking himself out of that one.

“Come on, Tegoshi,” Masuda says, lightly scolding with the dimpled disappointment of a nursery teacher. “That’s not nice and you know you’re not supposed to use your powers here.”

“Minesweeper’s harder than I thought,” Tegoshi whines and just about slams his mouse on the desk with a clatter. “I thought this would be fun, Massu.”

“You can try solitaire if you want,” Masuda points to the icon on the desktop though Tegoshi seems entirely unimpressed.

“I mean working here,” Tegoshi gestures around, to emphasise his point he spins on his swivel chair with both hands out. “It’s not what I imagined.”

“Neither was losing your virginity,” Kato stops looking at the help content of the programming program, fully invested in bringing Tegoshi down a peg or two, “What did you expect? We’re keeping our heads down in a computer software company. It’s not exactly a trip to a theme park.”

“But still, I thought it’d be better than doing side-kick stuff, Brainiac.”

“No cape names,” Massu presses as Kato’s eyes drop to a look between anger and smoulder, directly aimed at Tegoshi.

“I think I’d rather get cats out of trees,” Tegoshi huffs and tries out solitaire as suggested. “At least old ladies give free cake. I can’t believe you can’t even hack the vending machines, Brainiac.”

As Tegoshi’s mood just about settles down, Kato tuts and mumbles beneath his breath things concerning cape names and that though he admits Brainiac is bad, you get what you think you get, the names says it all. With AngelVoice, you don’t expect a filthy minded pretty boy whose powers make him a potty mouthed impressionist.

He’s good fun at parties. Kato will admit that much.

part 004
filename: double-agent

He’s used to going undercover, donning ridiculous disguises and having fake names to go with fake occupations.

At least this time it’s not Señor Pedro Santos Greengos. Yamashita uses his real name for this assignment and it feels nostalgic; it’s been so long since he’s had people calling him Yamashita that he’s come to consider it somewhat defunct so it takes a while to click that the name is referring to him.

“Are you okay, Yamashita-san?”

Yamashita looks up from the monitor’s blue screen to the acting manager and smiles just a little, no words spoken, just a pursed lipped smile and a nod of the head. This Koyama Keiichiro, he remembers from the case file, is the right hand man of the organisation, linked back to the boss through college years.

The SAP Agency (Superpower Authority Protection Agency) is the police of the superpower world, making sure that the non-superpower world isn’t overrun by supervillains. As an agent for the SAP Agency, Yamashita is ordered to go undercover and infiltrate evil organisations, collecting information and bringing them down from the inside before inflicting their chaos in the world.

Some supervillains are obviously more suited to world domination than others so only those who are seen to possess powers of some extraordinary measure are monitored. Part of the monitoring procedure is scoping out the establishments at work and becoming familiar with all involved to provide evidence and ensnare captives before master plans are put into action.

Yamashita has been on several missions before, he’s saved the world singlehandedly from nuclear attacks and biochemical warfare, a true unsung national hero; he keeps his cool and leaves his feelings at home because they have no place in life threatening circumstances. Thus far, his life has been most secure as a salary man of sorts, there are no real pressures that make him sweat but there was that one day when the air conditioning went bust and the overheating computers swelled immense humidity.

Apart from that, undercover work has never seemed so easy.

part 005
filename: run of the mill

The average workday officially begins at ten o’clock (though everyone’s there at nine thirty) when Ryo makes his appearance. No one knows what he really does in his office, he seems to talk to his computer a lot but nothing is audible through the glass door. On occasion, he peeps his head out and calls to Koyama for a chat.

There’s quite a bit of typing, never complete silence in the workplace and some employees choose to listen to music all the while, and as acting manager they look to Koyama for approval to use personal mp3 players and headphones in the computer jack.

Koyama always approves if it’s for a good cause.

It’s become a custom for Tegoshi to play something from MeTube through the speakers, it’s always something from his channel, a song he’s sung or a clip of him impersonating someone else incredibly well. That lasts for about ten minutes before he’s told that everyone has to get back to work until lunchtime.

There’s a yakiniku joint across the road that offers lunchtime specials and group discounts so they all pitch in and eat together, filling up half the restaurant every day. Their regular meals provides some financial stability for the owner who brings them off-the-menu treats as thanks for their patronage, and it’s all well and good but most of them are finding it hard to stomach baby octopuses on a stick.

Masuperman has no trouble chowing down on food that would otherwise go to waste and for some strange reason, Koyama puts keeping their superhero identities below food wastage as he says nothing when Massu uses heat powers to warm up cooling food.

They head back to work for a few hours, there’s a reminder that Thusday is rollerblade day and Friday is dressing up from a time period picked from the box. This week is the neon colours and patterns of the Seventies; no one notices anything different in Masuda’s attire. Other notices are for handing in completed coding and reminders to save work lest they be lost by volatile memory upon shut down.

Once they’ve all signed out of the building, Tegoshi makes a last ditch effort to gather folks for a karaoke session to which only the weak of heart who can’t deny puppy dog eyes agree to go on. On occasion, they’ll bump into the girls from the seventh floor and it turns into a full on goukon; for where else is an over computer literate male going to meet a sassy girl? They all know deep down that they won’t be saving damsels in distress on trains from drunkards, even if they did follow that guy who did on the message boards.

When night falls and their non-cape compatriots are tucked safely in their beds, the off-duty superheroes take to the skies (and public transportation) as they hunt down trouble and save innocents. In their own individual and beautiful ways, of course. In a traditional manner, Masuperman goes out and stops burglaries and thefts and when things are quiet he helps out on the construction work for the new hospital. Brainiac hops on a train to the secret services, thinking of strategies to combat organised crime of the normal, non-super kind. AngelVoice says he helps pop stars with colds during live performances and insomniac babies fall asleep with lullabies. No one quite believes it.

As for Koyama and Nishikido, they go home for separate quiet nights in. Nishikido plots the ending for his evil stint, putting heroics on hold for now and Koyama chooses to do the same, his empathies making him go cold turkey purely because Nishikido is.

He thinks saving energy like this is for the best. Especially since it all begins again in the morning.

part 006
filename: office romance

Midway through the third week, everyone’s found their stride in terms of employment and though they know it’s almost coming to an end, they play it out as though the finishing line isn’t in sight. Under the radar, Koyama sprinkles his superpowers like gold dust, sparingly and for the most deserved. In his eyes there can be nothing better than seeing two people happy and in love though he knows to be careful to dash fate out.

The best couples are made like that, Koyama thinks, a bit of fate and a smudge of luck. In college, Koyama inadvertently became the Secret Cupid Santa, a matchmaker of sorts that steered the course of true love, both intentionally and then there were a few times when he just thought about couple-y things like chocolates and walks on the beach a bit too long and hit that heart shaped button of love on impulse.

Perhaps it’s all the binary, the endless zeros and ones reamed across the screen, maybe that’s what makes Koyama’s mind take a detour and he throws around feelings that don’t entirely belong to anyone in the room.

He squeezes his eyes tightly, so tight he may as well be holding his breath under water, and there’s a wrinkle at the top of the bridge of his nose. He flings mismatched pairings around in a frustration of dust hearts and when it all settles he wonders if the calm he feels is the immediate brewing of a storm.

The next time Koyama opens his eyes, he sees Tegoshi sitting on Kato’s lap, kicking at the floor and wheeling them across the open office space. Not quite as easy as it sounds because of the thick carpet and more startling than usual because Tegoshi was sucking at Kato’s bottom lip and for once he wasn’t complaining. For a moment Koyama doesn’t think that it’s so bad, it’s quite nice seeing Kato not flustering about what comes out of Tegoshi’s mouth but when Nishikido comes out of his office to see what’s going on, Koyama remembers the promise he made and he regrets shooting his arrow at his butt (equivalent of his foot in his mouth), superpower-wise.

He blinks a special blink twice and all the feeling is gone. Kato’s never looked so horrified.

Office romances are always short lived for the better.

part 007
filename: moonlight moonlighting

As part of his undercover work, Yamashita tails the workers afterhours just in case they put in extra hours into taking over the world plan. After programming a quick random name generator with all the employees in the company, he stalks AngelVoice first, the rescuer of singers. AngelVoice takes a taxi, charms the driver with pretty hypnotising eyes out of paying for the ride, and heads to a concert venue, flashing a backstage pass like he owns the place.

Though only a sidekick, AngelVoice is more independent from his tagged superhero than most, Yamashita puts it down to the fact that vocal talents rarely save lives in an active way. Wages in autographed CDs and paid time in a karaoke booth, AngelVoice mimics pop stars that would otherwise require autotune with no effort, treating his earnings like taking candy from a baby.

Yamashita finds AngelVoice is but a simple temp, going where perfection in vocal ability is needed, and in the way he carries himself, Yamashita knows that AngelVoice’s plan for world domination is practically non-existent with exceptions to as far as batting eyelashes could get him.

Rethinking his strategy, Yamashita follows the cape that can pull strings behind the scenes, Brainiac, and roof jumps himself across the city in order to get to secret service headquarters. Surprisingly, security is tight and before Yamashita can even break into the joint, he’s escorted off the premises by security guards. Not wanting to make a scene, Yamashita takes his leave, trusting that national security is safe by an organisation that has five levels of security and gives intruders cab fares home late at night and a chocolate bar. Besides, everyone knows that Brainiac’s got far too many morals for his own good.

When a reported bus accident is reported on the radio in the taxi, Yamashita takes a look at the road ahead, cars are packed and halted in all directions, horns and tooting and every rude hand gesture ever made poking out of car windows. For a brief moment, Yamashita considers changing into his costume but there’s another announcement on the radio that Masuperman had arrived at the scene to save the day. Yamashita crosses him off the list.

One of the office mysteries is where Nishikido goes after work hours, it seems as though he disappears as soon as he leaves the block. Koyama says he goes straight home and puts in overtime to make sure that everything is going according to the four-week plan but Yamashita doubts that Koyama’s not easy to fool. The incident with Tegoshi convincing him that it’s actual jelly of the gelatine kind instead of preserve that goes with peanut butter in sandwiches proved it.

Requesting Nishikido’s home address from the SAP Agency takes no time at all and after spending some time hopping over the bonnets of cars, Yamashita makes his way there to snoop for clues as to what the final program will do because all his time reading Computer Programming for Dummies has left him with a big fat zilch.

part 008
filename: showdown

Nishikido looks at his old costume at the back of his closet, bright yellow and not worn at all by time because it hasn’t been worn by him. No way would he been seen dead in a costume, no matter how many times his mother threatens to disown him if he doesn’t.

Victory is on the edge, every time Nishikido thinks of his plan coming into fruition he feels a tingle in the tips of his fingers and the sense of overwhelming achievement jumps into his bones even if he hasn’t obtained world domination quite yet. After being crowned ruler of the world, Nishikido hopes to get free everything because everything is better free.

Nishikido’s so busy daydreaming about the style his crown should be that he doesn’t notice Yamashita has infiltrated his apartment with backup waiting at the nearest bar because they’re never needed but management requires them to be there, insurance reasons and all that. Upon returning from missions, Yamashita always receives mixed reception, there are those who show distain at not being called into action while others are grateful because they get paid all the same.

Recalling his training, Yamashita supposes he should just get the information required and dash but for some reason, he feels as though a confrontation is in order. Plus he’s fairly sure that his powers beat Nishikido’s so long as he doesn’t rely on anything technological.

“Your plans for world domination stop here, Boss,” all condescendence meant in that name.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“Really? I doubt you would have.”

“Your doubt will be your downfall.”

They pause.

Talking to each other like they’re from Bond films isn’t quite working.

part 009
filename: the last dance

On the final day of the office lease, all workers gather around to see their hard work hit the internet, watch as the download numbers for their program increase. They’re still not entire sure what it actually does but it’s cool since it appears to be quite popular. Koyama contemplates what it does, how it’s spread so fast in less than six hours, and it’s only when Kato takes a turn at running it on his computer that he understands.

Koyama simply laughs – hard – the tears are edging at the corners of his eyes.

Tegoshi looks to Kato and says warningly, “Don’t touch him there, Shige.”

5318008: over and over again on the screen, upside-down calculator talk.

“So it’s like a viral program?” Masuda supposes, wonders why he’s received so many spam emails about breast enhancement operations rather than cheap viagra in a language he’s not too familiar with, in the most innocent way possible.

Tegoshi shrugs, he wasn’t all too interested in the project as they were typing it out and his attitude is still very much blasé about it when his part-time job ending means he’ll be on sidekick duty full time again. Computer programming wasn’t without its faults but Tegoshi preferred it to hanging out with his superhero.

As his employees tilt their heads, Nishikido looks straight-faced, like those lyrics ‘serious as cancer’ but cancer is very serious so perhaps a couple of notches down.

“Not quite world domination,” Yamashita says and Nishikido breaks from his concentration on the screen. “Eh, Boss?”

“It’s good enough,” Nishikido presumes, solemn and quietly impressed with himself. “Being really evil’s hard.”

“So the SAPs can take you off dictator watch?”

“Yeah,” Nishikido smiles a smile all to himself. “I think I prefer the superhero gig.”

Anything to stop Koyama from bursting from his power withholding. Actually, scratch that. Anything to not hear Kato ask for someone to erase his memory because Nishikido could do that; he’s just not sure of the effects on humans.

my pictures say less than 1000 words

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 21:43:11 GMT

weather patterns in london on a daily basis as witnessed from my bedroom window

the most recent being dexter

i have more than 4 accounts to look through

i recently finished professor layton and the curious village :D

i went over my mobile minutes last month by a LOT and so i got skype

by the time it gets to 12, i get fic impulses so i work until about 2 though the amount i get done can vary from a thousand words to a couple of sentences. i fall asleep, have dreams of no imagination because they seem to have normal day-to-day occurrences in them, to have this all repeat again the next day.

was going to post my aquarium trip but...

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 00:32:55 GMT

I clearly don't know how to LJ properly so I thought I'd give this a go since it's going around f-list.

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don’t blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don’t blog about, but you’d like to hear about, and I’ll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on...whatever. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other.

I'll post colourful fish later :D I'm almost done with fic.

geek chic

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 21:35:15 GMT

title: geek chic
pairing: ryo/shige, koyama/shige
rating: r
summary: shige is a stripper.
notes: for the je au comment ficathon of doom. barely an r but most definitely not an pg-13. reposting for index's sake.

geek chic
1740~

Behind the high street, nestled between a modest-sized shopping complex and the residential area, is possibly the least discreet strip club in the city. It isn’t the size, it covers the same land as corner shop, the only difference is that this one has the windows barred, not that it makes any sense because the windows are also covered. During the day it’s shut and looking neglected, like it’s abandoned, however at night there’s are lights-a-plenty and a crowd judged on the monetary value they can pump into the joint in conjunction with their looks.

There’s a variety of scantily clad performers, to each their own, there is a someone to suit and match any taste of clientele. Every so often there are themed nights, they bring in the big bucks in influx, useful when the economy’s just as instable as a fat guy on a trampoline. One day of the week is dedicated to a particular theme; Tropical Island, Doctors and Nurses, Superheroes, Supersized, Super-skinny, Super Dooper Trooper. No one really knows what the last one is, folks say it’s just a rumour.

This week is Geek Chic.

There is no real insurance on the success of this particular themed night but management were running out of ideas and don’t want to repeat until clientele had enough drunken nights in between to forget the last time they dressed in such attire.

At the beginning of the night, with people sober and stingy with their money, no one’s really having a good time. There are incessant complaints about the drinks not being strong enough, the acts not hot enough to be strippers, the music sounding like something from a low budget porno.

It all heats up at nine, the newer dancers are put away and the professionals come out to play.

“Seriously? They put geeks up on my birthday?”

“Don’t be like that, Ryo-chan,” Yamapi’s been tipsy a while and he gives Ryo a nudge a bit too strong that he knocks into Jin on his other side. “It’s your big day.”

“You gotta get wasted to really enjoy it,” Jin chips in and pushes Ryo back in place before sliding a beer towards him. “Can’t leave now anyway, the entrance fee was high enough. You can cry that it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

Ryo groans and vows that he’s organising the next birthday. It’ll be playing dominos all night.

A thump-thump and the mood lighting kicks in, it’s turned down low like a cinema and the ambiance feels right for popcorn. It’s the cleanest thing that can be done in the dark and Koyama hangs onto that thought before he lets all the sordid illicitries settle in. He can’t believe he’s there, in a strip club, alcohol racing through his bloodstream but he’s still clear minded, he’s still aware that this is where people get naked for a living.

Tegoshi has some strange ideas about the kind of things Koyama would be into. He would have declined the invitation had he known that they would end up here but Koyama loves surprises and he just can’t help but let himself be treated.

Now that he is there, Koyama can’t just up and leave and he worries for Tegoshi who seems disturbingly comfortable and in his element, whooping and slipping notes between skin and clothing.

“I only chuck change at the uglies,” Tegoshi explains his discrepancy. “Don’t really wanna touch them, y’know?”

“Huh.”

A heavy bass pumps, a spotlight forms and the crowd squirm up in their seats to full attention. A curtain draws back, thoughts of ‘how classy’ springs to minds when the supposed geek of the night is revealed. Dressed in a preppy school shirt and tie, complete with black thick rimmed glasses that he keeps on for now, he’s announced as the main attraction and no one is impressed much when he looks as scared as a rabbit in headlights.

He evidently clears his throat and looks so timid looking down at his tie that no one expects him to pull off the sluttiest thing ever. He walks his way over to the pole, the retractable one that emerges from the floor and pulls at his tie, the knot quickly comes undone and he leaves it on the floor behind him as he wraps one hand around the metal and tugs himself towards it with force. With the momentum he spins himself around it, setting foot and pivoting with a slight slide to the floor.

Koyama leans over to Tegoshi and absentmindedly whispers over, keeping his eyes locked on the stripper, “Who’s that?”

“Genuine geek,” Tegoshi says. “Uni student: Smart Alec, though I’ve heard him called Shige by the others.”

“How did you hear that?”

“I hang out at the after party sometimes,” Tegoshi smiles. “I get the workers’ tips if I cross-dress.”

No wonder he felt so at ease here.

Eyes go back to Shige who has taken to grinding against the pole, a bulge in his pants growing evidently bigger as he gyrates up and down, his eyes closed and parted lips express the welling feeling. He raises a leg, hooks it around and while he suspends himself from the pole upside down with one hand and just his legs, some mechanism in the ground lifts the pole higher towards the ceiling and they all wonder how he manages to unbutton his shirt singlehandedly with such ease.

By the time it’s fully open, hanging down from an exposed torso, Shige’s brow has a film of sweat across it. He spirals his way down to the floor, legs spread open wide and he hikes himself up to walk amongst the clients to give them a closer look though he’s been told not to let them touch.

This is always the worst part, the bit where he’s unbelievably embarrassed, when some people take it too far and his ass is sore from all the groping and slaps at the end of the night. This is why he chooses the timid looking ones, the ones who’d be too stunned to do anything and perhaps grateful enough not to ask for more. Sometimes, though, it’s unavoidable to come across the boorish.

“Over here! Over here!” A guy waves to him in the corner. “Birthday boy over here!”

Shige groans, feels some kind of obligation to service the celebrant because that’s what management’s told him. The smallest of the three looks embarrassed as fuck and Shige doesn’t really know what to do. He swings and sashays himself over, the friends make room for him to do this thing, he straddles the moody guy, who may or may not be enjoying it, and he weaves his fingers through dark hair as leans in to kiss.

Yamapi and Jin whistle and giggle at the sight before them, Shige guesses that they are another couple of units of alcohol away from full on laughter, the kind that sounds like mocking instead of joshing. Shige shrugs it off because it’s not like they or Ryo (he heard them call) would remember tomorrow.

For a moment he tastes Ryo’s hesitancy, his quivering lip doesn’t quite settle but Shige continues nevertheless because Ryo pushes down his shirt, struggles at removing it completely by the cuffs at his wrists and when he does, Shige thinks it’s enough and moves onto the kind of guy he prefers. The nervous one with that guy he always sees hanging around the other strippers at the joint afterhours.

Shige leaves his shirt with Ryo, maybe later he’ll come by to give it back and he can finish what he started but the lanky guy looks kind of cute and needy. He does the same again, rolls his hips and lets the customer do whatever he wants; he’s surprised that Ryo’s managed to work off his belt and unbuttoned his pants to boot without him noticing.

Koyama’s sweet, Shige finds, like a virgin he’s careful with each and every touch he makes. It’s as though Koyama’s scared, as though something more forceful would have Shige retreat back behind the curtain again. He wriggles in just the right way that he garter of his pants shimmy down and eventually fall to the floor so that all is left is underwear. Stripper underwear. The kind that makes people wonder if what’s beneath could be seen with a clever trick of light or a heavy duty battery powered torch.

It’s not really done in such circumstances but occasionally, Shige lets himself be heard and not just seen, and felt, and aroused.

“Are you enjoying the show?”

And maybe it’s because it’s all so sordid that he gets a flush run right through him and his skin heats up like he’s embarrassed but it gets him off, he likes his exhibitionist side, it’s what gets his adrenaline rushing. Koyama only gets a limp sound from his throat out for his eyes are concentrated on Shige’s silhouette, he wishes there was more light but then more people would see the shock horror on his face, not just Tegoshi.

Thinking he may like this punter, Shige takes Koyama’s hand in his and puts it in places he knows will get a reaction out of himself. Koyama just goes with it, he’s content enough with this attractive geek (amazed that he’s managed to keep his glasses on all this time), and every time his fingers are placed in an erogenous zone, he can feel his heart jump right into his throat like those test of strength things at the funfair.

Shige’s averagely built but it’s the things he does; he makes Koyama play with his nipples, he intentionally presses his body into Koyama’s contours like he’s trying to fit them together like a puzzle, he emits dangerously sensual sound. When he makes Koyama fondle him by proxy, Shige’s intent on getting off because something this ‘unprofessional’ (in the loosest sense of the word) would be just between them. The brave chaste kiss Koyama gives the corner of his mouth promises just that.

He heads back towards the stage, cheers aplenty, and finishes off to the song, while he’s been giving clientele personal treatment, fellow strippers have filled his absence on stage and they aid him in leaving nothing to the imagination for all the club to see, tugging at his remaining piece of clothing, but not before Tegoshi gives him a right ol’ slap on the butt.

Now his act is complete.

opened eyes.the last train

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 18:44:43 GMT

title: opened eyes.the last train
pairing: none
rating: pg-13
summary: the last train ride of his life and shige has ryo and yamapi to keep him company.
notes: style over substance. i only hope that the formatting is clear and sticks.

opened eyes.the last train
2440~

it’s been so long.

he wonders the last time light had hit his eyes, how dark everything has been until now. his head isn’t steady on his shoulders, it wobbles him awake. he takes a deep breath, clears out his lungs and there's a rush of lightness in his chest.

          is he awake yet?

                  i can't quite tell.

         how long has it been?

                  not long, i don't think.

         do you even have a watch?

                  it stopped ticking a while ago.

         when are we going to get there?

                  shut up - you ask too many questions.

he hears the voices, he rubs his eyes; a rumble and a clatter and he's feeling like sleep was just a distant memory. he thinks. he doesn't have much of them, memories, he can't recall. how did he get on this train? this rickety train on the way to nowhere or so the outside-the-window nothing tells him. it's dark and desolate as far as he can tell, his eyes haven't adjusted just yet to the fluorescent from above.

he's seen this scene before, in a movie, he's seen. a girl, a monster and some cute little things. their train had a destination and so he wonders where this one goes too.

                           where am i?

         you're on a train, smartass.

                           i don't remember how i got here.

                  you don't need to remember.

                           yeah, but-

         if we say it's not important, it's not important.

                           i don't understand.

he shakes his head, it feels like a dream. he's with two strangers on an empty train, on the way to god knows where, and the thought first and foremost in his mind is that he's been kidnapped and is being transported to the location of his murder. he imagines the abduction is for entertainment's sake. he pats down his pockets and tries to find his phone, he's calling home, he's calling the police, he's calling anyone who will pick up. it's not there.

         i'm ryo, that's yamapi. who're you?

his eyes flick left to right. the snappy one with dark hair has scrutiny all over his face when he looks at him. the other seems a little more sympathetic with his plight. it gets put down to softer features. he wonders what name he should give, his full name, what his friends call him, the name he gives upon the usual first meeting. their casualness leads him astray.

                           shige.

         your given name?

                           no, it's what my friends call me.

                  that's cute. right, ryo-chan?

don't panic. keep calm. answer clearly. don't run. don't take risks. he runs through all the safety procedures he can think of in his head. they all come from cop shows. the officer controls the situation, talks to the captors, gets the negotiation underway. he remembers that he's not even sure if this is a hostage situation. probably not.

                  are you feeling okay?

                           yeah, i'm fine.

he nods, there's an exchanged look between ryo and yamapi, their eyes lock over the seats and armrests. they speak aloud the things he imagines should be whispered. perhaps there's no need to for them to be polite. or keep him in the dark.

         i don't think he knows yet.

                  it happens sometimes.

he's not sure if he's allowed to interrupt, he interrupts with an 'um' that gets him some attention and he stumbles on where to go from there.

                  tell us about yourself, it'll be a while until we get to our destination.

                           well, i was born in osaka and moved-

         hold up there, david copperfield, if you're going back far we need snacks, popcorn and cinema hotdogs and overpriced drinks in huge paper cups. extra-large.

                  just ignore him, go on.

                           no, he's right, that's too far back.

he tells him what he can remember, who he is and what he likes, and they listen, and it seems as though the person he tells them about slowly detaches away from his self.

         law student, huh? interesting much?

                           i thought it sounded cool when i signed up.

                  same here but i did business studies, economics, that sort of thing. this person here didn't even get past high school.

         don't go spouting my life story just because yours is as interesting as a bit of lint.

                  yeah, well, we've all ended up here anyway.

shige's sure that's supposed to mean something more than what it sounds. there's some reluctance in that tone, something that makes him think that they are there of their own volition just as much as him.

                           how did i get here?

their mouths slack with a lack of explanation, they look to each other for some sort of support, look at the other to take control and steer this conversation away from these dangerous waters he so wishes to know. why won't they answer?

         are you scared yet?

                  'course he is if you ask him like a serial murderer.

whoever they are, he thinks that they can't be that bad, they joke and remain in their seats and there's a distinct lack of weapons on their persons. but he is scared. he wants to go home. he wants to be where he's familiar, where people know his name, where their troubles are all the same. he realises he's thinking of that bar in cheers. home will do.

things are strange. he's not sure how long they've been in transit but he knows it's been a long time. he hasn't felt any urges yet and that is strange. no aches that make him want to stretch, no hunger pains that call for food, no bursting bladder. strange. they are strange too.

         he's thinking we're strange.

it startles him, he thinks he should put a lid on his thoughts. but how can he do that? how is that even possible? he knows he's easy to read, people have said that he's not but that is only because they are unaware of how to twist his face. it doesn't take more than the average person, just different things. mind reading is one. though he supposes that makes him part of the collective.

                  how are you feeling?

                           i'm fine.

he insists because there are no other words. if he's fine now then he'll be fine when they tell him what is going on exactly. but his definition of fine is like the lead of a 0.5 hb mechanical pencil.

         fine, i'll tell him since your softy-softy method is clearly making you back out.

ryo turns to yamapi who looks as though he's about to be sick. he can only imagine that the expression will be mimicked on his face too when he hears what ryo says.

                           wait.

         what?

                           just wait.

                  surely you can spare him a few more minutes? let him think that things are fine for just a bit longer.

that fine sounds like the strand of a spider's web. he knows it will break with a simple change of wind. he's the fly trapped in the silken stands, he's alive, just waiting until the spider decides to digest him to nothing.

                  you tell him now and it'll be like chewing him up and spitting him out.

how appropriate, he thinks, beautiful timing for such a simile. he looks to ryo and sees a seed of doubt planted. he's hesitant to speak, to explain himself and his thought processes. ryo hardly seems compassionate, not in the way yamapi does. he imagines ryo as a proper hardman, hardcore and hardass. there's no use for gentle ways with words.

         sooner is better, right?

ryo looks to yamapi for confirmation. it's clear that they're bumbling their way through this, whatever this is. they had made such a cool impression on him as well. it's almost disappointing.

         right, here goes.

ryo clears his throat.

         you… don't breathe anymore.

that needed some more explanation.

                  what the hell was that?

         i'm new to this, okay?

                  fine, i'll do it.

yamapi shifts in his seat, fidgets with his cuff; he sees the moment when yamapi's throat distends as he swallows down the nerves.

                  you're in-between stages.

                           right…

         what he means to say is you're walking the line.

                  what?

         you're abd - all but dead. you're knocking on heaven's door - or hell's, i don't know you well enough to say - and it's gonna crack at any moment. you're actually in 'the light' that hasn't gone out quite yet, a flickering candle and the hurricane is coming.

                  how poetic being here has made you.

he'd always thought that heaven was his ultimate destination. he's been a good person he thinks, hasn't committed any sins, perhaps he could have done more. where is the line drawn in terms of heaven and hell. surely cancellations on both sides happened.

in terms of the main sins (murder, adultery, egotism), he thinks that he's managed to jump through all those loopholes. he's never lied, cheated or stolen major-league style either. so he's hedging his bets on ‘destination: heaven’ for him. if he was a gambling man. which he's not.

         so we're just waiting until it's decided where you go.

                           when does that happen?

         there'll be an announcement on the intercom.

                  we just have to wait.

                           right.

he feels the absent over-pumping heartbeat in his chest. it's all in his head. but his head isn't even on his shoulders. it's strange. he's a soul without a body. this is stalemate. this is in-between. he has so much to think about, he could have forever, his grains of sand could be sweeping away one by one.

         do you have any regrets?

                  ryo.

yamapi's voice is lacquered in caution though ryo seems to take no notice.

         anything you wish you did before you died?

                  ryo.

there he is again.

         what is your problem? the things we do now don't matter anymore.

                  even still-

         no, think about it. we're in limbo - there are no consequences here. it's not as though you have to be able to look your mother in the eye anymore.

                  ryo.

         so do you? have regrets, i mean?

                           nothing springs to mind.

         don't want to share?

                  stop it.

he thinks he should just say anything to ease the tension. these two seem like good friends and to argue over something trivial as getting a spirit to spill the secrets that are in progress of being taken to the grave. he wonders if he'll have a burial or a cremation, wonders who will cry for him when he's gone. he's not used to it all yet. keeps using the wrong tense in his thoughts.

         i have regrets.

                  what?

         there's something i wish i'd done.

                           what's that?

         i wish i'd taken things more seriously. given my parents something for the future.

                  kids, you mean?

         hnngh, i dunno, maybe.

                  wow, you'd be an awful father.

         oh gee, thanks.

                  you know when i say that, it's really from the heart.

shige wonders how that’s supposed to make the sentiment sweeter. ryo looks entirely unimpressed, he leans back into the groove of the chair and wraps his fingers over the right armrest snugly. when there's a crackle overhead, all eyes look upwards to an intercom that's not even visible, to a crackle that sounds like breathing but it doesn't make sense when the voice sounds automated.

                                    estimated time of arrival: ten minutes

it seems he's given ten minutes before he finds out what happens at the end. he feels a little panicked, he can't tell how time has passed, how is he supposed to count ten minutes?

         ooh, you got a time.

                  are you nervous?

         how do you want to spend your last minutes?

                  are you religious? do you want to pray or something?

                           no, no – it's alright. i just. hmm.

shige stands up, wants to shake off his stale feeling he's getting in his extremities, he walks up and down the aisle, dodges the poles and wonders if it'd still be cold as he remembers it. just as the tips of his fingers would reach the glinting metal he stops to think where the light is coming from.

                  this is it.

         your time is almost up.

                           has it been ten minutes already?

ryo and yamapi's eyes shift and link for a moment, shige wonders if that's their look to corroborate their lie because they both nod and affirm. it seems as though hardly any time has passed at all.

                  you better think about your last words.

         you don't want it to be something stupid.

                  yeah, like, 'where's my shoe?'

         hey, it was a legitimate question.

                  but your shoe was in your hand.

his last words. would it matter that the words were coming from his spirit rather than his body? would that mean these last words were invalid and the opportunity was gone? if a man says something mildly contentious in a forest and there isn't a woman around to hear him, would he still be wrong? for all he knew, his last moments could have included him lying on a pavement, a car swerved angled on the side of the road, a crowd leering over him and him saying 'you have pretty eyes' to one of the women bending over him unaware of her loose wearing top.

                           thanks, you guys. for being here. and talking me through this.

         he's actually thanking us.

                  well, if our piss poor attempt helped you...

                           this could have been a lot worse.

         are you sure about that?

                           definitely.

the light descends, it's blinding and washing and numbing, as though it's come to take the last piece of himself away like the swash and wash of the ocean's waves. he's seen it on that geography program with that ball zigzagging along the beach. too late for regrets over the things he'd wanted to do, he closes his eyes and lets himself be swept away.

         how much longer do we have to wait?

                  just be patient. if you can't, go get a cup of coffee.

         are you kidding? my bladder's about to burst.

                  then go pee. what kind of impression are you going to give if you're rocking in your chair, looking like you need to pass wind?

         does it look like that? hmm, i guess it does.

                           my throat hurts.

                  hey, he's awake.

         we just want to thank you for trying to save us.

                           what?

         you know, on the train, the guy with the knife.

                  go get him a drink.

his eyes feel sore, a punishment for seeing something he's not supposed to, though this time his breath feels heavy in his chest, like a compression of hot air. he knows those voices, he's stored their timbre away in a distant memory and it's all so very familiar to the point of comfort. this, he thinks, may be heaven.

the 1700 mark

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 15:58:06 GMT

So I've been working on fics aplenty (23 different ones at last count) and found that I reach a suspending point at around 1700 words. I can understand why, at 1700 words there's a decent introduction and I'm halfway through embarking on the actual story. Pre-plot jitters methinks. After that point it happens again at 3200, just before I get to the good bit and it's all very frustrating because over half of them stuck at these points.

For some of them, I think I'll give up on substance and just stick to style because I just don't think the storylines are worth it. I fear I've watched too many melodramatic dramas and if I begin writing people with complicated relationships, something atrocious will spew out. Something like Ryo's a doctor in love with his patient Shige cannot act on his feelings because he's being blackmailed by Tegoshi with pictures of him and Yamapi naked in a hotel room taken by Massu who's under Tegoshi's spell who does it all for his doting adopted older brother Koyama who works as Yamapi's PA in Yamapi's rich rich company.

How many clichés does that make?

In any case, I should churn out something by the end of the day :D

30 days later.

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 20:23:57 GMT

I know I keep saying that I'll stick around but I really do mean it this time because dun dun duuuun exams and college are over. Can I get a "woooo yeah!"? I'm not really the kind to dwell on school things so let's just say that there was a range of 'just below ok' and 'quite easy' - totally varying degrees but all I can do is hope that I did enough. All I have to do now is work on my uni applications. It's really hard. I seem like such a boring person on paper.

I recently hurled myself back into anime. It's been such a long time since I just sat down and watched some colourful-haired people with big eyes yell and scream happily as though they would in real life even though everything in retrospect tells me they wouldn't. I started with short bursts of Hetalia and went through all of Kare Kano before reminiscing old school with Medabots, finishing off xxxHolic and getting a vague interest in Skip Beat!.

Hetalia, despite being riddled with blatant stereotypes, is ridiculously cute albeit short. I like England's eyebrows and Italia's seiyuu. Even though Kare Kano is pretty old, I think that it was directed extremely well, I like the different artistic approaches to scenes and wish that they continued on with it because it was really good even if they wasted episodes on flashback. Medabots is something from my childhood and in terms of dubs, it comes from the same vein as Digimon where short sharp jokes are inserted where they don't exist in the original. Lines like "I hate crowds. Somebody's not wearing deodorant" won me over.

Today I got through the second season of xxxHolic and though I enjoyed it, I couldn't help but wonder what it all looked like in manga form. Maybe one day I'll get around to it. I heard that it's ending soon along with TRC so perhaps I'll swoop through it all in one go. I've heard good things about Skip Beat and since it got licensed so quickly, I think that's a good indicator that it's somewhat good, even if it's just in the commercial sense.

I'm still trailing through the JE AU Comment Ficathon of Doom. I know I'm a bit late but since there are no time limits, I'll get through all the ones I think I can do even if that means I have to borrow a few DVDs to refresh my memory. Sorry. Stripper Shige was me.

50 beats per minute

Sun, 24 May 2009 00:17:53 GMT

title: 50 beats per minute
pairing: various
rating: overall pg-13
summary: one sentence fic. theme set alpha.
notes: i just don't have the commitment in me to write long fic any more so too ease me in i thought i'd take baby steps. table taken from 1sentence. not signing up because i can't stick to one pairing for long. i try to be unconventional and not cliché but sometimes it's hard and my mind runs away with thoughts. some are evidently better than others, a majority read like fic summaries and are somewhat bathos. doing this has made me more aware of my unvaried sentence structure and abuse of semi-colons :/ some are ambigous and i leave out names because a sentence is sometimes ruined with explicitries. i started this five days ago. who knew 50 sentences could take so long to write. p.s. i cheat, pick on koyama, there's some cross-dressing, and some glimpses of sexy timez. but not really. excuse any typos, it's really hard to edit disconnected prose. if any seem interesting enough to be fic worthy, tell me and i'll give it a go. [/rambling]

001 \| comfort	002 \| kiss	003 \| soft	004 \| pain	005 \| potatoes
006 \| rain	007 \| chocolate	008 \| happiness	009 \| telephone	010 \| ears
011 \| name	012 \| sensual	013 \| death	014 \| sex	015 \| touch
016 \| weakness	017 \| tears	018 \| speed	019 \| wind	020 \| freedom
021 \| life	022 \| jealousy	023 \| hands	024 \| taste	025 \| devotion
026 \| forever	027 \| blood	028 - sickness	029 \| melody	030 \| star
031 \| home	032 \| confusion	033 \| fear	034 \| lightning/thunder	035 \| bonds
036 \| market	037 \| technology	038 \| gift	039 \| smile	040 \| innocence
041 \| completion	042 \| clouds	043 \| sky	044 \| heaven	045 \| hell
046 \| sun	047 \| moon	048 \| waves	049 \| hair	050 \| supernova

50 beats per minute
1510~

001 | comfort
They always go to Koyama for comfort and he’s only too happy to oblige until he just gets tired of it and turns to the bottle to console a worn out soul.

002 | kiss
It’s contact with Tegoshi; had it been in another place, Massu doesn’t think he’d have turned so red.

003 |soft
Tegoshi’s hair has gone through varying shades of soft; soft and fluffy, soft and sleek, soft and poofy – like a poodle to match his personality.

004 | pain
It will always hurt, Shige knows this to be so, and yet he carries on because when the pain stops, there is only bliss.

005 | potatoes
Ryo thinks that Yamapi is like a potato; he’s suited to many dishes, adaptable and malleable, but when it comes down to it, he’s just podgy like that.

006 | rain
He may have some affinity with the rain but Koyama’s heart beams with sunshine whenever Shige smiles.

007 | chocolate
Dark and bitter, a guilty pleasure Koyama thinks he probably shouldn’t have, but there are moments of evoked sweetness that make Ryo worth the aftertaste.

008 | happiness
It’s butterflies and rainbows, candyfloss and fans in hoards screaming names, but for something more common, it’s Massu entering a room.

009 | telephone
He holds the phone with two hands, it shakes subtly yet definitively, and the key tones are of varying lengths when he dials; this is the last moment he has being Koyama’s best friend.

010 | ears
When Shige gets his ears pierced, he takes Koyama who holds his hand through it and packs on ice after it, and promises to kiss it better once the swelling goes.

011 | name
Jin tells him NEWS is an awful name, there’s no creativity, no originality, not to mention that they’ll be ridiculously hard to search for on the internet, and Yamapi just nods along because he’s heard the other possible names and from them NEWS was the best.

012 | sensual
His heart beats way too fast and his thoughts are swimming behind at the beginning of their kiss, a light brush that quickly turned into a slow smear.

013 | death
When Yamapi dies, he wants it to be memorable, a real blaze of glory to make sure he’s remembered as a good person (so that they’ll pay less attention to the fact that he’s never quite cracked Hollywood).

014 | sex
Up against the door that doesn’t cover their moans, more illicit and dirtier than his wettest dream, heightened senses, aches and arches to climax; Yamapi wonders if he should tell Shige what he’s thinking.

015 | touch
Koyama can’t help it; at first it’s just a want, then it becomes a habit, and now it’s a need to touch Yamapi whenever he’s in reach.

016 | weakness
A kick and Shige’s weak at the knees, except there was no kick yet he’s still weak at the knees, because Koyama’s wacked him full on with words he thought he’d never hear.

017 | tears
There are times when it seems as though Koyama is a fountain of tears, a flick of a switch and he turns on the water works; it would be a bad thing if he didn’t seem so sincere about it.

018 | speed
Who knows where Tegoshi got it from, he said that it would only be a one-time thing; lying naked with a leg off the bed, Koyama knows it was a mistake.

019 | wind
As the wind bites and stings his cheeks, Massu continues to trudge along the way up the mountain, because this is the closest he can get to the stars walking.

020 | freedom
Tegoshi likes his boy parts to be free on occasion so he jumps at the chance at wearing the school girl outfit to see what it’s like to have a breeze between his legs.

021 | life
There are times when Shige thinks things are getting too hard, that his remaining sixty-to-seventy-odd years on the planet will be full of exhaustion and lacking normality, then he realises that he’s living the dream.

022 | jealousy
Shoving Shige against a wall has always been Ryo’s way of telling him to redirect his attention; unfortunately, Shige doesn’t quite catch on.

023 | hands
His new role has Ryo staring abnormally intensively at his hands, thinking that if he were to kill one person with it, he’d probably never get away with it because he’d want it to be messy.

024 | taste
When Yamapi takes Koyama to his lips he tastes promise and love, tenderness and sincerity, and fainted mint gum and nicotine burn.

025 | devotion
They say that Koyama is married to NEWS, it’s his pride and joy, his other half and significant other; little did they know he was getting off with a KAT-TUN member.

026 | forever
They all know it won’t last forever but it doesn’t hurt to think it.

027 | blood
Ryo will remember the look of hurt and distain on Massu’s face but even more than that, it’ll be the red split lip and how it matched his sore knuckles.

028 | sickness
There are times Koyama feels sick of having Tegoshi around, sick of the singing, sick of all the hyperactivity, sick of being love sick.

029 | melody
It’s a tune he can’t get out of his head, the lyrics are unintelligible and the instrumental is ambiguous, but by the end of the day, Yamapi knows that it’s a love song.

030 | star
They are stars in his eyes, they aim for the stars, they see only stars: such is the sight of Johnny-san and he would have it no other way.

031 | home
On days off he stays at home with his parents away and gets drunk, sometimes Koyama comes along for company and they talk about what their lives would be like; funnily enough, it always comes back to them owning a ranch with farm animals, selling milk and eggs.

032 | confusion
Tegoshi doesn’t understand it at first, this pain in his chest that fades as soon as it starts, he wants to take the money and run so to speak, but he’s got jumbled thoughts of love to contend with.

033 | fear
Ryo scares Shige, like an allergy he feels queasy and breaks out in a sweat, any thought of him strikes Shige right in his heart (probably because he thinks he’s in love).

034 | lightning/thunder
To brand new Tegoshi, his sempai are like lightning and thunder; he’s impressed by the sight of them and scared by the rumble they bring.

035 | bonds
His hands are tied to his ankles using his shirt and though he knows things are going to get rough and dirty, Koyama can’t help but be impressed by the knot.

036 | market
Tegoshi tries to haggle at the market with an old Hawaiian lady who understands fairly simple English and no Japanese whatsoever, she tires of him gesturing numbers at her and Tegoshi is sure she says, “Don’t bust my balls,” when he says one dollar.

037 | technology
Everyone knows the story of Koyama’s laptop, the deletion of essential items, though he’s glad that the whole fiasco happened before he transferred the homemade porn (though he thinks he would be forgiven for it).

038 | gift
Koyama puts it as a little wrapped present emoji in mail and it gets butterflies fluttering as the anticipation starts flittering, and Shige prepares his ‘surprised-no-matter-what’ face because he knows never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

039 | smile
Shige can fake a smile with the best of them but he knows he can’t kid a kidder so he doesn’t even try because he knows Kusano can see right through it.

040 | innocence
Tegoshi’s innocence has long been fleeting (though on occasion he’s confused growing up with being promiscuous).

041 | completion
He starts the composition on a day off thinking that he’ll be able to get a structure done by the end of it; three years later it’s an overhauled achievement to sing it himself.

042 | clouds
“That one looks like an elephant,” Tegoshi says, pointing to the sky; Massu keeps quiet that he thinks they all look like candyfloss.

043 | sky
There are times when they aren’t together, when they can’t hear each other’s voices, lightly brush their hands as they walk but they look up and know they’re under the same sky.

044 | heaven
He remembers dying, the splatter on the pavement of his own blood, the fade to black that was consuming, and then all things were fine like the weather.

045 | hell
Koyama feels as though he’s going to hell for it, like he’s said Santa Claus isn’t real and billions of fairies going to die, he’s going to burn with these feelings.

046 | sun
It was foolish of him to fall asleep in the sun and even more foolish to do it in the same vicinity as Ryo and sun lotion (because Yamapi has tan lines on his back that say ‘hot stuff’ now).

047 | moon
It’s a passion that’s only sparked by moonlight, blue and white highlights on curves and contours, in the dark with ruffled clothes kicked to the floor, Koyama lets the night cover his actions.

048 | waves
He’ll never say it but Massu doesn’t like it when the crowds do Mexican waves; he gets a little bit dizzy.

049 | hair
It’s an unwritten code between them: at least one member has to have atrocious hair at any one time.

050 | supernova
On nights when there’s absolute silence, as Shige lies in bed, he can hears the universe calling and it puts everything into perspective, stars explode behind his eyes and he wishes it’d last forever.

she'll have a diet coke

Mon, 18 May 2009 20:57:32 GMT

I was planning to do my 'a day in my life' today but I went through the photos and... my gosh was it boring. Partly because I stayed at home today so there was a very limited number of subjects. Tomorrow I'm going to college so that should be somewhat more interesting. It's only for one lesson but there's a lot of things to see because the journey is so long.

I tried writing fic today but didn't get far as I had an afternoon nap. For some reason, I've had this dialogue in my head for ages. It'd probably sound bittersweet and melancholy if not for the fact that my phonological loop has it being shouted angrily or with gritted teeth.

"Do you think that we're in love yet?"

"Probably not because you don't stick around for breakfast."

I have no idea where it would fit in context. Definitely not the the fic I'm working on atm.

My gosh does it look like Shige knows what he's doing. I really was expecting a famed "Johnny's Kiss", you know, something like Yamapi pressing lips against glass. Even Koyama's HSM kiss pales in comparison. The Seminar kiss does look a bit awkward but I'm willing to put some of the blame on Natsuki because she doesn't really look into it with the exception of her hand on his butt.

things i would have tweeted today

Sun, 17 May 2009 22:00:51 GMT

Today my friend came over to help me with maths. I won't lie, I'm finding it hard and I know that there are just some things I can't learn from a textbook. My teacher is no help, she is pretty old and set in her ways when it comes to teaching and it just doesn't work for me. She sticks to using the white board and pen and I'm used to having interactive boards and tools. So my friend went through an entire topic I must have had a comatose through because I just don't remember going through it in class. My two weeks of revision starts tomorrow. I'm determined to use it productively ~~unlike my easter holiday~~. I will not be wasting it playing Paper Mario again.

Two doors down had a party so my mother went. She comes back saying that she's has an expert massage from a twelve year old who told her I have sympathetic shoulder pain. It's true about the shoulder pain but I always thought it's because that's the side I carry by bag on.

Apparently, there's a Japanese garden party in the park across the road to celebrate the renovation at the end of the month. It's from 12 to 4 and I have no idea what they plan to cover for 4 hours but I may as well go.

I'm planning to donate blood in Hammersmith town hall. They were having it at college the other day but I mised it.

Going to rechard my digital camera. Tomorrow is the photo project.

Rewatched Koi no ABO promotion. Massu!fail is adorable.

look who's looking

Sat, 16 May 2009 10:53:07 GMT

title: look who's looking
pairing: yamapi/koyama, koyama/shige, ryo/shige
rating: pg-13
summary: we fall where we fall, all selfishness and helplessness, and let ourselves fall with deliberate content.
notes: remix of dark3princess's stare for jentfic_remix. beta'd by chartre. i really do love the original in its condensed dinky-ness and worried that i may have run away with it too much, too far. thank you for all the kind comments over there, i only managed to get around to them today (i know, for shame) but i really do appreciate them. just cross-posting here for safekeeping.

look who's looking
1880~

Eyes are the window to the soul, or so people say. Narrow windows often closed, it’s almost a lie to believe that all a person’s essence is etched into their pupils. It used to be that I needed a person to tell me what they were thinking, I can’t put in the effort into reading between the lines and prying windows open. That makes me seem somewhat like a criminal sneaking and stealing glimpses at the things people intentionally put behind glass.

But it’s not like that, I can see clearly past that glass; not just Shige’s eyes but his whole face gives away that his soul is almost crying. It’s utter despair for him to have his intent looks completely ignored by Koyama, the object of his affections and I can only presume that his love is unrequited because something should’ve happened between them by now, or would’ve happened.

In my mind, a moment when he declares whatever feelings that bubble in his chest for Koyama will end in them having a happily ever after for as long as they want it. I’ve devised that situation because they’re good (if not somewhat flawed) people. And good things happen to good people, or so that’s what I believe.

Since Koyama is dense, in my head, Shige takes the initiative. It’ll be on one of their planned vacations in some place where they barely speak the language so they have only each other to talk to. They’ll stay up late playing cards from the airplane because they don’t understand anything that’s on TV and when it gets to a lull in the game when Shige realises Koyama’s just fobbing his way through because he doesn’t quite understand the rules, Shige suggests that they do something else.

I see them having lazy commitment sex, the kind that married couples or people who know they’ll spend the rest of their lives with each other have. The distinct lack of passion is made up with exponential amounts of love because theirs is bound to be true and lasting.

But it isn’t like that. Shige can only fix his eyes on Koyama, keeping the words he so wants to say inside.

I understand his hesitance, I can get why he holds himself back when it comes to Koyama because you are his rival, his opposition. You, our so called leader, someone of more status and authority, I’m sure he wonders how he can compete with that. I’m sure he’s sure he can’t. Unaware of the potential of his charms, he lets you maximize yours, flex your muscles and flick your hair and exude coolness you’ve mastered over years.

Sometimes I wonder if you don’t have any shame at all, didn’t realize you were against the ‘first come, first serve’ rule, admittedly not quite a rule applicable in this case but you’re free and careless and, for some reason, Koyama seems to go for that.

A flickering of the eyes, back and forth, he's staring at you as though breaking contact with you will do something to his heart. Be more obvious with Koyama, I beg of you, let me see the look his face contorts to when you take away the constant in his life.

Cruel of me to say but that's what I want; it won't take much effort from you. Get what you want; I'll get what I want. Isn't that how it's always been? At fourteen we had the world at our feet, still do, but we were fourteen and thrust into an adult's existence.

We all work hard, make a living but when do we stop? When is it about the aching in our hearts rather than our limbs? There are times I worry about it. What would happen if it happened all at once? My body and heart with a jolting pain that won't fade. It won't happen because things like that rarely co-exist.

We are oil and water - slick or wet - completely unable to emulsify the two parts of our lives, the things we work to have and the things that all the world grasps at to the very tip of their nails. Go forth and claim another's heart, Koyama is bound to give you his - really, no derogatory meant - but I can't help but notice.

You focus on Koyama like the centre of your orbit, a gravity pulls you to him, I know - you've told me - but a black hole forms whenever you lock eyes and you draw the rest of us in for unintentional attention. Like stars that burn we exhaust ourselves to please onlookers so do what you usually do, just for me, make a move.

It was one of those typical nights that blurred with alcohol, I don’t remember much, after a set amount of units, every night seems the same. There are always people with copious amounts of skin showing, dark places packed with people with bright lights flashing in the most unprecedented places. I remember because when we spoke there seemed to be a green glow coming out of your left ear.

“This is a secret,” you said and I laughed because you never have secrets and if you do, you know I’m just not the person to keep them. I remember picking at the peanut bowl because the last secret you told me was that you once tried to woo a girl with your boxing. Impressive, sure, but you were thirteen and you had no muscles and you were boxing to Eye of the Tiger. You told me so clearly that you could be in love that I’d almost thought that you were asking me to be best man or something. I have that speech prepared by the way; it’s in the same word document as your eulogy.

“Who is it?” There’s not any other question that follows up a love declaration by proxy. I was expecting either some girl from your neighbourhood because I remember you telling me your mother was picking out girls or one of Rina’s modelling acquaintances because that tends to be your pool when the club scene gets cold. The morning after, you called and asked me if I could remember beyond that point and you explained it to me again, this time without the foggy minded haze, all the complications of your heart.

“It’s Koyama,” you said and it sounded like you meant it. He wouldn’t have been my first choice but that’s fine with me because it’s you. That was before I saw all the staring Shige does.

I watch him watching; we wait on baited breath, for different reasons, to see how you'll progress with Koyama, when the flittering looks turn into longing lustful ones. On a mild day, no sun or winds, looking for something to do to pass the time, I caught a glimpse of the scene.

An empty box with but three simple jigsaw pieces, the kinds that have only one connecting side because that was just how they were made. Truthfully, it was more amusing to me than it should have been because you knew who was looking and yet you continued to look as though you didn't. A puzzle piece with magnetic abilities, you made sure to draw your other half to you alone.

You asked me all these profound questions to confirm that what you felt was what you felt. You twittered on about stumbling over greetings and grand epiphanies at three in the morning, and I could only reply saying that there’s a lot of draping when it comes to you and Koyama. You drape your clothes in obscure places for Koyama to come trotting along, telling you he’s put them somewhere convenient for you. You then drape yourself across a sofa and Koyama comes by to sit in the deliberate space you’ve left because the arm behind you seems inviting. Hardly profound answers.

A few years ago, I remember watching a film with my sister, she’d just been dumped by her scumbag of a boyfriend and I said she could come over for a cheering up. I thought we would be watching sitcoms and stand up comedies but she brought some romcom, she’d said it was about a forbidden love and when she mentioned there were sisters in it I’d already come up with an idea of how it was going to go. We sat down to watch it, slow moving with a small cast, lots of green and vanity but alas, no girl-lovin’. Imagine my disappointment.

Storyline-wise, it was a couple of English sisters in a love square with a pair of American brothers, the theme being ‘you can’t help who you fall in love with’. It was dull and banal and I fell asleep halfway and still knew how it ended. I didn’t mind so much since she seemed to perk right up after it but for something I hadn’t seen in its entirety, it certainly left an impression on me. How life imitates art. We fall where we fall, all selfishness and helplessness, and let ourselves fall with deliberate content.

We’re in a love square like those sisters, right? Our hearts yearn and ache for others, it’s a knock on effect, like dominos we’ll have a catalyst and the steady façade we’ve contained ourselves with will cause us to cease falling and crash with a clatter. Disorganised, we’ll stumble and muddle our way in the aftermath as though affected by a drunken stupor.

A little more obvious and a little less subtle, please. Adjacently sitting away from Koyama, your feet tap occasionally, when you stand up to get something you intentionally brush lightly past him, skim your fingertips against any part of exposed skin as though your want for him is too much for you to walk by without contact, to dance in rehearsals without stumbling into him when you're exceptionally capable of moving yourself just fine.

Matters of time will certainly have Koyama fall for you but I need it sooner. How am I supposed to fix what isn't broken? Such fragility and yet Shige’s feelings are still intact, the cracks are showing but he’s not yet shattered. It’s as if he doesn’t care who sees it anymore, his chest is cut open and his heart is now exposed for all look at like an exhibition titled something along the lines of ‘we all wish we had two hearts’. At least, that’s what I think.

The world would be a much less complicated place if that were so. I’d have a heart to give the love of my life and another to be divided amongst those who want a piece of the real thing. After some consideration, I have to disclose that there’s a strong possibility of me having two hearts, just perhaps not in the way I first said. I have two hearts. There is one that wants to be caring and selfless and another that wants to be possessive and jealous.

So please, tilt this stalemate that we’re in because we’re all unfulfilled, because we’re all on tenterhooks, because amongst us there are those who are oblivious.

Because Shige hasn't caught on to it yet.

On to how I'm staring at him too.

totally wasting my paid account

Fri, 15 May 2009 21:02:52 GMT

Bonjour~ Ça va?...

The extent of my French retainment from two years ago is very poor but hello there :D

It's been a while. Since the last time I posted I started four fics and finished none, I'm 2/3s of the way through my exams. Two subjects down and two to go. They've been okay so far apart from my Psychology U1. That was awful. On the part of the examiner, not me. I was well prepared with all the basics but they asked some of the most obscure questions that don't have enough material on them in the text book to justify the number of marks allocated. Hopefully they'll put down the boundaries like one of the January exams. It was 40% for an A. When I got told that I was O_O. It’s unlikely it’ll happen but here’s hoping. My Computing practical was okay until the last question where I blanked on how to code to generate a random number and thus lost about 25 marks because I just didn't know and couldn't do the question at all. I reckon I'll be okay because the Theory paper went pretty well. Not expecting an A but since I don’t intend to go on with it next year, it’s not that important.

I've got a two week gap and will be trying to finish at least one of the fics I've started during the supposed revision period. At the moment, it's probably going to be the one where Ryo fails at being a supervillain. Either that or the baby!fic I started because I got an urge to write it and I reckon that every fic writer's entitled to write it at least once and be given the benefit of the doubt for shoving a cute bundle of joy into an unprepared father's hands.

In fandom news... wow. Is it just me or was Koi no ABO promotion pretty short? A week went by and that was it. Nevermind, we can still hope that there are a couple more dramas to be squeezed out for next season, I'm sure Yamapi's itching to do something. I'm pretty excited about Ryo's drama with Tackey. Not sure what they mean by drawing similarities with Prison Break and Lost but I think it's nice that they've got their sights aimed high.

I know I don't talk about it much but I really am into kpop too and I just watched SHINee's new mini album teaser. I can't believe how long it's been since they released something so I'm getting hyped up. They've all got new hair (I think, Minho doesn't really look like he has), though as a teaser goes, it's 38 seconds with nothing to really indicate what it's going to be like. Maybe I have Key blindness because I couldn’t catch him there at all. I was hoping for something dance-y but at the moment it doesn't look like it. You never know, it's got a piquancy in the atmosphere that could pop anything out.

Just to change the topic, in London there are three free newspapers you can get. The Metro, the London Lite and the London Paper. The Metro's a blue kind of cool, you find it at tube stations and they're usually gone after morning rush hour. The London Lite and London Paper have people handing them out in the morning and in the afternoon. The London Lite's yellow/maroon-y, the London Paper's purple and white. There's a bit of a rivalry between the two because they set up stands next to each other outside tube stations and people packed bus stops so there's competition over who can shove a paper into passersby first.

I pass the newspaper stands next to the BBC everyday on my way home and I get the London Lite. I prefer it because the ink doesn't rub off on my hands and there's a section where people text in the most random thoughts and questions and other people text back after. If you follow it day-to-day, you can get a bit of a story. There's also an 'I saw you...' section where people declare their love at first sight. It's very cute.

Today however, there was a new contender in the free newspaper rally. The Evening Standard. I'm not sure if the sellers were just desperate to ditch their stock because you traditionally have to pay for the Evening Standard but today the orange and blue clad hander-out-ers were shouting out and got into a bit of a fight with a London Liter. It probably made me smile more than it should have done.

I'm thinking about trying the 'a day in my life' thing because it looks kind of interesting and I've got two weeks to waste. Off to watch Grey's Anatomy finale though I've already spoiled it for me. Shame on me.

bad day

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 18:24:30 GMT

I've had such a bad day today and it all stemmed from me trying to do the right thing. Never again. I will keep my nose out of things. I won't do the good deeds people say to do on TV because it's just not worth the trouble. It's 7PM, I've just arrived home, it's late, I'm tired. Someone, please tell me something, anything nice.

we'd be in love by now but you only like people who are nice to you

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 00:06:26 GMT

title: we'd be in love by now but you only like people who are nice to you
pairing: ryo/shige
rating: pg-13
summary: ryo always manages to miss by one.
notes: sometimes i just like long titles.

we’d be in love by now but you only like people who are nice to you
916~

It’s frustration.

Frustration in so many ways.

He can feel his heart clench inside his chest, it’s uncontrollable, the falling tears are inconsolable. He wants to stop, he wants to be over it, to move on like everyone else tells him to, but he can’t because there are so many memories that are slipping between his fingers.

“Get over it,” Ryo tells him and Shige tries to hiccup his way to dry eyes.

He’s unsuccessful.

“Don’t look at me with such a pitiful face,” Ryo sits in his swivel chair so comfortable in being annoyed that he lets every irritant that comes to mind spill out of his mouth.

“B-bu-but-” Shige tries to voice out anything of what he’s feeling, just to convey it to Ryo to get a little bit of understanding.

“Look at it this way, if she really loved you,” Ryo kicks against the floor to propel himself towards Shige, “she wouldn’t have slept with me.”

Shige doesn’t understand why he’s so upset about it, he wants to be angry instead because anger makes so much more sense as it’s always focussed. It may be easily transferable but at least the target is sure.

Anger, however, is not the same frustration.

Shige hates knowing that Ryo is examining his every move; a squint of his eyes and Ryo makes a quirk of the lips. It’s always been like this, Shige is upset and Ryo watches his reaction. To be shameful and shameless, when has it not been like this?

They are IT consultants, so knowledgeable they’re clever, so knowledgeable it’s sad. They reside in the basement, the roomiest place for storage, tucked away from the rest of the company, socially awkward and traditionally aesthetically uneasy on the eyes. Ryo, Shige finds, is the exception to the rule.

He’s the epitome of social desirability and, to put it nerd way, Shige doesn’t have to go into the paddock to ride the horses. Simply put, he knows Ryo’s got appealing looks. Personally, he doesn’t quite see it, he thinks Ryo’s a couple of inches too short, if he smiles too much it becomes creepy and if he could, he’d cut back on cologne because he certainly can’t cut back on cigarettes.

But as Shige has said, that thing with the horses though he may have said it drunk, he can understand why a person may fall for him. It’s the instant gratuitous sex, the promise of something fun that wouldn’t have to be realised because the anticipation would be worth it, the lusty eyes underneath a mussed fringe peering over a monitor.

Sitting in front of a computer screen all day does things to the mind, Shige finds.

It’s frustration, Ryo knows.

He can’t be angry because that wouldn’t make sense; he hasn’t been wronged in any way. Ryo knows that it’s frustration because he can pinpoint exactly what is wrong and what he wants to change. For him, anger is a spray and covers whatever direction he’s facing. Frustration is easier for him to distinguish, it’s a burn in his chest, a compress of his breath.

When he applied as an IT technician, Ryo knew exactly what he was getting himself in for, nerds and geeks, he could totally work that angle because putting in contacts everyday is a hassle he’s not sure is worth the increase in eye infection probability. It’s a simple enough job, fix what is broken, tell people to try turning their computers on and off again, reconnect wires and install antivirus software. He’s had to do that for himself and it didn’t seem so hard to do that for a living.

Then there was Shige his co-worker, so vivid, banal and flawed that Ryo couldn’t help but fall in love. Ryo likes Shige’s insistent independence, his ability to be straight thinking and adorably bashful when it all goes wrong. When Ryo looks at Shige, it feels as though fate’s made a deliberate decision to put in Shige all the qualities Ryo wished he had to counter all the qualities Ryo wished he didn’t.

It’s frustration, however, because Shige doesn’t go for playing hard to get, pigtail pulling, standoffish and unavailable, and because that usually works so well for Ryo, he hasn’t had the need to learn any other means of courtship.

This ‘in’ to geek chic, some advice from his postman, doesn’t go well for Ryo. He winds up using childhood tactics, selfishness that has adverse reactions like medicinal allergies. His pulse quickens, his palms get sweaty, his stomach gets knotty. Things don’t bode well for Ryo’s attempts.

In retrospect, Ryo doesn’t quite understand what he was thinking either. Tempting Shige’s new girlfriend (who he had spent weeks trying to seem normal to) into cheating doesn’t seem like a bad idea to spark a break up but then again, Ryo was the other half of the participating party, significantly damaging Shige’s viewpoint of him.

The saddest part about it all is that this isn’t the first time.

It’s a hard habit to break after the first seven.

To sum it up, it’s frustration.

Frustration in so many ways.

He goes up to Shige, clearly upset and struggling to keep whatever pride he has left, and Ryo knows that comfort and compassion is that way to a person’s heart but he can’t achieve that. A person in that situation is faced with the right thing to do and the wrong thing to do.

Ryo always manages to miss by one.

achtung, baby~

Sat, 18 Apr 2009 23:36:31 GMT

1849 / 2500

My progress on the remix thus far. I've been slowly tapping away at it over past few days but I'm determined to get it done completely, maybe capping it off at 1900 because 2500 seems so far away considering I've written everything I've wanted to include. I've downed two cans of coke for the caffeine intake.

In other news, I've gone back to using Firefox. I'd been using Opera for a while now because the last time I had Firefox I made it fugly with too many add-ons and couldn't be bothered to fix it. I've cut down to a few things on the top and bottom now, and was trying to pimp out my LJ Ace Attorney style but my PS skills are limited so I didn't make the magic Trucy header I wanted. Most of her official artwork is a bit boring so I might have to go for a different character (probably Klavier because he always seems to look good and in proportion but his look is always smug and I don't know if I could stand looking at it all the time). For the meantime, I'll have Koyama until I find something.

when i'm bored, i'm bored

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 23:33:22 GMT

I was in the mood for Kurosagi today and went around trying to find it because I seem to have deleted the precious ep 2 from my external hard drive. I found it streaming and watched the start around five times (not the recap but the actual start when the Sheryl Crow kicks in until the sugarcubes appear, that bit). Is it bad of me to be impressed? For a Jdrama, it's better than average, cinematography-wise, I think. There's quite a bit of panning and scanning around faces and the bit over the fence and it has a rare smile that's just about genuine looking.

There's just not enough Kurosagi fic. ~~is that enough of a *nudge nudge wink wink*?~~

Also had a go at cutting back my layers. I don't have time or money to go to a hairdresser's so I did it myself in 20 minutes. I fixed out the unevenness from the pic so the top layer's a bit shorter. It'll probably need fixing again later once I see what it's like after I wash it.

I just. lol at Shige's character in Seminar. He's looking mighty fine though.

we make the best you and me (even if you're gone)

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:29:52 GMT

title: we make the best you and me (even if you're gone)
pairing: yamapi-centric, ryo/tegoshi
rating: pg-13
summary: they wrote each other letters, expressing their love through careful penmanship and gifts the postal service permits, and despite how he may disapprove, yamashita still chooses to pick up the pieces when all is said and done.
notes: remix of chartre's i'm writing to you letters you'll never read. not really a remix more of a sequel. very nervous. a little bit too soppy maybe but i have an unbelievably clichéd heart and maybe just this once it'll be okay. ending definitely got messy. lots of tense jumbling.

we make the best you and me (even if you’re gone)
3790~

For Yamashita, the story starts about three days before Nishikido’s passing. Had he known Nishikido would die, he would have marked both days on his calendar but he didn’t and so he was left recording facts from his memory, unlike Nishikido who had documented everything that happened to him in letters to a stranger.

Yamashita corrects himself; ‘stranger’ isn’t the word.

Regardless of his misuse of semantics, Yamashita has his own letters to be writing. He hadn’t known how bad things had been for Nishikido, he wasn’t aware of how quickly the white light was coming for him. This is his best friend, in a hospital bed, crisp linen sheets, hooked up to machines, pumped with drugs to prolong his life. When he was informed of Nishikido’s illness, it never really occurred to him that he wouldn’t get better and now, as he sits by the beside, bleeps overhead and a glass of water on the right, the gravity of it all comes to hurtle down.

Nishikido is the silent car crash he can’t turn away from.

“My days are numbered,” Nishikido croaks, he’s never been good at whispering.

Yamashita’s lips quirk as he tries to think of something that won’t sound patronising, something appropriate for a best friend. “Don’t say that.”

That something not patronising doesn’t come to mind.

“I can feel it,” Nishikido continues and his eyes don’t leave the CD player in the corner of the room, the one next to wilted flowers of tall stems and thorns, “but I don’t want this to be it.”

Nishikido has secrets to tell, stories of his love that writes him letters, adds hearts and smiley faces to the end of sentences, who has claimed Nishikido has had possession of his all and has done since the letters ended with ‘Yours’. Yamashita for all his brotherly love for Nishikido, can’t condone what he has done.

“It’s a change of heart,” Nishikido tells him and he seems like a different person entirely.

Yamashita regrets not finding the patient room that day last month. Perhaps he could have stopped this, made Nishikido realise that he may have known what he was doing but the young boy of his affections didn’t.

“It’s not as though I’m his first love,” Nishikido snides in defence. “His first man love.”

“Even still, Ryo,” Yamashita shakes his head, sighs because he feels sorry for the stranger. “What kind of memories are you leaving him with?”

“He’s not a child.”

“He’s not adult enough to take your selfishness either,” Yamashita can’t understand how this had happened. “You don’t know how much longer you have. What if you just drop dead and this poor kid is left with a broken heart?”

“You’re being very melodramatic,” Nishikido lips curve to one side, “and I’m hurt you’re not taking my side on this one.”

“If you weren’t dying, I’d have to have you put on some kind of register,” Yamashita reluctantly feels the fight of the conversation die.

“Maybe,” Nishikido hums with a gentle curve of the lips, “because I really do love him.”

Tegoshi Yuya, Nishikido introduces Yamashita to him; admittedly, he is only shown a picture – a clipping from a newspaper – in black and white but because Nishikido shows it so proudly, Yamashita doesn’t have the heart to tease him for laminating it.

Nishikido presses play on the CD player and the room is filled with gentle guitar strumming, humming, a voice singing and Yamashita can tell that every sweet melody is sung only for Nishikido. Perhaps he had underestimated the extent of which the lovers who had never met had fallen.

“Call him,” Yamashita urges, just as the final hum fades to background noise.

“I can’t,” Nishikido wipes the CD case with a cover of the bed sheets. “I don’t know his number.”

“How can you not?” Yamashita scolds lightly.

“It never occurred to me to ask,” Nishikido shrugs, “Besides, I’ve already written my goodbyes to him.”

“In a letter? Are you serious?” Yamashita feels his heart plunge a bit, for he’d thought that if Nishikido were to be one half of star-crossed lovers, he’d do better than that and take pitiful, which usually follows along with such a label, out of the equation. “That’s cowardly, Ryo.”

“It’s a clean cut,” Nishikido tells him, “I’ll send back all the letters, leave him everything and that should be enough for him to move on. I don’t see him hung up on me forever.”

Four days after Nishikido is gone, a letter is forwarded to Yamashita. He holds the letter in his hands, to open it would be a breach of privacy, even though the man is dead. He leaves it in a box of Nishikido’s things he picked up from the hospital. These things mean little to him: tooth brushes, slippers, a watch, a pair of glasses complete with case. He saves them regardless of their lack of worth just in case that stranger appears.

A month after Nishikido is gone and several letters forwarded arrive in his mailbox, the hospital gives Yamashita a call. There’s an inconsolable boy asking for Nishikido and Yamashita thinks that none of hospital staff have the nerve to break the news to such a pretty person.

He contemplates not going because he has no real obligation to but the box in his room, full of things he can’t bear to touch, tells him better. It tells him that star-crossed lovers never have half-finished endings and he should complete it, make theirs definite even if it is tragic. Taking the box with him, he drives to the hospital, leaving it in the backseat, and hesitates going in.

Yamashita knows that the memories will come flooding back, he’s not over it and to deal with someone else’s grief along with his own is not something he’s sure he can do just yet.

But, nevertheless, he walks straight into the antiseptic and for a moment, he’s back to the Nishikido’s last moments.

“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him,” Nishikido sighs, turns his back to Yamashita and looks out the window to the night sky. “Instead, I’m looking at your face.”

“Just rest now, you’ll feel better in the morning,” Yamashita urges because the doctors have told him that they’re no longer counting days. There is no need anymore.

Nishikido closes his eyes to the stars, each one is a regret and for some reason, he feels like telling Yamashita them all. He starts with the main ones, never seeing Tegoshi, never speaking with him, never holding him, and oh so many things involving Tegoshi that Yamashita thinks Nishikido should have taken to the grave.

But in the end, when Nishikido tells him that he’ll never be able to care for Tegoshi once his heart stops beating, Yamashita, subconsciously, along the way, decides to do what Nishikido cannot.

He drags his feet as he walks inside the sliding doors, there’s a slight squeak underfoot and he feels nervous. There are a few members of staff he remembers vaguely and he bows politely because their jobs are hard. Caring for strangers; Yamashita supposes he should start following their lead.

He walks into reception, remembering a pretty nurse with her hair in a tight bun that makes him think it’s fake, and at the desk, the boy pleading for information no one is willing to give him is present. He’s a photograph come to life in colour, so bright and pretty and high school.

“Ah, Yamashita-san,” the nurse with the bun taps him on the shoulder and they watch as the boy is insistent in his polite questioning. “Are you here for him?”

She tilts her head inconspicuously in the boy’s direction and Yamashita nods hesitantly; he’s been there since this morning, she guesses he took the first bus into town and the more she tells about him to Yamashita, the more obligation he feels over what happens to him.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Yamashita nods, affirms what he is to do so he won’t talk himself into backing out.

“Please tell me where he is,” Yamashita hears as he approaches and wonders how to talk to the stranger.

He corrects himself once more with a bit of a scold.

Tegoshi is no stranger.

“Tegoshi Yuya?” Yamashita can hear the nerves jumping in his voice.

“Yes?” he turns and there is such directness in his eyes, it takes Yamashita by surprise. “Do you know Ryo?”

“Yes.”

“Do you- ah,” there’s a looks of realisation spread across his face and he asks, “Are you ‘Pi’-san? Can you tell me where Ryo is?”

The words ‘Ryo’s dead’ refuse to leave the back of Yamashita’s throat, it chokes him and he stands before Tegoshi, mouth agape as his mind tries to catch up to the Tegoshi’s train speed speech.

The receptionist behind the desk, on the edge of his peripherals, makes a gasp and while Yamashita is grateful Tegoshi’s attention is diverted, he gets the feeling it can only make things worse.

“You’re Tegoshi Yuya-san?” Tegoshi nods in confirmation and she looks positively horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

Just that and Tegoshi’s knees give way, his world crashes with him to the floor and Yamashita can pinpoint this moment as the moment he feared. This is the moment Yamashita sees Tegoshi’s heartbreak. No tears spill just yet, just sheer disbelief.

“He’s gone...” they hear him whisper and Yamashita goes to find out what the receptionist feels so guilty about.

“I really am so sorry,” she says and hauls a box Yamashita remembers seeing while visiting Nishikido. “I presumed that he would’ve known.”

“They were...” Yamashita tries to articulate what they were in one word but he can’t sum it up, “pen pals.”

The receptionist apologises profusely and passes Yamashita the box of Nishikido’s treasures, tells him that she meant to send them but never got around to it, thinking that they would be collected. Yamashita replies saying it’s not her fault but really, he doesn’t think much of her choice. When all is difficulty that makes a lump in his throat that’s still there after he swallows, he wants nothing more than to blame her and give her the responsibility of one fragile heart and another that’s wrecked.

He takes Tegoshi by the hand (because he figures that’s what they both need) with the box in the other, and leads him to the car because the children in waiting room look as though they are about emulate his broken emotion.

Tegoshi staggers behind but Yamashita pulls him along anyway. He can’t help but notice how Tegoshi manages to make throaty-breathing sounds to calm himself down. They stop by the convertible, a lined gleam catches his sight and he looks away before the sting pushes welling eyes, and Yamashita hesitates to say anything.

The boy is too late, he waited too long, it’s one of the sad and true urban myths that people spread through word-of-mouth and if captured enough by its magic, they’ll scour the land to find the people involved and pray they get a happy ending.

And Yamashita saw it coming, he predicted this all, and knowing that he has the right to be smug with ‘told-you-so’s doesn’t make him feel any better for either Nishikido nor Tegoshi.

He presumes he should formally introduce himself, he’s not comfortable with Tegoshi calling him ‘Pi-san’, and suspects that is how Nishikido had referred to him in their letters but as he does so, Tegoshi’s not listening, his eyes fall onto the box, the letters he and Nishikido had treasured, the only proof that their love existed now that Nishikido is gone.

So small and fragile, Tegoshi picks up the envelope on top, the stamp on it untouched by the postal service, the letter he never read and Yamashita lets him. Wordlessly, Tegoshi reads, eyes scan across aged paper, not yet pricked by tears until the end when he sighs.

The smile Tegoshi has is sad and he looks up to Yamashita and lets it all out. It’s one of the most beautiful things Yamashita has ever seen, pretty boys cry pretty tears, and he can see how Nishikido could have fallen for such a young creature.

“Uh, um,” Yamashita flusters because the people passing the car park give him dirty looks like this onset of tears is his fault. “Do you need a lift?”

Tegoshi nods.

The stupid part of Yamashita thinks that it’s a good idea to take Tegoshi to Nishikido’s grave rather than a place to rest or the bus stop. He sniffles over the boxes, knows the items that belong to Nishikido by scent, rummages through them delicately as though they would crumble between his fingers like wet birthday cake should he hold them properly.

They drive from nowhere to nowhere; they are still nowhere near the city when they get to the cemetery. Empty-handed, Tegoshi picks flowers in bloom from other resting places just for Nishikido and Yamashita can’t say anything to stop him. It’s the first time he’s been back by Nishikido’s grave and everything seems so different.

He can’t understand it, this isn’t how he had thought he’d feel when he’d see Nishikido’s name carved in stone again; he last felt cold and alone, the funeral had been a quiet and solemn affair, a few friends and past students. So hushed there were only distant bird calls and rustles of surrounding verdant land, the grasses and trees. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, pats on his shoulder were responded with silent nods.

Looking back, he defines himself as pathetic because he had missed the most important moment to say something in tributes. Yamashita wonders when this self-pitying will stop because it’s not doing anything for him but he’s torn between the image of his best friend up in heaven (presumably, he supposes, after Nishikido’s death he’s become more inclined to believe in it) looking down on him disgruntled by thoughts of Yamashita moving on or disapproving of his moping.

Thinking back, he remembers the brief talk they had concerning how he was supposed to live his life ‘post-Nishikido death’. He had to sit, lips pursed together as he listened to Nishikido joke and list the things he should continue doing.

“Keep changing your hair, you don’t look so good with long hair so if you keep styling it, it’ll be decent,” a scrutinising rise of an eyebrow makes Yamashita feel more than a little self-conscious.

“Really? You want to talk about my hair right now?”

It’s such a hackneyed conversation topic that Yamashita hoped Nishikido would progress to something more profound so his last words could be something pivotal and not wasted on the mistake he made of dyeing an unnatural shade of blond.

“But I won’t be here anymore to trim your hair when you’re drunk,” Nishikido had smug smeared all over his face upon seeing Yamashita’s shock, “Yeah, that’s right, I go at you when you’ve passed out; your fringe doesn’t look that good naturally.”

After listing other rules, thinking twice about bottle caps and actually wiping the equipment at the gym before and after using it instead of just saying that he did and other such banal things, Nishikido sighed heavily. It was the sigh of resignation, old and wise and ready to retreat from the world.

They ran out of time to talk about the more important things, things concerning property and heritage. If they had, would it mean everything would go to Tegoshi? It can’t have been much, Nishikido wasn’t exactly someone who hoarded money in a bank account earning on interest and Yamashita would know because Nishikido would certainly have boasted about it since he boasted about everything in his possession.

All this sentimental back-tracking abruptly brings Yamashita back to the person who robs graves for flowers for his love. He expects the mismatched bouquet to be leaned delicately against stone, they kneel and pray and it’ll be over. Instead, Tegoshi takes a deep breath and belts out that once soft song Yamashita heard from the CD player all those months ago.

It’s so clear that Tegoshi is pushing his voice to breaking point, it quivers in the air, he swallows and pauses but each note is spot on and only shaky. So unashamed and brazen, he fills the space, right to the edge of their distance, with what only they know is their song. It feels to be such an intimate moment that he should turn away or block his ears to make it just for the person of Tegoshi’s intention.

But he can’t because the delicate flower petals fall, curl as they skim along the ground, the stranger was an important person to Nishikido meaning that he too should be important to Yamashita. He reckons he could manage to pat the boy’s back until this Juliet decides that just because this Romeo left first, it doesn’t mean that he should follow suit.

When the song is over and the echo in his ears die down, Yamashita’s eyes drag up from the beaten down path up to Tegoshi’s face where he’s looking so content and satisfied that he can’t understand how he can paste that look on. It’s a change of heart, Yamashita knows it because Tegoshi seems like a different person entirely.

Hesitantly, Yamashita voices out his concern because this new person may have cracked and become crazy through grief, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tegoshi smiles, lips stretched almost to teeth flashing should he up the happy, “I’m good.”

“How?”

It sounds so blunt and sceptical only because Yamashita wishes that coming to terms with Nishikido could be just as easy for him. There are still traces that remain, the box that he claims no attachment for takes pride of place, is dusted around delicately with a feather duster made of real feathers, his number is still in his phone, still on his list of emergency numbers in passport and at work. Not a day goes by when he walks through his front door without thinking that there’s an absence of a drinking buddy at the beginning of tomorrow.

“Because I know that he loved me,” Tegoshi makes it sound that it’s as simple as that.

“But he’s gone.”

“He was always going to go, it's sad but I knew that.”

And those words that Nishikido had spoken come back to haunt. He knew. He knew it all. Nishikido knew this boy was beyond his years, he wasn’t reckless as Yamashita had thought, he’d made a conscious decision to love this person because he knew that this was a clean slate that could go on despite being marked.

“I knew that,” Yamashita repeats, low and defensive because he did and it was true.

The sweetness of Tegoshi’s head tilt has a surprisingly lightening repercussion in Yamashita’s chest, “What was he like?”

“Short.” There’s a moment of stifled laughter. “No, um, I’m sure he portrayed himself to you exactly as he is – was – poison tongue and all. But, uh, I have some pictures and probably a video if you want to see him.”

“People always put the departed in the best light so to hear about him honestly, that’d be nice.”

“Yeah,” Yamashita supposes it would be sharing stories that would otherwise be buried with the dust. “Just wondering how you knew who I was back at the hospital.”

“Hmm,” Tegoshi smiles in such a way, like his innocent lips keep the secrets of the stars. “I could just imagine you as his friend.”

It feels like a good reflection on himself, to be thought to be associated with Nishikido by someone with an excellent judgement of character. It’s been so long, so long since his shoulders have felt so relieved from this weight but there’s still a part of Yamashita that has regrets, regrets that he had put this off for so long, regrets that he didn’t have the epiphany that taking responsibility over Tegoshi’s awareness would have removed him of the better part of his dark cloud sooner.

The moment seems to be a good opportunity to confess his sins, not just because Tegoshi seems the kind to forgive people for their flaws (which he imagines Tegoshi has a large threshold for considering he fell for Nishikido completely) but because he’s done keeping things concerning Nishikido to himself.

“I should apologise,” he waits as Tegoshi pulls a face he imagines Nishikido could’ve seen in his head through the ink on paper. “I knew about you, I could’ve tracked you down and got you here before he... went.”

“It’s not your fault I wasn’t here,” Tegoshi does his best go at empathetic, “I knew where he was, I just waited too long.”

And it doesn’t matter that Tegoshi is a horrible liar and that Yamashita can see through the untruth, because it’s the thought that counts. Yamashita takes Tegoshi for a drive to all Nishikido’s favourite haunts, now literally his favourite haunts, there is his bar of choice, his spot for immense thinking and kicking cans.

It’s a wonderful fine day for reminiscing, for repeating memories and slipping away secrets. Tegoshi’s a wonderful person, Yamashita deems him worthy, the grudge he previously bore wears away like a biscuit dunked in milk tea, it can’t be more than twenty minutes before he’s left with crumbs that could be stolen by the wind at any time.

When they’ve exhausted themselves with stories, Tegoshi takes the bus back home, they sit together at the bus stop, so unused there’s not even a bench to sit on, so they take to sitting on the hood of his convertible, probably denting the bodywork he just got done but Yamashita doesn’t really care in the moment.

He’ll care tomorrow when his friends ask him to pay up (they’d made a bet when he first bought the car that he wouldn’t damage it within three years) and then he’ll wonder what will happen to the boy on the bus who drove away pegged with hearts and memories. The next day he’ll wonder if Tegoshi will come back, perhaps the next anniversary for whatever occasion he decides to choose, then some months later he’ll think about calling Tegoshi – probably when he realises that doesn’t actually have his number – and a few years down the line he’ll think that maybe he’d get out of town to see Tegoshi because he needs to talk about Nishikido because no one else seems to remember him anymore.

But for tonight, Yamashita will speak to the night time sky, a blackboard speckled with chalk dust, thinking that, somehow, Nishikido has to among them. Stars that mark the regrets for a beautiful stranger, Yamashita will find himself sharing them too.