love your crooked neighbour

today she holds his gaze (satoshi/mayaka)

ibuberu — Sun, 07 Oct 2012 01:30:43 GMT

today she holds his gaze
fandom - hyouka
characters - Satoshi, Mayaka, Houtarou, Chitanda
genre - general, friendship, romance, humour
summary - Satoshi comes back.
notes - nc-16-ish/M-ish

today she holds his gaze.

花

Mayaka loves the land she grows up in. She feels like a part of it, unconditionally loved by the kind people and generous fields surrounding them. Then, there are some days she loves the small, modest town of Kamiyama a little less. It makes running into people much easier – ‘people’ referring to a specific Houtarou Oreki. They haven’t been schoolmates for seven years, but every time she sees him, she feels like nothing has really changed. His slouch, mastered as a teenager, never really goes away, even now when he’s working under the Chitanda family. Chi-chan is far too nice to him.

“Hi.”

“Houtarou,” Mayaka replies vaguely. She returns her attention to the apples and oranges, undecided on which to buy today. “What do you want?”

“A couple of apples,” the man says. Mayaka rolls her eyes and passes him the two she’d been considering. She cups her chin with one hand, a sudden desire for pears driving her down the aisle to where the other fruits are on display. She hears Houtarou dragging his feet behind her and looks over her shoulder, wondering why he has the time to follow her.

“Do you have something else to say, or?”

“Satoshi’s coming back.”

That isn’t the reply she expects. Give her a comment about how she’s still the smallest thing in the supermarket aside from the baby peas, give her a sarcastic compliment about the new hairclip she’s wearing, tell her about the damn weather – not this.

He hasn’t been back in over a year. Since graduating high school, Satoshi had broken free of their tiny town. The moment he had the chance to leave and travel, he’d jumped on it without hesitation. That was the kind of person he was. He’d moved off to a university in the city and following that, had clinched a job in another city, further than the first. He never came back to see them except for holidays, but… there weren’t any holidays coming up at all.

She exchanges the monthly, sometimes bi-monthly, postcard with him and texts him every now and again. He never mentioned this before.

“I just thought you should know,” Houtarou says, and even in his annoying nonchalance, Mayaka can’t bring herself to raise her voice. He’s being genuine for once.

“Thanks, I guess.” She hands him the pear absently. Forgoing the decision to buy fruits tonight, Mayaka trudges out of the supermarket. The only thing on her mind right now is that she isn’t ready to see Satoshi just yet.

Six years ago, Houtarou had asked him why he had been so adamant about leaving. Satoshi had replied, “I want to get out of this town.” All Mayaka had heard was, “I want to get out of your shadow,” and that was what Satoshi had done. He wasn’t the sort of person to promise something without seeing it through. Mayaka fell in love with that part of him.

Houtarou went on to major in business. The supposed reason had been because he was good with numbers so it required the least work, and thus was compatible to his infamous life motto, yadda yadda. Mayaka had always known the real truth behind his choice. Sometimes she laughs when he tells people what he studied in university.

Chi-chan had majored in agricultural science. She’d completed another major in economics at the same time. All of this had been in preparation for her inheritance of the Chitanda farmlands. Her performance as the new head of the company hadn’t been as spotless as her academic records, but she always gave her best effort. She’s an unconventional, but capable and special leader.

Mayaka had found herself in the Literature department. She’d tried submitting one of her original manuscripts to Betsuma for a contest in her second year of university. She got fifth place in a lineup of 10 other young aspiring artists, but was never able to create anything else that could catch the publisher’s eye. Thus, her dream of becoming a best-selling shoujo author faded over time as she grew older and university piled projects one on top of the other.

It hadn’t been that hard to get over it. Mayaka used to sit alone in her desk at night and tell herself ‘this isn’t good’, ‘no one will want to read this’, ‘I’m not cut out for this’ – she had no one else to blame but herself.

Now she works as an editor in a small publishing company in Kamiyama. Nothing glamorous or pink or flowery, but it’s a reliable and sympathetic job.

Mayaka wraps her scarf tighter around her neck and checks her planner as she walks up the street. Highlighted in green is a note to fax a document to one of her writers. She focuses on walking home and getting that done before the night falls completely.

志

The train passes a woman with short hair and blue mittens as it slows into the station. Satoshi does a double take, but he doesn’t manage to catch her face as the train comes to a halt. His hand tightens on the strap of his bag.

As he steps off the train and into the cool spring air, he looks around for the familiar figure. He spots her waiting on the other end of the platform, wandering to and fro between the last few carriages. Before he can turn to walk towards her, someone else approaches her. It’s a tall man in a business suit. They embrace passionately and Satoshi sees the woman smile –

And it’s not Mayaka.

Of course. It shouldn’t be.

She has a job now. She has other things to do. He hasn’t even told her he’s coming back because he wants to surprise her. This is the reason he uses, in any case.

Someone taps his shoulder and Satoshi whirrs around eagerly. He feels taken aback to see that it is Chitanda. She’s not at the top of the list of people he was expecting to meet at the station. Of course, the feeling is short-lived. “Ah, hello, Chi-san! Good to see you!” He bows out of instinct.

The young lady returns the greeting graciously. “Likewise,” she says. Her smile widens as she picks up on the confusion on his face. “Houtarou-san sent me here in his stead. It was too early for him to leave his house,” she explains. Satoshi shakes his head and laughs. Chitanda allows herself to join him, chuckling in a delicate way. Has she been practicing this at home? Satoshi hadn’t believed that she could get any more sophisticated than she already was. Chitanda proves him wrong every time he returns home.

Satoshi glances once more around the platform. No one else is around now. It’s just him and Chitanda.

“Well, shall we get going?” Chitanda asks, tugging her coat close to her body. Satoshi nods, slinging his bag on his shoulder and walking with her out of the station. He’s supposed to meet up with Houtarou for dinner tonight, which means that he has to follow Chitanda to her next destination.

“Are we walking back to your house?” he asks as they cross a road.

“Yes. Somewhere near there. I hope you don’t mind? It’s been awhile since you were in Kamiyama and I thought you wouldn’t mind walking a bit.”

“It’s good. I miss walking around town.” It will take them over half an hour to reach the suburbs, but Satoshi isn’t concerned. He‘s surprised to learn that Chitanda had walked from her home to the train station and would now go back the same way. Chitanda possesses the means to be chauffeured around. It’s the fact that she doesn’t, that Satoshi admires.

“Would you like to put your things back home first?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

A question mark seems to appear over her head, but Chitanda doesn’t pursue it. They walk in companionable silence after that, down the streets he used to skip on when he was a kid. He notices her greet the owners of the stores they pass by. Some of them must receive their supply from her.

“So, how’s work?”

“It’s coming along really well. Though it’s only because I have a lot of people to support me when I need help and forgive me when I do something wrong,” the lady replies, sheepish and humble. “I’d like to think that I’m going to become a good Head, though!”

Satoshi nods encouragingly, hoping that his approval is worth something. “And Houtarou?”

“Ah – Houtarou-san is doing fine. He’s been a great help as well. I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Chitanda says, her cheeks a little pinker now. Satoshi feels eased by that expression. It’s good to know that Houtarou has found someone worth investing himself in.

“What about you, Satoshi-san? How are things holding up on your end?”

“About work,” he starts. “I’ll need to talk to Houtarou about it first.”

“Satoshi-san, is everything all right?” Chitanda asks. “Are you in a rush to leave?”

He exhales.

花

Mayaka breathes in.

She’d forgotten about this love letter. She finds it amongst a shoebox full of post-it notes and pretty papers she’s been keeping well since high school. Most of them are written notes from her friends, but Satoshi’s postcards are in here somewhere too, and so are a couple of love letters she received in university. She wasn’t popular, but she had a fair share of boys who asked her out. Mayaka had gone out with them casually, wondering if maybe it would be better for her to actually explore her options.

Of course, she never ended up with anyone. None of them could match up to Satoshi’s easy humour, long reading list, ability with a sewing needle, smile. It had been a mistake to compare them to Satoshi – but she could never help it. She opens an envelope and reads its contents.

“Ibara,

I admire your maturity and gracefulness. Please consider going out with me.”

This one had been delusion. She laughs and tosses it back into the box before rolling off her bed to grab her laptop. Might as well get some work done.

志

“So you – ”

“- are back here permanently, yes,” Satoshi finishes Houtarou’s sentence for him. He raises a cup of sake over their table. “I quit. I got bored of it. But that backfired when I realized that there was nowhere else to get a job in Kyoto, especially now with the recession. I thought Kamiyama would be kinder to me.”

“You’re too hopeful,” Houtarou says, blunt and sharp and not the least bit sorry. That’s what Satoshi likes about him sometimes. “And was it really because you were bored?”

This is not one of those times.

Satoshi doesn’t reply for a moment. Houtarou is paying attention to his every move, and if he does something suspicious, every part of this painfully constructed act will go to waste. “The rent was high, and there were some people I didn’t get along with in the office, and having to take the train to work every day is tiring. I miss riding my bicycle.”

“And?”

“Nothing else,” Satoshi says. He includes a smile at the end to assure his friend. “You don’t need to worry about me, Houtarou! I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job here somewhere. You’ll put a good word in for me at Chitanda’s, right?”

Houtarou doesn’t nod or shake his head. “We’ll see,” the man finally says. “Do you have enough savings to support yourself for awhile?”

“Of course!” Satoshi immediately replies, appalled that Houtarou would think anything else.

“What about your family? The last time I remember, they weren’t too keen about you moving to the city.”

“Simple!” Satoshi chimes, “I haven’t told them yet.”

Houtarou becomes visibly greyer than usual. “Satoshi,” he says, managing to sound reprimanding even though he speaks with his perpetual monotone.

“Okay, I admit that that wasn’t smart. I just don’t know how to face them just yet. What do I say to them when I see them?”

“What you need to,” Houtarou advises.

“I’m back,” he says to the other male. I failed, this he keeps to himself. No doubt Houtarou already knows. His perception has been unrivalled since their high school days. He feels his act cracking.

Houtarou nods, sipping his drink.

“I’m back,” Satoshi says, more to himself than to anyone else in the entire bar. Houtarou nods again.

“I… came back, Houtarou,” Satoshi sobs. Everything falls to pieces. “I’m back.” He lowers his face into his hands.

“Welcome back.” Houtarou ignores his outburst. Satoshi has never been more thankful that Houtarou is his friend. He feels someone ruffle his hair and smiles through the building tears.

花

Houtarou appears at her doorstep a quarter before midnight. The only reason she opens her door is because Satoshi is with him. The moment she does, Houtarou drags Satoshi in and dumps him onto the sofa. The smaller man is either out cold or half-asleep because he makes no effort to adjust his uncomfortable position, face planted firmly in the seat of the couch, an arm over its back, the other snug underneath his body. Houtarou steps back, wipes his hands against his coat, and begins to walk out.

“Hold it! What’s the meaning of this?!”

Houtarou turns to her, his blank expression managing to frustrate her even more than usual. “I’m depositing him under your care tonight.”

“Why me?” she chokes, crossing her arms.

“I don’t want to take care of him,” the man says. Mayaka storms up to him in her Hello Kitty slippers and pink pajamas. Undeterred by their different in height, she grabs his shoulders and hauls him down so that they are level. She glares into his half-lidded eyes, daring him to use that as a legitimate reason. “Your house was much nearer than mine,” which is true because Houtarou lives in the peripheries of town, excruciatingly near the Chitanda estate. Mayaka still isn’t satisfied with a lazy answer, and summons up another glare.

“And he still hasn’t told his family that he’s back,” Houtarou adds uneasily. Mayaka releases him but keeps her frown tacked on. What does that mean? Why would he keep it from even his own family?

“Don’t worry. He only drank a little. This is fatigue more than anything else.” Houtarou’s use of the word ‘fatigue’ twists her anger into concern.

The sound of cushions rustling diverts her attention to the sofa. “Please, I’ll explain everything in the morning,” Satoshi croaks.

Before Mayaka can say anything else, Satoshi’s eyes close again, and he nods off. Mayaka looks at him, her brow creasing with worry and confusion. When she turns back to face Houtarou, he’s gone. He escaped when she wasn’t looking! Oh, she’ll be giving him a huge piece of her mind the next time they meet!

She dashes to the entryway of her apartment, finding the door properly locked and closed for the night. She heaves a tired sigh, almost grateful that Houtarou bothered to close the gate behind him. Almost.

She walks back into her tiny living room to address the situation at hand.

Satoshi Fukube is asleep on her sofa. He fell asleep on her sofa. Is he doing this on purpose? He was always a cruel person. He made her wait – he’s still making her wait. But, as Mayaka tugs a spare blanket out of the storeroom and tucks it over him, she knows that Satoshi is cruelest to himself most of all.

She crouches near the sofa, having a proper look at him. She’d expected their reunion to be at a sane time in the day, with a smile on Satoshi’s face, in a far less intimate situation than this. He’s skinnier now and smells faintly of sake. The one thing that gives her comfort is that his clothes are full of colour and the bright green duffel bag that Houtarou left at near the doorway has at least three different types of keychains hanging from it.

He doesn’t wake up when she touches his cheek. The sofa is not large, but Mayaka wants to lie down next to him just then, if only for one night. He’s only a slightly larger version of his scrawny self from their Kamiyama High days, shoulders broad but still birdlike and gentle. She’s sure she could fit beside him. Mayaka considers this thought before laughing at herself. She is still foolish and immature. Maybe it’s because she never stopped reading shoujo manga. The woman exhales, slapping her face lightly before turning off all the lights and trudging into her room. She crawls under her bed sheets, curls into herself, and buries her head under a pillow.

The next morning, Satoshi is half on the floor and half on the sofa when she wakes up and goes out of the hallway. She’d forgotten he was staying in her apartment and yelps when she sees him snoring on the floorboards.

He doesn’t wake up.

志

Satoshi awakens to find a post-it note stuck on his forehead.

It takes him another half an hour to get up from the floor. He peels the note off and reads the hastily scribbled message:

“Have to get to work. You can heat up the food on the table if you feel like eating breakfast. You can use anything in the house but you’re explaining everything to me over dinner tonight! No running away!

Mayaka ヽ(｀⌒´ )ノ”

He chuckles at the angry face she drew in a hurry, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. So, he has to hang around here for the whole day until she’s back. It’s been a long time since Satoshi had nothing to do. There’s an emptiness that scares him even more than boredom, and the feeling he’d felt at the bar last night with Houtarou starts sprouting in the pit of his stomach.

He gets off the floor and rummages through his bag – noticing that all his money is still in his wallet, which means that Houtarou had covered the bill yesterday – for a shirt to change into. Today seems like a good day for yellow. As he rises onto his feet, he realizes that this is Mayaka’s apartment. It’s decidedly less pink than her room when she was a teenager. The place is small, with a tiny kitchen and only one bedroom. There are a few hints of her around: a couple of shoujo manga strewn across the coffee table, the smell of strawberries, and an empty bag resting on a chair at the dining table. It’s a bag she’s used since middle school. The place looks almost too neat, and when he checks the laundry basket in the bathroom, he’s delighted to find that she shoved a handful of clothes inside in a quick attempt to tidy the place.

After breakfast he wanders over to the two bookshelves on the far end of the room. Her collection of manga takes up one and a half of the allotted space. In the remaining half, she’s got an impressive collection of literature. Agatha Christie dominates, but he finds ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ and other similar novels hiding behind the first row of books. Satoshi thumbs his favourite ones off the shelf, sidesteps so that he’s facing her manga collection, and chooses a handful based off the colour of their spine. He stacks them on his arm until the books reach his chin. This should be enough for the rest of the day.

He proceeds to reread ‘A Corpse By Evening’ three times.

花

Mayaka replays what she’s planning to say to Satoshi in her head. Preparation is much better than improvising on the spot. She’ll 1. greet him, 2. scold him for crashing at her place, and 3. welcome him back, for however long he’s going to stay this time. 4. ? ?

Okay, so she hasn’t got everything sorted out yet.

She stops by the supermarket to buy his favourite type of fish on her way home after work. After wading through the crowd of housewives gathered around the discount aisles, she returns to her doorstep with a feeling of triumph. She rings her doorbell, and when no one opens the door, she fishes in a coat pocket for her house key. She enters her apartment to find no one else in. Scattered on the coffee table and sofa are at least ten books. Satoshi’s duffle bag is still here but he’s nowhere to be seen. She checks her bedroom and her bathroom.

Satoshi ran away.

The plastic bag carrying the fish slips out of her fingers and drops onto the floor. She follows it, squatting in the middle of her living room, her mind fading to a blank.

“Oh! What good timing! I thought I’d have to wait outside!”

She looks up from the floor to see Satoshi entering, a plastic bag in his hand. It contains a box of strawberries and a bunch of grapes.

“Mayaka, are you okay? What are you doing there?” he asks with concern.

It’s been a long time since she heard him call her name. She tries not to show it on her face, but Satoshi smiles as she gets onto her feet. It’s that smile again, the one where he’s apologetic instead of happy.

She fries the fish and he prepares the table and the seasoning. If someone had told her that she would be cooking dinner with Satoshi three days ago, Mayaka would have laughed, or alternatively, kicked them in the shins if they were Houtarou.

Satoshi skillfully avoids the topic of his unexpected return over the course of dinner. He keeps on bombarding her with questions on her job and her hobbies, leaving her little room to ask about him. Mayaka already feels that something is out of place, but she lets him talk over the fish and the vegetables. She misses seeing his animated smile and the way his eyes light up with interest.

They clean up together. Satoshi washes the dishes and she dries them.

“Have you told your parents you’re back yet?”

“Nope,” Satoshi replies breezily.

“So, um, when are you leaving?” Mayaka asks. Better to mentally prepare herself. The worst case scenario is that he’s leaving tonight. It’ll be okay. It’ll be just like always. She just has to be alert, just has to prevent herself from getting used to his presence again even though it isn’t difficult. “It’s not that I want you to leave or anything, but you’ve got to let me know so I can plan an off-day or something if you want to go out. Or say goodbye again.”

“I’m not.”

The bowl nearly slips through her hands. Mayaka turns to face him, her voice catching in her throat.

志

Satoshi tried so hard to just keep on running headlong down a road to Somewhere and never look behind him. It took him awhile to accept that he had been running to escape the fact that he was running away. It hadn’t made a difference anyway. Here he is again at the start, hating himself and loving Mayaka.

“I’m back,” he says with a smile to hold the weight of these words. They sting less than last night with Houtarou. He’ll have to get used to saying this.

“I’m back,” he repeats, softer this time. “For good.”

Mayaka looks at him and in a second she sees past his grin and the expression on her face crumples in an instant. She’s trying not to cry all of a sudden. He doesn’t even know if she’s crying for herself or for him.

“Why’d you come back?”

“Why, indeed.” He politely looks away so that she can wipe her eyes.

“Is it… is it because of me? Can I say that?” Mayaka asks him. The plate she’s drying squeaks against the dishcloth. Satoshi doesn’t remember her being this brave – she was a straightforward person from the start, but this is new. He doesn’t hate it, but he doesn’t know how to reply. Well – he knows his reply, but he doesn’t want to say it. He can’t say it. He hasn’t said anything in the last decade. It’s been an awfully long time, but Mayaka’s still here beside him. Satoshi feels himself skirt dangerously close to loving her more than hating himself.

“Mayaka, I’m not a good person.”

“Then what does that make me?” she responds immediately. “I like you, Fuku-chan. I still like you.”

He’s doing it again, hurting her without meaning to.

And even while angry, Mayaka looks nice. She never wears eye-catching colours. Her wardrobe is understated and mild, with light pinks and crème browns and soft blues. Her eyes are clear and emotional. She doesn’t know how to put on a façade and every corner of her face is genuine and Satoshi doesn’t like that because it makes him feel uneasy and happy at the same time.

“But never mind about me first. What about your family? You can’t do this. You have to – ”

He kisses her, half because he’s horrible, half because he’s lost – mostly because it’s her.

花

This isn’t their first kiss.

Mayaka remembers high school graduation – Satoshi’s warm hands, the colour of his eyes and how his lips had been softer than hers. He had made her promise to never bring it up again.

This isn’t their first kiss because they are already twenty-five. His eyes are closed and his hands are wet from washing the dishes and her lips are finally softer than his. It’s light and fleeting, a frail, half-hearted attempt to stop her from talking. She doesn’t even have a chance to widen her eyes before Satoshi pulls away. Her pulse still flutters. The moment they part, Mayaka composes herself without faltering for a second.

“ – tell your parents about what happened. They’ll understand, Fuku-chan. I’m sure they will.”

When Satoshi leans in again, his gaze staying, she presses a hand between them, urging him back. She’s startled when he feels his heart thrumming under her fingertips, but she doesn’t budge.

“No,” she tells him even though all she wants to say is ‘yesyesyes’ because she’s been waiting half her lifetime for this. She pulls through and raises her chin and looks him in the eyes.

“Not until you’ve sorted your thoughts out, Fuku-chan.”

He smiles at her sadly. “You’re right,” he sighs. He knocks a fist against his forehead. “I’m sorry. Forget about that.”

“No.” Mayaka decides. She blinks. He can’t tell her to simply forget what just happened. Satoshi may think that that will solve all their problems, but it won’t. She remembers all the times when they were in high school and she’d notice Satoshi’s gaze flitting to her from the corner of his eyes. She’d looked away self-consciously and never allowed herself to return that gaze. She realizes that ignoring something won’t make it go away. They’ve been trying to do that with their feelings for ten years. Nothing’s really changed.

“I’m tired of that. Aren’t you tired, too?”

Satoshi doesn’t reply her, but the expression on his face is telling enough. It seems like he’s grown tired of many things. Mayaka wraps her arms around his neck without really meaning to, an instinctive response to the emotions swimming in his eyes and that hard, forced smile. Though she must be heavy, another burden on his shoulders, Satoshi wraps his arms around her and she tries very hard to keep her heart in place.

志

Mayaka is right.

Of course she’s right.

Satoshi sighs as he walks down the dark street, hands in the pockets of his jacket. This is the route he used to take on his way home back after school. They’ve changed the design of the litter bins, but the streetlamps are same, tall and a little creepy under the moonlight. He used to be scared of them when he was a kid. His dad had always scolded him for not being man enough. Instead of listening to his dad, Satoshi had chosen to do worse things: sew, collect bags, paint, draw, read. He had been a spiteful child. Over time that rebellion changed into genuine interest and now, here he was, in his favourite yellow shirt and dark purple jacket.

His mother used to entertain his hobbies. When he said he leaving for the city, though, her tune changed. She hadn’t wanted him to leave on such short notice. Satoshi had also been a selfish son. Visits are strained every time he goes back, because his mother tries to look happy even though when he leaves she’ll probably feel lonely all over again.

He has more to say to them then what he first thought. As he strolls up to his house, located near an intersection of roads, he readies himself, opening his wallet. He got rid of the key of his Kyoto apartment the moment he sold it away, so now there is just his lone house key there, waiting. He knocks on the door and slots the key into the keyhole, opening it. In the hallway light, he sees his mother wearing her favourite apron.

“Satoshi! What are you doing here?”

He straightens his back, raises his eyes, and returns home.

花

The next day, Mayaka arranges to have afternoon tea with Chi-chan. They go to their favourite café, the one just down the road from Kamiyama High. They talk about their respective lives (Chi-chan thoughtfully only mentions Houtarou in passing) and chat about the latest drama showing on the NHK.

Mayaka waits for the right moment, when her friend pauses to drink her tea, to say, “By the way, catching up wasn’t the only reason why I wanted to meet you today.”

“This must be about Satoshi-san, yes?” Chi-chan doesn’t waste any time, cutting to the chase.

“I’m just worried about him,” Mayaka says.

Chi-chan nods with understanding. “Don’t worry, I’ve been asking around about openings, it won’t be long before we have some job options for him.”

“It’s not about that, Chi-chan,” Mayaka says, “that is important too, but there’s something else that’s bothering Fuku-chan.”

The two of them sit in the booth in silence after that. Mayaka doesn’t know how to explain and Chi-chan looks like she’s thinking very, very hard. “Have you tried talking to him about it?” the lady asks.

“I don’t know. Satoshi’s acting a little different. He doesn’t seem that scared to.. t—t-touch me now,” she stutters.

Her friend’s face lights up, the shadow of uncertainty lifting from her face. She looks like she understands everything now. “I believe you should take initiative, Maya-chan! After all, sometimes guys prefer the girls to lead them the first time,” Chi-chan says this while finishing up the last of her tea. “I think that that will definitely clear up any doubts you’re having now.”

“Trust me,” she adds in a whisper, hand over her mouth.

That sure escalated. Technically, Chi-chan has just recommended her to… with Satoshi....

This is really, really odd.

Houtarou chooses this moment to enter the café. “Are you done yet? We can leave together if you want,” he’s talking to Chi-chan.

The woman looks at Mayaka, awaiting an answer. “S-sure!” Mayaka says with a start. “Thanks, Chi-chan. It was nice talking to you, I’ll.. think about what you said.”

“I’m glad I could help. Anyway, I was hoping that I could visit you tomorrow? I want to know how things go and we still have a lot to catch up on – it’s just that I have some business to take care of today, so!” Chi-chan looks troubled as she explains the situation.

Mayaka grabs her hands dearly. “Come down any time you want!”

A relieved smile breaks across her face. Chi-chan scoots out of her chair and waves good bye. Houtarou hangs back as she starts to leave. Before Mayaka can ask what he’s doing, Houtarou opens his mouth.

“Thanks for taking care of Satoshi.”

Hey. Hey. Hey. He can’t just be civil to her all of a sudden. They don’t work that way. Mayaka chews on her lower lip and mutters ‘no big deal’ in an attempt to respond to him being unusually affectionate (by his standards). Houtarou and his boring green eyes regard her for a moment, and just when she expects him to smirk, he doesn’t.

Instead, he pats her shoulder and follows Chi-chan out of the café.

At night, Mayaka doesn’t have work to finish over the weekend, but she doesn’t go to sleep early. She reorganizes her manga collection, flips through a few of them whilst eating the strawberries Satoshi bought yesterday. She flops on her sofa and turns the TV on to watch the news followed by yet another bizarre game show. When her doorbell rings, she springs out of her seat. Adjusting her shirt and shorts, and then feeling silly about it. She should be more worried for Satoshi than herself now. He had looked so distraught yesterday and she doesn’t know how to help him feel better.

“Hello!” Satoshi says, beaming. “Mind if I come in?”

Oh. Mayaka thinks. Okay. She steps aside to allow him berth. The material of his jacket brushes her arm as he unties his blue sneakers and walks past her. They sit down in front of her unimpressive TV and continue watching the game show that was on. Things are getting more and more bizarre. Mayaka looks at her toes, wondering what to say.

“Did things go well with your parents?” she asks after tossing and turning over the matter.

“Well I haven’t been disowned! They said I was stupid but that I was their kid, so you know, family,” Satoshi says, positive as always. “My dad gave me a good punch though.” He raises his chin to show her. She sees a slight swell near his jawline. Mayaka immediately gets up to look for an ice pack but Satoshi stands and grabs her wrist to tell her to stay. His hand, the uninteresting show and what had happened last night around this time, all culminate.

“Fuku-chan, about yesterday– ,”she begins, biting her lip.

“ – it will be hard on me if you bring it up,” he interrupts.

“But you’re here now.” Mayaka weathers on. “And if that doesn’t mean something, I…”

Satoshi looks like he’s been caught in the act, his eyes flashing and his shoulders sagging. He slowly lets go of her wrist.

“Mayaka, you know how I feel about you, you know, and– ”

Satoshi presses his hand against the small of her back, then, as if realizing the brevity of the action, he retreats. He opens his mouth to say ‘sorry’, but those words don’t form. They’re standing too close and this means too much.

“Fuku-chan,” she says. “If– ”

She doesn’t know what to say to convince him that this is okay. Chi-chan’s advice struggles to be heard, but Mayaka doesn’t have enough daring in her to initiate. Maybe she should give him an ultimatum – kiss me or never talk to me again – but If she wanted to do that, she could have done it years ago. She doesn’t want to do that – it would be childish. How old is she?

… How old is she? Can she afford to wait forever for him? The sad, truthful answer is ‘yes’, but Mayaka doesn’t want to resign to that without a fight at least. She lets her fingers brush against Satoshi’s cheek. Even though he isn’t blushing, he feels too warm. She raises herself onto the tips of her toes and waits, face close to his, the space between their lips excruciating.

Her other hand is under the edge of his shirt and he’s holding her waist and –

And.

花

He’s careful and cautious even though she’s down to her bra and underwear. Hand on her neck, then on her shoulder, grazing her bustline but not daring to linger, resting on her lower thigh. She feels frustrated (what’s new?). Trust him to be the only one who can make her feel this way even in bed, and as she touches his back, the muscles there tense up. When he tries to distract her with a kiss, their noses bump. Even that is something that makes her skin heat.

“You know, you don’t need to hold back – ” she says softly, pausing. His breath, warm and heavy, skims over her lips as he freezes. It’s a slight movement, but Mayaka notices. She hasn’t lost her touch.

“– Satoshi,” she says his name, reckless. He inhales quietly and buries into the space between her neck and shoulder. She flushes at the contact, straining to decipher the words he’s mouthing into her skin. She catches him mumbling, “I lov– ”

She yells! Mayaka leans back and throws her hands over his mouth, face going even redder. His hair is messy and his eyes are looking straight at her.

“Don’t say it,” she tells him, dropping her head onto one of his shoulders. “Don’t say it.”

He can’t say it. If he does, she’ll cry. She’ll cry so much and so unattractively that he’ll run out the door (that’s a lie, but Mayaka still tells herself this). And this isn’t exactly the best moment for tears, but she feels her eyes watering already. Satoshi listens to her quietly, his lips curving into a smile against the skin of her palm. He says something against it, the words muffled. Mayaka releases a flustered sigh because she can guess what he just said. Satoshi kisses the center of her hand, warm and soft, surprising her. He seizes the chance, trailing his lips to her wrist and then peppering kisses down to the skin on the inside of her elbow. Mayaka burns and burns but Satoshi hasn’t been scalded.

志

She ate the strawberries. Satoshi hadn’t been sure if she liked strawberries or grapes more, but with this it’s decided. He marks this new knowledge as another miscellaneous bit of trivia to store at the back of his head. Then again, anything to do with Mayaka is everything but trivial.

Her breast is small in his hand. Satoshi doesn’t mind, in fact he likes it. He likes her eyes, her nose, the gentle dips of her collarbones, the small birthmark he discovers near her elbow, the fact that she lets him lie so close. Then, there’s Mayaka, who doesn’t like it when he breaks a kiss to breath, doesn’t like it when he stops abruptly to just look at her face and register that this is happening, and doesn’t like to lose. She is aggressive, running her hands through his hair and pulling him closer. Then she catches herself doing all these things and she hold herself back again, still shy, still soft.

Satoshi doesn’t want his demons to emerge completely but then Mayaka squares her pale shoulders and kisses his jaw, light and unafraid and he remembers why she’s the only person who can make him feel this way. They’re sitting awkwardly on the bed but Satoshi still can’t bring himself to push her down.

Mayaka hooks an arm around his neck and does it for him. Satoshi falls in love with her again and again and again.

志

The blanket rises and falls with Mayaka’s breaths. The room is dark and he’s tired, but Satoshi can’t fall asleep yet. He traces the outline of her with his eyes as he waits for something inside him to shift. Like a switch being turned off, like a monster lurching out to consume him completely, like a grave feeling of hollowness. He adjusts the pillow at his head. It smells like Mayaka.

And he waits. And he waits.

花

The doorbell’s ring wakes her up in the morning. Mayaka refuses to greet the new day just yet, but the person at the door is relentlessly pressing the bell. Her parents never visit her without giving her a call first so it must be a door-to-door salesman or something. At the tenth press of the bell, she can hear Satoshi stirring beside her. It’s strange, but not unwelcome, to hear someone else make the mattress creak.

“Get that,” she whispers.

Satoshi groans. When he makes no indication of moving, she nudges him with the sole of her foot. Half-asleep and warm under an arm and the blanket, it takes her a few seconds to realize how this gesture means the world to her. Satoshi eventually accedes to the persuasions of her feet and staggers out of the room, rubbing his eyes.

A while later, a chipper voice sings: “Good morning, Houtarou!”

That gets her attention. Mayaka rolls off the bed, yanks a shirt and pants on, sprints through her morning routine in front of the bathroom sink, before thundering out to the living room, face a livid shade of red. She doesn’t want to do any explaining to Houtarou – she wouldn’t be able to live it down – but that doesn’t mean she wants Satoshi to do it in her stead.

Except, Houtarou doesn’t ask for an explanation or give a suggestive thumbs-up or even say ‘good morning’ in a gloomy voice. He’s talking to Satoshi about a possible opening as an accountant under the Chitandas. He’s sitting on the sofa like he owns it. Mayaka wants to tug her hair – which reminds her that she forgot to comb it, which in turn makes her angrier. The nerve of these two!

“Oh – Mayaka! Houtarou has good news!” Satoshi says, sparkling when he addresses her. He excuses himself to go wash up, skipping out of the room without another word. Mayaka still has her hands in her hair, trying to process the situation. Houtarou and her stand quietly without Satoshi around, exchanging half-serious threats and unpleasant thoughts through brainwaves. This is a ritual they’ve practiced since middle school. Mayaka almost wishes that he would say something.

Houtarou stares at her, sparing her a short, silent reprieve.

Then, he smirks.

“Get out!” Mayaka shouts, kicking off her slipper and flinging it in his direction. Houtarou dodges it fairly easily, so she runs up to him and starts thumping him with her fists. She stares up at the man and when she sees him looking amused, she shoves and battles him down the short hallway and out of the house.

“Wa – ”

She slams the door in his face.

志

Satoshi comes out of the bathroom to find Mayaka giggling to herself.

Over toast and coffee, they discuss about available apartments in the area for him, the movies, and the prospects of working under Houtarou if it comes down to that. Satoshi prefers mornings like these, with someone to talk to and a pot of coffee to share between them. Living alone in the city wasn’t all that, looking back now.

“I’ve really missed this place,” he says out of the blue. “It’s weird for me to say that, but I do.”

“You’ve changed,” Mayaka tells him.

“I have?”

She nods, her eyes darting away self-consciously. “You used to be… scared of a lot of things, Fuku-chan. Not obvious things, like how Houtarou’s terrified of sunlight and work. The small things. You avoided them and you tried to make reasons to justify why you did, and… now you aren’t anymore.”

Small things, huh.

“You flatter me too much,” he says.

Mayaka puffs up her cheeks. “I’m telling the truth here. Accept it, please.”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” He reaches over to kiss her dimple. The action had been purely involuntary. Natural.

Mayaka blushes and excuses herself to ‘take some things that I forgot to take out so they need to be taken out now okay I’m going to take them out now’. She scrambles onto her feet and walks out of the living room and Satoshi smiles. It’s an easy thing.

花

Later in the day, Houtarou returns. Only, this time he brings Chi-chan with him. Mayaka has no choice but to let him into the apartment. That’s the third time this week he’s managed to break in. He’s good, she’ll give him that. She raises an eyebrow when she notices that Houtarou’s carrying a basket of fruit.

“Please take it. These were freshly harvested just this morning,” Chi-chan tells her. “It’s not really a gift so don’t look so troubled, Maya-chan.”

“It’s a peace offering,” Houtarou mumbles as he removes his shoes.

Chi-chan walks eagerly into the living room, exchanging a wave with Satoshi. “There’s a familiar smell here,” the lady says, sniffing.

Houtarou nods at the bookshelves pushed against the walls. Is he referring to her collection of books and manga? Mayaka didn’t think that they had a particular smell. She must have grown used to it after all this time.

“It reminds me of our old club room,” Chi-chan says. Then, she hits her fist against the palm of her other hand. “Which reminds me – Houtarou-san!”

Houtarou, who was putting the fruit basket on the coffee table and sitting down on the carpet, effectively straightens his posture and looks up at her. “No,” he responds.

Chi-chan drops onto her knees and stares intently at him. “I saw something curious happen on my way over here.”

“No,” Houtarou repeats. He grabs a volume of ‘Kimi ni Todoke’ off the table and uses it as a barrier between them. Chitanda closes in on him until the pages of the manga are plastered against his face. A complete and utter idiot, just like he was as a teenager.

“Houtarou-san!” Chi-chan chants his name, stubborn.

Finally, Houtarou lowers the book, peeking over the top of its page.

It feels like one of those afternoons in the Geog Prep room all over again. Satoshi steals a glance at her and smiles. It really is like the old days.

花志

Except, today, she holds his gaze.

notes
花 is the character in Mayaka's name that means 'flower'.
志 is the character in Satoshi's name that means 'will/determination'.
花志 means 'journal of flowers' due to an alternate reading of 志

This was mostly ambitious on my part because I LOVE MAYAKA AND SATOSHI SOBS. Both the couple and the individual characters who have given me the most emotional turmoil award 2012 goes to them.

the world conspires against me and I let them (Houtarou/Chitanda)

ibuberu — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 10:52:32 GMT

omg dan you're too kind, will defs write more hyouka fics! I wrote this short piece before I wrote the Satoshi/Mayaka fic below etcetc might as well share it here.

the word conspires against me and I let them
fandom - hyouka
characters - Houtarou, Chitanda
genre - romance, humour
summary - And he surrenders, thinking, this person can't even leave me alone in my sleep.
notes - r-15-ish, nothing explicit

the world conspires against me and I let them

He still dreams about her sometimes.

Insufferable dreams, dreams that make him wake up with a cold sweat and a disorienting feeling in his boxers. Hōtarō has never even liked dreaming in the first place – sleep was what it was, sleep. It baffles him how one can still expend energy while they are in bed. It's subconscious energy, but energy nonetheless. He dislikes dreaming of school. Satoshi is already patting his shoulder and urging him onwards through the day – there's no need to invade his thoughts at night. Spare him twelve hours of peace, at least. Maybe Satoshi thinks it is his job to make sure Hōtarō doesn't sink completely into himself, doesn't become a person of greys and blacks like he's always aspired to be. Hōtarō appreciates the effort on Satoshi's part. (Actually, no, not really.)

Nightmares are worse. Sometimes Ibara spawns herself in them. Hōtarō has a theory that she strolls into his nightmares when she feels she hasn't tormented him enough during club hours. Such a hardworking girl, that Ibara. Nightmares were tiresome. All the running, all the energy wasted on feeling afraid and panicky, and when you finally wake up, you feel even less rested. Hōtarō treasures the nights where he doesn't dream. They're nice.

Dreams about Chitanda are the absolute worst. He doesn't know how or why, but she's unrestrained and beautiful in his dreams. At least, in real life, he can hide his eyes under the pages of his novel. He can block out at least bits and pieces of her (until she comes and peeks over the top of the book). The Chitanda in his dreams is even more audacious. Exhausting. Her hair reaches her ankles, her eyes wide and set on him. At least she's wearing her school uniform this time. There are dreams where she's not wearing much at all. She irons herself against his arm, sings 'I can't stop thinking!' over and over and over and over – a breath – and over and over again.

And he surrenders, thinking, this person can't even leave me alone in my sleep. He asks her, "About what?"

And then she'll say: "You."

The Geography Prep room is the usual setting in his dreams. Cast in the glare of the afternoon sun with Satoshi and Ibara conveniently absent. Dream Chitanda sometimes lies on the tabletop, sometimes settles with standing against the door and wrapping her arms around him. She likes untucking his shirt (awesome, he'll have to tuck it back in later) and brushing her fingers underneath it. A little shy, a little bold. Hōtarō would prefer to at least sit down, but he doesn't get much say in instances like these. Also, he's distracted. By the softness of her hands, the way the top of her head fits under his chin, her chest pressed against his. Her lips.

Just when Hōtarō gets used to the scene in the Prep room, almost reluctantly enjoying it, his brain has to change the location. Tonight, he dreams about the hot springs they visited months ago. He's already making a mental list of how much energy he's spent and how to get it back. Then, he hears someone wading in the water. Of course. Dream Chitanda, hair twirled into a messy bun. At least she's in a towel. That's heartening, self. Your perverseness has some shade of decency.

Hōtarō thinks of escaping – but where to? This is not a place he has control over. As the girl advances on him, he presses a hand against himself and is glad that he's wearing a towel too. The Chitanda he dreams about takes this chance to close the distance between them immediately. She places her hand where his is and blushes. Hōtarō thinks 'oh please, don't act so modest' but his thoughts fizzle out after that because the heat of her fingers on him proves too difficult to ignore. He tries not to squeak and fails. The only consolation is that this is something privy only to him and Dream Chitanda – but even Hōtarō is too prideful to be satisfied with that.

Suddenly, she looks up and into his eyes, and for a moment, she is Eru Chitanda, the chairperson of the Classics Club. Not a fragment of his subconscious, but the real Chitanda, the way she stares at him, taking in all the details. Hōtarō feels his face heat, not from the steam of the hot springs or the soft hand on his towel, but from the way this girl looks at him. She always regards him with searching eyes, like she is trying to dig deeper inside. Hōtarō thinks he's just plain hollow underneath his skin, but Chitanda makes him reconsider this. Chitanda believes so much in so many things, Hōtarō wonders if he's been infected.

Then, she presses a hand against him and whispers into his ear, "I'm curious."

After all of that, he jolts awake. The Chitanda of his dream is no longer here, but she has left her presence. Hōtarō has to remind himself not to be angry at the real Chitanda. It wasn't her fault. Being angry would require energy he doesn't want to part with anyway. He has to drag himself out of his precious bed. He has to stalk down the darkened hallway. He has to switch on the light in the toilet and then get rid of the annoying feeling between his legs. That is probably the most tiring part of all of this. Hōtarō doesn't know why his classmates all do it willingly. He never asks. He wishes that he didn't need to do it because his arm always feels sore afterwards.

If Hōtarō could, he wouldn't even sleep or dream. But sleep is a vital part of his lifestyle. He sulks and returns to his bed, pulling his blanket halfway over himself. He glances at the clock sitting over his bed. There's two hours till he has to wake up and prepare for the day ahead.

He really doesn't know how he's surviving high school.

flowers without, will (mayaka, satoshi)

ibuberu — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 14:50:38 GMT

flowers without, will
fandom - hyouka
characters - Mayaka, Satoshi, Houtarou
genre - friendship, general
summary - Junior high. How everything begins and why it will never end.

flowers without, will

The classroom is full of people with unfamiliar faces. In a class almost twice as large as the one she had in elementary school, Mayaka doesn't know how she's going to make friends. It's the first day of junior high and she's already doubtful. Definitely not a good way to start her school year.

A boy plonks himself down on the seat next to hers. He's small in stature – smaller than the average thirteen-year old male, at least – but his presence is remarkable. The excitement on his face is out of place here. Everyone else is still scrambling to adjust to the new school, making friends like it's a requirement rather than a choice. His school bag is a fancy purple and in his left hand is a drawstring pouch printed with butterflies.

"Hi!" he beams.

"Hello," she says, hating how her voice sounds meek. She's braver than this.

"There are a lot of people in our class, huh?" the boy observes.

"Yes, and I know none of them," Mayaka sighs to herself.

"Oh, that girl is Yukimura, an archery prodigy; she won the prefectural competition in elementary school. That person off at the side there is called Takagi, he's from a family of bakers. They run the bread shop two blocks down from the school. There's Kuragi, the guy who apparently aced his final year exams. He chose to come to our junior high school instead of accepting a scholarship overseas. Then there's – " the boy stops midsentence. "I don't know who that is," he says this with surprise, pointing at the boy sitting at the back of the class.

Mayaka turns to look over her shoulder. The boy in question is sleeping on his desk even though it's only first period. His hair is a messy dark brown, his shoelaces half-heartedly tied.

"I don't know who you are too." She returns her gaze to him.

The boy slaps a hand lightly against his forehead, "Oops! Sorry about that. I'm Satoshi Fukube! Pleased to meet you, Mayaka Ibara."

She tugs at the ends of her hair. "How do you know my name?" She can't remember ever being smart enough to appear on the honour roll, and her family is so average it's almost abnormal.

"One time, I fell off my bike on my way to school, and you helped me up," Fukube tells her. "Even though I almost banged into you," he chuckles at the memory. "Sorry 'bout that. I was still learning how to ride my bike back then."

Ah, she remembers now. She had been ten or so, walking uphill to her school. Fukube's elementary school must have been the one built at the bottom of the slope. He nearly wheeled into her one day, and had tumbled off his bike, landing dangerously near the driveway. She had hauled him aside and ordered him to be more careful, before continuing her climb to school.

"I hope we can be good friends!" This time, he's the one holding a hand out to her.

"Same here," she says as she shakes it. His hand is warm and firm and promises many things.

★

Mayaka befriends the girl sitting behind her, the one who wears spectacles and likes braiding her black hair. Chikako – written with the characters for 'thousand', 'joy' and 'child' – a child of a thousand joys. Mayaka think it's a pretty name. On the contrary, Chikako the person is a huge worrywart. She worries about not having sufficient money to buy her lunch, about whether she's left her homework on her bedroom desk, about how grey the sky looks sometimes because she's forgotten to bring an umbrella. Mayaka has to remind her not to scrunch her eyebrows all the time, or else she'll start getting wrinkles before she's even twenty.

"You think so?" Chikako panics, a hand flying up to touch her brow. Mayaka pats her friend's head.

Chikako is nice and easy to get along with – not as chatty as the other girls in class, but Mayaka doesn't necessarily like talking all the time. Some days, she doesn't feel like talking much at all. She doesn't know if it's because her period is coming, or because she wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, or because she's tired of aimless chats with the girls. Small talk isn't as easy as it looks. Frankly, it's exhausting for her. Mayaka has always governed herself with rationality. This above all seems to be the most irrational thing for her to feel. Chikako doesn't mind, though. The only thing she never worries about is Mayaka's friendship. She sits quietly behind Mayaka and writes notes in her journal.

Fukube seems to know when she's feeling this way because he always tries to cheer her up. He either says 'good morning' with more oomph than usual, or tells her a silly, unfunny joke he heard on the TV last night. Mayaka still laughs. She likes how lively and perceptive he is, how he's always engaged with the people around him, even with the things that aren't supposed to matter to him. Hardworking people are people she likes to be around.

Fukube easily makes friends with everyone in their class. Then, he finds sidekick amongst them. Houtarou Oreki. Mayaka does a double take when she first sees them walking into class together one morning, Fukube's arm draped around the gloomy boy's shoulders.

Oreki is the antithesis of everything Fukube is: lazy, idle, unmotivated. Mayaka doesn't know what Fukube finds endearing about this lump of lethargy, or whether Fukube finds anything about Oreki endearing to begin with. Maybe it's his motto: "Don't do something productive when you can do something unproductive instead."

Okay, that's not really his motto –but it is what she hears when Fukube recites it to her.

"Why?" she asks him as they wait for the next period to begin, trying not to sound judgmental. She fails but Fukube doesn't mind. It's nice of him.

"He's interesting," the boy explains.

Mayaka raises an eyebrow at this. Fukube just laughs it off. "Anyway, have you decided which clubs you'll be joining?"

"Oh, most likely the library society," she says. Fukube nods and nods, and she likes that he's listening earnestly. Perhaps, it's the only reason why she whispers the second sentence: "Maybe the manga club too."

"You like reading manga?" the boy asks her, and Mayaka doesn't know why he can look so happy saying that. The only thing she knows is that she doesn't feel so embarrassed about revealing her hobby. She blushes on instinct and tries to hide it. "What about you, Fukube?"

"There's student council, sewing club, go club, cooking club." He counts off his fingers.

"That many?"

"Well, I'm interested in a lot of things! I'd like to keep my school life multi-coloured, if you know what I mean," Fukube defends.

"Which is why I don't know why you hang around that Oreki," Mayaka states, no longer bothering to be polite. When Fukube snickers under his hand and doesn't tell her that she's jumping to conclusions or being mean, she feels an itch under her blouse. The teacher enters the classroom just then, rescuing her.

★

The girls corner her in the toilet while she's combing the length of her hair down. Bad hair days are said to be ominous signs, and as she sees five people appearing behind her in the mirrors, she confirms this theory. Mayaka keeps her foldable brush in the pocket of her skirt and turns to meet a clothesline of overenthusiastic smiles.

"Ibara! Ibara! We've been seeing you walk home with Fukube every day since Monday, is something going on?" one of them finally breaks down and coos. She had known that this was inevitable, friends will be friends.

"No!" Mayaka denies almost too quickly. "It's for the science project, you guys. Don't go making things up," she says, waving a hand in the air. "Fukube's just a friendly person."

"Yeah, but he seems friendlier around you," Umi, the daring one of the clique, comments. Mayaka tries her hardest not to blush. She veers herself to the sinks, runs a tap and slaps water against her cheeks.

"What are you doing, Ibara?" one of the girls ask. "You aren't crying are you? You know we were kidding with the teasing."

"… This!" Mayaka spins around with a handful of water and splashes it towards the girls, who squeak, giggle and dodge it as best as they can. They retaliate with vengeance, splashing water back at her and then at each other and then everyone's laughing the way only teenage girls know how to. They return to class with wet skirts and drying hair, arm in arm. Mayaka is just thankful she managed to divert their attention. She likes to believe she's resourceful.

As she returns to her desk, Fukube scrutinizes her curiously. She realises that there will never be enough resourcefulness in the world to help her explain what happened in the girl's bathroom to him.

★

The annual Kaburaya Junior High Sports Day is around the corner, and Fukube is determined to shoehorn Oreki into participating in at least one event. After much debating between them – most of which, from Mayaka's point of view, had consisted of Fukube negotiating with a brick wall – Oreki settles with representing the class in the mixed relay event.

"It's technically the event with the shortest distance to run," Fukube comments. "You do know how to pass and receive baton, though, right?"

Oreki mumbles something like 'it can't be that hard'.

"That's not even a pressing problem right now. We need to get two girls to complete our four-man relay team," Fukube says. Then, he locks eyes with Mayaka. She immediately regrets hanging back after class to watch the two boys wrestle over Sports Day affairs.

"Me? I don't want to be in the same team as Oreki!" she shouts.

"Ouch," is what Oreki says in response. Except that he doesn't sound like he's in pain. "I'm standing right here, you know."

"You could be standing anywhere and I'd still say the same thing. You can't even be bothered to do things for yourself, so how can I trust you to pull your weight in a team?"

"You're too kind, Ibara. Compliments won't work on me."

Fukube steps between them, hushing them with his hands. "Now, now, you two."

The only reason Mayaka purses her lips is because he's suddenly standing so close to her. The sleeves of their uniforms brush as Fukube turns to look at his two friends. She can see how short his eyelashes are.

"Why don't you two call a truce for one day? You guys haven't even gotten a chance to know each other that well yet – maybe after this opportunity, you'll learn to see each other in a new light and maybe even become best friends!"

"Impossible," Mayaka and Oreki say in perfect unison.

They both proceed to scowl at each other in perfect unison too, and Fukube bursts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"You and Chikako aren't representing the class in any events yet, right? This is perfect!" he insists as he wipes a tear out of his eye. He faces her, hands cupped together in a pleading gesture.

"But, Fukube!" Mayaka attempts to rally herself. Unfortunately, she still she falls under the thrall of his hopeful eyes. They make it seem like the evilest thing to reject his request. Well, at least she died in a gallant struggle against those amber eyes. Chikako will understand.

"… Alright."

★

"You shouldn't have signed up for so many events," Mayaka says as she passes Fukube a bottle of water. They're waiting in the shade under the stands for the mixed relays, one of the last track events of the day. Fukube had chosen to represent a few of his clubs in some events on top of running for the class. These included the 200m dash, the three-legged race, the costume race, and a couple of others that escape Mayaka's memory under this blistering heat.

Fukube attempts to shrug this off, but halfway through the action, he lolls his head back and gives into his worn out body. After chugging down half the contents of the water bottle, he looks to Oreki. "I don't think I can be the anchor anymore. Houtarou, it's up to you now."

"That's very funny, Satoshi." Except, Oreki doesn't sound amused at all.

Fukube staggers onto his feet and over to the other boy. He collapses on his knees on the grass and clasps both of Oreki's hands in his. "Please, for the sake of the class, for our junior high memories, for our friendship!" Mayaka loves that Fukube's shaking their hands profusely. It really adds to the dramatic effect of the whole scene.

Oreki looks gravely disturbed. At least Mayaka has gotten something enjoyable out of all this.

Fukube's grief hasn't stopped. "What do we do now? Do you think we should rearrange our running positions?" He gazes up at Oreki for advice.

"Fukube, your number's loose." Mayaka interrupts them, gesturing to the number tag pinned on the back of his shirt. All runners need to wear tags with numbers and colours that correspond to their classes. One corner of his tag hasn't been pinned on properly.

Fukube tries to peer over his own shoulder. "Could you help me with that, Ibara?" he asks, raising his hands to show her that he's still clamping tightly onto Oreki's. Oreki looks like he wants to rip his hands back into his possession, but at the same time, contemplating if that would really be worth the effort. Mayaka shoots a withering glare in his direction.

She bends over and tries to pop open the safety pin of the tag and fasten it through the material of Fukube's shirt. The only thing she can see now is the solid curve of his neck and shoulder. It smells like he bothered to spray some deodorant after his other runs. Her fingers scrape against his back and she doesn't know why she starts blushing.

"Oiiii, Ibara. Is the heat getting to you? Or do you have something else on your mind?" Oreki asks. Mayaka inhales sharply. He knows. And is he taunting her about it? Is he really choosing to use energy to taunt her, instead of snatching his hands back?

"No, you slug!" she sputters, finally pinning the tag properly and distancing herself from the two boys. She turns away from them and crosses her arms, indicating her refusal to talk to either of them any further.

"… a slug?"

"Houtarou, pleaseeeeee be the anchor. My hopes and dreams rest on your shoulders now!"

★

The gun shot rings in the air and the track field springs to life. Chikako is the first runner, and she does a commendable job of keeping second place, outrunning three out of the five competitors before handing the baton to Fukube. And then, Fukube bursts off – grinning at the sun. He's not as fast as the other boys, and their team falls into fourth place, but Mayaka can see how hard he's pushing himself and her heartbeat quickens, thrumming inside her. Mayaka has to refocus her thoughts as he approaches her. She opens her palm, positions her legs and breaks into a run as soon as Fukube is near enough.

'Go' he mouths, too out of breath to use his voice. He looks about ready to collapse. In her heart, Mayaka wants to be the one to catch him when he falls. On the track, she has to concentrate on grabbing the baton and sprinting.

She turns from Fukube, hearing him 'thump' onto the ground and finding her mark on Oreki, who's waiting in the near distance. Mayaka manages to overtake a few girls and enters second place, weaving neck to neck with the runner in first. The closer she gets to Oreki, though, the more she wants to lift the baton and hurl it between his eyes.

It doesn't even look like he's cheering for her. He's just… standing there. Not even in position to receive the baton. Did he just yawn? Mayaka works her legs harder and powers her way to him, contemplating between passing the baton to Oreki or tackling him and grinding his face into the ground. She hears Fukube cheering for her in the background, his voice stark against the noisy roar of the students in the stands. It's the only thing that channels her frustration towards running instead of plotting the numerous ways to dispatch Oreki with a metal stick.

"You better run or I'll tear your head off!" she yells as soon as he's within hearing distance. Oreki looks disturbed for the second time today. She's on a roll.

He takes the baton from her and actually runs. She jogs to a stop, catching her breath as she watches him inch towards the boy in first place. Oreki might actually win them the race –

Then, at the last ten meters, Oreki slows to a disappointing speed. She had expected him to be out of shape, but to lose his breath after running less than 100 meters? Really? Oreki walks over the finishing line before evacuating himself to the shade of a nearby tree. Mayaka storms over the track field, eyes set on him. Midway to her destination, someone pats her back. It's Chikako.

"We survived," she huffs.

"Somehow," Mayaka says, wiping the sweat off her brow. "You were great!"

"I will never run again for the rest of my life," Oreki groans as they approach him under the tree. He's sprawled out on the grass, the baton resting in his right hand. Overhead, the announcer reveals the results of the race through the speakers. The crowd cheers and claps in celebration. Mayaka's team claims second place. Their class is suddenly surrounding them, thanking and congratulating them for their efforts. Oreki looks like he's close to suffocating in this crowd of youthful energy.

She feels a hand slap on her shoulder. It's Fukube's. "Mayaka! Mayaka! You did great!" he says between breathless laughs. She likes the sound of her name in his voice. It's hard to make a girl feel special when she's sweaty and has strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Fukube is something else. He really is.

"We got second, though," she reminds him.

"I thought we'd get last!" Fukube admits. "Ibara. Thanks for your help."

Ah, he's switched back to her last name. Well, it was nice while it lasted. All six syllables.

★

"Can I call you Mayaka?" he asks her one day. It happens months after he first (accidentally?) said her name.

She holds her breath without knowing why. "Yes, of course," she finally says.

Fukube blinks, silent for a moment. Then, he smiles at her. "Please call me Satoshi, then!"

"Alright, Sa– " she stops. The girl bites her lip.

"No, I think I'll call you Fuku-chan," Mayaka decides, grinning. Questions appear on his face. "A nickname," she explains. A shield. This, she doesn't explain, not even to herself.

This exchange happens at the end of the semester. Mayaka doesn't get to use the nickname often after that. In their second year, they're placed in different classes: 2A and 2D, different break times and different lessons throughout the week. When they do manage to bump into each other in the hallways, Satoshi never settles for waving. He stops beside her and asks her how her day is, whether she's ready for the midterms, whether she knows if the library has been stocking any new books. Simple questions like these, conversational ones. Yet, Mayaka can't help but swell with pride. She likes standing next to Satoshi, who's grown inches over the summer. She's barely made a dent in her height chart at home.

She doesn't like standing next to Oreki. Oreki towers. He's tall, dark and most certainly not handsome. Thinking about Oreki makes her remember that he has the pleasure of being classmates with Satoshi for another year. That's just one more reason for Mayaka to blacklist him.

Oreki, however, proves his worth to her by functioning as a lighthouse. Mayaka develops the habit of looking for Oreki in the sea of students when she's switching classrooms, wondering if maybe Satoshi is walking somewhere along the same corridors as her. She doesn't tell this to anyone, not even Chikako.

★

Mayaka spots Satoshi sitting at a table in the library one day. She eventually finds Oreki slumped beside Satoshi, face hidden under a half-read book. Of all the places to take a nap, why did he choose the library? It was an untouched and studious sanctuary, the one place she thought she would never see the boy. She has to valiantly fend off the urge to drop a dictionary on his head. The one thing Oreki does well and without wasting energy is annoying her. He probably doesn't even know he has this talent. Wonderful.

"He had to stay up and entertain his sister yesterday night. Poor guy got less sleep than usual," Satoshi explains, placing his own novel down. Its title catches her eye.

"Sherlock?" Mayaka asks as she takes a seat opposite him. She places the basket of books she needs to arrange aside.

"Yes! I love reading these." Satoshi is happy to share. "Have you ever read any in the series?"

Mayaka shakes her head almost apologetically. "Where should I start if I want to try?"

"Ahhh, that's a good question." Satoshi cups his chin and leans against the back of his chair. "Personally I started reading the first book of short stories, 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes', but Arthur Doyle wrote four novels before writing those short stories. Those 56 short stories were published in five separate books. Anyway, the first Sherlock Holmes novel is called 'A Study in Scarlet'. Do you know it was published in 1887? That makes it 125 years old this year! I suppose you could start with that. 'A Scandal in Bohemia' is one of my personal favourites, though."

"You're like a database," Mayaka says, breathless even though Satoshi had done all the talking. She quotes her last word from a novel she read the week before.

Satoshi considers the word. "Database – I like the sound of that," he says. "But, you know," he lowers his voice into a secretive whisper. Maybe he's noticed the 'talk quietly' signs hanging on the walls. Mayaka doesn't think this is the real reason, but she can't think of any other explanation. She leans to him and he leans to her. They meet in the middle of the table.

"Knowing something is easy. What you choose to do with the information is what really matters."

★

Second year comes and goes in a flash.

Mayaka is back in the same class as Satoshi in her third year. Unfortunately, so is Oreki. Mayaka has learned to accept that if one wants to be close to Satoshi, they need to get used to the idea of greyness personified, Oreki Houtarou. Mayaka thinks that it's rightfully fair. The laws of the universe must want to balance out an extreme good with an extreme bad. That makes sense. She still can't bring herself to like Oreki, though.

"Not even a little?" he asks her one day during lunch.

"Not even if you decide to devote your life to using energy instead of conserving it."

"Fantastic," Oreki drawls. Satoshi laughs at the both of them, his mouth full of rice.

★

"What are you doing for Valentines?" Sayuri asks their group during lunch the next day. Satoshi and Oreki have gone up to the roof to eat their bread. Mayaka prefers eating with the girls anyway.

"Oh, nothing," Chikako says simply, chopsticks searching through her rice for the egg yolk her mother buried. "It's too much work if you ask me."

Sayuri laughs and shakes her head in severe disapproval and amusement. "That's the point, silly." She turns to Mayaka, eyes burning with anticipation. "Maya-chan's definitely going to do something though, right?"

"Well, I'm going to make chocolates to give to you guys and maybe a few other friends like I've always done," Mayaka tells her. Valentines has mainly been a time for her to flex her baking muscles, but this year – this year she might not want to give Satoshi obligation chocolates anymore. "Should I make something for Fuku-chan too?"

"You're a third year in junior high now, Maya-chan, you can't use 'there's always next year' as an excuse anymore," Sayuri reminds her.

"You're right," Mayaka sighs. "I wonder if I should use my old recipe or try out a new one?"

"Fukube's bound to like it no matter what, just make it clear that it's not friendship chocolate, got that? Don't let him escape," Sayuri warns, chopsticks poised.

Chikako nods. "But, oh, I worry for you, Mayaka. Fukube-kun seems a little dense about things like these, you know? You have to put battle armor on your heart."

Mayaka nods firmly. She's ready for it this year.

★

On Valentine's Day, Mayaka skips library duty. She uses her chemistry notes to convince a junior to fill in for her. She waits outside their classroom for Satoshi to return from sewing club activities. Leaning against the wall and crossing her legs, she plays out the various scenarios in her mind. Total rejection – ack. Total reciprocation – yay. Simple. Easy.

"For me, maybe?"

She looks up from her shoes, jumping in shock when she sees Satoshi standing just there. Unable to produce any coherent words, she passes the chocolates to him. The translucent wrapping allows him to see the triangular sweets in the bag.

"They look great!" Satoshi sings his approval, even throwing his hands into the air. Mayaka wants, so much, to be able to give these to him and let it be the end of that. But she doesn't want to spend the next few days and weeks, the rest of her life, wondering what they mean to him. So, she leaps.

"Yes, but it's… not obligation chocolate this year," she tells him, eyes back on her shoes.

Satoshi lowers his arms, but his grin stays in place.

"I – thank you Mayaka, thank you so much, but– "

She freezes, ankles clenching, armor cracking. She doesn't show it on her face, doesn't drop her smile, doesn't want to give in so easily. She's prepared for this.

"Ah, then, that's o– "

"Oiiii. Satoshi, are we leaving yet?" a voice drones out from beside her. A boy is hanging from the open classroom window.

"What are you doing here? Eavesdropping?" Mayaka frowns. For once, she's thankful for Oreki's existence. This is a secret she will take to the grave.

The boy shakes his head lazily. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. She peers into the classroom and finds half of it bathed in the glow of the setting sun. "It was too hot," he explains.

"Well, here." The girl rummages through her bag and places a packet of chocolates on the top of the Oreki's head. It balances perfectly on his mop of dark hair that she can't help but find it humourous. At least he makes a good table. "Your parents would lose complete faith in you if you returned home with no chocolates today. You're very welcome."

Oreki tilts his chin, the chocolates still sitting on his head. Mayaka thinks he might be thanking her – or cursing her. Whichever.

"Anyway, I've got to get going now," she hurries to say. She glances in Satoshi's direction, but doesn't have enough left in her to hold his gaze. Then, Mayaka turns on her heels, picks her bag off the floor and dashes down the hallway. She only stops running when she's on the street opposite the school gate.

Then, she forces out the last ounce of strength and doesn't start crying until she's home.

★

Night passes too quickly, and before she knows it, Mayaka is trekking up the road to school.

She finds Satoshi near the shoe lockers, toeing off his sneakers. Mayaka walks a brave walk up to him. "So, what did you do with the chocolates?" she clears her throats and asks him.

"Good morning! Oh, they were delicious. I ate all of them." He smiles at her.

"You do know that I like you, right?" she says. It's much less of a struggle than she thought it would be.

"I know, sorry about that," Satoshi chuckles. The bullet hits its mark. "But the chocolates were really good. You have got to tell me the recipe you used some time. Do you want to walk up to class together?"

Satoshi Fukube is cruel. Cruel and heartless and vicious.

★

"Fuku-chan," she says as they walk home at the end of the day. The wheels of his bike squeak as he pushes it beside him.

"Yes?"

"You still haven't given me a clear answer. I'm sorry if I'm harping on the matter, but it's important to me and– " Mayaka doesn't want to add the last part in words. She doesn't want to say that she'll be alright if he doesn't accept her feelings.

"Mayaka." Satoshi turns so that she's talking to him instead of his back.

"Let's not talk about this for awhile, okay? I mean, you know, I don't know what to say yet, I don't want to trouble you," he chuckles, looking like a prince while he breaks her heart.

"Sorry," Satoshi adds. He reaches a hand out to touch her shoulder. Mayaka swivels out of the way. She bangs loudly against the seat of his bike, but the sound is a whimper compared to her heart roaring in her chest. The tension between them skyrockets and Satoshi stares at her with a blank expression on his face. For once, he's unable to read her. Good. Now he knows how she feels.

The only thing she can do to salvage the situation is to stick her tongue out. Then, she says a hasty 'bye' to him, crosses the road at the intersection, and jogs home. She doesn't cry this time, but she isn't proud of that at all.

★

White Day comes and goes.

A week after, Oreki beckons her over when the last class of the day is over. Mayaka stalks to his desk at the back of the class, wondering what compelled him to risk conversing with her.

"Here." He drops a small wrapped package into the middle of her palm. "As thanks for the chocolates."

Mayaka is actually impressed.

"You actually went out of your way to get this?"

Oreki stares at her with his half-lidded eyes (the bum can't even bring himself to open them all the way), quietly insulted. "No. Satoshi helped me buy it."

Mayaka raises her school bag high in the air and thwacks it down on Oreki's flat head.

She never hangs the keychain on her phone. It's a mascot character from one of her favourite anime, which she only mentioned in passing once or twice. Bright and yellow and pink.

Instead, she hangs it off the bookshelf in her room, but that alone signals Satoshi's victory.

★

Their third-year graduation school trip involves hiking along the countryside. Oreki never appears on the day of the trip. Mayaka isn't surprised. Satoshi still sighs and laments, "You would think that Houtarou would at least show up for the last trip of our junior high career, after this it's just revision lessons and final exams all the way."

"You're too hopeful, Fuku-chan," she tells him, and the face he makes in response to that almost makes talking to him seem easy.

Then, they start hiking up to the crest of the hill. It takes only about an hour to complete the trip, the guide tells them. Mayaka ties her hair into a ponytail in an effort to make things seem easier. It doesn't help much, though.

Mayaka has never really been adept at things like climbing. She begins lagging behind as the slope steepens, and the ground becomes harder to find footing on. Moss is slippery. She follows the trail of students as they step through a dried up river, using the rocks to navigate their way upstream. The gaps between some of these rocks are wide, and she hesitates at one point. Then, someone holds a hand out to her. It's Satoshi. The sunlight filtering through the forest around them seems to shine a spotlight on this boy. Mayaka knuckles her eyes, and when someone asks her what's the matter, she says it's sweat instead of foolish imagination and an overdose of shoujo manga. But Satoshi is still waiting when she opens her eyes.

She doesn't want this intimacy. She doesn't know if her heart can take it. She doesn't want to believe that she's close to him, it's just not something she wants to inflict on herself.

But his hand is larger than hers and encouraging and patient and all the things Mayaka loves about him. Her skin is made of steel – this is what she chants over and over again in her head. She takes his hand and holds onto it for as long as he lets her. She decides that it's too long, and slips her fingers out of his.

They have their lunch at the top of the hill. The air smells the same to Mayaka, but she agrees when her friends all say 'wow the climb was worth it!' or 'the view up here is great!'. The view is passable. The intense foliage encircling the hill obscures their view from the town down below, but least the clouds overhead look sort of nice. They gather in their classes and unpack their lunch boxes. Satoshi sits next to her and Mayaka blames herself for letting him get away with it, scolds herself for not moving aside, and betrays herself when she smiles as Satoshi offers her a packet of biscuits.

★

Mayaka comes down with the flu one week and she misses two days worth of lessons as a result. When she isn't trying to sleep her fever off, she's awake and fretting over the revision content she's missed in class. Her final exams are less than two months away at this point.

On the third afternoon, she stirs from her sleep as she hears the door to her room creak open. Mayaka doesn't wake up immediately, still trying to separate dream from reality. "Mum?" she croaks after a minute, blinking and combing a hand through her unkempt hair.

"Nope! It's me!"

Her eyes open wide. Satoshi is smiling.

"Fu-Fuku-chan!" she yelps, her voice scratchy with sickness. It sounds horrible, like nails raking against a blackboard. Satoshi doesn't even flinch. She tries to register the fact that he's in her house, her room, sitting beside her. He's even holding her stuffed platypus doll in his arms. Her manga collection is stacked to the ceiling. Some of her clothes are scattered on the floor, all crumpled and messy. And she must be the worst sight in this entire mess. She ducks under her blanket, refusing to look at him.

"Houtarou sends his wishes. He misses your stinging but accurate criticism."

"That's a lie," she mumbles into her pillow.

"Eek, caught in the act," Satoshi surrenders, "but he did say it was odd without you around."

"He only learns to appreciate me when I'm gone," Mayaka grunts. "Why are you here, anyway?" she asks from under the blanket.

"To pass you the notes you missed in class and see how you're doing, of course," Satoshi says.

"No," Mayaka emerges from her covers. Her room suddenly looks so pink, and the reality that Satoshi is sitting in it, next to her bed, makes her all the more aware of everything. It makes the question hard to restrain any longer.

"Why do you always act like this? You know I like you and yet here you are – you're cheating, Fuku-chan. You're cheating and I hate that." Her voice cracks from her sore throat and she tugs her blanket over her eyes again. She doesn't want to see his easy, comforting smile. She wonders how many times she's seen it through the years. She wonders how and when she fell in love with that smile.

Satoshi doesn't say anything for awhile. Her room is quiet, and from under her cotton blanket, she can faintly smell the detergent he uses to wash his clothes with.

"Because you're my friend, Mayaka. Nothing will change that."

How strange, to hear words that can raise you up and tear you down at the same time. She feels a hand smooth over her forehead, threading wayward strands of hair away. She can't bear to lower the blanket and see if it's really Satoshi's. The hand is warm and firm, but promises nothing to her. And she should be angry – furious – at him now, but all she can bring herself to do is to curl on her side and close her eyes.

"Thanks for the notes. See you in school."

She hears Satoshi stand up, feels him linger over her bedside. "Get well soon, Mayaka." And then, he leaves, closing the door softly. He never points out the keychain hanging from her bookshelf.

★

"So, which high school are you applying to?" Satoshi asks her on the last day of school. She stays back after graduation to pack her things. This is what she tells everyone else, but not what she tells her heart.

"Same as you, Kamiyama High," she says.

"Great choice! The history of the school is rich, and they hold the famous Kanya Festival annually! I look forward to being schoolmates with you again next year!" the boy sweeps into a magnificent bow.

"Of course, Fuku-chan," she says almost thoughtlessly. She doesn't say anything after that, toying with the petals in the tiny bouquet of flowers her juniors gave her. Amongst the flowers is a piece of rock candy from Oreki, a necklace from Chikako. Satoshi's graduation gift to her, she keeps in the pocket of her blouse, near her heart.

"You're quieter than usual, Mayaka," Satoshi observes.

Well, she's alone in a classroom with the boy she likes on the last day of school. Satoshi should be aware of this – but, no, it probably doesn't look this way to him. Satoshi must see the world differently from her. It's brighter through his eyes, more colourful. She might be the dull smudge in the corner of his multi-coloured world.

"I'm just sad about leaving the school," she says, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger.

"Really?" Satoshi asks her, hands on his waist. Curse him for being so perceptive.

"Not really, but I won't tell you the real reasons why," Mayaka counters, triumphant for once when she sees the surprise on his face.

"You have all the time to tell me in high school," he laughs in response. Satoshi slings his bag over his shoulder. Mayaka wrings her hands together when she sees him leaving.

"Don't count on it," she says softly.

She thinks she hears him say 'I'm not.' and maybe it is just her imagination, but she doesn't want her junior high school life with him to end like this. With so many things left unsaid, in a classroom with dusty windows and mathematical formulas she's already forgotten still scrawled on the whiteboard. Mayaka stands on her feet, the legs of her chair screeching against the floor.

"Satoshi!" her voices chases after him.

"Yep?" the boy looks over his shoulder, a hand on the classroom door.

Mayaka takes a breath. Her hand is trembling on the desk. "One day, I'll steal your heart."

She expects him to laugh, to say 'good luck with that!', to even give her a thumbs-up. Instead, he looks down on the ground. He smiles. But it is not the smile she fell in love with. It's a smile Mayaka has never seen.

The boy nods his head and whispers. Her hair, long and untamed, feels heavy on her shoulders.

Fuku-chan slides the door shut.

"see you next year"

★

notes –
- Mayaka's name is written with the character for 'flower'.
- Satoshi's name is written with the character for 'purpose/will/determination'.
- In a sense, the title can be read in two ways. 1. Flowers without Will [a pronoun], 2. Flowers without, will [a verb].
- Mayaka isn't that athletic, but why she manages to do relatively well during the relay is because, strategically, the third runner in a team is meant to be the slowest. The other teams followed that strategy, while Houtarou came up with an alternate method with the information Satoshi provided him off screen.
- Mayaka cut her hair into the style we all know now before entering high school. Maybe she wanted it to symbolize her moving on from Satoshi, but even symbolically, nothing can really stop her from loving this boy.
- Satoshi's gift to Mayaka was something he made for her. I leave it up to your interpretation for what exactly it was. Personally, I think it might be a hair tie. Of course, that would be useless now that she's cut her hair.
- If you ask me I will tell you one of the reasons why I ship this is because Mayaka falls in love with a boy who will never love her back the same way. Their resulting relationship and the unsaid things between them becomes so heart-wrenching and so telling as a result. GODDAMN IT. WHY? WHY?
- also BOOM this is basically my headcanon of what happened in junior high/middle school, I have not read the novels so I don't know how much they've revealed about what went on in junior high for Houtarou. If this clashes with canon, then we'll just call this an AU.

clumsy (shoma, ringo)

ibuberu — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 07:31:29 GMT

I... I finally wrote Shoma/Ringo. Or some semblance of it.

clumsy
fandom - Mawaru Penguindrum
characters - Ringo, Shoma
genre - romance, family drama, friendship
summary - She finds someone more broken than her.

Clumsy

★

Ringo is born incomplete.

She isn't born as the daughter who makes her parents smile. That is Momoka's claim. Ringo inherits her father's hair and her mother's eyes, but when she looks at the reflection in the mirror, it's as if there is a missing part. She doesn't have her sister's gentle chin or full lips, doesn't have the same brightness in her eyes. The photo of Momoka always sits on her desk, and Ringo can only imagine how much more captivating she must be if she was still alive.

Her parents don't stop fighting when she steps into the room on a school night. This continues the next week, and the week after that. The cycle rinses and repeats. Over time, Ringo wonders if she hasn't been installed with the ability to keep her family together. Momoka's diary is her manual and she strives to become something like her sister. But her father still marries another woman, her mother still works and works past ten p.m., and Tabuki still regards her as a little girl.

As a child, she remembers being clumsy with her feet and her hands. Dropping things on her toes and tripping over bumps on the ground. She falls hard on the floor many times when she is five, six, seven years old.

Maybe, Ringo thinks, she is broken somewhere.

★

Then, she meets Shoma Takakura and she realizes that he needs more fixing than her. She follows Momoka's fate religiously, from the time she gets up in the morning to the amount of soup she should leave in the bowl after dinner. Shoma Takakura isn't mentioned in the diary, but he remains next to her, waiting and watching.

He tries to lie to her, but this eventually gives way to the truth. He needs her diary, so she enlists him into helping her. He agrees, but doesn't do it willingly. The boy moves the contents of her room from an apartment complex to the sacred ground beneath Tabuki's house. Then, when all has been said and done, he moves all the things back again, never stopping with the complaints.

Ringo looks at the boy and thinks, how can he contradict himself so much? He doesn't want anything to do with her, but here he is again, sitting in the same train carriage. She wonders why he is so desperate for the diary, and when she says this – "Fine, I'll lend it to you." – Shoma is more surprised than overjoyed, as if he hadn't been expecting her to hand it over. Ringo doesn't mind the extra hand with Project M, so she tugs at her bangs and refocuses her thoughts.

It is one night that changes everything between them.

★

His eyes darken dangerously when Ringo says, "You're just putting on a façade of a family because it's convenient." And she should know because she's been chasing (and straggling) after the definition of a true family all this time.

Shoma's hands are hard and angry against her. When he releases her, she tells him she'll bear Tabuki's child, shrugging off his words. She doesn't expect him to stretch a hand out again. He clamps onto her wrist, and as Ringo fights against his grip, she notices that he isn't holding her the same way. There's a small touch of understanding and concern on his fingers now, but Ringo does not relent. This is for her family.

"AH!"

The diary falls off the side of the building, and her heart plummets along with it.

As she staggers down the staircase and the raindrops pelt against her, Ringo thinks only about herself, Momoka, and the bare bones still holding her family together. She doesn't hear the motorcycle's engine until it is too close. The diary is split at its spine, the loud rip of paper and peaches like a slash through her stomach. She's incomplete and inadequate enough as is. Now she has only half of her fate left soaked in her hands.

The headlights of the car blind her when she turns around, the rain a heavy curtain of the night. Ringo can count the chandelier of droplets stuck on the hood of the screeching vehicle. Maybe this is how it all ends. Maybe this is fate for tearing the diary.

"No!"

She feels a sharp push between her shoulder blades and her knees skid and tear open against the asphalt from the sudden force. The 'bang!' behind her deafens everything. She raises her eyes to see a boy's body contorting in the dark, torrential night. The pain is one she feels burst in her chest.

For the first time in sixteen years, Ringo thinks about something other than her family and Momoka and herself.

★

She gives the away the last thirty pages of her fate for a stupid, broken boy.

And Shoma still isn't satisfied.

Ringo feels her temper boil when Shoma, recuperated and restless, tells her that what she's made a mistake. She doesn't need this. What she needs is to be Momoka, to right the wheel of fate. She's spent far too long involved with Shoma and Himari and Kanba – sidetracked by their company, their lively dinners, and their notion of family.

Shoma's expression changes again when she tells him this, and he should stop doing that, because Ringo doesn't understand how he can act so nonchalant and then so worried. She slings her bag and leaves him on the train.

★

Tabuki is close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

This- this is supposed to make her whole, isn't it?

Ringo wants to believe that this is her fate, that this is how she will be made unbroken. But then she remembers that she's given her diary away. It is no longer here to guide her step by step (has she memorized it correctly?) and Shoma – why is he here instead? – Shoma's words echo in her, filling up gaps she hasn't been aware of till now.

Tabuki brushes the hair out of her eyes, his hand deceptively cold to the touch. She shivers. The tears in her eyes are rolling down her cheeks before she can process what she is feeling. It's been a long time since she's bothered to notice her own feelings.

She raises her hand to press against Tabuki's arm.

And then, she pushes.

★

Shoma Takakura really is more broken then her.

He strains against the fingers she digs into his sleeve. "Why do we continue to hurt each other with superficial words? We shouldn't see each other anymore."

And the tears she cries are more for him than for her.

★

Ringo wakes up on a futon, the room unfamiliar and dark. It takes her a moment to remember that she's staying at an inn with Yuri. The two voices conversing outside confuse her, one male and the other female. As she rubs the sleep out of her eyes – shakes off a dull throb in her head – she pushes the door aside to see Shoma and Yuri talking over cups of green tea.

"Are you alright?" The boy glances over his shoulder, his brow creasing as he gives her a onceover.

He's talking to her again. After he just said he didn't want to.

Ringo feels the corners of her thin lips lift. She smiles and nods. She thinks she should be used to Shoma and his mannerisms by now.

★

The scarf Himari knits for Shoma suits him perfectly. The one Kanba gets is wonderful too, and he thanks Ringo, gruffly, for taking time to shop with Himari.

"Not at all," she says. She holds Himari's hand and exchanges a smile with her. "We had fun."

"Lots!" the girl chimes.

If only they can pass by the rest of their days this way, leave the past behind and focus on having a lovely home-cooked dinner every day. She hopes Tabuki and Yuri are able to do that now too.

Himari's hand is warm in hers under the table, and Ringo remembers that she's tied to this family now. Kanba, Shoma and Himari Takakura. Whatever happens, she wants to be here for them.

★

She leans against the hospital's walls, listening to the muffled voice through the door.

"She doesn't have much time left," says the doctor, reluctant and sympathetic.

Ringo feels the choke in her throat. Himari is the most complete person she knows apart from her big sister. Himari, with her wholesome smile and open hands and happy eyes. For Ringo to be able to know someone like her who has suffered so much yet remains so kind – it can't be simple coincidence. It's fate.

She shuts her eyes to will the tears away just as Shoma slides the door open and steps out of the office, a soft hand-knit scarf covering the lower half of his face. He doesn't say a word, and Ringo takes her place beside him as they walk out of the dark hallway and into the world outside.

★

But maybe that is what makes her so drawn to him. No matter how broken he is, Shoma shoulders on, grappling at his fate with bare knuckles and emotional eyes. He is someone who looks in a different direction than her, but walks the same path. She hopes for the day they can look to the same place. She remembers his words – so far away that they seem like a dream she's fallen in love with: 'you're you, nobody else'.

Ringo wonders if love can make her whole again and whether if that's the case, that it can be the same for Shoma. Or maybe he hasn't been broken all this time. Just… clumsy. Clumsy with his words and his feelings and his heart, the boy she's grown to understand. That would be nice.

Nothing in this world is pointless, so maybe if she and Shoma and Kanba love Himari hard enough, she'll make it through. That would be nice too. Then Ringo can make apple curry for the Takakura family and share curry night with them.

Under the gentle snowfall, Shoma lets her hold him close. She takes his hands in hers, and when he squeezes back softly, she closes her eyes. Ringo feels herself sink against him, a piece fitting into place. Finally.

★

notes
- written for a request, but i also had to do it for closure man, these two left a gaping hole in my heart
- prompt: 'and i'll fix you'
- I like the idea of Ringo and Shoma sort of... helping/mending each other? Two halves of a whole. I know I write them as 'broken' here but personally I find that a little harsh. But these two really do learn and grow and change from one another, and it's one of the things I love most about their relationship. The stark contrast between their first appearance and their final farewell is amazingly heartbreaking and moving.

duty (cinderella au)

ibuberu — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 14:55:07 GMT

duty
fandom - cinderella
genre - drama, au
summary - Cinderella is born at the end of a cold winter in a house that is too big.
notes - for crazypackersfan, prompt: in which cinderella doesn't marry the prince and remains a slave forever

Duty

Cinderella is born at the end of a cold winter in a house that is too big. It has a staircase with marble banisters and rooms that lead into even more rooms and windows that touch the ceiling. She remembers exploring the vast hallways, holding onto her mother’s hand and following her along as she goes about daily household chores. Mother points at various objects and teaches her words while they make their rounds in the house. Cinderella learns the meaning of ‘spoon’ and ‘dress’ and ‘sunlight’ from her mother.

Her father is a busy man with a beard and a smoke pipe and a tight smile, but when he carries her and talks to her with his smoky voice, she knows he loves her as much as she loves him. They have dinner at precisely six in the evening everyday, after he is home from work and before the moon is out.
She had a different name then, one she can’t remember now. No memories are left behind from her days as a baby. They die along with her mother and her father. Her mother is a sickly woman with a face she cannot recall. This is all she can remember about her mother: hands constantly in motion, dusting tables and washing clothes, and a dry cough that never goes away.

The last word her mother teaches her: duty.

Her father remarries when she is six, and suddenly the house becomes too small. The stepmother lugs along two daughters, one with red hair and the other with black. The three of them take up all the spaces in the house, their presence looming and expanding day by day.

Her father takes her into his lap. They sit on his armchair next to the fireplace and he explains: Lady Tremaine – your new mother – will take over all the household duties.

Cinderella doesn’t object. Still, as he sets her down on her Mary Janes, she can’t help but wonder if mothers are like tea – easily replaced by pouring a fresh brew in the cup, but never tasting exactly the same.

Anastasia and Drizella are her new stepsisters. They have beautiful names and elaborate dresses that get finer and finer as the weeks pass. They don’t speak to her anywhere except the dinner table, where her father sits at the head and watches how they pass the bread between them. Their noses are almost always in the air, as if there’s a peculiar smell in the house that Cinderella is unaware of.

Lady Tremaine sits beside her father, the hand cupping her glass adorned with rings. She smiles in the same tight way her father smiles, a little reserved and cool. Cinderella rubs her napkin between her fingers and can’t help but feel that her smile is different from Father’s somehow.

One night, her father doesn’t come back from work at six.

She dabs her eyes and tells herself, duty.

She is assigned a new job in the household very soon after the funeral. With that, she is also assigned a new name.

“Your old name does not become you,” Lady Tremaine explains with nonchalance. “Cinderella is a far better representation.”

Cinderella looks down at her hands, dusted in a fine layer of cinder ash.

When the floor is cleaned and the fireplace is still black with soot and dust, she thinks, duty.

Cinderella learns romance just like all teenage girls do: from firsthand experience.

She rises out of bed before the sun, three hours earlier than anyone else as she begins her day by sweeping the floor. This is a world all to her own with the quiet sounds of the early morning and the smell of dew on leaves wafting in through the windows she opens. It is a routine she has grown accustomed to.

One morning, just as she ties her favourite apron around herself, she hears someone walking up to the doorway. Cinderella ventures a look outside to see who could be up so early and finds fresh bottles of milk waiting on the doormat. The young boy walking back down the pathway turns around at the sound of the door opening. It’s the milkboy.

He tips his hat and gives her a smile and Cinderella is stunned that there is someone who wakes up earlier than her.

The next day, she finds a single daisy weaved around the mouth of one of the milk bottles. Cinderella smells the flower and revels in how fresh it is. She places it in her hair and hides it in her skirt pocket when she hears her stepsisters trudging around the hallways.

She succeeds in waking up early one morning and sits at the back door waiting for the boy. When he appears, walking up the pathway with a crate of milk bottles hitched on his hip, Cinderella can’t help but find him winsome. Maybe it is the dark hair and the brown eyes, the wrinkled shirt and creased pants. Maybe it is the daisy sitting next to her bed.

“Morning!” he says, taking out a couple of bottles and setting them at her feet.

“Thank you,” Cinderella smiles, “for the milk and the flower.”

The milkboy blushes at the mention of the flower and lowers the box onto the ground. “I – I’m happy to know that, uh..”

“Cinderella.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m– “ he stops halfway, raising his gaze from her.

She turns around to find Lady Tremaine looming over her at the doorway, a spindly hand on her bejeweled cane.

Cinderella learns heartbreak unlike many teenage girls. The feeling is probably the same give or take.

The milkboy whose name she never got to know does not come by the backdoor again. He is replaced by an aged man with a beard and uninterested eyes. Cinderella stops distracting herself with romance because it is not something she can associate with, not transcribed in the duty to her father and her mother and this big, big house.

Lady Tremaine does not need to teach her this. She just lifts her chin and sniffs with disapproval.
Cinderella cannot speak. There is nothing left to say at this point. She scrubs the clothes in the basin harder and harder but nothing ever feels the same.

When she is older still, her hands darker with soot and rougher with calluses, Cinderella barely manages to hold onto a shred of a long lost dream. It is a selfish dream where she will find love with a man with dark hair and caring eyes, dance with him on a floor that is not hers to clean, in a dress that will be the envy of her stepsisters for once.

Maybe this is the reason why her godmother appears on the night of the State Ball after the rest have left, and why she has a wand in one hand and the last of Cinderella’s hope in the other. The Fairy Godmother cups her cheek and brushes the thin layer of grime off, smiling with stars in her eyes. She glows in the cellar of the house and Cinderella wonders if she is dreaming.

“Of course you are,” her godmother laughs. “That is why I’m here – to grant your dreams.”

Cinderella sits on the floor to gather her wits. She feels a pat on her head and lets her godmother tug her onto her feet and out into the backyard.

With a flick of her wand, a pumpkin blooms into a beautiful white carriage and the rats wandering in the soil start trotting onto the road as horses. Cinderella holds a hand to her heart and when she realizes that her old skirt and blouse have transformed into a blue gown, she feels the skip in her chest. Her elbow-length gloves cover her dirty hands and she has a hard time balancing on her glass slippers, having never worn anything other than her old mary janes.

“The spell will last till midnight,” her godmother tells her, guiding her by the wrist into the horse-drawn carriage. The cushion of the seat is softer than her mattress and the necklace around her neck is a precious blue stone. Cinderella can’t help but feel that all of this is too indulgent, too unbelievable. It is something she hasn’t worked for, but before she can ask her godmother, the carriage rides out of the yard and towards the castle.

Cinderella does not belong here.

The crowd in the ballroom is thick with artifice and appearances, from the way the women hold their champagne glasses to the men twirling their trimmed moustaches. She shifts uneasily between the crowd of guests, evening her breath and pulling her dress whenever it snags against someone. She does not want to let her godmother’s magic go to waste so she stops beside a pillar at one end of the hall to sort herself out. She takes in the sights and the sounds, the women in an array of gowns and the music the orchestra plays. From this vantage, Cinderella watches the people in their Sunday best mingling and conversing, and she wonders if this is the life she could have had with her mother and father.

She feels a tap on her shoulder and turns to see a man with dark hair and earnest eyes. Everyone’s eyes are drawn to him, and when he holds an empty palm out to her, Cinderella realizes that he is the prince.

“Please,” he asks politely when she doesn’t take his hand.

Cinderella concedes, slipping her fingers through his and finding herself being led out into the center of the ballroom. The waltzing couples deftly part to make room for them, and suddenly she is locked with the prince and gliding across the floor. She struggles to keep up at first, and when he sees this, the prince slows down a tad and Cinderella eases against him. She looks up into his eyes and searches for something like love – something like what she’d felt with the nameless milkboy.

They dance out into the quiet night of the balcony when Cinderella is not paying attention, and when she finally does, she turns to the clock tower in the distance. Ten minutes to midnight.

“Oh,” she exhales, almost thoughtlessly. Then she remembers she is in the presence of royalty. “I’m terribly sorry your highness, but I have to go now.” She lets go of his arm and hand, folding into herself, compulsively checking to see if she’s somehow smeared his pristine suit.

“Would you consider spending a while longer with me?” he asks, bringing up a smile.

Cinderella closes her eyes and she hears his words rewind and replay in her head. She watches how ‘a while’ will twist into an entire night and then a week and then the rest of her life, in the castle jutting from the middle of the nation. She watches how, if this dream really comes true, she will leave her father’s home behind, and let her mother’s teachings fade away. Most of all – she opens her eyes and stares at the prince – she watches how he looks at her. It is not the way the milkboy did, it is not the early morning romance she fell in love with, and it will never be.

She clutches the skirt of her enchanted dress and wonders who she is. The only certain answer she knows is this – not the one in the glass slippers.

Her left foot catches on the hem of her dress and the glass slipper clatters on the steps leading down from the castle. It takes a moment, a split second decision that Cinderella feels nearly slip between her fingers. Out of something she knows so well, out of habit and learned action, Cinderella picks up the glass slipper and crushes it in her hands.

As she retreats back into her carriage, the magic spills off her dress like water, the smell of pumpkin fills the air, yet the clock hasn't stuck twelve. With shards of glass at her wake, Cinderella remembers this:

duty.

notes –

OH. MY. GOD.

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS.

Sorry you had to wait so long, crazypackersfan! Half the time I did not know which direction to go, so I am very sorry for holding this up for so long! I hope this is okay. The Cinderella in this one is probably the Disney!Cinderella, except she didn’t make friends with any animals and as a result probably became the jaded, resigned heroine of this really sad story. This whole thing is supposed to make more sense but I’m too winded now to try to make sense of it.

happy early birthday to jy and jc!

ibuberu — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:22:18 GMT

In which I cheat and offer one birthday present to two fabulous friends – lavender88 & wayfares! I hope both of you have a wonderful birthday! Know that I always have and always will enjoy being fandom friends and tldr; sisters with the two of you (:

This is just a collection of drabbles of characters/ships that either of you seem to like! Nothing much, just something I had to whip together when I found out that your birthdays were here (already! I’m sorry, if I had more time this would be more quality hurr).

the black and the white
(Yukiatsu+Tsuruko)

“Hi Yukiastu!”

“Oh, hello,” Yukiatsu exhales, calming himself.

“I just wanted to ask what homework we have today. I seem to have lost my journal, silly me!”

“I’ll help you find it tomorrow, don’t worry,” he tells her quickly. “And I’ll text you the homework later, okay?”

“Yukiatsu, are you alright?” Menma asks over the phone, the concern in her voice both squeezing and tugging at his heart. “You sound really distracted. If there’s anything wrong, you just tell me! Menma will try her best!”

“Yes,” he says, “everything will be fine. Thank you.”

“Remember that we have to be in school early tomorrow,” she reminds him, and he can hear her smile. “Bye!”

Yukiatsu places the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand through his hair to rearrange his thoughts. This can’t be happening.

He walks back into his room and rubs his eyes. When he opens them, he still sees a girl sitting on his desk chair, flipping through a novel he’d left lying around. The shoulder-length hair and the spectacles are new, but everything else is reminiscent of the friend who died in a seven-year old summer. Yukiatsu remembers the way she turns a page and when she lifts her gaze to look at him, she doesn’t smile or frown.

“… Tsuruko.”

★

the actress and the understudy
(Kento+Kurumi)

“Ume, huh?”

She slams her shoe locker shut the moment she hears that name being enunciated. Preparing a smile out of habit, she lets it fall when she turns around and sees that it is just Miura. Kurumi primes herself as a strategist, and she knows how to play her cards.

“Do not use that name,” she hisses, eyes narrowing at him. Unfortunately, Miura seems immune to her threats.

“Why not?” he laughs and leans against the lockers, much taller than her.

In response, Kurumi climbs a couple of steps on the staircase next to the lockers and folds her arms. She doesn’t reply him, twisting her foot against the step to get her shoe on right.

“I think it’s a nice name,” Miura says. Kurumi rolls her eyes and rests her elbow on the railing, glad that most of the students have gone home at the end of the day.

“I won’t fall for your tricks, Miura,” she informs him. The expression of feigned ignorance on his face is both skilled and amateurish to her. Kurumi should know.

With that, she hops off the step and returns to the lockers. Kurumi picks up her bag and flips her hair over her shoulder, resilient on ignoring him for the rest of this conversation.

“I mean it, though,” Miura says, a grin still in his voice, “a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Kurumi looks over her shoulder and wrinkles her nose. “You need to work on your lines. They are absolutely terrible.”

★

the fateless
(Ringo/Shoma)

Sometimes, Ringo feels like drifting away into the sea of her thoughts because it’s the only place where everything is alright. Instead, her mother comes home late from work day after day and her plans to fall in love with Tabuki show no sign of change. So the only thing she does is flip through the pages in Momoka’s diary and read a future written with the faint smell of peaches.

★

She nearly drowns in a lake and Tabuki swoops in to rescue her. Ringo is thrilled for the most part. The strange thing about all this is that Shoma is the one walking with her home while Tabuki has dinner with Yuri in a classy restaurant. Ringo feels indignant and Shoma feels compelled not to listen to her, but he still does anyway, sighing as the train goes from one station to the next.

“Look,” he speaks up one stop before she has to alight. “Do you want to have dinner with us?”

“Why?” Ringo picks at the jacket she wears, only a size larger than her.

“Because I need the diary you promised,” Shoma answers honestly. He eyes her again and adds: “We also need to wash these clothes.”

★

After Kanba rescues Shoma and he is wheeled into a new ward, Ringo still feels the empty weight in her hands, the feeling of half the diary falling from her palm like another piece of her breaking away. She concentrates on the cold metal of the wheelchair instead, the weight of Shoma Takakura.

He is tired from his brief kidnapping though he continues to insist that his brother and sister won’t be able to cook dinner on their own. Ringo just smiles and listens and thinks about how dependable Himari is and how capable Kanba can be. At the end of his blurred words and the white hallways of the hospital, Shoma falls asleep when his head hits the pillow and Ringo slowly pulls the covers over him. He stirs at this, eyes opening only just so.

“Your diary?” he asks, voice bleary.

“Why do you care? Get some rest first,” she tells him, quiet but determined. He won’t be happy when he finds out and she’s already prepared herself for that.

“Because we’re friends,” he says before turning over and returning to sleep.

Ringo hasn’t prepared herself for that.

★

Ringo wants to ask why again. Shoma is the only boy who has ever been a question to her, the only thing in her life she can’t refer to her sister’s diary for answer or direction. It feels strange to not know what to do with these feelings and this person with his dark hair and bright eyes and clumsy heart. Perhaps the answer is to burn.

The fire stings her skin, its embers nipping the back of her neck and her hair. It is nothing like Kanba’s flames. But the intense heat she feels is from Shoma opening and closing around her, a shield and a tether, never letting go.

“I love you.”

★

the queen and her kings
(Chihaya+Taichi+Arata)

Chihaya likes the night sky. She finds herself searching for shooting stars that almost always elude her and thinking about how large everything is. Sometimes it scares her how big the world is. She doesn’t this to tell anyone, not even her sister. Maybe when she is old enough to travel on her own she will go star-gazing in a wide open field and overcome her fear of smallness.

“What’re you looking at?” Taichi asks. He walks beside her and squints into the dark sky, finding nothing worth pointing out.

“A shooting star of course!” Chihaya says, punching a fist into the air. “I’m still not sure what I want to wish for though, maybe a new pencilcase? Or maybe to be able to take cards faster?”

She hears Arata chuckling quietly behind her and gives him a confused look.

“Sorry, Chihaya,” the little boy says, the smile on his face never quite fading. “I’m surprised you have so much energy after spending the whole day at the karuta society.”

Chihaya closes her eyes and thinks.

“Now that you mention it, I do feel hungry and sleepy,” she says, a hand on her chin.

“You idiot!” Taichi laughs. He jumps away from her when she throws a kick at his shin. “My house is nearby, I don’t know if mom prepared enough rice, but you can come by for dinner.”

Chihaya stops her assault and nods contentedly, agreeable to the terms Taichi has set. She takes Arata’s arm and pulls him forward so that three of them are walking side by side. “What about Arata?” She jabs a finger at the boy in question, who mumbles ‘it’s okay, don’t worry, I don’t want to intrude’ amongst other very polite statements that make Chihaya wonder if she will ever see Arata without his manners.

“’Course he’s invited too!” Taichi scoffs.

“I – I have to tell my mother,” Arata says weakly.

“Use the phone at my place,” Taichi tells him. “Now two of you pick up the pace or we’ll be late for dinner!”

“Yessir!” Chihaya laughs. She grabs onto Taichi before he can run and maintains her hold on Arata so that he doesn’t fall behind. After awhile, they are holding hands and walking up the moonlit street, both the boys strangely quiet (even by Arata’s standards).

And Chihaya thinks that it’s alright if the sky is so much larger than herself as long as she has Taichi and Arata here to make her feel strong.

★

the leaders and followers
(Mikado+Kida+Anri)

The midday sun shines down on the school rooftop and all the good spots with shade have been taken by other students on lunch break. Despite this, Kida is resolute with eating on the rooftop. Anri doesn’t object so Mikado finds himself agreeing, as per usual.

“It’s a tradition! A tradition!” Kida gestures with his chopsticks. “I won’t allow something like this to stop that.”

Mikado leans out of the way and Anri allows herself to smile a little at their antics. Mikado smiles when he sees this. If anything, she is the perfect gauge for what is genuinely worth smiling at, since she doesn’t express herself all that much. Conversely, Mikado is best friends with Kida Masaomi, who tends to express himself too much.

“Alright,” he yields to the blond and opens his boxed lunch, ready to enjoy his food in spite of the heat.

Anri looks over absently and asks, “Did you buy that from the convenience store?”

“Y-yes, how did you know?”

“Because it looks cheap and devoid of love!” Kida interjects.

“Mikado, don’t you know? A bento is supposed to be made from love,” he continues, setting his own lunch beside Anri on the bench. “The taste of care in the rice! The sweetness of love put into the side-dishes! That slight saltiness added to give it a better flavor and texture! That is what makes a bento!” he declares out loud.

Mikado lowers his head and nods, having adapted to Kida’s outbursts. Even the other students on the roof seem used to them, never turning away from the circles they’ve formed to eat. He splits the wooden chopsticks stuck to the side of the plastic box and begins eating his substandard boxed lunch.

“After all that, you’re still going to eat it?” Kida slides onto the empty seat on the bench, tuning the energy in his voice down by a few notches.

“Well, I did spend money on it,” Mikado says after swallowing a mouthful. He grabs his water bottle and takes a large gulp.

“But it looks awful.” Kida points and Anri sits between them, chewing thoughtfully on her riceball.

“It tastes awful too,” Mikado laughs, wiping his hand against his lips, the taste of the artificial oil and canned vegetable still lingering in his mouth.

“Would you like to share some of mine, then?” Anri suggests, offering him the rest of her riceballs. “It’s plain but I don’t think I can finish all of this myself, so…”

Mikado feels his face heat up at the girl’s kindness. Kida shoots him a wry smile, allowing him a few seconds of silence as he struggles to reply Anri without sounding too enthusiastic.

“I’ll share mine with you too!” Kida pipes up when Mikado shows no signs of sentinence.

Kida picks up a broccoli from his lunch with his chopsticks and jabs it at Mikado.

Anri stares at Kida’s arm stretching in front of her to Mikado on her other side. Then, she starts chuckling. It is a quiet sound that snaps Mikado out of his daze. He grins and decides to eat the broccoli and Kida proceeds to laugh as well, withdrawing his chopsticks, which are shaking uncontrollably. The rest of the students on the rooftop turn to look at them, but Mikado can’t find it in himself to care.

If the coming days could continue like this, he thinks he will have a wonderful life in the city.

★

the baseballer and the homerun
(Sugimura+Yuko)

He spots her after baseball practice. Something draws him to her, maybe it’s the freckles on her face or maybe it’s because she’s a girl sitting alone on the bench facing the school field. Maybe it’s because she’s Yuko and he doesn’t understand her enough, but he’d like to try.

“You’re becoming more and more like Shizuku!” he laughs as he approaches the bench.

Yuko looks up from her book, far less surprised than he expects.

“N-not really,” she finally says, tugging a strand of hair near her ear, “I always read here every Friday, it’s a small habit.” Her hand tightens around the spine of the novel while she speaks, as if unsure about something.

“Huh – I’ve never noticed,” Sugimura tells her, removing his cap and fanning himself under the summer heat.

“I know.”

There’s a sad smile on her face when she repeats, “I know.”

For a second, under the shade of the oak tree, she makes him forget that he is the boy Shizuku never liked and she is the best friend who is always just there.

★

notes –
The Sugimura/Yuko one is mainly just something I’ve been mulling over for like one year. I liked what I already have for them, which is why I figured I should share it. This is a great collection to add it to since it’s for both of you! But I’m stuck when I try to branch it out into a longer fic! Oh well. These two are actually my favourite couple in ‘Whisper of the Heart’ because they are adorable. Shizuku and Seiji are a close first.

I wrote the Ringo and Shoma one through invisible tears and metaphorical pain okay. It came to be through sheer willpower alone. Still, I wish it could be longer. It needs to be longer!

Also I wish I knew more of the series two of you follow because it is a fact that you two have flawless taste. Then I could write more things for two of you, but now this is all I can offer. This is my only way to try to return you for your wonderful friendship alskjlk I’m getting mushy and incoherent now okok I’ll stop I’ll stop.

…happy birthday you guys★!

the stories we'll sing (yuri, tabuki)

ibuberu — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 10:31:39 GMT

the stories we'll sing
fandom - Mawaru Penguindrum
characters - Yuri, Tabuki, Momoka
genre - drama, friendship
summary - Yuri, Tabuki, and the gaps they try to fill.

the stories we’ll sing

When they first meet, Tabuki has his eyes closed.

Momoka leads her out to the field, holding her hand and stringing her along, going on and on about how one of their classmates almost got turned invisible. Yuri doesn’t quite follow her (but she follows her anyway).

“He’s resting over there, just like I told him to,” Momoka explains, pointing to the near distance with her bandaged hand. Yuri chews her lip and wonders if she had to pay a price to prevent him from ‘turning invisible’. They wander over to the boy lying on the plush grass, cradled in peaceful sleep. He looks so worn out. Yuri can feel that he’s gone through a lot, the memories of her healed wounds aching in sympathy.

“Keiju Tabuki. Tabuki-kun,” Momoka introduces him to her with a fond smile. Yuri instinctively holds tighter onto her hand as she looks down at the boy. Her sympathy is substituted with a thin veil of envy she can’t help. She’s sure that the two of them aren’t close – they haven’t talked much in class, Momoka hangs out with her every day. For her to get hurt for someone like him –

“We have to get him to a proper place to rest,” Momoka interrupts her thoughts with a decisive nod of the head. A gust of wind breezes through the expanse of the field and Momoka looks breathtakingly beautiful in all her compassion. Yuri yields to her because this is the Momoka who reached out to her, the Momoka who can love her and the Momoka she’s come to love.

Yuri heaves one of Tabuki’s arms over her shoulder and Momoka lifts the other. They raise him onto his feet and out of his sleep. He opens his eyes and blinks blearily at her before turning to Momoka.

“Welcome home, Tabuki-kun!”

∅

They watch birds in the park during sunset.

Yuri gets used to having Tabuki around – if anything, the time spent after-school is more enjoyable now that they have more to do. Tabuki has an interest in birds and he shares his love with them through books borrowed from the library, huge binoculars and index fingers aimed at a bird soaring into the skies. His hands are expressive, almost as if they could do so much more than open and close.

Momoka says that she loves all living things and she doesn’t lie – she finds something to love about all the birds they see. She makes it a point to pull Yuri close and explain how each species is beautiful in its own way. Yuri listens and nods.

When they aren’t bird-watching, they feed ducks in the pond and the three of them take turns buying bread every other day. Tabuki tears a piece of the loaf and hands it to her with a small smile, and Yuri accepts it hesitantly at first before returning a smile to him. She notices the scars on his hand and thinks, grimly, that they have lots of things in common after all.

Momoka squats in front of them, dangerously near the edge of the pond, reaching out to make sure the tiniest duckling gets a share of bread.

∅

“I think you’ll be a beautiful star,” Momoka assures her.

They’re sitting on a park bench with their ice cream cones: strawberry for her, vanilla for Momoka and chocolate for Tabuki. The summer is sweltering but the three of them still meet in the park like always. Yuri hadn’t known she could sing until music class this week. Momoka insists that she should consider pursuing a career in stardom, that she should share her beautiful talent with the world.

“I agree. You’re really elegant, Tokikage,” the boy sitting on the other side of Momoka says, grinning brightly at her. He flashes her a thumbs-up.

Yuri buries herself into her ice cream and quietly thanks them for the encouragement.

“When you’re famous, we’ll go watch you, won’t we?” Momoka tells her, turning to exchange smiles with Tabuki.

“Alright,” Yuri promises them, not minding how the ice cream melts over her fingers. “I’ll make sure both of you have front seats.”

∅

The funeral is quiet and dark save for the cries of a newborn baby. Yuri arrives later than Tabuki, finding him standing alone under the shadows of the room. She doesn’t know who to go to first – too afraid to approach the coffin, too out-of-breath to even attempt to speak to Tabuki.

She wipes her fingers against her red eyes and staggers up to the end of the carpet. When the smell of burning incense and fresh flowers overwhelms her, she can no longer restrain her emotions.

Yuri braces herself against the side of the coffin and cries again, furious and distraught in the way only an abandoned ten-year old can be. There’s nothing left here on this plane of existence. The tears streak down her face and she chokes through her sobs, unable to form any words. She is ushered away when the next mourners appear behind her, carrying flowers and sad faces. They all look the same. Yuri drags herself away from the empty coffin and sits herself down next to Tabuki in the dark corner of the room. She buries her face in her arms and refuses to speak to him.

So the two of them go on not-talking until it is time to leave, and then they leave together yet not together because Momoka is no longer there to fill the space between them. They walk down the street as a pair but still alone, an awkward gap between them. Only at the junction where they part, does Yuri reach out to grab onto the sleeve of her friend’s shirt.

She frowns and opens her mouth and wants to put her feelings into spoken words, but these emotions are too big, too intense. “We’ll – ”

“We won’t forgive them. We can’t forgive them,” Tabuki says for her. His face is sunken and heavy with despair, but there is a glimmer in his eyes she doesn’t recognise. Maybe it’s a reflection of hers.

∅

“Here you go.”

Yuri is surprised to be receiving a gift from Tabuki on the doorstep of her tiny apartment. They haven’t been in touch after graduating highschool – exchanged perhaps a conversation email or two – but he’s called her out a day after the announcement of her first lead role in an upcoming theatrical production. She’s on the fringe of stardom and here he is, reminding her of the past she’s constantly haunted by.

Her hands close around the small gift box he holds out to her. Though he gives her a wide smile, Tabuki avoids her eyes, looking immaculate in a suit and a briefcase under his arm. He’s going to become a science teacher, if she remembers correctly.

“Ah, thank you,” she says, returning his pleasantries with her own. For all the acting courses she’s paced herself through, pretending to be lively around Tabuki is somewhat challenging. He buys it though, and she buys his act as well to be polite.

Tabuki looks at her again, this time with a timid smile, as if he’s afraid to be happy around her. Yuri doesn't know how to handle him now, hasn’t known how to handle him since the incident nine years ago.

“Just – it’s something Momoka and I wanted to get you when you became a star,” he explains in a controlled voice, tugging at his polka-dot tie, “it was our secret, sorry for not telling you.”

If Yuri had been nine years younger, she’d probably be jealous and insulted and unforgiving. Instead, she is nineteen and mature and on the brink of fame and fortune (but still a little bitter inside). “No, don’t be. I’ll treasure this,” she tells him, wondering if she should invite him in for tea.

“I look forward to seeing you perform,” Tabuki bows curtly and takes his leave without giving her a chance to interject. She watches his figure shrink down the hallway before closing the door behind her.

The room feels colder all of a sudden.

The present is bound with a pink ribbon and when Yuri lifts the lid, she finds a trio of thick white bangles resting on the velvet.

∅

After her debut, Yuri is swept up in camera flashes and press conferences and guest appearances on all genres of media. She denies no one and seeps in the glow of the spotlight. The shadow the light casts on the stage in always large and looming but Yuri does her best to ignore this. She moves in time with Tsubasa and says her lines with all her heart – Momoka wants her to be a star, and she’ll become one, if only to live up to that half of the promise.

She only meets Tabuki by chance in a coffeehouse, or then again, maybe not. She wonders if they’re tied by the wheel of fate in the fate line that Momoka has placed them in. If Momoka did, the last thing Yuri wants to do is to go against her judgement.

He recognizes her though she’s in a professional wig and large sunglasses, wearing a brand of clothing she doesn’t endorse commercially. Did the cup of tea give her away?

“No,” Tabuki laughs as he takes the seat opposite her, “the bangles.” He points and Yuri slides her shades down just a little to look in him the eyes, impressed and somehow touched, if only briefly.

They catch up and exchange fake but well-meaning smiles, dancing around the topic of Momoka all the while. Yuri wonders if it will be alright to invite him to one of her plays. She fishes around her handbag and finds one spare ticket her manager gave her as bait to hand out to swarming fans.

“Would you like to come and see one of my shows?” she asks, taking out the ticket.

“I – I’d love to!” Tabuki replies almost immediately, expression brightening. “You might not believe me but I’ve been trying to get my hands on a ticket for a long time,” he tells her, embarrassed. “But with the starting salary of an educator, I couldn’t afford the current prices for front row seats.”

Even if Tabuki is only pretending to be excited for her, Yuri can’t help but feel her heart shift for the first time in eleven years. He means what he says, even with all the skeletons hanging in his closet and hers, and she feels strangely heartened by this.

∅

In all the years she’s worked with Tsubasa, somewhere along the way Yuri lets her barriers fall and allows Tsubasa in. Not all the way, never all the way – just enough to let her see her bare stomach and the curve of her back, the hollow of her neck and where her legs meet. She hand-waves Tsubasa’s touching and holding, sighs at the kisses and the tacky declarations of romance. It’s nothing like what Momoka could do, but it’s still something and Yuri is twisted enough to settle for that. She doesn’t tell her manager, she doesn’t tell Tabuki, she doesn’t tell this to anyone but herself. Tsubasa thinks this is love but Yuri thinks this is all hate.

When she’s tired, Tabuki becomes a convenient excuse and she escapes to him instead. He never declines her intrusion into his house, always welcoming, always with an extra plate ready for dinner. Yuri wonders if there is still someone who will accept her despite all her flaws, and whether she will find it in this small house with plastic birds hanging from the ceiling.

She tells him they should date, and he chuckles, flattered. He doesn’t reject her suggestion, and Yuri takes that as a yes. That’s that.

In the end, nothing really changes. They continue to eat their meals normally together and converse about the few things they are willing to share with one another.

Maybe the only difference is that Tabuki learns to address her by her first name but Yuri can’t bear to call him ‘Keiju’. The only one she’s ever been on first-name basis with is Momoka, and that makes her sacred and special.

Tabuki watches her and he seems to understand. He lowers his eyelids and sips his coffee, and she dips her chin to examine her reflection in her manicured fingernails.

∅

Sometimes they lose the desire to play house and slip out of their performance. This usually happens on particularly cold nights when Tabuki doesn’t greet her with a smile and she can’t bear to look him in the eyes. They sit on his sofa with a ducky cushion wedged between them and watch the evening news in silence, drinking wine and immersed in their own ruminations. Yuri glances at him from the corner of her eye and wonders if their trains of thought ever intersect.

At the end of the night, he still offers to hail a cab for her and she obliges. She never stays over because she can’t and she thinks that he doesn’t want her to anyway.

∅

Ringo Oginome appears at Tabuki’s doorstep with a pot of curry in her hands and a determined ideal set on her face. Yuri admires the expression on her youthful face, takes in the likeness of Ringo and her older sister – the same perfect nose and captivating, emotional eyes. The poor highschooler seems alarmed at her presence in Tabuki’s house, and Yuri is amused by her constant switch between poorly-concealed vengeance and forced courtesy. She’s an interesting girl.

Later on, she and Tabuki enjoy apple curry, and when he remarks that it’s different from her usual cooking though still tasty, Yuri nods and lets Ringo get away with it. It might be because of her pretty face and the diary in her bag.

∅

The night she helps Ringo realise her love for Shoma Takakura is also the first night she spends under the same roof as Tabuki. These two are entirely unrelated situations, yet Yuri feels the need to tie them together somehow.

He croaks and spends a portion of the night rampaging around their bedroom, the other half finally falling asleep. She ensures the door is locked, phones the contractor to order a new one to replace the one with a fist-sized hole, and makes herself comfy on the fabulous max couch. Come morning, Tabuki emerges with a throbbing headache and a dry throat. Yuri is there to give him a glass of water.

∅

Yuri ties the sash tightly and covers Ringo with the futon cover, tossing the red rope into a nearby dustbin. She stands back up and frowns slightly, Shoma Takakura’s outstretched hand still lying a few centimeters away from the girl. The knight and the princess. Charming. The two of them constantly remind her, however unintentionally, of what it must be to have someone always there for you, someone who will never abandon you.

She hadn’t gone through with it. She can’t because Momoka won’t want that – because Yuri doesn’t want it now too. She wants something more than sex, something harder to come by. Momoka is the only one who can give it to her.

∅

Yuri never once feels threatened by Ringo and her unexplained desire for Tabuki. Still, on a rainy afternoon in a café that serves fabulous mont blanc, she stirs the tea in her cup and asks him this: “Do you want to get married?”

“Are you saying Momoka is binding us together?” Tabuki’s expression darkens and he stares at the swirls in the curry on his plate. Yuri is used to this though, she knows this side of him exists and that if he is fine with showing it to her, she is fine with it as well. “Impossible,” he says with pessimism.

She drops sugar cubes into her tea and waits for them to dissolve.

Tabuki eventually concedes and Yuri thinks that maybe – just maybe, Momoka isn’t gone just yet.

They move into a new apartment with high ceilings and grand windows overlooking the glow of Tokyo Tower. Yuri stands beside Tabuki as they step into the apartment together, breathing in the smell of fresh paint and furnish. This is a start – they can try to be a normal married couple here in this new space. They might be inept at first, but they’ll get the hang of it soon enough. And then they’ll invite their friends over to perform their little show for everyone to believe, like a real family.

That is then and this is now, though. And now, the two of them turn to the nightscape of the city and watch the lights ornamenting the Tower. They do that for a very long time, and still Yuri feels that she could afford to admire the structure for just awhile longer. Tabuki is in unworded agreement. They sit and watch and wait and the night passes over them.

This is their married life.

∅

“Only I can bring Momoka back now,” she tells her reflection in the mirror, using a bottle of perfume as a paperweight for the curt note Tabuki has left her.

She chants it again and again, convinced that if she tells herself enough, she will find the ability to do just that. But she doesn’t have the other half of the diary, and she doesn’t even have Tabuki here with her. Yuri tells herself to go and find Tabuki and bring him back and persuade him to believe in the diary too. They can patch each other up again just like they did when Momoka left them. And –

and what is she thinking? Making him to play charades with her and Momoka’s ghost? He’s not wrong to call them a fake family, no matter how much it stings, no matter how long she’s tried to avoid hearing those words.

She thinks that maybe she can understand why Tabuki did what he did, but it doesn’t mean she should agree. She didn’t mean for the children to get hurt – didn’t really mean it only when it was too late. Despite this, she is unable to stay angry with him .She can only bring herself to forgive him because he is who he is, with his scarred hands and twisted heart.

They’ve taken their childhood memories and molded them into a reason for fruitless revenge. It’s an artificial attempt to make themselves feel marginally better. Yuri knows this now because she is a master of artifice, and Momoka doesn’t deserve to be remembered this way.

She pushes her arsenal of cosmetics off the surface of the dresser and rests her head on it. Her hand still hurts from slapping him, reminding her of old scars. The pain is more apparent and intense with no one around to heal it this time. She swallows, imagining both the frustration and regret draining down her throat.

Yuri powders her nose and draws the curtains in the cold apartment with the high ceilings and grand windows.

∅

The knife shrieks at her, glinting under the streetlight that spills in from the open door.

Yuri twists around as Tabuki shouts and for one last moment, she thinks that maybe this is what she deserves.

But then there is a tug at her shoulder and the one behind her shields her from the blow. The assailer stabs Tabuki and when he falls, Yuri falls with him, her arms around him in a desperate attempt to protect him though it is far too late. She sees the splatter of dull red blood on the dirty floor of the abandoned store and she wants to throw up, but the pounding of her heart keeps her curled around him and barely steady.

No – no, no, no, this is not what she deserves. This is not what anyone deserves.

∅

Tabuki speaks in short, labored breaths. She presses herself closer, nevermind the blood on her skirt. He tells her what she’s been trying to figure out for so long.

“We just needed someone to tell us we were loved.”

The ambulance siren in the distance grows louder, and the words she wants him to hear strain out of her throat. She isn’t sure if Tabuki is conscious, but she hopes the words have reached him somehow.

∅

Tabuki’s eyes are closed again. Peaceful just like when she first met him. She spends the next couple of days beside him, sifting through the countless things she has to tell him when he wakes up. He will wake up – he has to wake up – because it isn’t fair that he should leave before hearing what she has to say about this ordeal; this sixteen-year-long ordeal.

It’s funny how she never gets what she really wants, that life has to be unfair at the most severe moments, that fate should be so cruel to her. Yuri runs her gaze over Tabuki lying adrift in bed, his hands open and limp. She leans down and presses her forehead against her laced fingers, thinking.

The days of childhood when the three of them watched birds and played tag and listened to her sing her heart out are still vivid and lively in her memory. Momoka’s beacon of a smile and Tabuki’s quiet, supporting hands cushioning her as she strived to reach stardom.

Maybe fate hasn’t been completely cruel. She mulls over this unfamiliar but comforting thought.

“Sorry… Yuri.”

She lifts her head out of her hands when she hears the whisper. She edges closer to the bed and watches Tabuki open his eyes once more. The tiny action in itself warms the perpetual coldness boiling inside her.

“We’ve… already lost Momoka. I didn’t want to… lose you too.”

“Don’t you realise that I might be the one losing you instead?” Yuri tells him, her tone composed and not overtly emotional because she can’t afford to do that to Tabuki, not right now. She brushes the hair out of his eyes and notices how clear they look without his spectacles on.

“And we might be unwanted children, lost causes since we were young. That’s why Momoka means so much to us, I accept that,” she stops, biting her lower lip, “but you must know that that was then. You aren’t unwanted now, at least, not by everyone.”

Tabuki struggles to sit up and she eases him back down onto his pillow, determined to let him rest. He settles with looking up to her as he speaks. His chest rises and falls with an intense slowness, and she waits on bated breath.

“I could say the same to you,” Tabuki finally says, the corner of his mouth crooking up.

Yuri doesn’t reply with words. She nods her head and goes out to tell the nurse about his condition. When she returns, Tabuki is still wide awake and watching the doorway with a kind of gaze she hasn’t seen for a very long time. The sunlight from the window envelops the sheets of his bed. She pauses at the door, coming into contact with a feeling that she’s left untouched for years. It’s a hopeful sense of loneliness, the kind Momoka had given her when she first met her.

She seats herself back down next to him and wordlessly takes the bangles off her wrist before placing her hand on the bed. He looks at her and half-smiles and she half-smiles too. This is the extent they can go. It’s been a long time since they’ve smiled genuinely, a long time since Momoka’s days with them, but maybe together they can be whole again.

Ο

notes – This just wrote itself all of a sudden. I know we don't know if Tabuki is dead/alive yet but humor me? These two deserve an acceptable ending ;A; This is more Yuri-centric than anything else though I intended it to be yuri/tabuki-ish. I think I took a lot of liberties with the characters but I hope this all works out somehow and that nothing drastic happens in the next two episodes.

But this is Penguindrum, who am I kidding? Anyway, thank you for reading!

a collection (anohana drabbles)

ibuberu — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 08:43:21 GMT

a collection
Fandom - Ano Hana
Characters - Super Peace Busters
Pairings - Yukiatsu/Tsuruko, Yukiatsu/Anaru, Jintan/Menma, Jintan/Anaru
Genre - Friendship, Romance, Drama
Notes - 8 drabbles of various pairings/characters. Set pre, mid and post series.

1. measured
yukiatsu+tsuruko (post-series)

When he thinks about describing Tsuruko in one word, he thinks ‘measured’. It’s not the first word that comes to his mind, but it’s the most appropriate one at the moment. She is always controlled when she is with him, frowning in that sort of way that isn’t exactly unhappy or angry, never smiling with more than a slight curve of her mouth, her spectacles precisely tilted. Tsuruko sets these unsaid limits on herself and Yukiatsu has never seen the need to press her about it. He’s used to her little quirks, as much as she is used to his.

It is when she’s talking to Yadom– sorry. It is when she’s talking to Jintan, does she get careless. She lets a laugh tumble out in between a conversation. A quiet, modest one (but it is still a laugh and it is still genuine), and Yukiatsu can’t help but feel… shortchanged, somehow.

She lets Poppo touch her shoulder and then on the hand when he talks, never pulling away or showing discomfort. Yukiatsu stares at the spectacle from the corner of his eye before folding up his thoughts and storing them at the back of his mind. It doesn’t mean anything to him. This is what he tells himself. It’s not like he’s ever attempted (or been interested) in getting close to Tsuruko, so it would be foolish to get jealous over something as frivolous as this.

Frivolous, huh. Is he channeling Tsuruko now that she’s abandoned her stereotype?

But when he watches Tsuruko and Anaru conversing in the only way they know how to – a feeling of mutual hostility buttered with respectful acceptance of one another – he realises that Tsuruko might be discriminating him. The two girls exchange words that begin out stiff and slowly soften up, and they sound agreeable for once. Anaru offers a smile to Tsuruko, and Tsuruko returns it with one of her own. It’s small, but it’s there. Yukiatsu is immediately bent on figuring out why she lowers her guard for everyone but him.

★

“Tsuruko.” He stands next to her as they wait for the train on the platform.

“Yukiatsu,” she replies.

“Listen,” he tries again, turning to face her this time.

“I am,” Tsuruko says though she doesn’t look up. “I always am.”

The boy stops. He looks at her carefully this time. Really looks. She has her nose in a book and a pink flower in her hair. Maybe she hasn’t been discriminating him at all.

2. but you still crumble
yukiatsu+anaru (mid-series)

"Yukiatsu."

His thumb scratches against the glass cup at the sound of that. Only Tsurumi calls him that. Only she can call him that because she never had the courage to stop addressing him that way, never had the ability to trust their friendship to something more than childhood escapades. He lets her because it is the only way he knows how to keep her together.

When Anjou calls him that, it's different. It's not just a clingy nickname. It's a curse, a reminder of things he's been trying to leave behind for six excruciating years. She sits across him in the tiny booth squeezed at the back of the family restaurant, stirring her lemonade with a straw. She doesn't know what she's doing when she uses his name like that. Maybe she thinks she does. Maybe she's trying to outsmart him, push him off balance the way he does it to her. It won't work though. Yukiatsu will always be better.

★

Anjou and Menma had coined the name for him, partners in crime only when they didn't need to be.

"Atsumu?" Menma wonders, eyes wide and lips squirming with the pronunciation. The others laugh at the mention of his first name and Yukiatsu is exceedingly embarrassed by how... serious it sounds.

"How are we gonna make that into a cool nickname?" Yadomi asks aloud, raising his hands, expecting the answer to fall from the sky.

"Yuki!" Anjou squeaks, stepping out from their circle, her eyes sturdy and keen behind her spectacles. "I like that," she says, playing with the straps of her overalls.

"Yu-ki-at-su!" Menma chants. A breeze rattles through their secret base, mussing her pretty hair. "I like it! Loads and loads!" she smiles effortlessly. Beautifully.

"Then... Then it's good," Yukiatsu decides, breathless.

★

"Yes, Anaru?" he replies, lifting the corners of his lips.

The girl across him stops stirring. She winces and something in her eyes begins to crumble. Yukiatsu wants to do something hateful now, something mean and unexpected and something that will remind him why he's spending time with her, of all people. He wants to tell her he left his wallet at home, he wants to break something. He wants to borrow her fake eyelashes. He could pull them off way better.

Then, he remembers that Menma had been the one who'd given her that nickname.

He slides his napkin up to her closed fists.

3. taupe
tsuruko (post-series)

Paint. Pencil. Crayon. She likes art because compressing emotions into words is far too messy to do and too clumsy for her. She speaks in colours when she isn't exchanging riddles with Yukiatsu. She keeps lingering emotions for the boy at bay by spilling them over sketchbook paper in pastels and pen ink. Elaborate sketches of a boy's profile, splotches of colours that mean nothing to everyone, even her. But then Tsuruko will look at the painting again, and it's hard not to see what she's done.

It's easier now. She doesn't need to tie her hair up, doesn't need to worry about it getting in her eyes because she's got a pink flower clip. She draws more about friendship than about unrequited love because she's finally got something else to think about. Inspiration, perhaps.

When she thinks about Jintan, she thinks about red and orange, passion and warm colours, naturally outstanding. Poppo is green because there's liveliness and energy in the shades of green that she loves to use on paper. Anaru is sometimes blue, sometimes pink. She has the habit of pretending to be two different girls at moments, an indecision that Tsuruko admires somehow. She wishes she could at least know what it feels like to have more than one choice, to have something to choose. It's always been one road for her. Second highest in the class. University. Homework every night from seven to nine. Yukiatsu.

Menma is yellow and golden. If Tsuruko has to pick one picture she loves unconditionally, it will always be her portrait of Menma. She's spent years mulling over it, always stopping after a few minutes because she couldn't bear to complete it. When she colours in the red ribbon in her second year of highschool, she feels at peace for once in a very long time.

She'd like to think Yukiatsu is black because he darkens every situation he's in, because he has hidden shadows on the inside and behind his eyes when he thinks no one is looking. But Yukiatsu is also white because when Tsuruko does look sometimes, Yukiatsu is just a boy again with his heart in his hands and an arsenal of mean words to say because there's nothing else he knows how to do. He has an honest side and a genuine smile. But Tsuruko doesn't like him because of that, not only because of that. She likes him because of everything he is, what he tries to be versus what he really is. She doesn't think she can ever express that in art. Maybe Yukiatsu can be white and she can be black.

Maybe.

4. remembering how to forget
jintan/menma (mid-series)

Menma lay on his bed, propping the soles of her feet against the wall. The skirt of her dress fell past her knees and gathered over her with barely enough decency. He didn’t look over at her, didn’t want to give her the delight of having his attention.

“Jintan?” she called, voice as soft as the night outside.

He set his game aside and sat straighter against the couch. “What?” He turned his head and flushed because her legs were still stretched against the wall.

“N-nothing,” Menma smiled, “I just miss saying your name.” She bit her lip. “And Anaru and Yukiatsu and Tsuruko and Poppo,” she added thoughtfully.

Jinta didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t know how to respond to a lot of things recently, hence the whole eat-game-sleep ritual. Menma’s appearance broke the cycle. He spent more time walking outside now, more time talking to old friends and less time holed up in the world inside his computer. He couldn’t decide if things were better like this, being haunted by a happy spirit. She reminded him that his childhood had been both horrible and wonderful.

I miss it too, might be what he should say. Jinta thought again and decided that no, that wasn’t what he wanted to tell her. It was too mushy, too familiar yet too unfamiliar at the same time.

Jinta stood up to switch off the lights. “Good night,” he said, plonking back onto the couch.

He heard Menma inhale sharply, as if preparing to say something important.

“Oh, uh- good night!” the girl squeaked, before readjusting her position on the bed and pulling the covers over herself. One week ago, she would have protested and clung to him, wondering why he acted the way he did around her, a ghost of his ten-year old self. Menma got used to his habit of quietly avoiding difficult things. He still wasn’t used to her habit of stopping him from running away.

He closed his eyes. As pale as she was, Menma seemed to be more of a living person than he was at the moment.

★

The next time he woke up, his neck hurt from leaning against the arm of the couch. Jinta tried to shift himself before realizing that Menma had snuck herself out of bed. Her head was against the couch and supporting his back, her hair tickling his skin. The rest of her body slumped on the floor, a blanket bundled up around her tiny frame.

Jinta blinked, vision bleary from sleep. He gave an inward sigh before carefully hoisting himself up, hooking an arm on the back of the couch. He carried her back to the bed, knowing where to hold so that she wouldn’t wake up. Behind the neck, slightly above those skinny knees. It unnerved him that this was fast becoming a habit. He glanced at the clock against the wall. Three A.M.

He woke up around the same time every night to find Menma out of bed, curled up near him in an attempt to sleep soundly. He gave up telling her to stay on the bed after the fifth time he found her, resiliently snoring next to him.

Jinta pulled the blanket over her, accidentally brushing his hand against her shoulder.

She was so cold that his fingers lingered over her for a second more. He frowned, suddenly unable to retreat back to the couch.

Four A.M. He was the one sleeping on the floor next to her.

5. autonomy
poppo (pre-series)

No matter where he goes, Menma is there.

★

In Thailand, when he travels through a town while scavenging for traditional knickknacks, he comes across children playing on the sidewalk. The young girls are adorable, uncharted excitement colouring their cheeks as they kick the ball around them. Their skins are tanned from the hot summers of the region. He swallows when he hears Menma’s laughter amongst the girls. It’s a girlish one. The one Tsuruko can’t pull off because she likes to laugh with a hand over her mouth. The one Anaru never wants to imitate because she doesn’t want to be mild when she laughs.

He buys a straw hat to shield himself from the sun.

★

When he goes to India, the first place the guide brings the tour group to is the Ganga river, the longest river in the country. Poppo regrets coming along for the trip immediately. He stares its length, the deceiving calmness of the water, feeling nauseous and afraid. The medic lets him rest under the shade of a tree, but he doesn’t get better until two days later.

He buys a silk shawl to for his mother in the airport.

★

He has a muffin for breakfast in California, brown and crunchy with raisins. It’s more ironic than deliberate – he hadn’t known how to read the menu, so he pointed at a random English title and hoped for a nice surprise. This is just a surprise.

It’s been a long time since he’s had a muffin. The last time he did, he remembers a kind woman with a patient smile and oven mitts. Poppo nibbles at the pastry, feeling underwhelmed because Jintan’s mother had baked sweeter muffins. His appetite dwindles when he remembers how Menma had loved eating them the most, always charging first into the house to get them fresh.

He leaves it half-eaten on the plate and goes.

★

Russia is blanketed in white. The women on the streets wear fur coats in an assortment of colours.

Poppo puffs hot air against his hands as he explores the city. The snow is thick and heavy here, and the streets wide and open, nothing like the packed hustle and bustle of Japan. He sneezes at the corner of the block, bending his head over for a moment. It’s just then that a small girl walks past him, clad in white, grey hair stuff underneath a woolly hat. He snaps his eyes up and looks around, but the girl is already gone, walking down the street behind him.

He doesn’t bother to chase after her.

★

No matter where he goes, Menma is waiting.

So he continues.

6. the lives left
jintan+anaru (post-series)

They start by picking up the pieces from seven years ago.

He takes the empty seat in front of her and looks over his shoulder whenever he can’t follow class. She hands him her notebook and for once, she feels the need to pay attention to the teacher. She writes down the formulas on the whiteboard and asks a question or two when she dares to be daring.

During break, he makes it a point to ask her questions and whine about how lost he is in class. She rests her head on her desk and feels almost dependable. Jintan repays her by sharing the boxed lunch his father made for him. Anaru scans the classroom discreetly, on the lookout for gossip mongers. When she’s sure there aren’t any, she helps herself to the prawns.

They walk home together after school, after he’s done copying her notes and thanking her. She pulls the straps of her bag closer to herself and watches how the setting sun elongates their shadows on the walkway. Then, she chuckles. Jintan raises an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it just feels like we’re turning into Yukiatsu and Tsuruko, walking home like this,” she tells him absently, “but that’s silly!” she finishes her sentence, horrified by what she just said.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t want to be like them.” Jintan shrugs, still far from understanding the two. “We’re just us,” he decides.

“Us?” Anaru repeats. She feels her cheeks heat.

“Whatever that is,” Jintan says. He looks away from the traffic light and gazes at her, searching for an understanding between them. When she nods, the corner of his mouth lifts a little, awkward but trying.

They know that life doesn't have a retry button the way RPGs do, but life has forgiveness, friendship and the ability to start anew, which is more than enough.

7. oh, pioneers
jintan+yukiatsu+poppo (pre/post-series)

The three of them sat around the secret base, tossing an old basketball back and forth between each other. The girls were off doing girly things at Menma’s house, something the three of them would never willingly partake in.

“This is getting boring!” Poppo burst out, collapsing on the floor. He stared up at Jintan, who was perched on the upper level of the base. The boy held the ball in his hands and dropped it over his friend’s face. Poppo barreled out of the way in the nick of time, not bothering to suppress the laughter that overtook him. Yukiatsu rolled his eyes and got off the crate he was sitting on, squatting to pick up the ball as it rolled to a stop near his perfectly tied shoelaces. It was squishy from lack of air.

“Do you want to go find Menma and the rest?” Yukiatsu asked.

Jintan furrowed his brow and thought hard. Poppo recovered from his fit of laughter and got back up onto his feet. “No way! I don’t wanna to play house or dress up,” he proclaimed loudly, hands clenched and determined at his waist.

“It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here,” Yukiatsu mumbled, pocketing one hand in his shorts. Figures. Poppo would never accept an idea unless Jintan came up with it, but it wasn’t like Yukiatsu cared or anything. He turned around as Jintan climbed down from the second storey.

“We’ll just have to make something up then!” the dark-haired boy said.

Poppo hurried over to his side, whooping in agreement and admiration at Jintan’s confident quick-thinking. Yukiatsu, with nothing else to do, flung the baseball at the both of them. Jintan managed to catch it without any fuss, turning the ball over in his hands, trying to figure out what sort of fun they could magic out of it.

Yukiatsu frowned slightly.

★

“We had it all back then.”

Yukiatsu sighed. The base looked the same to him even now. Despite the home décor and installed lights, it still lacked any appeal or interest without the girls around. He picked up his mug of coffee and sipped.

“Eh?” Poppo closed the magazine he was reading, placing it on the table and making sure the bikini-girl on the cover was facing down. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Yukiatsu replied, leaning his head over the arm of the chair. He stretched and slumped further into the cushion. Thinking back, he’d never been particularly close to Poppo or Jintan, simply because the two of them were always caught up in their own game where Jintan led and Poppo followed. Still, at least it’d been easier to talk to everyone when they were younger.

Children had the gift of being brutally honest and brutally benevolent. When they fought, they could just bury the hatchet with a cherry-flavoured lollipop the next day. Things weren’t as clear cut now and sweets could no longer be used to patch up arguments. This put Yukiatsu at a disadvantage because he was typically the one in the wrong, or so Tsuruko liked to remind him.

Jintan stepped into the room wearing his school uniform. He threw his bag aside to the growing pile at the corner near the door.

“Where’s Anaru and Tsuruko?” he asked.

“Out shopping,” Poppo told him. He held up Jintan’s mug, the white one with yellow polka dots. “Coffee?”

“I’ll pass.” He waved a hand in thanks. The boy then surveyed the base, glanced at Yukiatsu and Poppo, before sitting down on the stack of tires. There was a long pause of silence. Yukiatsu checked his handphone for messages. Zero.

“Do you want to- ” Jintan started.

“Do something? I sure do!” Poppo finished, looking hopeful.

Yukiatsu restrained the urge to look disgruntled. These two were at it again. It seemed as if not everything had changed in the last seven years.

“Yukiatsu?” Jintan called him, sounding a little reluctant.

“Yes?” Well, they were acknowledging him. That was new.

“Do you have anything in mind? I don’t really have an idea,” Jintan admitted, not bothering to hide his uneasy embarrassment. Poppo was wracking his brain hard from where he sat, one hand clutching his chin.

Yukiatsu scanned the interior of the base. His eyes widened when he saw a basketball crammed amongst the junk Poppo had shoved aside when he moved into the base. The two boys followed his line of sight and Poppo was already on his feet, dashing over to pick up the dusty thing. “Woah, I forgot we even had this!” he laughed. His expression soured when he held onto the ball. It crumpled in his hands as air escaped out of it.

“I think Dad has an air pump at home,” Jintan stood up and said, smiling a little.

“There’s a basketball court in the park,” Yukiatsu contributed, having seen it on his daily jogs.

“So we’re going to play two-on-one?” Poppo asked. “Who’ll be the odd one out?”

Jintan looked unsure. Yukiatsu sighed and raised his hand indifferently. “I don’t think you two could stand a chance against me anyway,” he advised them.

“Oh really!” Poppo answered. He exchanged a glance with Jintan, who nodded, as if a flame had just been set alight inside him. “Just wait and see!” Jintan added.

With that the two of them were running down the path towards the basketball court. Yukiatsu shook his head and slowly made his way after them, wondering if they would remember to pump air into the ball first. He chuckled at the thought.

8. the morse code
jintan+tsuruko (post-series)

He finds her sitting alone in the base, hugging her knees to herself.

“Tsuruko?” he ventures cautiously, peeking into the room.

The girl is startled to see him, jolting out of a place and nearly falling off the chair. “Jintan,” she breathes out, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She looks disappointed as she says this.

“Who? Yukiatsu?” He takes a wild guess.

Tsuruko stares at him, her lips forming an uncomfortable smile. She brushes a hand through her hair though it’s short, unable to kick her habit. He notices the hairclip she’s been wearing recently. He doesn’t think it fits her because he’s not used to her being girly, but he’ll never tell her. Maybe it will grow on him soon. “Yes,” she answers curtly.

“Then why do you look so down?” He takes a seat opposite her, scratching behind his head. He still doesn’t know how to talk to people, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the hang of it, but he can’t leave his friend alone here.

“I’m not,” Tsuruko laughs. As much as a laugh constitutes for her. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“From…?” he continues, wondering if this is about school because if it is about school, he’s afraid he won’t be much help.

“You really have no idea, do you?” the girl sounds amused, her expression lightening up a bit.

“I don’t think I do, actually,” Jintan tells her honestly. “Is this about school?”

“… Something like that,” Tsuruko says. She lowers her legs onto the floor and smoothes the creases out of her skirt. “I’ve been trying to figure out this problem for a long time, but I still can’t perfect it. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon!” he encourages her. “You’re smart, after all!”

Tsuruko gives him a smile, and the hairclip suddenly suits her a whole lot more.

★ thank you to lavender88 for some of the prompts!
★ other anohana fics here
★ you can request drabbles from me here
★ I don't think I will ever get over Anohana and its characters. These 6 seem to work with one another no matter what combination I throw them into. I hope you liked the drabbles.

drabble request post★

ibuberu — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 12:50:02 GMT

Fandoms I can Write for:

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Fill in this form:

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Prompt: (a song, a one-liner, a situation etc)
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Thank you to all my readers for their kind love and support! I have reached 200 favourite author lists on fanfiction.net, and am on another 56 favourite author lists on my 'thundercows' side-account as well. As thanks, I'll be writing 66 drabbles! You're free to request a drabble! I will reply to your request with the written drabble. Of course, there is always a fineprint!

fineprint:
★ 3 requests per person
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Phosphenes (Ruby, Dex Holders)

ibuberu — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 10:18:05 GMT

A lighthearted character study of the heroes, from Ruby's POV. Phosphenes are the colours and stars you see when you rub your eyes.

Title – Phosphenes
Fandom – Pokéspe
Characters – Ruby, Sapphire, the Dex Holders
Genres – General, Friendship
Rating – PG
Summary – Ruby, sometimes you need to be a man. This is not one of those times.

Phosphenes
*

Ruby thinks he sees a pattern in all of this.

Maybe it’s because he’s been sleeping in his own bed for once instead of camping out on the cold hard floor of the Secret Base. Maybe it’s because he changed his shampoo one week ago and all the minerals are working their magic on his roots already. Or perhaps it’s because he’s always been this fabulous. On second thought, of course it is.

He’s figured out why all the Dex Holders have been drawn towards acts of heroism: they have collective, irrevocable bad luck and/or timing. Okay, so maybe most people their age do, teenage life is dreadful like that. But the Dex Holders seem to be especially unlucky, Ruby swears by his prized fashion magazines.

Most of them weren’t really born to be heroes. Red’s the only exception to this, but that’s because he’s Red, the legendary boy who got frozen twice, steered an aircraft with zero qualifications, and survived with plenty of cheerfulness to spare. Logic stopped being applicable to him a very long time ago.

In fact, while most of them have saved the world once, others at least four times, they are awkward teenagers at best.

Ruby doesn’t know if he should be feeling proud or depressed. Conflict, conflict, conflict, – as if he doesn’t have enough of that with Sapphire already.

*

Gold likes to be illegal.

Sometimes he does it on purpose. Usually, he just does whatever the hell he wants.

Ruby is thoroughly unsettled by this, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. Crystal has been trying for five years to institutionalize him and Gold is still resolved to be a miscreant – an obnoxious, disruptive miscreant. Ruby’s biggest regret is ever allowing himself ten feet within Gold’s sight. Once you get mixed up with him, everything just tumbles into trouble.

“Why is this happening to me? Why?!” Ruby clutches his head in his hands and shakes it furiously. He only ran away from home once. Once! Did that really warrant all this divine punishment?

When the typlosion he’s clinging onto for dear life barrels through a thick wall of forest, Ruby wails.

“Quit being a wimp, Fashionable Lad,” Gold orders, riding up front.

Ruby really, really wants to shove him off that high horse.

“I am never – repeat – never coming back to Johto ever again!” he exclaims, brushing the leaves off his clothes.

“Aw, why not?” Gold asks conversationally, looking over his shoulder; as if they aren’t in a wild chase scene, bounding through the middle of a huge forest.

“If I ever survive this, I’m never going near you again!”

“You’re so dramatic,” the older boy laughs easily, ducking his head to avoid a protruding tree branch.

“Well, who was the one who picked a fight with those biker thugs on the road?” The branch thwacks Ruby in the middle of his forehead. “My face!”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that the guy had a little back-up.” Gold shrugs.

“An army!” Ruby corrects him in a shrill voice.

“We could have totally taken them on.”

“Says the guy who left me alone when he heard the police sirens,” Ruby sighs. Silver’s perpetual irritation is completely justified now.

He’s tired from all the shouting, and the typlosion’s pelt is admittedly comfy now that he’s gotten used to the bumps on the road. Its fur could definitely use some conditioning and a brushing down though. He props his chin in his palm and tucks his legs underneath him, deciding that if he’s riding a beefy pokémon and escaping possible arrest, he should do so in style.

*

Yellow stands on the other side of the spectrum. While Gold is too illegal to be a proper hero, Yellow is far too humble and modest and blonde. Yes, blonde. She could afford to dye her hair into a lighter shade of blonde, it would suit her eyes more.

“So if I sew some beautiful clothes for your pokémon, will you help me win my next contest?”

“Sure thing,” she says without a fuss. She’s a nice girl with no demands. Ruby could get used to their partnership.

“Alright, then this is between you and me. We won’t mention it to anyone,” he states. Yellow nods in agreement, her eyes brightening at the thought of Ratty having his own tailor-made hat, and Kitty having a toasty coat when the weather’s cold. She turns to listen to Zuzu as he gestures to the entrance of the Secret Base and croaks.

“He says he hears Sapphire coming,” Yellow informs Ruby.

The boy jumps off the stool and hurries to clear his sewing kits and the stacks of papers around them (all fashion works-in-progress). It’s too late though. Sapphire bursts into the Secret Base, bulldozing through his perfect alignment of the pokédolls, his collection of cloths and a boxes of needles in the process. Ruby feels very faint. Yellow catches him before he falls and Zuzu rights him back onto his feet.

“Yellow! Wanna’ go climb some trees? Explore the forest?” Sapphire ignores the mess she’s invoked, jumping eagerly on the spot.

“Sorry Sapph’, but we have some important matters to attend to,” Ruby tells her with a smug grin, a torchic doll in his arms.

Sapphire’s expression shifts from anger to curiosity. “What kinda’ matters?”

“It’s a secret! I could tell you but…” Ruby trails off.

Yellow tugs the sleeve of his shirt. “I – I thought you said we wouldn’t talk about it?” the blonde reminds him in a quiet voice.

“You see, Yellow,” Ruby starts, raising his index finger and the torchic along with it, “there’s no point in keeping secrets unless people know we’re keeping secrets.”

She smiles a tight-lipped, disapproving sort of smile, as if to say ‘I don’t think that’s the right thing to do’. Sapphire complements Yellow with a frown on her face, and he can tell she’s eyeballing him with something along the lines of ‘you better tell me now if you know what’s good for you’. Do all girls know how to talk with their mouths closed?

Ruby has to pick up this neat trick – if he survives Sapphire’s interrogation.

*

One thing about being a hero is the publicity and recognition that comes along with it. Ruby can safely say that he doesn’t really mind this part of the job. It’s the ‘hero-ing’ part that tends to ruffle his feathers. Sapphire is always there to iron them back in place though.

He remembers the celebration after the Jirachi crisis at the Battle Frontier. He’d lost the tournament mid-way through, but he still received a medal at the awards ceremony. It recognized his participation in saving Hoenn from flooding over and saving five renowned seniors. It hadn’t been that bad. He’d exploited the time on stage to show off his team of pokémon, prepped and primed to perfection.

He recalls people like Blue, Red and Emerald seeping in the attention, waving at the spectators – Gold attempting to surf the crowd. Others like Yellow, Green, Crystal and Sapphire all humble and quiet, treating the audience like a fleeting acquaintance. Silver, though, visibly cringes when his name is called. He receives the medal with an uncomfortable hunch in his shoulders.

During the swanky after-party, everyone wears their medals but him and Silver. Ruby opts for this choice to prevent clashing colours on his outfit. He dangles the golden medal around his wrist instead.

He follows Silver out to the balcony, curious with nothing else to do. He would be with his Master, but apparently he’s waltzing with Winona.

“Senior,” Ruby says easily, “are you alright?”

Silver looks over his shoulder, his dark jacket blending into the night. “Yes. I’m just glad to be out of that stone,” he says. “Thanks,” he adds, not sure what else to say.

“You aren’t wearing the medal,” Ruby kind of just states, breaking the silence.

“It’s in my pocket,” Silver replies, voice pricked in defense.

“Oh, no, don’t get the wrong idea! I think the medal is a little gaudy myself.” Ruby laughs. Silver smiles a small, amused smile even though it doesn’t seem like he can totally relate to Ruby’s opinion.

“It’s not that,” the older boy says, voice softer. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, maybe it’s because it’s easier than to tell someone like Gold or Blue,” Silver contemplates. Ruby quiets down and listens – – potential gossip material?

“I was never into being a hero, I don’t think I was made for it. I think I just got swept up in everything up to a point where I just wanted to help out,” Silver tells him.

Ruby straightens his back and gapes.

“S-soulmates!” Ruby declares. He throws his arms around the redhead for extra measure.

It’s right at this moment that Sapphire steps out onto the balcony, carrying two drinks in her hands. “Oi! How long are you going to be out– ” she stops in her tracks.

Ruby is forced to pay for two broken champagne glasses.

*

Blue might end up in jail one day.

Strike that. She’s too wily and intelligent to ever land up behind bars. Also, Ruby is devastated by the sheer thought of his most reliable shopping companion having to wear zebstrika stripes – cardinal fashion sin, much?

They’ve shopped in Celadon and Goldenrod, and are currently conquering the newly rebuilt Lilycove Department Store.

Blue skips beside him, paper bags hanging at her wrists and elbows. Ruby carries marginally less, but is still equally satisfied by the horde of items he’s procured from the outrageous discounts and sales. When she tucks her hair behind an ear, the dangling pearl earrings catch Ruby’s eye.

“I didn’t see you buy any jewelry,” he coughs, already feeling unsettled. He remembers Red telling him stories about how Blue used to be a little… whimsical in her younger years.

“Oh, I didn’t,” Blue grins, her eyes twinkling.

Ruby would drop the bags he’s carrying if they didn’t cost 2000 pokédollars.

“W-what?!” he hisses, pushing Blue and himself behind a shelf of pokémon dolls.

“You could say I swiped them.” She winks, adjusting the earrings with the air of someone who hasn’t committed blatant theft. Ruby really should reconsider the circumference of his social circle.

“Isn’t that, um, a criminal offense?”

“What?” Blue looks surprisingly surprised. The realization spreads across her face after awhile, probably because the only expression on his face is panic. “Oh, Ruby! I stopped petty thieving a long time ago,” she assures him with a laugh. She makes it sound like she’s moved on to more advanced methods of crime. Ruby doesn’t want to find out.

“I got these free with a purchase, silly!” she explains, smoothing the creases in her shirt.

Ruby breathes a sigh of relief.

“Now, these pair of gorgeous heels, on the other hand– ”

A wise voice at the back of his head says: Ruby, you are a wonderful boy, why do you torment yourself so much?

“I don’t know, inside voice. I really don’t know.”

“Sorry?” Blue blinks her eyes and smiles.

“Ehm, nothing,” Ruby clears his throat. He frequently pretends not to know many things. It’s a force of habit. This is just something else to add to the list.

*

Green isn’t cut out for the stardom of being a hero. It’s mostly because nothing ever seems to satisfy him.
He is critical about everything: his opponent’s lineup of pokémon, how some people tend to talk too loud, the colour of the grass. Ruby watches how he takes in everything with those narrowed eyes.

Thus, Ruby must conclude that Green is quite possibly the coolest person he’s ever met! (Discounting the Master and the Grand Master, of course.)

“… Can I help you?” Green asks in a careful tone when he realizes that Ruby is staring at him.

“Just stand there, if you don’t mind,” Ruby muses, tapping a finger on the frame of his spectacles. He tries to capture Green’s classic aloofness and package it at the back of his head. It’ll come in handy the next time he’s prepping a contest routine for Nana in the Cool category. Will Green notice if he takes a photo of him for reference?

The older boy arches an eyebrow, but the surprise slowly eases off his face. He loosens his shoulders and continues sifting through the research papers in his hands, undeterred.

Sapphire is behind Ruby, pep-talking her team of pokémon and stretching her muscles with them, warming up for a battle. The excitement on her face lights up the entire room. Green’s gym is simple, with dark walls and a few gym trainers hanging around the renovated floor, texting on their pokégears from where they stand between the neon directional arrows. He could afford to be more creative and flashy– Ruby certainly would if he had his own gym.

Snap!

“What was that sound?” Green looks up from the documents.

Ruby just pockets his camera and nudges Sapphire into the challenger’s arena.

*

Crystal is a much better at desk jobs than she is at being a hero.

Ruby means this in the most flattering way possible.

He knows who to go to when he wants to have a look at a rare, beautiful pokémon for inspiration. Crystal usually has one of every species stored in the PC boxes of the lab. Roserade? Caught two months ago. Gorebyss? It’s been swimming in the lake out back since half a year back. Articuno? Hold on for a sec, I’ll drop by to Seafoam Islands and see what I can do about it.

Even if she doesn’t have the pokémon in question, the girl could easily walk outside and capture said pokémon without a fuss. Crystal is a girl who will never say no to any request as long as you ask politely and tell her she is the best in her field. Ruby likes her because she is the least complicated girl he knows, and he’s eternally grateful for that.

It’s just that sometimes, she seems like a workaholic.

Ruby pampers Coco’s fur with a short hairbrush, sitting in a swivel chair beside Crystal and waiting for her to finish up work for the day. Sapphire is outside the lab trying to see if she can beat the chimchar in vine-swinging or some other Neanderthal past time.

When Professor Oak steps out of his private office, he makes a beeline towards Crystal.

“It’s your turn to take time off,” he says with a smile.

Crystal doesn’t respond at first, punching numbers into a calculator and penning the answers down onto the documents she’s fussing over. The professor has to clear his throat, and even then, Ruby has to poke her shoulder to get her to raise her head.

She looks at Oak’s meaningful gaze and already knows that he wants her out of the lab and acting like a typical teenager, living off adrenaline and being nocturnal .Crystal is anything but that. Her brow creases and the corners of her lips quirk, like she’s humoring the professor. She returns her attention to her work shortly after.

“That won’t be necessary. I still have a lot of papers to file,” she explains.

“I’ll get the others to do it for you.”

She doesn’t look like she can trust ‘the others’.

“It’s fine, sir,” she assures him with a grin.

“Crystal, if you don’t take the next week off I’m going to have to give the break to another assistant – again,” Oak tells her, emphasizing on the last word.

No response.

“… Crystal. There are labour laws, even in the Pokémon world,” he whispers.

She stops scrawling the necessary details onto the documents and slowly puts the ballpoint pen down. “… Fine,” the girl grudges, pushing away from the desk, “I’ll take a short break.”

Ruby is amazed at how she can make taking a holiday sound like a sacrifice.

*

Diamond, Pearl and Platinum remind him of those glass figures that come in sets of three. You have to buy the whole set even if you just want the prettiest, regal centre piece because they can’t be sold separately.

“I heard there was a huge museum here!” Pearl hooks Diamond and Platinum by their elbows and tugs them towards the direction of Slateport’s famous museum.

“But I want to go and try out the food at the beach shack, Pearl,” Diamond says even though he’s already got four rice balls in his hands.

Ruby remembers promising Professor Birch to help the three youngest Dex Holders get settled in Hoenn, but he didn’t really sign up to be a tour guide. He’s above that.

“Ruby! Did you bring the equipment?” Sapphire’s question tears him from the sanctity of his mind. He grudgingly unzips his backpack to show her that he’s packed the test tubes and tweezers and other junk she made him carry along with them. Somehow, he’s not above being Sapphire’s pack mule. There is something terribly wrong with this equation.

“I would like to see the museum,” Platinum announces, “but first, I intend to visit the city’s Contest Hall.”

Ruby’s fabulous-senses tingle.

“Did you say contest?” He rushes over and clasps her hands dearly. Finally, someone with common sense! Oh, and a beautiful pair of rings. He has inbuilt respect for girls who know how to accessorize.

“Yes! I do enjoy them,” the Lady smiles. The two boys flanking her don’t look as delighted, but that’s just because they don’t understand the art of Coordination, the prestige of the contest hall and the majesty of pokémon being beautiful. Ruby pities them and everyone else who can’t see the wonder of contests, he really does.

Sapphire makes a dismissive noise to remind him that she’s still there.

“Sapph! Look, can we stop by the Contest Hall and participate in a teeny contest before we go and risk liability in the forest?” Ruby asks hopefully.

“It’s nott’a liability! It’s important fieldwork!” she snaps back.

Her temper frightens the three juniors, who shrink back in unison. Ruby doesn’t blame them. He only stopped being terrified of Sapphire’s outbursts when he was thirteen and learned that it wasn’t really because she was angry. (Curse you, PMS!)

“I-if Missy wants to go there, then we’d be happy to go,” Diamond interjects quietly, nibbling on a rice ball. Pearl nods, folding his hands without a fuss. “In fact, we will go!” the blond insists. The girl between them stands there with her chin tilted, nonchalant about the compliance of her two companions, as if she expects nothing less from them.

The trio are nothing like him and Sapphire – their bond is strong and comfortable and there’s no air of tension between them even though it’s pretty obvious both Pearl and Diamond have the hots for Platinum.

Now that’s friendship.

Or a train wreck waiting to happen. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

*

And then, there is Sapphire.

No matter how heroic she can get, deep down, she’s just a young girl who’s been led astray by the myth of romance.

“Do you like me or not?” she asks, hanging off an icky vine outside the entrance of their base.

She’s broaching that taboo topic again. No. Just. No. Being a fabulously unlucky teenager who’s saved the world twice and conquered all the Master Rank contests in Hoenn and Johto doesn’t mean he’s ready to confront this hot mess of feelings and emotions. There are just some things in this world that are too impossible to surmount.

“Yes or no?” She looms overhead, hands on her hips. This all feels more like threat than a lovey-dovey confession scene.

And the voice at the back of his head tells him: Ruby, sometimes you need to be a man. This is not one of those times.

*

notes
★ thank you to snoaz!
★ the fic isn’t written in chronological order, but where it can be applied, I imagine that Ruby and Sapphire are 14/15, with the oldest Dex Holders being 19.
★ the ‘deal’ Ruby made with Yellow was that she would help him translate Coco/Nana’s opinions about their contest apparel so he’d be able to improve his designs for his next contest, in exchange for a few pieces of clothing for her own pokémon.
★ & I feel that it’s all these little traits that make our dex holders the heroes of their stories, and I hope Ruby helped to bring that out as well, thank you for reading!

Casus Belli (Red+Leaf+Green)

ibuberu — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 00:04:27 GMT

Title – Casus Belli
Fandom – Pokémon, Gen IV
Characters – Red, Leaf, Green
Genres – General, Friendship, AU
Rating – G
Summary – To be with you is what I was born to do; pokeprompts.

Casus Belli.

‘Today, someone else joined me in the room. He's younger than me, with black hair, a red jacket and yellow pants. He refused to change into a hospital gown.’

Leaf pulled the curtain around the bed though it did very little to block out the reluctance of the new patient, who didn’t want to stay in his appointed bed. It sounded strangely familiar, albeit noisier.

She looked worn out just then, more like a tired friend than a sixteen-year old girl. Her white hat rested at the foot of his bed, her hands resuming their work on her latest crocheting project. Her hands worked fervently in skilled motion, satisfied with the intricacy of the needlework.

Leaf was always energetic; she didn’t belong in the four-walled, air-conditioned ward. She staved off the need to be outside with her crocheting. She started off with abysmal results: scarves that ended up being short blankets, blankets that became too-wide scarves. She got better only with time, and she had a lot of time to practice.

‘Mount Silver’s tall. I wonder what it’s like at the top.’

Leaf closed the bedside window with the heel of her hand when a particularly strong breeze mussed Red’s hair and bit into the skin of his lungs.

The mountain remained where it was in the distance, but Red couldn’t help but feel unsettled with the window down and locked. He didn’t move to lift it up, only because he didn’t want to upset Leaf.

She grinned when she talked to Red. And Leaf was the very definition of a friend, with her selfless hands and her optimistic words. The thing was – the more she smiled, the more it felt like she was taking on too much for herself, and the more Red felt like he was never going to leave this bed.

‘Green became the Champion today. I was happy for him.’

The television Red shared with the other boy in the room blared with thunderous applause as the Pokémon League crowned its newest victor. Green had a smug smile on his face, and suddenly he didn’t look like a changed person, almost the same ten-year old Red remembered rolling around the grass with.

Leaf grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as Green cleared his throat, confetti landing in his hair and streamers curling at his shoulders, which were broader and stiffer now. He proceeded to recite a regal speech that was probably five years in the making – the distant look on Charizard’s face very telling that it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it.

Leaf laughed, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, her fingers entangled in red string. “He’s done it, huh?” she whispered with a smile, like a mother marveling over something she knew her child could do all along.

Red’s hands dug into the bed sheets, not quite sure what to say. His friend patted his knuckles, and they spent the next half hour watching Green shake hands with faceless people and wave blindly on the screen.

That night, he heard pebbles rapping against the window of his room.

‘Green visited us today. He seemed sad even though he’d achieved his dream.’

“I’m saying this as a friend – what happened to all your dreams about exploring the world? What happened to beating all the gym leaders and catching all the pokémon?”

He could see their shadows talking on the wall of the hallway just outside the room. They liked to talk when he was asleep, this was what Red learned after his first couple of months in the ward. They never talked anything about him behind his back (if Green had an issue, he never kept quiet about it for long), but they talked about the things they couldn’t say in his face.

“I’ve changed my dreams, Green,” Leaf replied, “I only want to be with Red until he’s better. And I want you to be with us too. I want us to be friends.”

“We are – and we will be,” Green said, his tone of voice matching a roll of the eyes. “You are such a girl sometimes.” There was an awkward pause, Leaf’s shadow shivered ever so slightly on the pale wall. He saw her open hand balling up at her side. “Just take a break now and then, will you? Red won’t mind,” Green continued, confident as soon as he found the words to say.

“Then you be responsible for once, Red’s your friend too!” her words were bitter, courageously soft when they should have been loud enough to shake the whole building.

“I will,” he replied with no fuss. “I thought becoming the Champion would make me happy, but it hasn’t.”

“It’s because you wanted to do it with Red,” Leaf reminded him, pressing her lips together, “he was the only one who could beat you in a battle when we were kids.”

Green didn’t reply to her statement. He turned away from her and leaned against the wall. “I’ll apply for the gym leader position here in Viridian so I can visit more often,” he informed her. “Happy?”

This time, it was Leaf’s turn to keep quiet.

It began to rain outside, droplets of water cascading down the windowpane, twinkling under the moonlight.

Red closed his eyes. Silence was his forte.

‘Green likes thunderstorms. Leaf doesn’t.’

The lightning rattled the bolted window of his room, and the girl beside him seemed to shrink herself closer to the gloves she was making. Green sat beside her, his chair pulled very, very close to hers. Red didn’t point it out though.

Instead, he listened to the sound of the storm, imagined what it would be like to stand in the middle of all the captivating chaos. Green peeled the skin of a pear with a short knife as he watched Leaf twine and slip string through string, his eyes as bright as the pendant hanging around his neck. Their shoulders touched when a strike of lightning flashed in the window, causing Leaf to jolt. When Green teased her, Leaf nudged him with her arm and stuck out her tongue.

Red waited patiently for his pear.

‘We met a pikachu in the garden. It was friendly.’

Green never kicked the habit of walking about with his hands in his pockets.

The two of them stepped out into the enclosed garden of the hospital, his white slippers and Green’s designer shoes on the little pavement leading through the flowers and trees. He looked at Red with cautious eyes, the crook of his elbow shifting every few steps Red took, as if anticipating him to fall over any second.

Green never kicked the habit of hiding fear behind a frown. They settled down on a bench located under the shade of a tall tree, Red breathed in the afternoon air, smelling the scent of the grass and plants, mingling with the leather of Green’s jacket. He was wearing a scarf Leaf made for him, its soft colour matching his eyes. Red buried his chin further into his own.

“You alright?” his friend asked. In all its casualness, why did it feel like Green was talking about something other than his health? Red shrugged.

Green suppressed a snort into a sigh. “You’ve let yourself slip. Remember when we used to go out during winter in our pajamas?”

Red didn’t just remember. He relived the moment over and over again in his head. He didn’t tell this to Green though. It didn’t really matter anyway.

A rustling in the bushes diverted their attention from long, silent pauses and breathing – and before long, a pikachu emerged near their feet, nose wriggling and ears pricked. When it realised that it was in the presence of two young boys, its eyes widened and it pawed at the ground, tail swishing expectantly.

“Leaf told me about this guy!” Green straightened up, reaching into his bag to take out an apple. “She sees him looking for scraps of food here when she’s out walking,” he explained as he rolled the fruit towards the pleased pikachu.

Red watched the pokémon savour the apple near their ankles. It was odd, he’d always imagined that undomesticated pokémon were guarded and hostile around humans. He noticed Green looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“It’s probably just used to getting fed,” the boy said, “but I think there’s probably still a fighter in this one. You know, survival instincts, and all that.” The pikachu left the core of the apple behind before scampering off into the foliage behind them.

The rain of yesterday night left no rainbow in the sky. But being here, with the grass and Green’s company and Leaf’s scarves and an apple core, Red felt like there could have been a rainbow reaching over the sky, covering everything it touched with something happier.

‘Leaf didn’t come today. The boy on the next bed talked to me.’

“Where are your friends?”

Red chose not to answer.

(It was the second time his roommate ever spoke to him, the first time being two months earlier when he’d first been admitted.

The boy, younger by a couple of years, had kicked off his blanket during lunchtime, when Leaf had gone to wash her hands. He’d asked: “Aren’t you ever alone?”

Red had shaken his head, somewhat proudly, at the time.

The boy, whose name plate was perpetually hidden behind the curtains on his side of the room, had scowled just then. Red thought it looked like jealousy, but now that he thought about it, it resembled disgust.)

“Where’s your soul, you creep?” the dark-haired boy sniffed, apparently displeased that his taunt hadn’t changed the expression on Red’s face or his reservation with talking.

“I’m going to get better – I want to become the Champion one day,” he was coughing brutally, gripping a hand in the middle of his chest . He couldn’t continued on with the conversation, the fit warranting a press of a ‘call’ button and a formation of nurses and a doctor to file into the room.

Red spent the time looking out the window, at the outline of Mount Silver, its apex immersed in the clouds. He scratched a fingernail against the glass between him and the autumn breeze.

He didn’t mind being alone in the cold, air-conditioned room. It was nice.

‘She came back with Green.’

“I think this belongs to you.” Green tossed the pokéball into Red’s lap.

He examined the device – it’d been so long since he’d used one of these. Leaf bent over and pressed the release mechanism in the center of the pokéball. Charizard tore apart from the flash of red light, his head nearly touching the blades of the ceiling fan. He grinned at Red, bearing sharp teeth and good will.

“Remember, my grandfather assigned this guy to you when he was just a charmander?” Green asked. Red reached out his fingers to touch the rugged skin of the dragon. Leaf perched a hand on Green’s shoulder, a subtle, easy movement that could stop him from talking.

“He’s yours now,” the girl told Red, “think of him as a new companion.”

“Yeah, I wanted t make way for a poison-type pokémon on my roster for the Viridian gym,” Green added, dipping his head apologetically at Charizard. The fire-type pokémon didn’t seem to bear a grudge, grunting amiably.

The girl took the pokéball from Red’s hands and recalled the charizard back into the device, leaving the room in sanitized silence. The boy on the next bed had been getting quieter and quieter over the past few months.

“And – that isn’t the only thing that’s changing around here,” Leaf began to say, breaking the silence with a snap. She smiled. Green frowned. Red tried to spot a rainbow through the window.

‘I opened the window today.’

Charizard stretched his wings wide open. The flame on the tip of his tail burning bright.

‘Mount Silver’s tall. I wonder what it’s like at the top.’

He closed the book and let it fall through the green flowers at his feet.

Additional notes –
★ the ‘pear’ in Mandarin is called 梨 (li), and sounds similar to the phrase ‘to leave’, 离 (li).
★ ‘Casus Belli’ means ‘the justification for an act of war’ in Latin.
★the structure of the fic is in reference to the FR/LG and BW versions with their journal entries.
★ the Leaf+Green side plot wasn’t delved into because Casus was told from Red’s POV. Feel free to interpret what was going on between them, though!

★Background details of this AU –

Red: Is bedridden by an illness (I was thinking up to your interpretation?) when he is 10. He never leaves on a grand adventure, and instead spends his days in Viridian General Hospital with Leaf. They watch Green’s adventures on the TV until he becomes Champion. Red likes to look at Mount Silver and think about the day he’ll be healthy enough to climb to its summit. His starter pokémon is Charmander.

Green: Left on his journey right after Red fell sick, scared that if he waited any longer, he would meet the same circumstance. He spends five years traveling in Kanto. He fails the Elite Four challenge six times because even though no normal trainer could defeat him, he never had a rival who made him stronger. Even after earning the title of Champion, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it when he remembers Red’s dreams of adventuring. He regrets many things. Leaf and Red hold nothing against him, and he is content becoming the gym leader of Viridian, and intends to visit Red as often as Leaf. His starter pokémon is Squirtle.

Leaf: Didn’t want to leave Red alone after he was admitted into the hospital even though Oak had already assigned a pokémon to her. She visits him almost every day and learns all she knows from reading books and watching the small tv in the hospital ward. She likes to tell herself she is satisfied. She likes to think she has no regrets. She crochets many of Red’s items and mails the rest to Green. Her starter pokémon is Bulbasaur.

But in the end, nothing has changed from the original timeline. Green is still unsatisfied with his dreams. Leaf continues to chase her dreams. Red achieves his dream, and goes through the challenge of the 8 badges as he did in the original timeline.

Unrequited love never changes.

Only the Pretty Ones (Yukiatsu+Anaru)

ibuberu — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 11:56:03 GMT

Written for both spiffytuna and renaliner. Happy Birthday you guys! C:

Title – Only the Pretty Ones
Fandom – Ano Hana
Characters – Yukiatsu/Anaru
Genres – Drama, Romance (??)
Rating – PG
Summary – Beauty can be defined in countless ways.

Only the Pretty Ones
get the happy end

Yukiatsu has known beauty since his childhood.

Beauty is in bright blue eyes, in the flourish of a white ribbon dress, in a girl who is half-Russian and wholly happy. He knows this because even when she’d looked away and ignored his passionate confession of love (as passionate as a ten-year old could get) – she continues to be the same beautiful girl.

As he grows, he manages to find beauty in other things – though nothing can quite compare to Menma’s smile and laugh, the way she’d puffed up her cheeks when she couldn’t find anyone in hide-and-seek. Tsuruko stays a plain girl, with her monotone face and spectacles, her limp hair and clean black shoes. Still, there’s a twisted sort of pretty about her – the moments when she looks at him for far longer than usual, the instances when the wind blows along the road and the edge of her skirt lifts just so he can see her knees. It’s the miniscule things like these, because nothing about Tsuruko is ever apparent or loud or unmistakably there. Her beauty is an acquired taste. It’s a sad thing that no one apart from him can appreciate this, but maybe it’s better this way.

And then there is Anaru – strawberry lipgloss, high-heel balancing, fake-eyelashed Anaru. She is the commercial gorgeous girl, with her perfect skin, pretty clothes and adequately-sized chest. Everything about her look screams beautiful, just as everything about her inside screams ugly as well. He flexes his fingers and tells her she is ‘gorgeous’. She frowns and blushes at the same time, and perhaps she is still in love with Yadomi. Her taste in boys must really suck.

Despite this, her reflection in the train window glances at his.

★

Naruko spends her life searching for beauty.

She dives into cosmetics and fake eyelashes, in ten different shades of red lipstick and fifteen brands of blush and in all the stores of the mall in the town. The girl endures her mother’s nagging and maxed out credit cards for the sake of being pretty. But she never quite finds it because Jintan never looks at her the way a guy is supposed to look at a girl who loves him. Her heart does not budge, it only clenches and clenches far beyond what romance novels can conjure up.

Yukiatsu takes her hand and brushes a thumb over her moisturized knuckles. It seems that he’s borrowed more than a couple of chick books from Tsurumi over the years. He follows the formula of the ‘aloof boy’, with comments placed in precise trajectory and a careful gaze. (It won’t work on her though. It doesn’t.)

The boy destroys the equation by dressing up as the girl who’s been haunting all their hearts for the past seven years. And he isn’t quite like the cool, accomplished Yukiatsu she’d thought and envied him to be. It doesn’t make him any more attractive, but it makes him more tolerable. At least she knows she isn’t the craziest one in their motley crew.

The more Yukiatsu elbows his way through life’s expectations (their school uniforms shouldn’t be within five feet of the other), her late working shifts and his cram school nights to talk to her, the more Naruko doesn’t know what to think about him. Is he really oblivious to Tsuruko? Or does he think ignoring her eyes on his shoulders is enough?

But she doesn’t reject his offer to walk her home. Maybe she’s the crazy one.

She watches their shadows walk on the sidewalk as they pass a solitary streetlamp. Jintan isn’t so tall, he doesn’t stand as straight or as confidently as Yukiatsu, and he certainly wouldn’t want to walk her home so late when he could be playing computer games. Her shoulders shudder. Yukiatsu tilts his head and asks her if she’s fine (and aloof boys shouldn't be saying that).

“I must become something beautiful."

June's Purple (Anaru)

ibuberu — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 09:04:08 GMT

Title – June's Purple
Fandom – Ano Hana
Characters – Anaru, super peace busters
Genres – General, Friendship
Rating – PG
Summary – She didn't know what kind of girl she was.
notes – ah, hmmm, I don’t know what this is, entirely. I just wanted to write about Anaru. Post-series, because I feel like her character probably grows up a lot after the Super Peace Busters get back together proper.

June’s Purple

She painted her fingers red and her toes blue.

The difference was stark, and she stared at the way they clashed against the colour of her skin. The girl didn’t know what compelled her to paint her nails like that, couldn’t tell why she reached for bright baby blue when she intended to apply some topcoat. Then again, it wasn’t like anyone could see her feet since she wore covered shoes to school.

Naruko blinked, examining her hands and feet again. Suddenly, the colours looked horrible together, hot red and shy blue, like a mixture of humiliating inconsistencies. The nail polish would fade off in a fortnight and she’d go back to pink, pink, pink because that was who she was.

Then, Naruko remembered she had to go out on the weekend. It wasn’t so much of a choice as it was an unspoken duty to her friends. She would wear a new pair of sandals that showed off her feet because it was the only pair of shoes that could match the dress she’d already picked out.

She grabbed the nail polish remover off the shelf.

When her friends stuck their fingers down their throats, she plunged her Sapphire Sword into the heart of the Scarlet Dragon.

The catchy soundtrack of the game blared out of the speakers of the television, and she felt heroic accomplishment, watching her character dance around the screen, celebrating the new record time of defeating the level’s Boss. She never could leave her community of video games. The first time she tried, she ended up succumbing to the urge within a month once she saw the newest version of Nokemon teasing her from the shelves of the game store.

The second time, she packed everything into five boxes, appalled by the fact that her collection took up so much space. When she cleared out her closet a couple of weeks later to make way for a Sunday’s worth of shopping, the games burst out of the cardboard and she couldn’t ignore the nostalgia of saving a blonde princess from a misunderstood monster.

By the third time, when she just didn’t feel like going out with her friends – she dug out her Rindendo games and fixed on her spectacles and curled up under her bedsheets. It was the best day she had in a very long time.

Now, she stood with pride, savoring the neat compartments of knick knacks in her bedroom. She’d divided her games according to genres and consoles and played favourites guiltlessly – placing the one with Menma’s sticker and a handful of childhood memories into the drawer in the middle, at the heart of her collection.

Yukiatsu was a picture-perfect kind of guy. He had a practiced crowd-smile he used to give off all the good impressions, but none of the right ones. His tie was ironed to military perfection, and his school uniform was always immaculate. When he touched her, confident fingertips butterflying over her knuckles, he felt like glass. He had a handsome face and a decent hairstyle and grades that made her wonder if he did anything other than study. It only made the fact that he was hopelessly crumpled and shriveled up on the inside all the more apparent. But sometimes, it seemed that Tsuruko and she were the only ones who knew.

Naruko envied his honest performance and winced at the way she faltered when she couldn’t express the words under her skin. Yukiatsu could paint a lie with a bitter smile and tell the truth with a mean, mean grimace, and he was still so sure of himself. When Menma was around, his eyes could turn red with tears, just thinking about the girl and her uncharted smile. Naruko only allowed herself to stand around in a blue skirt made in Paris, ruminating with all the things she couldn’t bring herself to say. Menma hadn’t been angry with either of them for the way they’d acted. She was nice like that, and in countless other ways.

Some mornings, when Naruko looked into the bathroom mirror, she didn’t even know what kind of girl she was going to be that day. Maybe it would be easier if someone told her how to be.

One of the few things she was sure of was that she couldn’t fall in love with Yukiatsu, who was as perfect as much as he was broken. She didn’t, and she wouldn’t.

She had a thing for the boy with the messy hair and wrinkled uniform and big heart, instead.

Poppo fulfilled all male stereotypes while simultaneously refuting them.

After she moved out of the Secret Base, leaving behind an artwork of dust-free shelves and made-beds and clean floors, it took him only a week to throw everything back into chaos. Naruko had been floored when she visited him, intent on retrieving a shirt she’d forgotten. She gazed at the mountain of dirty clothes clumped together in one corner, the empty pizza box and the questionable magazines pouring out from underneath his rumpled blanket, wondering if she should just abandon her mission.

Poppo surprised her by climbing up the wooden ladder, which creaked under his weight, and returning with her purple blouse in one hand. “Oh yeah, I knew it was yours so I kept it for you,” he said in between mouthfuls of potato chips.

She fiddled with the clothing in her hands, a little speechless seeing him so reliable, and… eating like that.

The second time was at another one of their barbeques.

“Anaru!”

She used to wince at the sound of that nickname, but now she just looked up at Poppo with an eyebrow raised. On the grill, sausages and chicken wings burned in the night air and nothing else – where was the corn she’d brought for them? Poppo only had meat on his mind, typical. Tsuruko and Jintan chatted quietly at one side. Yukiatsu watched everyone while sipping his juice. Some things just never changed.

“Here!” Poppo thrust a paper plate at her. She jumped in the chair at the sudden gesture, receiving five red wieners cut into adorable little octopi.

“These are…” she muttered curiously.

“Yeah, that other time when you stayed over, you mentioned that you liked them so I cooked some for you!” the boy beamed. “You’re welcome!”

Naruko smiled at him and his blue Hawaiian shirt, poking a plastic fork at the first octopus.

“Thank you.”

Jintan was the epitome of awkward.

When he was called on to answer questions in class, it looked as if he’d just been given a death sentence. His back snapped straight and he’d feverishly skim through the pages of his notebook to scrounge up an answer that wasn’t there. Jintan would turn around with careful precision, almost as if he thought if he did it like so, the twenty pairs of eyes on him wouldn’t notice. He’d ask her for the answer with an urgent whisper, and Naruko liked to pretend she didn’t know sometimes. At others, she honestly had no clue.

He wore different coloured socks to school every once in awhile. She glimpsed the spectacle one morning when she saw him exchanging his shoes at the shoe lockers. She was the only one who noticed because she was the only one who looked at him.

Lunch, in the beginning, was a complete disaster. She had to teach him where to line up and that the old lady vendors were in particularly sour moods on Thursdays, so he should be ready with the exact amount of money upon payment to avoid riling them up. She couldn’t bear leaving him alone even after a week because he wasn’t even near acclimated to the crowd of students along the hallways.

When her mother heard about Jintan going back to school, she persisted in a campaign to make boxed lunches for the two of them, decorating their lunches with much fanfare. Naruko was appalled at first – but her mother was an undeniably good cook, and Jintan looked happy when she passed him his portion discreetly before classes started every day.

He walked to school with his eyes glued to the pavement, but there was something courageous about him, even with his shoulders hunched up like that. Maybe because he’d found the motivation to put one sneakered foot in front of the other over and over. She caught herself staring at him for a dangerous amount of time every other morning when she bumped into him while racing against chime of the first bell. There was something fun about how her pink shirt swished beside his dark blue pants when they were bordering on late, storming up the street to the school’s gate. And it was strange how she could keep up with Jintan’s pace when they ran, almost like he was purposely going slower to wait up for her.

… No, it was just her imagination.

Naruko smiled in spite of all the nights she’d tossed and turned because of him and his mixed signals. It was strange how different he’d become since that summer ten years ago – changed in all the little things he did, like actually bothering with ‘sorry’s and looking both ways before crossing the road – and the only thing that stayed the same was that she still liked him and he still didn’t like her.

She threw the masking tape at him as he rolled up posters of the autumn season’s new anime on the wall of the store. This was the only job he kept after Menma’s farewell, and Naruko had to constantly tell herself not too think too much about it.

“Nice throw!” Jintan chuckled, the smile reaching his eyes.

Naruko gave him a sheepish grin and diverted her gaze to the cashier because she wanted to, but the blushing had been entirely involuntary – and hopefully unnoticeable.

“I still can’t believe you want me to help you pick out clothes,” she said, surveying a line of floral dresses.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had short hair, so a second opinion would be appreciated,” Tsuruko replied from the other side of the rack. She sported her new hairstyle with a simple flower hairclip that Naruko thought looked strangely cute.

She was another person who was confident and sure of herself. Maybe she picked it up from Yukiatsu, or maybe it was the other way around, or maybe that was just what they learned growing up together. Naruko could never guess. Tsuruko was assertive and firm and she either said ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the outfits Naruko offered her. There was never an in-between indecisiveness like “I don’t know, should I get it?” or “Do you think it makes me look fat?” Those words didn’t suit Tsuruko’s polished image at all.

If only she had the same talent. Shopping would be so much more efficient.

When she casually mentioned this to Tsuruko, the girl began to laugh.

“Honestly?” she asked while covering her mouth with one hand, amused by the logic. Her eyes were pretty behind the rims of her glasses.

“Honest.”

Naruko then held up a red checkered skirt that Tsuruko ended up buying.

The door rattled aside and Jintan’s face appeared in the tiny crack. He pushed it fully open after seeing her standing outside his house. He was wearing that red shirt again, the one that roared out ‘true feelings’ in bold. Naruko blinked, stepping through the threshold with light feet and kicking off her sandals, a sling bag over her shoulder.

“T-thank you for coming over to help me with homework,” the boy mumbled, one hand behind his head. “I still don’t get some parts of math,” he continued.

“It’s fine.” She walked over to the table in the living room where his books and papers were all askew. Naruko crossed her legs and pulled out her phone from the pocket of her shorts, tapping a button to read the new message.

“By the way, I asked Yukiatsu and Tsuruko to come over and help,” she informed him and he sat down across from her. Jintan eyes lilted with pleased surprise. “Great! They’ll be able to teach me since they’re really smart,” he commented.

“Hey! What do you mean by that?” she asked with a joking smile.

“Ah, I didn’t mean it that way,” the boy laughed a little.

“By the way, Poppo’s been having trouble studying, so he’s dropping by too,” Jintan added.

Naruko shook her head, smiling. In the end, the five of them still managed to come together, even when it wasn’t intentional. And it was odd that things were going her way for once. She stopped thinking about it in case she jinxed it.

“Ah! My nail broke!” she squeaked, shaking her hand and blowing on the victimized finger.

Poppo peered over her shoulder before shrugging and saying, “It looks fine to me.”

The girl bit her lip with indignant insult, covering her nail with the other hand and tucking it close to her stomach. That didn’t stop Yukiatsu from snickering at his place on the armchair on the other side of the small round table of the Secret Base. Tsuruko gave him a pointed look before stepping over to take her hand and examine the nail.

“It’s just a little chip, I’m sure it can be easily remedied,” she deduced. Naruko didn’t know if the action warranted an obedient head nod or an embarrassed thank you.

She scrutinized her hand, coming to the conclusion that she would have to redo them to get the colour even and the length identical. She’d have to go buy some pink nail polish, if that was the case. But then again, she still had a bottle of red and another of blue at home.

Maybe it was time for a change.

“I love how you’re always so level-headed,” Menma said, pink flowers bordering her words.

“I’m not the one who’s level-headed,” Naruko replied, tracing her navy nail along the indents of the words where Menma applied extra pressure. The blue characters sprang out of the paper under the light of her desk lamp. She remembered all the times she’d burst out crying in front of her friends and the times when she fought brutally with her mother. “I just wanted to be like you when we were kids,” she sighed, rereading the short letter and never being able to feel any less content.

If Menma were here, she’d probably argue and insist that Naruko was level and that she was perfect when she was being herself. The problem was that Menma was terribly nice, and Naruko didn’t exactly understand who she was. Her mother would attribute it to puberty, but was it really all that simple?

Thinking right now, Naruko realised that she’d stopped wanting to be like Menma for quite awhile. Maybe ever since Jintan had handed her back her handkerchief with that sincere look behind his eyes.

“Level-headed, huh?” she said, considering the word.

Once in a while, and maybe not often enough, the five of them dropped by the Honma household.

They settled down on cushions with the altar, hers a nice shade of teal. Menma’s mother presented them with tea and apologetic smiles that slowly turned into welcoming ‘hello’s. This was the biggest change in Naruko’s life thus far – celebrating Menma’s passing and remembering what it was like when she was around, being able to share her childhood with four friends again.

Jintan sat in the middle and pressed his palms together. Everyone followed.

Menma’s picture smiled at them. It was quiet, for just a moment.

When she returned home after school, she still didn’t know what kind of girl she was.

She liked video games in silver wrapping and pink fingernails and cerulean skirts. She liked boys despite their cruel words and obscene habits because of their kind hearts, girls with rimmed spectacles and pretty smiles. She liked an old friend with blue eyes, who wore a beautiful yukata when she’d been young. She liked Jinta Yadomi.

Maybe that was enough.

★notes –

★the title of the fic can be read as either ‘June is Purple’ or literally ‘June’s Purple’ (the purple of June)
★Jintan wore his ‘true feelings’ shirt in ep 11, the characters are 真心.
★other ano hana fics I’ve written can be found here
thank you for reading (:

stop signs (Gold/Crystal + Silver)

ibuberu — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 23:09:38 GMT

Some people have been asking me to write mangaquest, which was an excuse for me to write gold+crystal+silver friendship, because the three of them are adorable! We have the awkward/trusting/platonic relationship between Silver and Crys, the grrrfriends Silver and Gold, and the lovey-dovey couple that is Gold and Crys.

Title – Stop Signs
Fandom – Pokémon Special
Characters – Gold/Crystal, Silver
Genres – Friendship, Romance, Humour
Rating – PG-13
Notes – spoilers up to Emerald Arc
Summary – Nine times Silver asks the Gods of Singlehood to get them a room and leave him alone.

stop signs

He picks up on it during the clash at the Battle Frontier. Once the rock crumbles, he feels the wind on his skin again and that weird, unplaced experience you get when two of your friends suddenly assault you with overwhelming hugs. He thanks them with a hoarse mumble when he should be doing so much more, but Crystal and Gold are satisfied just looking at his red hair and blinking eyes. For once in the longest time, Silver is genuinely happy.

When Archie's army of water pokémon engulfs the floor with an ocean's worth of water, he sees how Crystal holds Gold's hand tight like a lifeline, never even thinking about letting go. In contrast, when she grabs onto Silver to pull him out of harm's way and her hand lingers afterwards, there's a polite embarrassment behind her smile.

And he thinks: Okay, I'm cool with that. It doesn't concern him in any way. This might even be a good thing; Gold could use some training and house-keeping.

Except – it actually does and it's actually not. Nothing is when it concerns Gold.

Crystal's mouth twists in pain and Silver's hands jump and Gold yells, "Be careful!"

"I know," the redhead snaps, not even trying to hide his vexation. He ignores Gold's muffled comeback, instead bringing his attention onto Crystal's foot. After carefully examining the growing lump just above her ankle, he moves her socked foot from side to side. Crystal bites her lip and clenches the gravel on the ground, and Silver knows why she's trying to look fine even though she's really scared.

"I think it's just a sprain," he guesses, "as long as it's not a fracture, you'll be fine. You don't have to worry about it affecting your capturing if you keep off it for a week or so." Crystal relaxes her shoulders and breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back on the boulder behind her. It's comical how she can look completely healthy and content with so few words in spite of the sprained ankle and being lost in the middle of Mount Mortar.

Professor Elm had sent them here for some field studies, confident that they could take care of each other. Of course, they weren't expecting to stumble across a pride of tyranitar after wandering around for hours, having strayed off the marked paths. It probably happened when Gold chased after an odd-coloured zubat, anxious to catch it.

Crystal lost her footing when the three of them pushed each other forward through the tunnels, their pokémon fending off the tyranitar, which were joined by graveler at one point. By the time they managed to take down and outrun the sharp claws and thrown rocks, their pokémon and Crys were all worse for wear.

He finishes wrapping and clipping down the cloth around her ankle.

"You shouldn't walk," Silver tells the girl, getting up from his knee and looking around them to see who remained out of their pokéball. Weavile is standing guard on the top of the boulder, his eyes focused on the darkness shrouding the tail of the rocky stretch. Gold's typlosion, while exhausted, continues to keep his necklace of fire alight. And all Crystal has left is her cubone, who's cuddling up on her side and glad that she's alright. This isn't looking good.

"Explotaro can't carry her like that." Gold jerks his thumb towards his pokémon, who suddenly looks incredibly guilty. "Don't worry, buddy!" his trainer reassures him, patting the portion of pelt that isn't scalding hot. The typlosion simmers, but tiptoes over to lick Crystal's cheek anyway.

"I don't have any other pokémon left," Silver informs them, a hand on the back of his head, flustered by their predicament.

"Make way!" Gold proclaims, stepping over and spreading his arms wide open, his hand bumping into Silver's shoulder. "Let the man do his job!" He takes Crystal's hand without pleasantries.

"I'll just carry you!"

"No way!" Crystal replies almost immediately, her cheeks obviously pink, even under the dim lighting of Typlosion's flames.

"I'm going to have to agree with him for once," Silver says.

Crystal and Gold look shocked, both staring at him with wide gazes and raised eyebrows.

"Let me take care of finding the way out," he ignores their overreaction, pointing to the crumpled map he's taken out of his pocket, "you two concentrate on not getting into anymore trouble."

"Hey!" they say with perfect synchronization.

"Gold, don't try anything funny," Silver warns him. Gold clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Now, now, why would I do that?" he asks. He puts two fingers against his forehead, "What thoughts have you got up there, Silver?" Gold should really be pointing downwards, not up.

Silver snorts. He's not the one who wants to feel some 'girl parts'.

"Bags." Silver extends an open palm to Gold and Crystal.

"What?"

"Your bags. I'm carrying them."

Gold looks surprised for a moment as he slowly slides the straps of his knapsack off his shoulders and throws it. Silver catches it before walking over to retrieve Crystal's, and the girl looks very apologetic as she lets him heave her bag over his shoulder.

"Sorry for all the trouble, you two," Crystal blushes.

"Nonsense! You save us all the time," Gold tells her, "we're doing the same now, aren't we?" He lowers himself into a squat and Silver helps the girl onto his back, holding her arm.

"This is what friends do!" Gold explains. Silver finds himself rolling his eyes, but then smiling a bit when Crystal gives a bashful nod, her face buried against Gold's collar. The dark-haired boy fixes his ankles and carefully stands up. Crystal squeaks and wraps her arms tight around his neck.

"Awesome!" he exclaims at the contact.

"Gold!" two angry voices echo throughout the caves.

Gold is a genius at being stupid.

It's just an observation Silver makes. He doesn't quite understand how Gold can do so many questionable things, but he's done them all with pride and thought – or lack thereof.

This time, he's sleeping with his head against Crystal's shoulder. After Silver and Gold agreed to become part-time aides to Elm and Crystal, they've been spending more and more time in the lab doing work. Silver had planned to go home, but upon hearing that Gold and Crystal were going to be staying late, he just couldn't leave Crystal alone. She had a hopeless defense mechanism when she was drawn too deep into books and numbers. And Gold knew it.

The pseudo-couple sleep on the couch located against the wall of the large study room, and once Silver is done filing the papers, he sits himself next to Gold and stares. He's waiting for the pivotal moment where Gold opens a beady eye, so that he can catch him faking his sleep.

Then, he realizes Gold is honestly fast asleep and so is Crystal. And soon, Silver notices that he's exhausted too.

When the sunlight peeks in through the window blinds and shines on his eyes, Silver wakes up. He smells Gold and feels something against his face and the sleepiness vanishes. Silver surges back to the extreme end of the sofa, mortified. Luckily, it seems that Gold isn't awake yet. Over the course of the night, somehow Crystal's head had ended up on his shoulder. Silver straightens the collar of his jacket, simply humbled by the fact that no living soul saw him sleeping against Gold.

A chuckle.

Silver freezes.

"I know I'm comfy, y'don't need to feel bad," Gold yawns, cracking his knuckles over his head before bringing his right arm down over Crystal's shoulders.

Silver would be throttling Gold if not for the girl curled up next to him.

"Mantaro, don't show him any mercy!"

Ursaring takes the mantine out with one fierce swipe of his claws, the force sending the water pokémon tumbling onto its back on the grass of the open field. The look on Gold's face is very satisfying, and Silver punches Ursaring's paw to congratulate him for the easy win.

"That's two pokémon down for Gold, and one pokémon down for Silver!" Crystal informs them, umpiring from the sidelines of the makeshift arena.

"Aw, man," the black-haired boy grumbles, scrutinizing the four remaining pokéballs in his hands, desperately wanting to pick the right one. Battles like this are the only things Silver looks forward to when it comes to being acquainted with Gold. He gets to wipe that cocky smirk off his rival's face and beef up his pokémon, while Gold is reminded that he's not the battler, unlike Red, and that he's certainly not the most awesome person in existence; a perfect transaction.

It doesn't exactly stop Gold's endless supply of self-confidence, but Silver has learned to take what he can get.

"Explotaro, it's up to you!" the boy shouts once he's decided, launching the pokéball into the fray.

The typlosion emerges out from the red light with flames bursting from its body, craning his neck and bearing his sharp teeth. Ursaring seems pleased, grunting and nodding at his opponent. The fire-type pokémon rears up on two legs, prepared for the battle.

"You can do it, Silver!" Crystal encourages with one wave of her hand.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Gold gasps. "Why're you cheering for him instead of me?"

"Well, he's got a better chance at winning," she explains.

Silver grins and decides to attack while Gold is distracted by the sword stabbing his heart.

When Silver arrives at the lab one day, he doesn't expect to see the sad expression paling Crystal's face. He walks up to where she's sitting, a wide table strewn with research papers, and asks her in his quietest voice: 'what's the matter?'.

"Nothing," she harrumphs, "I just got into another fight with Gold." The girl's voice certainly doesn't indicate that the fight had been 'nothing', but Silver decides to dismiss the problem. It's natural for them to get mad at Gold – it's almost like a predetermined cycle. First Silver fights with Gold then Gold argues with Crystal then both Silver and Crystal team up to disagree with Gold. Gold pretends that nothing happens at the end of it all. That's just how the three of them work.

The boy notices her shoulders shaking, and a feeling of immense terror creeps up his spine.

Crystal suddenly bursts out crying. Silver panics on the spot.

He can't deal with girls or tears, and now that he has to handle both at once, the boy is stumped. He opens his mouth, then closes it, reaches a hand to touch her, before retracting it. The last thing he wants to do is something that will make her feel worse. Silver watches Crystal blubber over the counter, her head in her arms and her sadness blotting up some of the documents, cringing at the sight. He digs into his pocket and is relieved to find his handkerchief, the one with his name embroidered near the corner. He inches up to her side and very slowly slides the handkerchief so that it prods Crystal's elbow. The girl lifts her head, and Silver chews his lip when he sees the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

"I – sorry, Silver," she mumbles, bowing her head and accepting the handkerchief. She sniffs and swallows and suddenly it's like she's sucked the tears up. Crystal is strong like that. "Sometimes, I don't know why I'm so hard on Gold," she says while wiping her cheeks and dabbing at her eyes, "he's irresponsible and rash, but that doesn't mean he's not a good person."

Silver begs to differ, but he manages to nod his head silently and smother his disagreement with a quick cough.

"I wonder if he doesn't like me, sometimes," Crystal sighs in a depressing way, and it sounds like she's actually concerned about Gold. Silver can't help but arch a doubtful eyebrow at her.

"Trust me, Gold isn't that kind of person," he reassures his friend. He can't even count the number of times the idiot had yanked him aside to ask for relationship advice and hold a detailed, one-sided discussion on how pretty Crystal looked in her labcoat. Silver had heard enough of Crystal's shiny hair and long legs. Gold doesn't mention her chest because Silver usually punches and/or strangles him before he can start on those.

"And," he continues, "it's hard not to like you."

"Oh, Silver…" Crystal's smile is interrupted when pain explodes on the side of his head.

The boy falls over on the tiled floor with a loud thump, gripping himself and looking up to find the culprit. And of course it's Gold. He's the only one with the decency to kick one of his few friends in the skull. Figures.

"Gold! That could have seriously hurt him!" Crystal is already on her feet, shouting.

"Well, he made you cry, so of course he's going to pay!" the boy returns, a grim frown on his face.

"Gold! You, I just– " Crystal stares at him, lifting her hand to massage the knot between her brows.

Silver decides to just pretend he's been knocked unconscious for the time being. Anything is better than being roped into a fight with them.

Silver walks in on them.

'Them', meaning Crystal straddling Gold, who's lying with his back on the floor, looking very proud of himself. Well, at least they're wearing clothes.

"It's not what it looks like!" she tells him in a shrill voice, cheeks burning.

"It's totally what it looks like ," Gold beams.

Silver closes the door and decides to go and visit Blue instead.

Just as Crystal tries to fix on her left earring, she lets out a tiny sneeze, and the star falls out of her hand. The sound it makes when it lands on the floor is amplified by the quiet atmosphere of the lab. Gold is sitting behind an empty desk with his cue balancing on one finger, thinking to himself and behaving reasonably for once.

Silver continues adding the numbers to the data he's helping Professor Elm calculate, only looking up when he hears Gold's stool creaking against the floor. He watches from the side as the boy and the girl move to pick up the earring at the same time. Gold deliberately touches Crystal's hand when they reach for the earring lying innocently in between their shoes. The girl raises her eyes off the floor to look at Gold, wary and questioning. The boy grins and picks up the earring, deciding to help her put it on and – god, Silver can't take any more of this, the romance is suffocating him. He slides out of his chair with the papers and the calculator, and stalks into the Professor's office.

Silver releases his grip on Honchkrow's foot and lands in Gold's front yard. He'd been called urgently to meet the guy, and a part of him dares to think that maybe they need to save the world again. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his black jacket after ringing the doorbell. Gold's mother recognizes him and ushers him in with a perfect smile and a full voice. Silver can't help but smile at her instinctive kindness.

"Gold's been in his room for the whole morning," she tells him, a hand on her chin. "But when he got back home yesterday night, I thought he was acting rather weird."

Silver nods and thanks her before ascending the stairs, a feeling sparking in the pit of his stomach – god forbids it is worry. He opens the door to Gold's bedroom and finds him slumped over his bed still in his pajamas, fingers punching the buttons on the handheld console in his hands. He sits up when he realizes Silver's presence, flinging the gameboy off to some questionable nook of his room. Silver doesn't know where it lands – probably somewhere deep in the absurd mess of clothes and comic books.

"I kissed her!" Gold grins like he's discovered the meaning of life.

Yeah. The feeling had been worry – worry that Gold would do something ridiculous to him again.

"…. " Silver can't put a finger on his feelings – cheated, bored, nonchalant, mostly angry that he let himself believe that Gold had been serious. He's been anticipating The Kiss since Gold had stopped flirting with anything remotely female, and Crystal had started wearing a light sprit of perfume. Still, he can't help but feel a little dubious.

"Just had to tell you," the boy says, bulldozing the pillows and sheets on his bed.

"What?" Silver raises his voice very intentionally. "I thought it was something important, you made it sound so serious – and it turns out to be this?" He steps on the packets of half-eaten biscuits scattered on the floor as he stomps around the room.

"Are you crazy? This is important!" Gold makes a big circle with his hands to illustrate. Silver still doesn't find it significant in any way. He glares at the boy, turning away to flip through a magazine on the cluttered desk. Silver shuts it abruptly when he realizes its contents.

"It was like those movies, y'know?" Gold carries on saying even though Silver doesn't express any interest. "Except there weren't any cheap effects and no sunset– but, still!" he falls back on his bed, his feet on his pillow and his head on the other end.

Silver hates to admit it, but he kind of understands what Gold is referring to. Blue makes him sit through chick flicks all the time, always playing the 'no one else wants to watch with me and I can always rely on you' card. Silver gives in because Blue's Blue, and because the movies are sort-of-sometimes-interesting. He doesn't tell this to anyone.

He hears footsteps on the hallway outside. A knock on the closed door and a polite "Gold?" and Crystal appears, one hand on the doorknob and the other carrying a stack of folded garbage bags.

"Didn't we say we were going to clean your room today?" she asks him, her eyes leaving the boy basking on the bed and finding Silver, who'd been standing at one corner of the room. She jumps on the spot before asking, "Silver! Hi! Why are you here?"

"Contemplating homicide," he replies.

"Wha– ?"

"I told him about last night!" Gold whoops from his stationary position on the bed.

"You– what!" Crystal balks, her face going red and the garbage bags scattering all over the already-chaotic floor. She swivels to Silver and marches up to him. It's almost funny how a sixteen-year old girl can shift from humiliated to intimidating in seconds flat, but not really.

"What did he tell you?" she interrogates him. Gold laughs up a storm in the background.

The only thing going through Silver's mind is that he does not want to get kicked by those legs.

Crystal has nice hair.

She rarely lets it down, but on the rare instances that Gold catches her hair falling freely, he makes inappropriate use of the time to touch it and ask her to ditch her pigtails more often. Silver is a quiet observer, but he concedes to the fact that Crystal does look pretty sometimes, when she isn't angry or rushing for a deadline or nagging, but just being a normal girl.

"I can't do that. My hair would get in the way of work," Crystal explains, brushing it down after her shower.

"Sure you can! Look at Silver! His hair's as long as yours and he doesn't have a problem with it!" Gold comments casually, throwing a lazy finger to his direction.

It takes only four steps and Silver already has a handful of Gold's collar in one hand, the other balled into an irritated fist. Crystal sputters half-hearted 'sorry's in between her laughs.

10.

Silver settles down on in his apartment on a Saturday morning, ready to spend the day drinking tea, reading through a pile of good books he's set aside for weeks and figuring out what to get Blue for her birthday. Feraligatr wanders in and out of the rooms, placating his restlessness by cleaning up after his trainer, arranging the crooked books on the shelf. He organizes them as expertly as one with claws as sharp as those could.

The biggest mistake Silver's ever made in his life – other than telling Gold his name – is giving Gold his address. He stays in Viridian with his father now, but even the distance between Kanto and Johto is not enough of a deterrent at times. This is one of those days.

The anxious, impatient knocking on his door already gives Silver a bad premonition. He looks through the peephole – and, of course – he sees Gold standing there, his own eye pressed up against the hole. Gods of Singlehood, do you even exist?

"Silver! Silver! You there?" he yells. Silver can hear Crystal at one side trying to shush him.

"What?" he asks as he opens his door. Now that he can see them clearly, Gold is wearing an old shirt and red swimming trunks, hoisting a doughnut float on his shoulder. Crystal has a small tanktop that doesn't hide the neck of swimsuit she's put on underneath and a pair of casual shorts. Silver has a bad feeling about this.

"Beach trip!" Gold celebrates. "We decided to go to Vermillion today since Olivine's always packed."

"You decided," Crystal corrects him. She crosses her arms and woah Silver definitely doesn't need to see the cleavage over there.

"No," he replies without much hesitation.

Gold and Crystal give him varying looks of disappointment. "You're no fun!" Gold says, reaching into his bag pack to pull out a pair of black trunks. "I got these for you just in case!" He waves them around like a flag.

"I'd really feel much better if you came along," Crystal mutters, stepping in between him and Gold.

"W- Why me? You two should just go on a date," Silver says, staring down at his gloves because there's nowhere else to look. It's either breasts or a stupid face – stalemate of the century.

"No!" Crystal rejects quite passionately. Gold makes wild gestures behind her back, shaking his head and slicing his hand against his neck.

"She won't go if it's a date," he whispers loudly. Silver doesn't even want to comprehend the two of them and their roundabout flirting. Denying it's a date doesn't make it any less of one, honestly.

"And," Crystal continues, "you're our friend, and friends do things together, don't they?"

"Preach."

Silver looks at them, half-excited and half-calm and a whole lot of awkward and just so messy pieced side by side. He turns around to look at his coffee table, realizing he hasn't begun making the tea. Feraligatr is sulking on the floorboards near the small television.

He could easily decline them, just as easily as he could agree. Crystal would probably be uncomfortable with Gold and his doughnut, and Gold would probably get bored if Crystal was the only one with him at the beach.

The boy sighs.

Gold throws the trunks at him. He catches them in his arms.

"Just this once."

Telling Honest Lies (Yukiatsu+Tsuruko)

ibuberu — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 09:46:27 GMT

Title – Telling Honest Lies
Fandom – Ano Hana
Characters – Yukiatsu, Tsuruko
Genres – General, Friendship
Rating – PG
Summary – Everything they are and everything they aren't.

Telling Honest Lies

Tsuruko is always at the station fifteen minutes early.

They meet at seven-thirty, take the train for five stops, walk up the street beside the railroad, and reach school with time to spare. It’s an unsaid ritual of sorts. Sometimes, they talk about the miniscule things like homework and the latest rumour about that girl and that guy and that third other person who everyone supports. Sometimes, they walk in established silence, and Yukiatsu overhears the students passing by whisper ridiculous things to each other. High school is dreadfully tragic.

“You expect me to go with you to the karaoke party?”

“We’d be social outcasts otherwise,” he shrugs in reply. They aren’t exactly chummy with the rest of the class, preferring to keep to themselves aside from the expectations of groupwork and pre-homeroom banter. Yukiatsu likes it this way, the distance and the one-word conversations with his classmates – it makes putting up the act easier for him, keeps the little girl with the long hair and the white dress in his head alive.

“I don’t care.” Tsuruko’s indifferent voice brings him back to the street they are walking down.

“I don’t want to go alone,” Yukiatsu admits, “happy?”

“The guys will gripe if I skip the class party, and I’m sure the girls will whine like they usually do,” the boy persuades, listing down the reasons. The last thing he needs is to go there by himself and be swarmed with enthusiastic faces and mouths moving. Tsuruko’s presence is like a spiritual barrier of sorts. One deadpan from her sends them skirting away, and he appreciates her for it. He really does. “Let’s just drop off for five minutes and pretend like we’re having fun, and then we can get on with our lives.”

“You’re a pretender,” the girl says, like it’s the most appropriate response. The ends of her long hair twist together when a passing breeze blows along the roadside.

“Yes,” Yukiatsu acknowledges with a nonchalant shake of the head. Life’s about pretense, he’d learnt that when he’d been a child, wanting to trade all his rare Nokemon to Menma, but never getting around to. He’d thrown his gameboy away after the grey funeral, claiming he’d been ‘sick of it’. “What does that matter?”

“Am I really your friend?” Tsuruko suddenly asks, her voice shrinking for a moment. The air is pulled taunt like a violin string, and he wonders what’s this feeling he’s getting from her. Yukiatsu has to pause and search for a reply because he’s never even thought about this before.

“Tsurumi,” he snickers, “you can be such a girl.”

"And you’re an immature boy.”

They end up going to the party, but the moment the class asks Yukiatsu to go up on stage and sing, he grabs Tsuruko, flings a generic excuse to leave, and they bolt out of there.

He reaches over to her lunchbox and picks up an eggroll with his chopsticks. Tsuruko lets him, watching as he chews, as if waiting for a verdict.

“Hey, this is pretty good,” Yukiatsu says after he swallows.

“Thank you,” she replies, her expression somewhat pleased. When he looks at her again, he notices how her mouth is tight, and it’s almost like she’s trying not to look happy. His interest is piqued.

“You made this? Since when have you known how to cook?”

“I picked it up from my mother recently,” she says, staring down at her food to avoid his eyes.

“These really are good.” He smiles when he watches the corners of her lips lift a little.

“Alright, you can stop now.” She refuses to raise her head, her tone turning sour as she catches on to his sugared words.

“My favourite food is yatsuhashi,” he reveals, “just throwing it out there.”

“I don’t know how to cook that,” Tsuruko replies coolly, placing a ball of rice into her mouth and biting down hard.

Summer is the season he hates to love.

The scent that sticks in the air on the way to school and back, the variety of cold, chilly ice cream and drinks the street-side stores set up on sale, all things Menma would have loved to try if she wasn’t sleeping soundly six feet underneath the ground.

And of course, there just has to be swim class under the sweltering sun. The guys are ecstatic, and Yukiatsu thinks that maybe the girls might be even more excited to flaunt their dieting figures. He doesn’t particularly care, if at most appreciative for jogging all this time. The boys in class look at him enviously when they change into their trunks, even though he’s just skin and bone. The water of the school’s pool is clean and calm and why does everything have to come back to Menma again? The trickling river, the abandoned slipper, and the hairclip he’s never found.

Tsuruko is sitting on the ground, leaning against the tall metal fence encircling the pool, her knees tucked under her chin. She looks skinny in the school swimsuit, and almost sad as she watches the ripples break across the water surface. Yukiatsu is almost tempted to join her, to just sit down and think quietly, but then he reminds himself that he needs to complete six horrendous laps. As he turns and walks off, he thinks Tsuruko’s looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

Later, when they stroll past the train tracks, he makes the mistake of trying to close the space between their shoulders. “What were you thinking about at the pool just now?” he asks.

“Things,” she mumbles back.

“You seemed deep in thought,” Yukiatsu recalls offhand.

“How long have you known me?” Tsuruko poses the question out of the blue. At times, he has no idea what she thinks about in her head. It’s strange because she usually makes pretty good guesses about what’s going on in his.

“Never,” Yukiatsu informs her, without hesitation and in a pointed tone. He gives as good as he gets.

He watches the shoulders of his friend stiffen and the heel of her right shoe grind into the pavement. A split second crack in her armour, and that’s all he needs to prove that this girl isn’t all she tries to be.

“Is that so?” she recovers, enough to punctuate this with a short, stale laugh.

“Yes.” Yukiatsu says. Maybe he’s lying, maybe he’s not.

It’s raining.

Tsuruko takes her green umbrella out of her bag. He casually ducks under it right after it’s been opened. The girl doesn’t object, but she exhales a short sigh to tell him that he should bring his own next time. There’s still a ways to go before they reach the train station, and the raindrops fall heavier on the umbrella with every passing pavement. He takes the handle of the umbrella and raises it higher when they maneuver through a group of kids no older than twelve running for shelter. They complain about the dreary weather and cover their heads with their bags.

Yukiatsu remembers when he’d been ten. He’d hated getting wet too, but the others loved playing in the rain, smiling at the sight of grey clouds. The girls had sloshed around with their colourful umbrellas outside the old clubhouse, and Menma had adored jumping into puddles.

“Yukiatsu.”

“What?”

“I’m getting wet.”

The boy leans the umbrella over to her side, but the rain is pouring and his right sleeve is already soaked. Tsuruko’s footsteps are slow, and that’s when he remembers that she’d used to walking a second behind him. When he slows his pace, she ends up one step in front of him. She treads through little pools of water, drenching his socks and pant legs.

He can’t keep up with her.

Their class decides to hold a haunted house for the annual school festival.

Boring, conventional, predictable, but Yukiatsu doesn’t complain aloud. He tolerates it because he doesn’t need to do anything troublesome.

Then, he learns that his classmates intend for him to dress up as a suave vampire and parade the hallways to advertise and draw in customers on the day of the festival. Yukiatsu gives them a blatant ‘no’. The last thing he will ever do is to allow someone else to degrade him. He tosses a white sheet over his head and declares that he’ll be a ghost. End of story.

Tsuruko is placed in charge of props and design, not because she’s artsy or anything, but because it’s the hardest job that no one wants. She’s constantly stuck in these sorts of positions, not having her way but dealing with it because she’s nice. She’d been born like that. She’s got niceness all the way down to her toes, though she doesn’t show it to everyone. She has the same brand of kindness Menma used to glow with. The only difference is that Menma had worn her kindness like a crown. Tsuruko wears it like a weakness.

Yukiatsu, in comparison, hadn’t been born very nice at all. Well, at least he's handsome.

“It’s fine,” Tsuruko tells him. “It’ll end up in my student report anyway. Being smart and getting good grades isn’t the only thing the university will consider, Yukiatsu.”

He kind of just lets her ramble on in her explanations. The truth is, she takes the bullet of bad luck like a challenge. Yukiatsu admires that little thing about her, just a bit.

He grins when she has to wear a black shirt and pants to blend in with the darkness of the classroom. It suits her perfectly.

Her hip bones are sharp.

Even through the fabric of her uniform, he can feel them underneath his hands.

“Are you done (making a fool of me)?” Tsuruko asks. He sees the words she’s restraining in her eyes.

“They’re still here. Deal with it for now.” He nods to the gaggle of girls watching patiently on the sidelines of trackfield, waiting for their turn to dance with him around the post-fest bonfire. The last thing he wants to do is entertain them, even briefly, and Tsuruko had been the only form of escape he could manage on such short notice. She doesn’t look too happy, but she’ll forgive him later. She always does.

“Why don’t you just dance with them (why must you do this to me)?” the girl mutters though allows him to lead, one hand holding her cold fingers and the other on her hip.

“Just, because.”

“Because?”

“I would rather dance with you than any other person here,” he explains with that uncaring tone of his voice he always uses when it comes to the things that don’t particularly matter.

Her mouth twitches, with insult or agitation he isn’t sure. It’s definitely not happiness or flattery, that’s all he’s certain of. “Every girl wants to be in your place now, you know?” he chuckles as he says this, turning his head to watch the fire burning in the middle of all the dancing couples. The flames flicker under the night, and just when he thinks they are going to roar out, they fall back down over the wood.

“Not every girl.”

“Ouch.”

She steps on his left foot, but doesn’t apologise.

It’s eight am when Tsuruko reaches the train station. The face that she makes when she sees that he’s waiting at their usual spot beside the map of the city is priceless.

“I thought I told you I was going to be late,” she wheezes, catching her breath. Yukiatsu takes a moment to just bask in the elusive situation of Chiriko Tsurumi making a mistake. This hardly happens, and he should treasure the opportunity while he has the chance.

“Yes, I got your message.” He waves the cellphone in his hand to illustrate.

“Why are you still here, then? You’ll be late too,” Tsuruko asks, her voice lowering to a hiss, like she’s desperately trying to understand what is going on. They walk side by side to the platform. Or rather, Yukiatsu walks and Tsuruko scrambles, one hand in her bag, the other gripping onto her train card. It’s amazing how she crumbles apart when she can’t understand him, maybe it’s because she’s the only person who knows him so well.

“It’s because I was waiting for you,” Yukiatsu says.

“I know that,” she sighs a heavy, flustered sigh. “Why did you wait?”

Yukiatsu doesn’t reply. As they descend down the elevator, the train doors start to close, and they break out into a dash, barely making it through.

They might not be late for school after all.

Valentine’s Day is another horrible square on his calendar. If Menma were alive, she’d be the only reason he’d have to look forward to February 14^th. But she isn’t – so.

“Those chocolates Tsurumi gave you, are they friendship ones or…?” the girl with the green scrunchie and yellow headband asks. She’s that one that sits in the front of class but makes a habit of looking over her shoulder and giggling hysterically when he happens to gaze in her general direction when he wants to copy notes off the whiteboard.

“Does that matter?” is the boy’s reply. The hallway is empty, but he’s looking at everything except her.

“Yes! I think so!” the girl replies, voice stern and anxious. “I mean, Tsurumi’s so boring and quiet and uptight, she doesn’t deserve to be your close friend,” she reasons it out for herself. Yukiatsu’s fingers clench around bag of chocolates she’d given him just a few minutes ago. They’ll find the trash can once this is over.

“I think I could be a better friend, you know? Haven’t you noticed?” the girl with the irritating voice and the messy hair concludes.

Yukiatsu steps back.

“Don’t talk about Tsurumi that way,” is all he says. There’s neither anger nor hurt in his voice, it comes out sounding like a plain, modest statement.

When he strides down the corridors, he finds Tsuruko standing behind a line of shoe lockers, her nose in a book and her bag waiting in one hand. Yukiatsu stops in his tracks.

“I was waiting for you to go home,” Tsuruko clarifies, never looking up from the words.

He makes a dismissive noise, entering into the class across the hall to retrieve his belongings.

“… Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t.” Her gaze doesn’t leave the ground, but he knows that she knows his eyes are still red.

Yukiatsu rubs his arm across his face once more as they walk away from the parking lot and Menma’s father, scraping off the emotion like a scab. He’s been off his game recently, it’s been harder to keep everything bottled inside and Tsuruko isn’t helping one bit. If anything, the way she’s been acting recently just makes him feel so unsettled.

She’s been moody and adverse to him getting too close, and he’s pretty sure she’s not on her period because he knows how she can get when that particular hurricane lands. Tsuruko is different, and he can’t resolve the thing that’s bugging her if he doesn’t know what it is. His only problems are that he’s looking at a girl (dead, for seven years by the way) who’s looking at another guy. He can’t possibly relate to Tsuruko.

He’ll ask Anjou about it later when they meet up.

“Do you think I’m weird?” he poses the question thoughtfully.

“Without a doubt (but I don’t mind),” is Tsuruko’s reply, sharp and true.

Yukiatsu chuckles even though his heart still aches for a girl who’ll never look at him the way he looks at her. “Yeah,” he says, because he knows he can’t help it.

Long after the train has sped off somewhere, he stops kicking the fence. He stops because his foot is sore and his still feels mostly the same. Nothing’s different. Jintan is still this big damn hero, and he’s relegated to the role of the sore loser. When he turns around, Tsuruko is still standing there, waiting for him. She’s holding his bag, which he’d tossed aside at one point.

In her eyes, he doesn’t find pity or secondhand embarrassment or any readable emotion. He can’t tell what the eyes behind those glasses mean. Maybe it’s because the evening is dim and the autumn air is turning cold. The only thing he knows is that Tsuruko’s still standing here, waiting for him, like she always has. He remembers the little actions, like her sharing her lunch, the harsh words she says while being a loyal friend, dancing with him when he could have easily picked anyone else. She’s called him names before, but she’s never called him something he isn’t. She’s the most honest person he knows.

“I saw you spacing out in class today,” the girl clears her throat. She fishes around the file in her bag, pulling out a piece of paper with mathematical symbols scrawled all over. “Here. Just in case you didn’t manage to copy the last four questions we went through today.”

“Thank you.”

He’s pretty sure he’s not referring to the math notes.

“Here.”

“Why are you giving… this…” Tsuruko’s eyes widen.

“I don’t need it anymore.” He crosses his arms, content with his explanation.

The wig and dress aren’t hanging in his closet now. He’s folded them up and placed them in the lowest drawer, guarded by Menma’s letter.

When she doesn’t react, he gets up and moves two train seats down so that there’s only one gap between them now. He presses his thumb down and unclips it and tries to slot it against the bangs of her hair, but it’s so short and it’s hard, he almost pokes an eye out. “Stop. Stop. Stop!” The girl slaps his wrist away. Yukiatsu edges off, remaining still to show that he means no harm. He needs to be careful with Tsuruko, he remembers. Underneath all her hardness, her control over her emotions is no better than Anaru’s.

Girls.

She looks at him, almost like she’s trying to see if he’s joking. He frowns, indignant at her suspicion.

She reaches out, pull backs, reaches out, hesitates, before opening her palm. He places the flower hairclip in the center of her hand. Somewhere above, in between the cracks of the clouds, maybe Menma is smiling for Tsuruko, who can’t seem to summon her own feelings. Her face is blank, framed by her short hair.

Yukiatsu looks at her feet, crossed at the ankles and fidgeting against each other, very unlike the Tsuruko he’s known for seven years. He doesn’t quite mean it in a bad way.

“… Alright,” the girl in front of him decides, her lips almost curving as she closes her fingers, like a flower around its heart. That one word, and the way her eyes open when she looks straight at him, makes him think that he doesn’t need to say anything else right now. Tsuruko knows everything, what he wants to say and what he can’t say, just by touching the tip of the hairclip and glancing at him.

Here it is again, this unworded understanding, this weird telepathy thing they have going on, he’s not sure when it’d started. He looks at her for a second longer than usual, and it’s almost like she’s smiling with a frown. The train emerges from the underground tunnel, and he can see the sun setting in between the buildings of the city. It warms his face and casts a certain kind of light on Tsuruko.

Yukiatsu is finally starting to have a clearer picture of her.

★notes –
I wrote this from the scraps and leftovers of scenes I wanted to include in Streets in Summer, but didn’t feel like they fit. You could say that this is a companion fic to it, I suppose (: Most of this was meant to subvert typical shoujo romcom settings too, because the last thing you will ever see is Yukiatsu and Tsuruko doing any conventional-shoujo cookie-cutter stunt, really. Lovely pair. Also, Yukiatsu is an infinitely hard character to write. I really hope I managed to do him justice.

This can be read as a series of standalone drabbles, but there are pervading themes and suchlike. Hope you enjoyed my foray into breaking down the relationship from Yukiatsu’s pov (:

Everything they are: Yukiatsu
Everything they aren’t: Tsuruko

Streets in Summer (Yukiatsu+Tsuruko)

ibuberu — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 11:33:32 GMT

Title – Streets in Summer
Fandom – Ano Hana
Characters – Yukiatsu, Tsuruko
Genres – Drama
Rating – PG
Summary – Even after seven years, she's looking at him looking at her.

Streets in Summer

“What did you find, Yukiatsu?” she asks, standing behind the group hounding Jintan. Apart from her and Yukiatsu, the rest are oo-ing and ah-ing at the massive beetle their leader had managed to capture.

“Huh? Nothing much.” He turns in surprise, before looking down at his own bug, wriggling and writhing between his thumb and middle finger. It’s a chubby caterpillar, with what feels like fur that tickles when she reaches out to prod it.

“It’s cool,” she decides.

Yukiatsu smiles, just a bit. She can’t help but find that it looks good on his perpetually stoic face.

She crouches down low to the ground, ignoring the mud and dirt that stains her skirt and the soil getting under her fingernails. It doesn’t take long for her to find the hairclip. She smiles at the flower, wonders what its name is, before pocketing it.

“Tsuruk– Tsurumi,” the young boy says, clenching his teeth.

“Yukiatsu?” she replies easily, blinking as she raises her eyes from her book. “We’re in the same class? That’s nice.”

He hasn’t changed much over the quiet summer, with that mean, thinking look on his face and the way he likes to put his hands in his pockets. It’s odd. They are only eleven-years old, but Menma’s death has shifted many things out of equilibrium. Poppo loses his loud laugh, Anaru doesn’t come by her house to play video games with her anymore, and Jintan’s spirit of adventure has been buried along with the girl with the pretty white dress.

Yukiatsu had never been too close to Tsuruko, but seeing him here like this, it makes her think that maybe not everything has to change.

But everything does. Yukiatsu’s just amazing at hiding, is all.

“You liked Menma, didn’t you?” she asks him out of curiosity during lunch. They sit at his desk, picking at their lunchboxes, exchanging tomatoes for sausages. She stares down at the rice in her bento, almost daring to count the grains.

His tiny hands pinch the chopsticks closer together, and he looks almost violated. “How do you know?” he whispers, tone sullen and uncomfortable.

Tsuruko shrugs. She wants to reach out and pat his head, but contents herself by watching him squirm in his seat.

“Do you still like her?”

She gets the answer she expects, but not the one she wants.

“Do you want to come over to my house after school today?”

“Huh, what for?” his reply is strangely hostile.

Tsuruko’s smile fades away and her eyes lower to the floor. It’d slipped her mind that they used to be six, not two.

“Just like old times?” she ventures, just to try her luck.

He arches an eyebrow, his expression mixed with disbelief and something that almost resembles sadness, and looks at her like she’s insane. She just might be.

When they take the bus home from middle school together, she spots two empty seats beside each other, and moves to sit down. Yukiatsu doesn't join her, preferring to stand, holding tightly onto the cold support beam like a lifeline. Tsuruko’s eyes fall, but she decides to avoid his gaze and revise multiplication tables in her head.

She draws a faceless boy and girl holding hands in her math textbook when she is twelve. When she is thirteen, there are only pencil scars and the profile of a boy she wishes she didn’t understand as much as she did.

Yukiatsu chuckles.

“You look funny.”

Tsuruko furrows her brow. She makes an indignant sound before walking away, nearly banging into a desk because she hasn’t gotten used to wearing glasses yet.

“You won't go out with any of those girls.” The words just slip out of her as they walk down the hill towards the station. She counts the lines on the pavements, swinging her bag in one hand. The setting sun stretches the shadows at their feet, and when she squints, they begin to blend together. He’s already taller than her, his shoulder at her chin.

“Not interested,” he replies, sounding almost bored.

“Meiko Honma,” Tsuruko states. It’s not a question, it never was. It’s surprising how bitter a fourteen-year old can sound.

Yukiatsu nearly reels, but he doesn’t reply. He only thrusts his hands deeper into the pockets of his school uniform, frowning at her as a sad smile spreads across her face. She turns to look at the streetlights and the shops on the other side of the road so that he doesn’t see. She wonders why she does this to herself.

“Hey, you okay?”

Tsuruko opens her eyes. Standing over her is Yukiatsu, who’s blurred at the edges. He’s gotten big, with broad shoulders and a face sharpened with time, but there’s still something about him that reminds her about the sulky ten-year old she’d known.

She can just make out his face, vacant of anxiousness or worry. He looks dumb, with that blank, indifferent expression. She wants to laugh. The snow is cold and biting on the back of her head, and she realizes that she’d skidded on the icey pavement on their walk to school. Tsuruko immediately reaches her for skirt.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything,” Yukiatsu smirks, bending over to pick up her glasses, askew on the ground.

She lies there for a moment, closing her eyes and recalling the time when the six of them made angels in the snow. That had been only five years ago, but it feels so far away. The sun is warm on her freezing skin, and she wishes she could smell summer instead of snow.

Suddenly, a hand grabs onto her elbow and hoists her off the ground and onto her feet. Her head spins and she brushes the snow off her hair. Her spectacles are in Yukiatsu’s palm, and he’s standing too close to her and why is he staring at her and he should let go for her arm now.

Tsuruko snatches her glasses back, slipping them on and stepping away. “Yes?” she asks, keeping her composure.

“Nothing,” Yukiatsu says.

They continue walking to school. Tsuruko does not pursue the matter because he'd meant what he said.

“Leave Matsuyuki alone!” the generic lovestruck girl orders, trying to be fierce but desperately failing.

Tsuruko ignores her and continues doing the work she’s laid out on her desk, pen scratching against the paper. She’s adapted to the constant stream of jealous girls, knows how to play the silent game like an ace. Sometimes they give up and leave her alone, at others –

“Hey!” A manicured hand slams on the table, kicking up flecks of eraser dust.

She shoos the fingers off her work with the nonchalant wave of a hand. “I’m not doing anything,” she says softly, adjusting her spectacles.

“You little bitc– ” the girl is cut off when she realizes that someone else has walked up to the desk.

“Calm down,” Yukiatsu sighs. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh – um,” the girl starts, running a hand through her hair and chewing her lip and frantically trying to come off as attractive, with her short skirt and blouse with the first two buttons loosened. It’s sickening.

Tsuruko shoves everything into her bag, zips it up, and turns to leave the classroom. After inspecting the girl from top to bottom and deeming her unworthy of conversation, Yukiatsu walks over to grab his bag too.

Her footsteps start to slow as she brushes past students and hallways. By the time she’s at the school gates, Yukiatsu is behind her, strolling leisurely without a care in the world.

They are sixteen, in the same class like always, battling with puberty and trying to understand algebra. It is Yukiatsu’s birthday. His desk is piled high with melting chocolates and cakes and gooey love letters that mean nothing to him. He still pretends to be grateful and happily surprised when girls with no names approach him in class or on the hallway to offer him presents.

She has to help him carry one plastic bag full of chocolates. Her hand slips on the way to the train station, and some of the sweets fall out of their boxes. “Nevermind them,” Yukiatsu says without much concern, continuing on his way. Tsuruko likes to dislike this side of him.

“Happy birthday,” she mumbles as she reads her book, three train seats apart from him.

Yukiatsu lights up a little when he hears the words. He smirks expectantly - so very confident that she wouldn’t have the heart not to wish him. “No present?” he teases.

When she doesn’t reply, his smug grin subsides and he leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “You always remember my birthday, don’t you?” he comments, his voice every essence of deliberate casualness. Tsuruko flips the page.

It’s not that she remembers. It’s that she can’t forget.

“Matsuyuki.” The teacher checks his name off the list.

“181cm, 68kg,” Yukiatsu tells him, ignoring the stares the girls who aren’t even in phys-ed class give him. Tsuruko doesn’t look to him. She’s on the weighing scale, staring at the white socks on her feet.

“ –mi. Tsurumi?” the teacher calls.

“Oh! Uh,” she snaps out of her thoughts, looking at the numbers on the screen for her measurements.

“You seem out of it today, are you alright?” he asks.

“Sorry,” she tells herself.

“Try this on.” He holds the dress out for her. It’s white with cute ruffles and an innocent ribbon to complete the look. It looks hauntingly familiar somehow. And it’s something she wouldn't be caught dead it.

“Never,” she replies, skimming through another rack of conservative button-down shirts.

Yukiatsu, who’s learned to live with her nonchalance, steps in front of the full body mirror at the back of the store. From the corners of her eye, she nearly catches him holding the dress up against his reflection. The hangers on the rack crash together when she clutches and pulls down on one of the shirts.

“… you bought it,” she observes, incredulous.

“Yes. It’s for my girlfriend,” Yukiatsu breezes, thanking the cashier before hefting the bag over one shoulder. They walk beside each other out of the department store and she overhears a group of middle-schoolers mistaking them for a couple.

“Who, again?” Tsuruko succeeds in restraining the mock, shoving it down her throat like all the words she’s never said. She lowers her eyes and watches how their feet walk out of sync.

“It’s not you,” he says without a second thought.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

"Tsuruko.”

She turns to glare at him. When the train comes, she gets into a separate carriage. Yukiatsu frowns, but doesn’t bother to chase after her.

They’ve walked the same road to and from school for – two-hundred and eighty days multiplied by seven – one thousand, nine hundred and sixty times now. Nothing has changed.

But when they reach the quiet train tracks, a scrawny boy is talking to himself and leaping for the empty ground. It’s Yadomi. Tsuruko is surprised to see the boy, who looks so unsure of himself and so different from the confident leader of that summer.

When she glances sideways to the boy next to her, his eyes flash with something she’s never seen. She brushes her hair behind her ear.

Maybe this is it.

It’s his turn to stare at her when he climbs out of the trench, struggling in a white dress with ruffles and a ribbon. She just looks at him and tries not to show anything on her face. The skirt of the torn dress swishes at his ankles as he stalks off, and perhaps this time he’ll leave his feelings in the forest instead of carrying them back home again.

That doesn’t happen.

“I’m sorry, but I already have plans.” Yukiatsu smiles in that marvellous plastic way, the one that makes her positively sick. His only plans are going home to study until he’s tired, or alternatively making conversation with a worn wig and a dress. She tightens her grip on the handle of her school bag, fingernails digging into the skin of her palm in the process.

She thinks, for a second, that maybe she’s even more twisted that Yukiatsu, who crossdresses and cries like a fountain and kicks at inanimate objects and throws insults at others just so that they boomerang back to him. To stay with someone like him, who’s obsessed with the bones of a dead girl, might be the only mistake of her life.

But he’s strong and smart and even though he lies he does it in such a terribly obvious way that he’s practically honest. He’s like a book she’s read from back to front, leaf to leaf, memorized the most important quotes and the way the words feels under her fingertips. She knows all of his merits, which are harder to see because of his magnificent flaws, she knows where is his heart as much as she knows where is hers.

She can hardly remember how he looks when he’s earnest, but she remembers the feeling of it all – a summer smile and a fuzzy caterpillar. There is a boy worth a heart somewhere under the hate in his eyes.

She watches him talk to another girl for more than five minutes for the first time in seven short years. What Anjou has that she doesn’t is not bigger breasts or a wonderful fashion sense or those bright, emotional eyes. It’s the fact that she doesn’t like Yukiatsu one bit.

And it hurts.

The hairclip is still beautiful even after so long. The smile on her drawing of Menma is still unsymmetrical, but she can’t bring herself to fix it. Nothing has changed. Jintan still thinks he can do anything he sets his mind on. Anaru’s sleeves are still blotted with her heart, and Poppo smiles and laughs to chase his troubles away. Menma is still the life of the party. All of Yukiatsu’s tears are for a girl who can cry for everyone but herself, and Tsuruko looks at him looking her.

“You’ll never understand,” Anaru sobs and sobs like she’s been betrayed by the world.

“I understand,” Tsuruko corrects her.

“Because I love Yukiatsu.”

She raises her eyes off the ground. The words are finally free.

★notes – This is me assuming they were 10 years old when Menma passed away and that their current ages are 17 because I can’t remember canon lol.

These two are amazing together, with the oblivious guy that everyone either loves/hates and the capable smart girl who somehow falls in love with his flaws. I like to tell myself that Tsuruko is so hard on him/is repulsed by him because she loves his too much, you know – you love someone to the extent that you can’t help but hate it. Oh headcanon.

I wanted to get this done before the final episode because I think if I see a happy/sad ending, the fic would have been too happy/too depressing either way. I’m kind of living in the ambiguous feeling of Tsuruko cutting her hair now. Let’s sit tight and see what happens to these two.

★

ibuberu — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 12:38:11 GMT

★ I wrote a Terra/Aqua fic, right here. I'm not posting it on this journal because I'm not really in the Kingdom Hearts communities anyway.
★ WIP meme from renaliner : go to your desktop. Find all the documents you've been working on, and post a snippet to your livejournal!

★

01. Pokémon, AU about Blue the Little Mermaid.

“Three days! Are you crazy?” Blue harps, infuriated. “Have you seen the boy I’m talking about?”

“Why, yes. He’s a nice little thing.”

“Right, and from the three sentences I’ve exchanged with him, I can tell that he isn’t going to be a cakewalk,” the mermaid reasons, throwing her hands up. “True love isn’t going to blossom in three days, even if I am quite the catch,” Blue considers with a thoughtful hand on her chin, ignoring the deadpan from Squirtle, who’s hiding behind a huge jutting rock.

“I mean, really, he’s the first person I know who hasn’t been dumbstruck by my looks.”

[Blue, I think you’re exaggerating.]

“Not at all!”

[I think you’ve been talking with the King too much.]

“What has that got to do with anything at all – ”

“Alright!” the woman interrupts, attempting to keep her voice level. “Three weeks it is.”

Blue nods with accomplishment.

“Three weeks of peace and quiet under the sea,” the witch mumbles to herself.

★

02. Pokémon, Cheren/White fic thing that will never get done.. haha..?

The warehouse was freezing, but there White stood in her shorts and her unbuttoned vest, ready for a fight.

Cheren grumbled as he removed his jacket – she honestly had to learn to dress more appropriately. When he looked up though, she was already skidding off on the frozen floor, clutching onto the arm of her Servine as her boots failed to provide enough of a grip. The next moment, she was already climbing up the containers and stacks of storage boxes, undeterred despite the cold.

Cheren gripped his jacket in one hand, dumbstruck.

★

03. Ao no Exorcist, in which Yukio tries to help Rin hook up with Shiemi. He's terrible at it.

“Who do you like the most?” Kamiki walked up and asked, her voice thick with the characteristic sternness it adopted around Shiemi. She crossed her arms and casted her gaze down at the blonde, who sat modestly at her usual place in class, almost as if she was holding an interrogation.

“Oh, I like Nin a lot,” the girl hummed, grinning with satisfaction when the green familiar nuzzled her cheek with uncharted affection.

“No! I meant a human,” Kamiki clarified, clenching a hand.

“I like you a lot, Kamiki-san,” Shiemi smiled, delighted with her answer. The dark-haired girl, on the other hand, felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment, her hand twitching with the urge to strangle the obliviousness out of the blonde.

“Boys! I’m talking about boys! Geez!” she nearly shrieked in frustration, clamping her hands on Shiemi’s shoulders and giving her a couple of good shakes for extra measure. Rin and Yukio winced in unison from the corner of the door where they hid.

★

04. Bakuman, wait what is this I don't even remember writing this wow. It's Kato (glasses girl assistant) and uhm, that assistant who appeared early on and managed to start his own manga, about a prosecutor I think. Yes, I don't remember his name lol.

“It’s odd,” she laughs lightly.

He gives her a pointed look, not speaking, just observing.

“We used to sit side by side. Now we’re still drawing together, but you’re further away,” she admires the statement with a noncommittal sigh; with a brightness in her eyes that makes him wonder what her favourite colour is – or perhaps favourite manga would be more appropriate.

He doesn’t respond, deciding to nod his head quietly, pushing the former thought behind sprouting ideas for the new names.

★

05. Kingdom Hearts, another terribly old thing I never finished. It's about Xion coming across fairytales in books and gaining interest in them. Roxas+Axel+Xion.

She doesn’t tell Roxas or Axel. It seems inappropriate to do so, and she quickly arrives to the conclusion that their male brains won’t even find interest in such colourful, girlish fantasies. Xion hides her new hobby in herself, like the myriad she conceals from the fragility of the outside world – throbbing headaches and recurring nightmares and nagging sensations that make her feel like a broken toy about to shatter.

The tales ease her, they concoct in her ridiculous notions about how it would be like to be held in a man’s arms – she is reminded of Axel carrying a dizzy her with quite a displeased frown, and she patterns a laugh at the thought of him being a prince – he’s her best friend, but perhaps not a suited for stalwart steeds and classic capes. Then her mind shifts to Roxas, to the soft lines that arc his face and the way his set of eyes regard her with quiet kindness – and she fondly admits that he wouldn’t look too dismal, decked in unmarked white, and wielding a sleek sword in place of his keyblade.

Her lips curl upwards, and she smiles involuntarily at the silliness of it all. Xion wonders if this is what happiness is supposed to be like, it’s different from what she experiences on the ledge of the clock tower, so perhaps something more than joy – this is more unbridled and unpredictable and unlikely, what the text stacked on the pages claims as ‘love’.

Maybe it felt something like this, just not as empty and hollow and artificial.

★

06. Panty & Stocking, a panty/brief drabble thing.

She’s running dangerously low on sugar in her blood when she finds the tiny box in Panty’s drawer. Stocking immediately dismisses it as a pack of condoms, and it doesn’t seem sweet or edible. She’s prepared to toss it aside and continue to rummage through the filthy room in search of money to replenish her stash of frosted cupcakes and melt-in-your-mouth candy canes, but her curiosity smuggles her craving (just barely).

She places the small velvet box in the middle of her palm and flicks it open with her thumb, and the necklace coiled in up the cushiony interior is all winking diamonds and glamorous sparkles and looks like snowy mint licorice. Stocking had always been more of a pearl-sort of angel, they were bigger and rounder and reminded her of the tranquil image of juicy gumballs.

She isn’t quite jealous about the fact that Panty’s accessories now have a welcome addition (those gold bangles were all brown and rusted now). Rather, Stocking needs to find out who gave her the necklace, and how much sex did she have to power (or breeze) through to get the diamonds on her scrawny collarbones.

... and these are only the things I've started writing, I realised I have like 5 blank documents waiting to be filled haha.

The Bird Dies in a Self-Created Fire (Akihiko/FeMC)

ibuberu — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 08:32:39 GMT

Title – The Bird Dies in a Self-Created Fire
Fandom – P3P
Characters – Akihikio, FeMC, SEES
Genres – General, Romance
Rating – PG-13
Summary – Akihiko has an affinity with graves.

The Bird Dies in a Self-Created Fire

⚔

The gravestone is blank, with intricate carvings curving down its sides.

He tries to smile, places the flowers down, and walks away empty-handed and alone to meet Mitsuru for some champagne and debt-paying.

⚔

In January, twelve days to the Fall, on a bright Sunday morning, Akihiko accompanies Minako to see her parents. They are resting only five train stops and a half hour’s walk away from the dorm, but she tells him she doesn’t visit them often.

“I thought I should come back one more time, just to say hello,” she hums, tracing a finger on the frame of the tomb on the left.

“Not goodbye, mind you,” she adds, and he can’t help but smile at her defensive optimism. It’s like she’s sure they’ll defeat Nyx, and the way she has the least apprehension out of the lot of them makes her seem so surreal, like the way her bobby pins always spell out twenty-two no matter how rough and tough she gets.

The girl bends over and props her chin on her knees, inching closer to her parents. He stands behind her and claps his hand and says the sorts of formalities you usually say to people who can’t hear you. All the right words are memorized in his head now, after so many funerals and graveyard excursions and visits.

“Mom, Dad, I brought someone to see you! It’s the guy I love this time,” Minako grins, like it’s the most natural thing to say.

Akihiko nearly trips over his surprise.

“I – uh,” he staggers around, not quite knowing how to strike a one-sided conversation.

Minako laughs at his uneasiness, almost like she’s teasing him for his inability to talk to the dead the way she does. “Wish me luck.” She blows a kiss to them, and Akihiko wonders how she can handle death so much more elegantly than him. She treats everyone like they’re still alive, thriving in her head or in the music blasting for her headphones – it’s times like these that he isn’t sure if he’s impressed or scared.

Minako steps off and returns to his side to hold onto his hand, and the feeling of foreboding is replaced by warmth. Akihiko distracts himself with happy things like the glow of her cheeks and the softness of her fingers, and everything is fine because she’s the most important girl to him, and he’ll protect her with all his might.

⚔

Ryoji’s body is never found, his house address an empty plot of land, and his parents never alive. The only things that belong to him are the clothes on his back and his long scarf, crumpled together at the foot of the dorm’s porch in the morning of the new year.

They build him a little memorial in the backyard upon Junpei, Fuuka and Minako’s insistence. Koromaru graciously allows them to intrude, content to have his little kennel and bowl of water. The structure is a respectable thing, as grand as anything a bunch of highschoolers and an eleven-year old could ever hope to build.

There’s a group picture from Kyoto resting in the centre of a miniature wooden shed modeled after the neighbour’s bird house. Junpei is surprisingly skillful when he needs to be. Fuuka hangs the Christmas lights over the grave instead of storing them in the closet, and Minako visits Ryoji every other morning.

One day, Akihiko decides to follow her out back, where she tucks her skirt neatly under her legs before seating herself in front of the monument. She whispers things to the scarf that has Akihiko half yearning to hear and half trying to tune out. Most of the time, both options can’t work because she’s mumbling in an indecipherable way, it sounds like another language.

When she gets back up on her feet, he sees flecks of grass sticking to her knees, which are red and blotchy from all the weight she’d put on them while kneeling. Out of nowhere, on pure instinct alone, he leans over and brushes the dirt off her knees, and the girl can’t help but blush and smile. She looks almost sad with her eyes pinned on him, hands clenched around the base of her neck.

He holds out a hand, which she takes happily. As they walk back, she turns around one more time to Ryoji’s dry-cleaned clothes.

“I’ll… see you soon,” she whispers, and a chill runs down Akihiko’s spine.

⚔

It’s early in December when Akihiko should be training and struggling with the end of the world, but he can’t help it when he overhears Yukari gushing over Christmas.

He paces the interior of a quaint antique shop in the back alleys of Paulownia for almost an hour, standing awkwardly under the spotlight of the hopeful looks of the aged storekeeper. It’s his third time rummaging through the soft toys and porcelain figures, before he throws in the towel and dials Mitsuru’s number.

She sounds delighted to hear that he’s consulting her about present-picking, singing out a refined sort of laugh from the other end of the line. “I’m sure Arisato will appreciate anything you get for her,” Mitsuru hums, and Akihiko sighs because he called her for suggestions, not ambiguity.

“She does seem to enjoy music, though. So perhaps you could get her something in that scheme of thought?” Mitsuru continues, stopping to listen to Akihiko’s response. His eyes scour the trinkets of the shop until they find just the thing, and he’s smiling widely, thanking her and reaching up to take the music box off the top shelf.

It’s a dazzling red, though still far from the colour of Minako’s eyes. When he winds the arm on the side of the box, embellished with a couple of plastic jewels, the song is one he doesn’t recognize, but he’s already walking to the cashier, and the old woman is brimming with joy.

The morning is still just settling in when he’s walking through the port, stopping when he finds Ken standing down a narrow street. The road stretches out in front and behind him, but the boy is at the standstill, thinking. They talk about the choices they’ve made, and Ken is suddenly asking Akihiko if he can follow him to see his mother. Akihiko’s hand tightens on the gift bag containing the music box when he nods.

“Do you… love Minako-san?” Ken twiddles his thumbs, posing the most untimely question one could ever ask in front of the grave of his murdered mother.

Akihiko feels winded, like Ken’s just punched him in the gut with those little angry fists. He only lets himself falter for a second; pausing before squaring his shoulders and answering “yes” with the sort of conviction he usually reserves for Full Moon shadows and championships matches.

The boy’s eyes twitch, almost like he’s taken aback, like he’s realizing that he’s just a child with baby fat and underdeveloped tendons.

“Bye,” Ken says, to the bones of his mother or to Akihiko.

⚔

After the Dark Hour steals away to the moon, an ambulance with no siren arrives for Aegis. Junpei and him help to lift her rickety body, Minako cradling Aegis’ head with her symmetrical hands. Her knees are flared up with wires and sparks, thin metallic threads holding the joints barely in place. They lay her down to rest in a box with mechanisms that clamp onto what is left of her wrists and heels to keep her in place. It resembles a coffin.

Akihiko can almost feel the anxiety of the robot as the lid is placed down over her and locked tight, the worn latex of her face transfixed in what looks like terror.

Minako is a different case, because while she looks fine on the surface, she’s positively lifeless on the inside right about now. Her eyes are hollow and her face is plastered with a frown for once, she sighs and sighs to herself almost as if she can smother the truth with her reluctance, and quietly asks “why?” with more shame than surprise.

Akihiko finally understands why she can speak the dialect of the dead. As much as he shouldn’t be pleased by the fact that she’s a medium for the end of the world, he can’t help but love her unconditionally because of who she is, not what she is. Before they all return to their rooms for sleep, he approaches Minako from behind and ruffles her hair, and the relieved grin on her face is enough to make everything alright.

Mitsuru waits behind them and looks at him questioningly once Minako is up the stairs, not bothering to hide her graceless fatigue. He turns to her, and he can tell that she’s searching for the answer on his face because she’s torn between feeling fine and feeling aghast, and Akihiko smiles a little at her, hoping that she’ll return to rationality soon.

⚔

Chidori goes mad and Medea rampages for her cause.

The Agilao blossoms out of thin air and engulfs Minako, setting off all the alarms in Akihiko’s head – he’s thinking: no don’t be like Miki, please, his only real weakness is standing by while little girls are wrapped up in flames.

The fire chars the edges of her skirt, and he’s already bolting towards her, his Evoker ironed against his temple, chanting ‘diarahan, diarahan, diarahan’. Just when he thinks about Miki for the first time in the year, Suzaku rises out from Minako’s shoulders and roosts overhead, wings arched and crown raised, warding away the flames.

Akihiko drops and his knees bang loudly on the pavement, exhaling a huge sigh of relief. Mitsuru eyes him from the corner of her eyes, wordlessly berating him for the chink in his armour. He’ll apologise to her later.

They win like they always do, and when Akihiko sees Takaya’s skeletal arm creaking and the gun cocking, he remembers Shinji and all the things he couldn’t do.

Bang. Bang.

Mitsuru knocks on Junpei’s locked door with the bones of two fingers. Akihiko leans on the walls of the corridor, just to see what she’s got to say to the boy who’s mourning over a girl who died for him.

“Iori,” she clears her throat and says.

There is no reply.

“You can see her one more time, Iori,” she ventures, cautious.

“I’ve told the people to wait for a day before carrying out the necessary actions, you may go and see her at the usual hospital until then,” Mitsuru clarifies, all business-like and detailed, a habit she won’t ever be able to shake.

She steps back when she hears movement on the other side of the door, and before long Junpei emerges with his cap on and his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing the same clothes he was yesterday night, but manages to look at his senior and say “thank you”, voice tired but otherwise grateful. The hardness of her face fades off when she hears his words, and her concern for the boy seems to put her in a momentary stupor.

“Akihiko will accompany you,” Mitsuru adds, voice soft.

Yes, Akihiko had been fine with the arrangement. Someone had to take care of Junpei. Minako had pleaded for her to follow them as well, not knowing that her smiles and optimism were what stung Junpei the most just then. Mitsuru had to decline her politely because Akihiko wouldn’t have been able to.

“…. Alright,” Junpei sighs, trudging down the hall.

Thump. Thump.

In the silence of the Kirijo-bought hospital, Akihiko can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Chidori is sleeping under the sheets, her hands laced like fine embroidery over her stomach, all prepared to be buried. Akihiko waits outside and looks through the window in the door. Junpei is standing not beside her, but at the head of the metal table, staring down into her closed eyes and the white of her forehead. Maybe that’s the spot where he can watch over her better.

He sees Junpei’s mouth moving but can’t make out the words. The boy talks on and on for almost fifteen minutes, pausing four times to reach out a hand, only to retract it just millimeters from her pale skin. It’s painful touching someone who can’t feel it. Akihiko understands.

⚔

“Let’s go, Mitsuru.” He pats her shoulder.

She doesn’t budge. They’ve already been here for an hour and the juniors are all waiting back at the dorm to go to Tartarus, they should really get going. The train ride back to Iwatodai will take them three hours. Her father’s resting place is amongst his ancestors in a shy little suburb far from the economy of the city. The sun is setting in the horizon and the shadows of all the graves stretch out over the land at their feet.

Akihiko tugs her elbow. Anything to get away from the gloom of this place, anywhere that will make Mitsuru look more certain of herself.

Mitsuru doesn’t respond to his shaking, to his gloved hand gripping tightly at first and then loosening when he recalls that she’s just a girl no matter how strong she is. It hurts, watching her grow numb to everything around her and not being able to do anything about it.

The problem with Mitsuru Kirijo is that she lingers, she clings onto the past as much as he does. Shinji was right when he said that they were meant for each other. It’s because they have the same twisted problems. Mitsuru reminds him of many things, of the mistakes he’s made and victories that now feel empty, knowing that her father’s blood has run cold and the Dark Hour is still haunting them.

It’s Minako that tells him what’s worth protecting, that there’s something possibly nice about embracing the future instead of digging potholes in the past.

She takes up another incense stick and burns one end with the lighter in her palm. When she holds it out silently to Akihiko, he takes it with gentle compliance. Walking back to the foot of her father’s grave, he prays with the incense burning and burning between his palms. Mitsuru joins him, churning her hands up and down, sending the skeins of smoke all around the evening air.

⚔

“I could have saved him,” Minako’s voice cracks apart.

“Don’t say that, no one could have known.” Akihiko places a hand on her shoulder when he should be giving himself a good punch in the face.

“I could have, really,” the girl continues, curling up into a ball and leaning into his chest. She doesn’t ask for him to believe, just needs him there to put his arm around her and tide her through the regret.

There are no tears outside the privacy of her room, just heaps and heaps of what-should-have-beens and mistakes. Minako doesn’t know this, but Akihiko realises that they have similar regrets concerning Shinji.

Shinji is cremated because he probably would burst out of his coffin just to swear if he was going to be buried ten feet under, entrapped in walls and walls of soil – as if dying wasn’t bad enough. His ashes are housed in a simple urn with little patterns that remind Akihiko of the ivory that twists around old gravestones. He tells Mitsuru not to be extravagant on the ceremonial necessities, and that he’ll pay her back ten years later when they are older and surer of what they’re doing with their lives.

Mitsuru smiles pityingly at him, like she’s surprised that he thinks their friendship will last a decade, or even past graduation. Akihiko looks at her: the smartest girl school. No matter how intelligent she is, it’ll take her much longer to understand the simple things, the things that actually matter. He promises himself that he’s going to prove her wrong in ten years time.

Caesar clinks bubbling champagne glasses with Penthesilea somewhere in the density of the air, he can feel it.

They place the brown urn on the top shelf of the kitchen, amongst the foreign spices only Shinji ever used in his cooking. Akihiko stares at Minako staring at the urn in the evenings when she comes back from school, her eyes lingering on its shape and her lips moving, mouthing ‘sorry’ and ‘sorry’ and did she just say ‘I’ll do better next time.’?

⚔

His best friend is screaming, but it almost sounds like he’s dying in the echo of the Dark Hour. Shinji clutches his head like it’s about to burst, a gun clattering at his feet. Akihiko’s shouting and trying to hold him down by his shoulders with Mitsuru, who’s gasping out orders and trying to retain whatever control she has left before it slips through her manicured fingers.

They successfully drag Shinji onto his knees, but the yelling doesn’t stop and Castor is suddenly thundering out of the back of his skull, and exploding into one of the houses on the side of the road.

They dive to the side and Mitsuru skids and tears her bare knees against the asphalt of the deserted road. The immediate result is blood that tarnishes her pristine skin, but Mitsuru’s eyes flash, dangerous and distracted. She’s already calculating the various plans of action, weighing their probabilities of success and how to cover up the whole ordeal with the least fingerprints and cleanest hands.

All Akihiko is concerned about is Shinji, who’s sputtering and puking nothing but water.

He hears a young boy crying and the wood of a coffin creaking underneath the pressure of the debris. A hand hangs limply out from the crack of the lid, and Akihiko doesn’t know what to think anymore. Shinji’s losing his mind and Mitsuru’s losing her power and he’s just losing, losing, losing everything even though he’s won ten gold-painted boxing trophies already.

Shinji starts laughing, bones shivering underneath Akihiko’s gloves, when he sees the woman’s still fingers and catches the voice of a traumatised boy. Tears start spilling from the corners of his bloodshot eyes, and this is the second time Akihiko has ever felt so powerless. They only manage to get up onto their feet before Mitsuru is back in the present, knees crimson red and instructing them where to go to hide and clean their wounds.

Shinji drags his feet against the pavement.

“You two’ll be peachy fine without me,” he snorts.

“We need you!” Akihiko runs after him, but his knees are still aching from bracing the road and he can’t keep up with those massive strides. “It’s not a big deal! Mitsuru’s fine with it, she’s just a little angry!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he's shouting on the streets at two in the morning. “You were made for each other, so quit wasting my time,” he proclaims while flashing Akihiko the finger, stalking off down the streets, his trenchcoat no longer big enough to hide the sag of his shoulders.

⚔

The orphanage pools its entire savings together along with some donations from gracious passer-bys, and it is just enough to cover for a mass funeral for the children and a place for them to be buried. The problem is – they don’t have the funds for proper gravediggers. So Akihiko’s gripping a shovel in his scrawny hands, and the steel is hot under the afternoon sun.

The heat is searing, but all he does is sweat and sweat and his skin remains intact, it’s like a haunting reenactment of the night Miki died. The flames were swallowing her whole, peeling off her skin and licking up her screams, she’d thrown her hands around her burning throat because she was so scared – and Akihiko had been desperately wondering why the heat seemed to slip off his skin, why the flames bundled around Miki but danced around him, why Shinji had hauled him out before Miki.

What feels like five hundred years in his head – but only amounts to five – later, they stand in front of a young girl’s tomb for the second time in Shinji’s life and the nth time of Akihiko’s. His best friend has got his hands in his too-large trenchcoat and a grimace to hide all the remorse he’s shouldering.

If he were any other person, Akihiko would probably pat him on the back. Instead, he stares until Shinji looks up and bares his teeth, demanding to know ‘what’s the problem?’ He’s a ferocious thirteen-year old.

“Get over her, man, she’s been dead for so long,” Shinji mutters gruffly.

Akihiko can’t stop thinking about her. She’s the most important girl to him.

⚔

There’re two slabs of stone standing side by side, Sanada scrawled softly into their skins.

He ruffles Miki’s hair until she chuckles. He hoists her up from her praying knees, wipes her tears away, and they walk back to the orphanage, hand in hand.

end

notes
★Suzaku, while bearing many similarities with the Asian phoenix, Feng Huang, is not truly a real phoenix.
★I wanted to write a fic where you can read from start – end or end – start and experience different emotions/perspectives either way. You know, regeneration and degeneration – immortality and reincarnation.
★We all know about the phoenix of greek mythology, but do you know about that the phoenix is known as the Cherub or Angel in Israel? The clapping of its wings simulates the roar of thunder. It is said that the thunder is really the fearful rumble of the volcanic explosion that destroyed Paradise.
★ I’ll be taking a break from p3 fics for a while now because I’ve written nothing but it for quite some time. If you like my writing, feel free to check out my other persona fics here!

★ Someone asked me why the fic is written backwards, so I suppose I should post my interpretation here, along with other plot elements of the fic.

I wrote it backwards as a representation of the regeneration of Akihiko and the degeneration of Minako. Akihiko slowly returns to his happy days with Miki in the beginning, while Minako mostly finds peace with herself at the end of the game, and struggles with herself in the earlier part of the game, with Shinji and her role as the incubator of the appriser and all.

I also wrote the fic so that you can read it either way from the beginning or the end. Akihiko is like the immortal character for me, with so many deaths around him while he remains healthy and alive, alluding to Polydeuces being the immortal brother of Castor.

Minako is more like the reincarnated, so she represents mortality, just like the rest of the characters who die in the fic. In the end (or should I say beginning?) she dies too. But she'll be reincarnated again (New Game+ ) and the cycle continues. The two of them are like a phoenix in different senses, which is what the fic's title refers to.

★ other plot points
knees - prayer, in some religions, requires one to get on their knees. Akihiko never intentionally gets down on his knees, he only falls down in front of FeMC/Shinji. Shinji has to be forced onto his knees. Mitsuru and Aegis wound their knees. Take all of it as you will.
fire - the phoenix dies and is reborn in its fire, whereas a fake-phoenix, like Suzaku, is more associated with an immunity to fire
graves - akihiko's surrounded by them, every scene is divided into different graves (or symbols of them) and not anything else
minako as a reincarnation of miki - haha, yeah.

Daydreams of Damocles (General)

ibuberu — Fri, 27 May 2011 14:18:32 GMT

Title – Daydreams of Damocles
Fandom – P3P
Characters – SEES team and their Personas
Genres – General
Rating – PG-13
Summary – Talking to yourself is a perfectly sane thing to do.

Daydreams of Damocles

She raised the Evoker above her head, and in the metal of the gun, red eyes watched over her.

“You… remind me too much of myself.”

“It’s understandable, isn’t it? You’re my persona,” she replied, twirling the firearm by its handle. After five successful revolutions, it slipped out her hand and landed on the bed sheet.

“You know what I mean. You shouldn’t feign ignorance, it’s not very wise.”

“You’re silly – I don’t know a thing, I’ve only gotten to know you for a few nights now,” the girl laughed in that patented carefree way of hers, the one she used to chase everything away. She decided to leave the Evoker be, and instead shifted so that she was lying on her side, her head in her pillow, eyes pinned away from the toy gun.

“You’ve known me all your life,” Orpheus reached over and reminded her.

“Maybe,” she replied blankly, “cause’ you do look kind of familiar.” She tossed and turned as the thought gnawed at her. “But I don’t know what you’re going on about right now, so good night.” Deciding that the conversation wasn’t making much sense at all, she swiped the Evoker up and shoved it snug under her mattress.

The strings of a harp started playing in her ears, and she smiled as the lullaby sent her to sleep.

Days later, when she realised she could house more than a couple of personas, she proceeded to hold elaborate dinner parties in her head and lively social gatherings during class when she was bored. The Personas argued and fought and ricocheted between chatty and reclusive moods. They came and they went with the breaking and building of tarot cards, the weaker ones leaving to make berth for the stronger ones.

Along the way, Orpheus quietly let herself out the backdoor too.

☎

Yukari avoided the puddles that scattered the street, carrying her umbrella in one hand and clinging to the strap of her bag with the other. Rainy mornings were the worst times to travel to school, everything was wet and everyone would be jam-packed under anything that could function as a shelter.

She thought that maybe, if she’d waited for Minako and Junpei, she’d have a more enjoyable time walking to school. The fact was, she didn’t exactly like being around them all the time, not with the society they orchestrated around themselves, held by the acquired taste of perverted jokes and coy smiles and unbridled laughter.

Yukari splashed into a tiny puddle that had gone unnoticed, and the resulting effect soaked her shoes and made her curse.

“It won’t do for a lady to curse,” Io advised from the ripples of the water. “And all these negative thoughts are uncalled for, I’m certain Junpei and Minako would love your company.”

Yukari glanced at the puddles and chewed her lip in frustration, pulling both her bag and her umbrella closer to herself. She hated to admit it, but even after a month, the voice only she heard and the comforting words – they scared her much more than poising the gun to her head ever did.

“You still do not wish to talk to me?” she sounded disheartened.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Go away,” Yukari murmured to herself through her teeth, shutting her eyes and trying to make her leave.

"I’m showing care, Yukari,” Io reasoned, not bothering to disguise the hurt in her voice. “I am you, and I hope you will not continue to shun me.”

“Go away, please,” she chanted.

“Alright, but you must know that I can’t actually do that.”

The water on the sidewalk washed into the drains, and all Yukari could hear was the annoying tap of the rain against her tilted umbrella.

Yukari didn’t like how despite the chains weighing down against that pitch black skin, despite the fact that she sat herself in the hideous hollow of an ox, her Persona was unquestionably beautiful. She was patient and kind and understanding. All of the qualities Yukari admired, but never got around to actually becoming. It was hard not to upset that popular, charming girl-image everyone who didn’t know her assumed she was, what with Junpei’s constancy in her life. He wasn’t being a deliberate pain in the ass, but that didn’t stop her from putting the blame on him.

Junpei got on her nerves because he could call out all the bad things about her with one careless comment. He wasn’t even aware about what he did, which made all the hostility on her part seem childish and uncalled for. Yukari couldn’t compare herself to Io in any way at this point – which made her wonder why her Persona had to be this glamorous monster, of all possible mythical, thousand-year old deities.

The more Io fought, the weaker Yukari felt.

☎

[Thank you for helping me last week.] Fuuka smiled as she typed away on her laptop.

“You’re very welcome,” Lucia replied, clasping her hands together. “I’ll help you and your friends look out for trouble, since that’s the only thing I can do.”

[That’s helpful enough,] Fuuka backspaced to replace the exclamation mark with a comma, [let’s work hard together to help the team in whatever way we can manage.]

“Agreed,” Lucia sang out, in a contented tone.

[You’re very nice, you don’t need to be so nice to me…] the girl’s hands lingered over the keyboard.

“Now, now, what’s this?” the woman asked. “Please don’t think I’m just pretending to be nice, I don’t like liars at all. With eyes like mine, you see so many liars every day that you grow tired of all the acting."

[Really?]

“Those girls who bully you, they lie all the time. They don’t think you’re ugly, they think you’re beautiful,” Lucia informed her plainly.

Fuuka couldn’t quite wrap understanding around what the Persona was telling her, it seemed almost contradictory for Lucia to admonish fabrications, but bother to come up with little white lies just to make her feel better.

Unless, Lucia was honestly telling the truth – no, no, it couldn’t possibly be true – no. She should change the topic.

[Will I be able to help my friends if they’re in trouble? Will I be able to tell what’s to come?]

“That’s something I will never be able to tell,” Lucia advised, “only you will have the ability to determine that, Fuuka.”

The girl didn’t quite know how to reply to the words. She nodded, a small and discreet motion, before closing the laptop and getting onto her feet. Akihiko, who walked up from behind her, was carrying a cup of hot cocoa and an alarmed expression struck him as soon as she turned towards him.

His reaction was uncalled for though, because Fuuka avoided bumping into him with skilled precision, and instead, trudged silently up the stairs.

☎

Akihiko huffed, swinging his fists and keeping count in his head. Twenty-two sets.

“Harder, faster, stronger!”

Akihiko lost his perfect pacing and stopped jabbing the sand bag, throwing a punch at the wall instead. The vibrations caused a trophy to topple off its place on the shelf in his room. The boy walked over to pick it up and came face to face with a pair of empty eyes that had been hiding in the polished shine of the award.

“Stop mocking me,” he told them, gritting his teeth.

“I’m not,” Polydeuces defended, “this is, after all, what you regard as the key to becoming stronger.”

“Isn’t it?” Akihiko replied in a tone a little too sour for his liking.

“Hey, have you seen me in Tartarus lately, do you think I need to get stronger than I already am?”

The boxer lowered his gaze, his gloves tightening around the first place trophy. For all the praises about his untouchable winning streak that he ignored, Polydeuces gladly lapped them up. He was as cocky as Shinji, which was a dangerously risky position to be in. Well, for anyone other than Shinjiro himself or a divine being – but still.

“No, we still don’t have the power to protect anyone, we have to continue training,” Akihiko said, directing the words more at himself than at Polydeuces.

“You honestly believe physical strength is what will give you the ability to protect Shinji and Mitsuru and the whole gang?” Polydeuces asked, highly incredulous.”I’ve always had a bit of doubt, really. It’s in the pit of my stomach and I can’t explain it but there’s got to be another way we’re missing here.”

Sometimes, more often than not, Akihiko had a sudden, unrestrainable urge to punch himself, just to see what would happen to Polydeuces.

“Yes I do, and you of all people should understand why I’m doing this,” Akihiko replied as he reached up to set the trophy back into its spot amongst the others.

“Look, kid, just because I’m you, doesn’t mean I have to agree with you.”

Akihiko was perplexed.

☎

“You’ve got the hots for her, don’cha?”

“Stop bugging me, man,” Junpei answered as he flicked through the television channels, never finding a show to settle on.

“I think she’s cute, though kinda’ weird,” Hermes talked over the sound.

“Woah, hold it right there!” Junpei rolled off the bed and landed loudly on the floor of his cluttered room. “You can’t talk about Chidori like that!” he demanded. “She’s just… special!” he added in a vague attempt to substantiate his claim.

If Hermes had eyebrows he’d probably be raising them with skepticism.

“Same thing, she’s not normal,” he retorted, a tinge of a laugh in his voice.

“I’m not exactly normal neither,” Junpei huffed, folding his arms and wondering why, of all things, he was conversing with the screen of his television.

“You like to think you aren’t.” Hermes shrugged.

“Aren’t I?” Junpei felt his voice soften, and he lowered his eyes to the floor.

There was no reply.

☎

Ken stood on the tips of his toes and marked out the end of the day with a slash across the calendar square.

“One more month,” Nemesis said expectantly.

The boy turned to see the shape of his face silhouetted just below the rim of his glass of milk.

“We’ve been through this before.”

“Eight times,” Ken said, recalling the monthly countdowns he had made a habit since the beginning of the year. The more they talked about it, the less sure he was about how he was going to go about killing someone twice his height and shoulders thrice as wide.

“Don’t you worry, I’m here for you,” she reassured him.

“Thank you,” he smiled, albeit weakly. Nemesis had the innate ability to be sweet and bitter at the same time. The way she talked, the way she stood behind him and coaxed him with praise and support – she was a constant mirror of his mother. It was the way she put her claws on his shoulders and squeezed, the way she smiled even without a mouth.

“This is the right thing to do, isn’t it?” he croaked out, fumbling with the zipper of the jacket his mother bought for him three Christmases ago.

“Anything that makes you happy, love,” Nemesis answered.”I’ll stay with you no matter what happens.”

Ken closed his eyes, and tried to remember how his mother looked like in human skin.

☎

“We’re dead men.”

The knight in the pocket watch reminded him, and he did so quite pointedly.

“I know,” Shinjiro chuckled as he tucked it into his trench coat. “It was fun while it lasted, though,” he admitted as he trudged down the empty street and towards the vengeance of a ten-year old, “ – wasn’t expecting it at all.”

“Y-You were hoping, though,” Castor began hissing, voice cracking apart as it turned up a notch.

“… Shut up,” he said as he downed two capsules.

☎

“What are you doing to yourself?”

“All the things he– ” Mitsuru faltered at the mention of her father, “would have wanted me to do after he was gone.” She unbuttoned her collar before continuing to slot the documents and proposals into her briefcase. The meeting room was empty save for the heiress and Penthesilea, who sprawled herself out in the middle of the round table. Its seats would be filled in another half hour’s time, with another group of business men carrying contradictory condolences and business deals.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to have three-hour nights and balance five projects at once. He definitely won’t like the fact that you bothered to style your hair this morning, but forgot to call your friends and tell them not to worry.” Penthesilea considered on her behalf, spidery hands tapping a tempo on the table.

“Funny how you should lecture me, when you, of all people, should know how much I have to handle right now,” Mitsuru snapped, catching the image of her face on the surface of the table.

Yes, her hair was curled flawlessly, her make-up done with refined conservation, her clothes with all the creases ironed out. But her eyes – there were shadows under them that even the make-up couldn’t conceal, and she realised how lost she looked just then.

“Cry, Mitsuru. No one’s going to see.”

That’s right. Thinking back, she’d only allowed herself to cry that one night last week. It was faint, but she could still feel her father’s tie hot against her cheek and Akihiko’s arms folding down and around her. He’d carefully pried her off so they could close her father’s eye and clean the wound. She remembered Akihiko and his defeated speechlessness, his hands set on her arms, guiding her back home.

“Not now,” she exhaled out, gathering composure as she straightened up. There was still much to be done – a month’s load of work which she wanted to get done within the week, if only because she missed the small cosy dorm and the sight of people she’d grown to love.

“Soon?” she hoped.

“When we’re home,” Mitsuru promised herself.

☎

The trouble with having so many heavenly, demonic, happy and sad characters wander inside the limited capacity of her brain, was the fact that it made decisions desperately difficult for her.

Every now and again, even the simplest questions became wars that waged between the arcanas in her skull. Half of her wanted to smile and laugh and be happy because the world was wonderful in all its technicolour. The other faction preferred that she frown and inform everyone who bugged her for advice or affection or the right words, that she was going to be driven off the deep end pretty soon. Maybe it was because she handled the most miniscule and most severe things about life with equal diligence

If there was one thing everyone could agree on, it was the fact that Akihiko was amazing in more ways than one, Junpei was a lovable goofball, Yukari was infinitely nicer once she’d sorted out her issues, Ken was adorably mature, Mitsuru had perfect hair, Fuuka’s kindness overshadowed her cooking, Shinjiro would wake up soon, and Aegis was beautiful. Oh, and that Koromaru offered the best listening ear in the entire dorm. These were thse things that kept her sane through it all.

But her other friends – just – she honestly didn’t know when they wanted her to be supportive and when they wanted her to be brutally blunt. Sometimes, she could leave them alone for weeks on end, and upon returning, they’d accept her and continue as if the last two months of silence hadn’t occurred. It made her feel guilty because, almost always, she’d leave them in the middle of a problem – but that was the case for just about everyone.

There was a tiny, tiny voice at the back of her mind that told her to just give a noncommittal answer, no one could fault it.

She wished she’d listened to that little voice more often. Especially now, with Ryoji propped up in the middle of the room, his scarf tied tight around his neck, hauntingly familiar eyes sunken and apologetic.

Half of her wanted to kill him, half of her wanted to let him live, and the voice at the back of her head wanted to take his hands and never let go.

☎

“Are you frightened?” she asked the face in the bullet cartridge that stared back at her.

“I am not.”

“Does this mean I am not afraid as well?” Aegis thought aloud.

“I do not know. This is the first time we have conversed so intimately,” the reply was flat. “… You comprehend fear?”

“I comprehend many things now, because of my friends.” Aegis replies, setting the bullet down on her empty desk and attempting to unzip her school skirt without breaking it like the last three times.

“You comprehend friends?”

“Friends cannot be comprehended,” Aegis corrected. She succeeded in removing the skirt, and clipped it up against the hanger that hung from a large protruding bolt of her bed. “They are simply friends,” she concluded. Her voice bank malfunctioned briefly, placing unintended emphasis on the word ‘friends’.

Athena tilted her head before saying, “I believe I know why you are not frightened now.”

☎

He could smell Lady’s perfume growing faint under the heavy stench of blood and sweat. He listened to Short Skirt, breathing as if there were a weight in her chest, and Alpha Female, whose feet shivered almost unnoticeably against the marble floors of the pinnacle of Tartarus. The staircase leading to the roof was within his line of sight, they were so close – his feet shifted, and he launched into the fray.

Cerberus growled from his throat, two heads bearing rows of dagger-sharp teeth and the last one rearing back, jaws wide open.

Koromaru barked, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the two monsters that had a heart encircling them.

The fencing lance slammed against his snout and knocked him back, and the Shadow continued its rampage by casting a spell that sent everyone on their knees. Koromaru held back a whimper, because he couldn’t let the monster hurt his friends right now– couldn’t let them end up like Master and Red Coat.

Suddenly, Cerberus rose to shield him and everyone else, joints fixed into position and muscles stretched taunt, growling with fierce intent. Three pairs of eyes were on the approaching enemy, and the beast roared.

The Shadow hesitated for a split second, and Koromaru pushed off his paws to slash the enemy, sinking the sharp edge of his blade into the arm of the headless woman. The heart revolving overhead clattered on the floor, just as Aegis cranked up and onto the circuits of her legs. She fired a barrage of bullets, ending the battle in the nick of time.

His friends took turns rubbing him on the head and lifting him up onto his haunches to shake his paw and scratch the spot under his chin that he liked. He leaned into Baseball Cap’s hand, remembering for just a moment how Master scratched him in a different way. Koromaru didn’t mind, cracking open an eye to see Cerberus guarding them in the whiteness of the walls.

One head smiled while the other two rolled their eyes. It was odd to see that his tail was wagging agreeably for once, though.

☎

She gripped the gun in her hand and pressed it hard against the skin of her forehead, preparing to pull the trigger. Everyone in her head had fallen into silence, itching to fight the apocalypse, waiting eagerly to be chosen – but she already knew who she was going to pick.

In the eyes of Nyx, she saw a metal skull with coffins dancing around. She recognized who it was even without the hair and the harp.

She raised the Evoker over her head, and saw a pair of red eyes looking down at her.

“I should have listened, huh?”

end

notes
★I’ve always wanted to explore the Personas themselves, because I question the idea that they only appear within Tartarus. They probably ghost around and bother the SEES team regularly. The SEES team don’t tell each other about it because they’re afraid that they’ll be written off as having gone mad or something, hoho.
★Talking to yourself is a sign of sanity, it’s a form of intrapersonal communication. If anything, I’m willing to bet that these kids were able to keep their sanity throughout the crisis because they were able to talk to their Personas.
★Why I chose FeMC instead of MC? Mainly because I like her r/s with Ryoji, and her character in general is more fun (and easy) to write, not to mention her red eyes.
★The part about how it’s hard for her to make decisions is a reference to the fact that in-game, when you have to make a choice, the options differ so greatly from one another. I like to think that it’s because of all the Personas in the FeMC/MC’s head.
★arghh so sorry that my persona fics have been so incredibly linear… the next one will hopefully break the chain of ‘following the storyline from start to end’. IT WILL BE A NON-CHRONOLOGICAL HIDETOSHI/FeMC PIECE. Hopefully.
★ thank you to scenotaphs for the beta!

Dancing with the Dead (General)

ibuberu — Thu, 19 May 2011 14:35:03 GMT

written for the first round of write_and_run !

Title – Dancing with the Dead
Fandom – KHR
Characters – Tsuna, Vongola Family
Genres – General, Tragedy
Rating – PG-13
Summary – AU; if Reborn had decided not to tutor Tsuna.

Dancing with the Dead

Tsuna remembered a transfer student with grey hair and exotic green eyes. He scowled in a way that made him unapproachable to the majority of the school population. The only boy who attempted to talk to him, and found enjoyment out of it, was the baseball team's ace. Yamamoto tried to make friends with him, but was later found cracked into pieces on the ground after plummeting five floors down from the school roof.

The rumours said that Gokudera had been the one who pushed.

Gokudera was unfazed by the news. He was more intent on sneering at Tsuna with those fierce eyes of his, almost like he was waiting for a slip-up, for a chance to do him in. He stunk of singed cigarettes and ashes, and he was one of the worst memories of junior high and high school combined.

Tsuna spent the next five years of schooling hiding from Gokudera until one day, he finally left on a plane bound for an uncharted destination.

Kyouya Hibari used to be the prefect everyone feared. He wielded weapons of steel and a nonchalant face and an infamous (ironic) intolerance for anything mildly defiant. One of Tsuna's main goals in school was to avoid Hibari at all costs. He made sure late-comers were punished and persuaded to be in school an hour before the first bell, even as they struggled with casts and crutches. He patrolled the hallways with a militaristic swag, and Tsuna honestly hadn't minded as long as he wasn't on the receiving end of Hibari's brutality.

One day, he disappeared after a golden pocket watch had been left on his desk.

His body was found weeks later in a rundown amusement park on the outskirts of town, blanketed by withered cherry blossoms. A tiny bird with yellow feathers had been crooning a swan song over the dehydrated, bone-broken boy, whose skeletal hands were still wrapped firmly around his tonfas, even in death.

Tsuna learned how mortal humans were that day during the principal's address. No matter how skilled they could be with weapons or how much respected fear they collected, everyone was going to die sooner or later.

A quiet Chinese girl and a noisy boy in a cow suit wandered the streets for a short period of time. They were separate cases with no relation to one another, but both children that would not find a family in Nanimori. They would be eventually picked up and shipped off to an orphanage by a girl with a kind heart and warm eyes. Tsuna thought that she was a nice person when he saw her strolling to the girl's school on the other side of town – that maybe if she was his friend, his life would have been just a little bit brighter.

Ryohei Sasagawa, star of the boxing team, moved on to claim the championship the nationals and carry the medal back to Nanimori High. He was a celebrated individual and a role model for all the jocks. On his way to school, Tsuna observed the boxer train every day without fail – jogging or skipping rope or lifting weights, under rain and shine.

He admired the senior for all his strength and his determination, but the question was – what was he doing it all for?

A ten-year old with a thick scarf, a book that was half the size of his scrawny body and clear, innocent eyes had been reported missing on the news. He was never found.

Following that, another body was located in the abandoned amusement park, this time of a student from Kokuyo High. He died with one eye open and the other shut tight. A foreign pistol rested in his limp hand and a smile of ecstasy was carved onto his face.

Kyoko Sasagawa, the girl of his dreams, never came to notice him. When Mochida, the captain of Kendo club, challenged him to a match, Tsuna skipped the entire day of school and locked himself up in his room. He tossed and turned on his bed, and wondered if that was the limit of his love for Kyoko-chan.

When he went to school the next day, he was a laughing stock – which really wasn't out of the ordinary at all.

He saw Kyoko-chan standing along the hallway as he trudged to class. She regarded at him with careful sympathy, just for a second. She opened her mouth, almost as if she wanted to say something – but Mochida interrupted her when he placed an arm around her shoulders and proceeded to tease him for his spinelessness.

Tsuna bowed his head and didn't dare to look at her pretty eyes for the rest of the school year.

Later on, he witnessed Kyoko snapping into two after enduring Mochia's advances for too long a time, saw her frown and raise her voice and throw a punch she'd learned from her brother, watch as the pretty image of the girl he thought he liked ripped into pieces before his eyes.

A girl and a stray cat were crushed under the tires of a skidding car. No one in particular cared, but Tsuna felt a sting of sadness, for no reason, when he happened across the scene of the tragic incident.

His father was killed while working on the construction site – by a metal pipe that had snapped off its harness, taken him out from the back and struck him clean through the middle of his head. This was what the people dressed in refined black suits and red eyes told him and his mother as they stood at his front door. His mother wiped the corners of her eyes and invited them into the house for tea.

Tsuna wanted to believe that his dad had died for a greater, more heroic reason than that.

This was the only thing that remained constant in his hometown – death, death, death.

Tsunayoshi Sawada looks up from the perpetually dirty street, clutching a dustpan and rake in his skinny hands. It is so cold on these empty pathways with no one around. Somewhere in the creases of his heart, where it is barely warm enough, the twenty-four year old wishes that he could live his life in any other way than this.

He hears footsteps approaching from behind, and the first instinct is to run.

In Italy, a baby in a fedora realizes his mistake ten years too late, when a boy with an angry scar is crowned the Vongola Decimo. Reborn thinks that if Tsunayoshi Sawada is still alive now, perhaps there is a dormant sky flame flickering in him that can save them all.

In Japan, a madman with bleached hair kills a young girl with a star under her eye using a pointed dagger, and a worthless street cleaner with a cheap bullet –

Just in case.

Mignionette (Junpei+Minako)

ibuberu — Mon, 16 May 2011 12:28:02 GMT

Still depressed these two can't hook up in the game. But boy, do they have fabulous bromance.

Title – Mignionette
Fandom – P3P
Characters – Junpei, Minako (Junpei/Chidori)
Genres – General, Friendship
Rating – PG
Summary – Somewhere along the way, he stops glancing at her chest, and begins looking straight into her eyes instead.

Mignionette
“your qualities surpass your charms”

*

Minako is quite possibly the hottest pal he’ll ever have, and Junpei is completely cool with that. Why date a pretty girl when you could be her friend? Right?

… Right?

*

Her intelligence could give her beauty a run for its pretty-little-money, because the way she grins at him when they walk home after school tells him that she knows what he’s playing at, and she isn’t entirely pleased about the prospect of being hit on. Junpei can’t blame himself if he likes her, can he? So Minako shouldn’t hold it against him.

(And she actually doesn’t.)

She goes along with his insistence on treating her to the best beef bowl at Iwatodai. She returns him the money by buying him a box of takoyaki that he can’t refuse because she gives him an expectant expression.

She laughs off his compliments and doesn’t bat his hand off her shoulder. She looks at him with eyes that aren’t suspicious - more accepting than anything else - and she can play a mean game on the playstation. He doesn’t need to rely on reused jokes or goofy tricks to keep her interest becase she approaches him after class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, eager to hang out, and he feels special for once.

Somewhere along the way, he stops glancing at her chest, and begins looking straight into her eyes instead. He knows she won’t fall in love with him (maybe it’s got to do with that handsome boxer staying in their dorm), and he thinks that it’s fine like that, because he’s warming up to the idea of them being plain old bros.

There’s a problem though, and the problem is the fact that Minako’s perfect.

She’s smart and she pays attention in class. She balances between a bevy of friends and club activities and even has time to attend Student Council. She changes her persona whenever she feels like it, and she fights beyond the capability of a sixteen-year old girl. She fuctions like a warrior, with her sureness in footwork and how she cleaves the Shadows with the sharp edge of her blade. She knows how to lead them and knows when they should stop for the night – Akihiko and Mitsuru are generous with their praises. Junpei just loiters at a corner kicking at the ground, secretly hoping for any scraps of compliment.

Maybe he’s jealous, maybe. He isn’t quite sure. And Minako, being perfect, wonderful Minako, can tell that he’s not in the best of moods. She speaks softer, brings her elbows closer to her body, and her eyes clear up and she tries to see everything from his point of view. But this isn’t about her, it’s about him.

Maybe he’s just ashamed that a girl, shorter and smaller and so much more fragile than him, is able to outdo him in everything. Junpei struggles with coming to terms with being Minako’s friend, learning to endure the aura of perfection that she emanates. In the end, it’s not so much of ‘struggling’, because it comes naturally to him. Minako heals the team with a mother’s heart and disregards her own safety all the time in Tartarus. She buys them the latest gear and weapons, and she pushes him out of the way of a wayward attack more than a couple of times. It’s hard not to like her.

Junpei thinks that sometimes, he’d like to protect her too. Friendship is mutual, after all.

Minako’s perfect at being imperfect too. She talks to herself on the fortnights before the full moon, and she’s constantly replaying the same playlist in her headphones, and she cries mercilessly when she assumes no one is in the dorm.

He isn’t flawless like Minako, he’s very aware that he’s got a temper and a whole wagon of issues that he blows out of proportion – that’s just the kind of guy he is. Junpei tries his hardest to celebrate everything about himself, about showing that he’s got the gall to look at Minako with something other than adoration and impress.

But Yukari’s sighs are full of blame, and Mitsuru watches him with careful attention and a worried half-smile. Fuuka offers to bake him cookies and Akihiko knocks on his door sometimes, just to see if he’s on his bed doing nothing again. He feels like they all care too much about him, a boy in a worn out cap who only knows how to swing a sword and sulk over girls who are far better than him. But they never stop, and Minako’s the kindest of them all. She treats him like she usually does, with a smile and a wink and an offer to help him with homework.

It takes time, but he realizes he’s been wrong about some things and perfectly justified in others.

In the end, when he’s over and done with the envy, Minako welcomes him with a grin and a laugh and an invitation to go out and grab a bowl of noodles; he nods his head and they walk out the door.

“You should really stop coming up here,” Minako comments from her desk as he seats himself onto her bed. She has a pen in hand and half of the day’s homework left to do, but she lets him in anyway.

“Oh, come on, Mitsuru-senpai enjoys chasing me out,” Junpei reasons.

Minako can’t help but chuckle. She covers her mouth because she doesn’t want Mitsuru overhearing and barging in to drag Junpei by the ear down to his rightful place on the second floor.

“If you want to hang out, we should just meet at the lounge or something,” Minako suggests, furrowing her eyebrows as she comes across a particularly tough question.

“That’s not what you tell Akihiko-senpai now, is it?”

Junpei barely dodges the pen she hurls at him. It bounces off the wall of the room and lands on her bed sheet with a muffled ‘thump’.

“Junpei was sleeping in class again,” the girl in the pigtails whispers loudly to her gaggle of friends. “Why are you even talking about him?” a second girl snorts. They exchange looks and stare disapprovingly at him – Junpei chooses to shift his eyes away. They wouldn’t understand, would never know what he did at night and how much sleep he lost over shooting himself in the head and slaying the armies upon armies of Shadows. Yukari looks ruffled on his behalf, clutching her books to herself and giving the gossips sidelong glances.

“Junpei! Yukari!” Minako calls out with spirit as she marches up to his desk.

“C’mon, we’ve got beef bowls to devour, places to see, things to do, certain people to ignore,” she whistles, grabbing onto his wrist and tugging Yukari along by the strap of her bag. As Minako hauls them out of the classroom, Yukari offers him a knowing smile, and Junpei sticks his tongue out at the gawking girls.

“Went and found yourself an even loonier girl to flirt with, huh?” Yukari jibes casually.

It’s the first time Junpei doesn’t respond to her snide remarks with a laugh or a cheap comeback, because it’s the first time they actually, truly hurt him. He stares at her, before shrugging off the couch and heading back to his room. Aegis informs Yukari that he’s probably insulted by her rudeness, in that robotic tone of exposition.

Yukari apologises, grudgingly, the next day, and Junpei forgives her by faking an attempt to flip her skirt.

It might be because he thinks that she wasn’t entirely wrong when she said those words.

All he knows is that Chidori isn’t a substitute for Minako, she never was.

She’s a completely different world, with her frowns and her long train of cherry red hair, her skinny bandaged wrists and low, gloomy voice. It’s strange that he falls in love with a girl like Chidori – maybe because he’s just as crazy as she is, maybe he’s got more screws loose than she does – but sometimes when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and opens her mouth to talk to him, every questionable thing seems worth it.

And while she doesn’t express interest in ramen or know how to play games on a handheld console, the way she looks when she’s drawing a masterpiece no one will see, and the smile she accidentally lets slip through the barricade she’s so firmly set up, are the things that matter the most.

He visits so often that the nurses know his name and the doctors sometimes ask him for directions when they are swarmed with paperwork. He visits and plonks a fresh stalk of flowers into the vase at her bedside and watches her watch him from under the white sheets of her bed. It’s crazy, but it’s romantic in a twisted way, and this is probably all he and Chidori can be right now.

He’s glad he didn’t fall in love with Minako, if only because on the occasions when Chidori smiles, she honestly means it.

When Chidori crumples into his arms, and they hug for the first time since the day they met on that bench in the sunlight, Junpei can’t quite register the sensation of her against him – he can only hear his heart pounding in his ears, and feel her heartbeat fade through his fingers, underneath the ruffles of her stained dress. She looks beautiful even as the ugly twilight of the Dark Hour sinks onto her pale skin – prettier than Minako and every other girl on the planet just then – but if only she’d open her eyes and give him that withering, uncertain stare, just once more.

“You know, from the way Chidori used to act, I always thought she was living to die,” Minako mumbles, her hands lacing together behind her head. She watches him tip the bill of his cap and hold back an unpleasant swear word.

“But then she met you,” the girl continues, placing a hand on his shoulder. It feels warm and real, but it’s not Chidori – and he can’t really deal with that now.

“… and she started dying to live.”

*

It takes Junpei a week, but he takes the first step forward by mounting a potted plant (he doesn’t know the name, but it’s pretty and white and it looks like Chidori) on the windowsill of his room and reminds himself to water it every day before bed. He gets better and he starts joining them for dinner and tugging his lips into a ghost of a smile. Minako expresses hope that they’ll be able to play video games like they used to.

She’ll let him win the first couple of rounds not out of pity or anything of the sort, but more for the simple pleasure of seeing him smile and laugh and pump a fist in the air. And Junpei appreciates it, he really does. Minako earns the title of greatest rebound buddy ever, and best friend too.

“If someone like you could trust in me, maybe I’m worth something,” Junpei smiles despite the swelling bruise under his eye. The photographs of her have been disposed of, torn and thrown into a waste bin in the second floor of the school. The punch had come out of nowhere and fazed him, but in the end Yukari saved him from the brewing of a fight when she wandered by and fended the prepetrator off with one nasty glare.

Minako is speechless for once, and it’s rare to see his leader dumbstruck. She’s showered with flattery all the time, so it’s odd that she should find this, of all things, surprising. Maybe it’s because he’s never given her enough credit, maybe it’s because she knows that he knows that she isn’t as perfect as she pretends to be.

She reaches a hand out to touch his arm and leans up to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’ll always trust you, Junpei,” she answers. And just then, he knows that he’ll be passing her his pig keychain next time, because she’s the one he can trust too.

Minako teases him for blushing and Junpei has to remind her that she’s still a (hot) girl despite the fact that they are official bros. They spend an hour at the playground with no swings, him perched on the top of the slide and her sitting near the bottom, exchanging the mythical, unsaid things that go on between friends.

“Woah! Now hold it right there, young lady!” Junpei gapes as he steps through her door.

Minako is decked out in a miniskirt and a sleeveless top that shows off the curve of her shoulders and the dip in her back, and that’s definitely something she shouldn’t be wearing, even if she is going out on a date with Akihiko.

Junpei jabs an accusing index finger at her and keeps her locked in his sights, sidestepping to her closet and proceeding to rummage through the array of bras and the tacky clothes. He throws a turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans at her, and Minako catches them half-heartedly. She bats her eyes and lowers her chin, but Junpei will not be budged. He harrumphs and shakes his head, and Minako bursts out laughing because there’s nothing else she can manage to do.

“When have you ever wanted me to show less skin?” she asks as she wipes a tear out of her eye.

Junpei only smirks in reply. He doesn’t know when that happened either.

“One more floor,” she tells them as the group halts at the foot of the staircase, all visibly tired from clamoring up the last seven floors or so. Junpei is almost glad that Ken and Akihiko are there to pick up the slack. If only they could stop fighting for Minako’s attention for once.

“Alright, leader!” Junpei salutes.

Minako wipes the sweat off her forehead and, suddenly, she looks like she’s got what it takes to save the world from Nyx. It’s in the way her eyes are flooded with hope and belief and the things he’ll never be able to understand no matter how long he hangs around her. The fact that she’s still smiling and pressing on even though they might drop dead and roll over at Ryoji’s ankles in the end.

*
*
*

“You know, I’ve been checking out that mysterious blonde beauty that stays next door, and I think I might have a chance if I just chat her up,” Junpei narrates, drawing elaborate schemes in the air.

When Minako doesn’t reply him, Junpei looks up from his seat near her television as he flicks blindly through the local channels. “What’s wrong, Mina? You still feeing sick?” he asks, voice a little tighter with concern.

“… Graduation’s tomorrow,” Minako says from her place on the bed, tucked underneath her sheets.

“It’s not like we’re the ones graduating, why do you sound so down?” he asks, scooting over to the foot of her bed and poking the middle of her foot with a finger.

“I… don’t know, it makes me feel like it won’t be too long before we’re going to part ways too,” she rambles, absently kicking back and almost hitting his nose.

“What’re you talking about?” Junpei laughs as he jumps onto his feet.

“We’ll be friends forever, you know that?” he says, even though he can’t quite remember why.

He doesn’t remember how he got so close to the girl with the twenty-two in her hair and a pair of really nice legs. He doesn’t remember why he’s not hitting on her, and why he likes them just as friends even though she’s really stunning, even when she looks so tired and worn out in her bed.

She’s pretty as a girl, but maybe even more beautiful as someone who he can hang out with and slurp ramen and talk about things that don’t matter like they actually do. She’s pretty because she’s a friend, not because she’s a girl (well, not entirely).

It is then that Junpei realizes: he’d prefer standing around rambling and punching game controllers with her, to kissing her. He feels like he needs to kiss someone else, but doesn’t quite remember ever knowing a girl like that. He feels like he shoudn’t kiss Minako – that he should hold her hand instead and thank her for being the friend she’s always been, because something itches at the back of his mind but he doesn’t know what. It might come back and bite him in the butt later, like it always does.

“That’s a big promise,” she muses. He pinches her nose and if she had the sufficient energy, she’d probably punch him in return.

“One that I’ll keep!” Junpei draws an ‘x’ over his left shirt pocket with one serious finger.

“As long as you promise you’ll get better by tomorrow and go to school,” he disclaims, folding his arms.

Minako smiles like it’s the last smile she’ll ever give him, because it’s amazing and beautiful and if friendship could ever be described, it would be the way the corners of her eyes crinkled with happiness and the way her lips curved up into a grateful smile.

*

She extracts one hand out from under the blanket and marks a cross over her heart.

notes
★The mignionette is a type of flower, and it means that “your qualities surpass your charms”, which I feel perfectly describe Junpei’s relationship with Minako. She’s beautiful to him because of what’s on the inside. And I think it applies to Chidori as well, especially to Chidori in fact.
★ Headcanon: Minako and Chidori may be exact opposites on the outside, but they are pretty much the same on the inside, powerful women with big hearts. Chidori, unlike Minako, is able to show all that fear and raw humanity, and still be confident with herself. Maybe that’s what Junpei fell in love with, the only thing Minako lacked as a character.

The Thing about Girls (Rin + ladies of AoE)

ibuberu — Wed, 11 May 2011 11:47:26 GMT

So I just got into Ao no Exorcist, which is a heathly dose of shounen with just about the most adorable characters ever. I couldn't resist, I had to write something about them, especially something Rin/Shiemi. This fic is a compilation of 100, 150, 200 and 250 word drabbles, so hope you enjoy the short pieces.

Title – The Thing about Girls
Fandom – Ao no Exorcist
Characters – Rin/Shiemi, ensemble (girls)
Genres – Friendship, Humour
Rating – PG
Summary – Rin, on the subject matter of girls that make his life that much tougher.

The Thing about Girls

The thing about Shura is that she’s one hell of a fighter.

She can pull heavy duty weapons out of the tattoos that ink her stomach and drink enough packs of beer to stack a sturdy tin pyramid. She can do one-hand stands and wield her blade with graceful ease. She can jump and dodge and perform intricate dancing sword styles, and still keep her bikini in place.

Most of all, even though she’s a nagging harpy, she bites her lip and pull out all stops, just to rescue him from his own stupidity. He appreciates it, but doesn’t say.

The thing about Kamiki is that she’s a living contradiction.

The stronger she pretends to be, the weaker she actually is. The more she talks, the less he listens. And just when he doesn’t expect anything out of her, she proves him wrong. She’s got a fierce temper and an unrivalled pride. She argues and insults more than she actually talks, but two beautiful foxes with pristine fur coats still find something to respect in her. Rin understands, sometimes, when Kamiki concentrates. Her hair frames her face in the right ways and all that’s left in her eyes is the fire to fight.

Despite only knowing her for four months, he’s already seen her fierce tears and genuine laugh and bright red underwear.

“Look, I’m not scared of you or anything.”

And even though she’s got one of the sharpest tongues, she’s one of the kindest girls he’s ever met.

The thing about Yukio is…

Well Yukio isn’t exactly a girl, but he sort of acts like one.

His desk is impossibly organized – pencils sharpened perfectly, color-coded files keeping documents in check. Yukio enforces his masculinity by reading shounen manga, but when Rin rummages through the collection, he finds poorly-hidden volumes of some shoujo about fruits and baskets. Rin considers teasing him – but he decides to give Yukio a break, if only because they were brothers with enough issues already.

Sure, they have a little tiff and Yukio aims the warm muzzle of a gun right between Rin’s eyes, but when Rin approaches him about the matter later on, in the sanctity of their new room, Yukio is back to his earnest self. Rin can tell when his brother lies and when his brother can’t swallow the truth. (You just know, after long fifteen years.)

“I’m different, aren’t I?” Rin comments blankly as he prods his ears and flicks a finger at his tail.

His brother walks over, clenching his hands. Rin winces for a punch that never comes.

Yukio irons a fist over the left pocket of Rin’s shirt, and they both feel the slow and steady thrum of his heart. “We’re still the same in here,” Yukio concludes with that same tone of voice he uses in class – methodical, factual, an answer that is only sure and precise.

A wide smile bursts onto Rin’s face. He forgets about hiding the sharpness of his canines, just for that moment.

The thing about Shiemi is that she constantly smells of the earth. She has leaves in her hair and dirt under her fingernails and soil on the soles of her shoes. She cries too much and smiles a lot and she talks on and on in the language of flowers. She’s slow and gullible and has to stop being so nice to everything with a pulse because that’s not very smart. But it’s her nature and Rin has learned to handle the way she is happy about the littlest things.

She doesn’t mind his pointed ears or his unpredictable tail, or the way he raises his voice when he doesn’t comprehend things (which happens a lot, he must confess, but it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose or anything). She learns that the blueness of his flames are warm but not hot, that when he stares at her it’s not because she’s bothering him or that there’s something stuck on her face.

She still smiles with all her teeth and talks with all her heart; and maybe she’s more special than she seems, because she makes him feel less like Satan’s son and more like an awkward teenage boy.

✄

ibuberu — Mon, 09 May 2011 10:58:54 GMT

✄friends cut✄

for the past year or so here i've met many wonderful people, and while i haven't been able to click with all of them, i think all my friends are beautifully wonderful in their own way
it's time to clear my flist, so for those that i don't think i've managed to click well enough with, i wish you all the best for everything! hang tight and tough

& once again, if you have something, anything to tell me, comments are screened

khrfest: portalettere (Iemitsu/Nana)

ibuberu — Sat, 07 May 2011 08:54:54 GMT

Title – Portalettere
Fandom – KHR
Characters – Nana, Iemitsu, Tsuna
Genres – General, Family
Rating – G
Summary – VII - 33. Iemitsu/Nana - Long-distance relationship; "He said his first word today"

Portalettere

Her son is born without fanfare.

It is only ten hours of labour, a lot of hand holding, washing away the pain the moment she hears him crying, a smile unraveling on her exhausted face, and a blue cloth wrapped around his fragile frame. His eyes are round and bright and they tell her that the little baby is her son, and Iemitsu cradles their boy with every essence of an awkward new father. His hands are carefully still when he receives the bundle of tears from the happy nurse, his arms rigid and attentive, and it looks like he’s handling Ming dynasty china.

(But really, her son is much more valuable than that.)

She smiles when Iemitsu rests their son on her pillow, and he bawls into her ear. She can already tell that he will be a handful, but when she looks at how her husband’s pride catches the lights in the room, she closes her eyes and sleeps with content.

When she is well enough to walk again, she visits Tsuna at the nursery and takes him out to roam the hallways of the hospital. Iemitsu is already off somewhere else, attending to an urgent matter regarding work. She runs a finger along the sleeping infant’s cheek and revels in the privilege of motherhood. When she turns the corner, she looks up to see suited men lining the stretch of the maternity ward, some wearing sunglasses, others holding briefcases. They stand with military stillness, and she wonders why there are so many of them.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asks one of them.

“Yes,” he replies, the firm line of his lips quirking into a little smile when he sees the baby in her arms.

“I’m sure the baby will be beautiful,” she assures him, rocking Tsuna back and forth as she hears him stirring.

“I agree,” the young man smiles with less restraint, and even though he is wearing shades, Nana can tell that his eyes are kind and that he is a noble man.

“Be safe, dear,” she tells him through the phone, because even after you’ve been working at the construction site for ten years, and you’re familiar with the nooks and crannies and the inside-outs, you never know what can happen.

Her husband chuckles and promises with the customary “yes”.

Nana’s hands tighten on the receiver, and she has to tell him this because something is gnawing at her heart and maybe this is the magic of marriage: “Be careful,” she whispers, just once more, just for measured luck. Her husband pauses over the line, a silence that they wait out until Iemitsu sighs in defeat and tells her, “I’ll be back soon.”

Nana is satisfied when she hangs up.

‘He said his first word today…’

Her pen halts as she attempts to recount the event to him – using mere words would only condense the overwhelming sensation of hearing Tsuna speak, it isn’t something she can even begin to describe to him in a letter.

She’d intended to call him, but the line had been dead, which made this the fifth phone he’d thrown away in the last year or so. Construction sites are hazardous places, it had always been understandable that Iemitsu would crush his phone under machinery or accidentally drop it into a pool of cement.

Times like these, she writes letters to him and mails it to the unchanging address of one of Iemitsu’s friends, who always promises to deliver the envelope to her husband regardless of his whereabouts or how deep he is underground. Iemitsu doesn’t write back because it’s not convenient. He likes to placate her by saying that it’s because he isn’t capable of writing mushy words, that he doesn’t have pen or paper and that he is happy enough to hear her voice over the phone.

Nana knows that it’s because writing the name of the street they live on on the back of an envelope will never be something he will allow. It’s just that she doesn’t quite know why that’s the case – maybe it’s just a paranoid habit of his.

Iemitsu will probably get a new phone within a week and call their house to tell her he is fine and to apologise for destroying yet another mobile. She will smile even though no one can see and shake her head and tell him that as long as he is fine, nothing else really matters as much.

But Nana doesn’t want to wait for one week.

‘…it was 'Daddy'.’

Tsuna grows up into a good boy. He adopts a clumsy personality and has no potential in his studies (or anything else for the matter), a stark contrast to his father. He does not have that rugged daring or the desire for adventure that makes Iemitsu's charisma glow, but perhaps he will find his merits someday. While he is probably the most worthless boy in the entire town, Tsuna is still her ideal son. He is healthy and energetic and he actually has friends that appreciate him for who he is. His smiles are genuine and his frowns are from mistakes that he will learn from. He eats finish all the rice in his bowl, and he greets her ‘good morning’ every day and comes back before eight in the night.

“He’s been going out with Gokudera-kun and Yamamoto-kun more often, and even Kyoko-chan,” she reports into the receiver with the voice of an accomplished mother.

Iemitsu laughs along from his end of the conversation, the sound of his voice is close in her ear. Nana listens to the warm familiarity of it. One of the reasons why Tsuna never complains about his father’s absence is because of his father. When Iemitsu is with them, he makes every second count. He drags them along on family picnics and makes them stay up late to watch movies together. He talks to Tsuna like it is the last time he will see his son and hugs both of them tightly because they mean the world to him. Tsuna is relieved when Iemitsu has to go off to work again, if only to get a breather from his compulsive fathering.

“Listen, sorry for the short notice, but I’ll be back this Friday,” he informs her.

Nana turns to look at the calendar she’s pinned on the refrigerator, which tells her the date of the coming Friday is 30^th March – the day before her birthday.

She smiles, and she can tell that Iemitsu is grinning on the other side of the world too.

She remembers finding stacks of one-sentence letters in opened envelopes carefully bundled in the backpack he constantly carries around. And this is just another reminder why she loves this man so much.

khrfest: barnburner (ryohei/hana)

ibuberu — Wed, 04 May 2011 14:11:25 GMT

Title – Barnburner
Fandom – KHR
Characters – Ryohei, Hana, Kyoko
Genres – General, Romance
Rating – PG
Summary – IV - 38. Ryohei/Hana - A match he can't ever win.

Barnburner

Girls didn’t wander into Ryohei’s mind much. They always blended with some part of the landscape, pasted in the backgrounds of the town and school, in all the places outside the boxing ring. He never really was quite intrigued by them as much as his classmates, who were much more extreme about the subject of females than any other people he’d ever know.

They didn’t like weighing themselves and that they had excessive amounts of clothes stuffed into little closets, and Ryohei understood (vaguely) that their hour-long grooming sessions were as necessary to them as his training routines were to him. These were the stories his classmates told him, sitting with a slouch on their desks and balancing their feet on the top of their chairs.

Kyoko wasn’t quite such so extreme, that he was proud to know. She enjoyed joining him for lighter jogging routes and hardly bothered about her weight; she bought clothes every now and again, but mostly because she’d given a boxful to the orphanage at the edge of Nanimori. He never timed how long she took to get ready in the morning (was there a point to all this that he didn’t see?) – all he knew was that she would still be asleep when he started his morning workout, and scrubbing the breakfast dishes by the time he returned.

His sister was extremely adorable and charming and smart, and Ryohei would be contented if every girl could be like her. That would never come true though. Kyoko was sugary sweet in that peculiar one-of-a-kind way of hers, with a habit of smiling at anything with a pulse and tilting her head at that precise-plotted angle when she was delighted. And it was only this formula of girl that made Tsunayoshi Sawada daydream in class and scrawl lumpy hearts on the sides of his notebook. She was also terribly gullible and much too kind (it seemed to run in the Sasagawa family), which boded well for the bumbling boy and the constant distress that seemed to satellite around him.

Ryohei assumed that the presence of a baby sister authorized him as an extreme professional on the subject of women. He was irrevocably wrong, but he would only realise this later - after he saw a girl’s face framed by a photo, ten years too early.

He knew her dark hair was curled at the ends and that she was Kyoko’s good friend; that she didn’t smile as much as Kyoko, but always had something on her mind to say. She was beautiful in her own sophistication, and in many ways strong but feminine. Though Ryohei wouldn’t become aware these qualities until later on, when he started differentiating her from the typical equation of a girl.

The sixteen-year old became acutely aware from her after he returned from the future, started watching her as she studied with Kyoko at their home and stayed for dinner. She seemed normal, perfectly plain and nothing of interest.

Suddenly, though, she’d look up from whatever she was doing, straight into his eyes, and arch a questioning eyebrow. “Yes?” she would ask, and Ryohei would be struck dumb and dash to the fridge and proclaim that he was getting an extreme drink of orange juice.

Kyoko was out with Tsuna and his motely crew, and he was alone at home, attempting to do his homework, when the doorbell rang. He opened the door to see the girl standing there with her arms folded and an impatient foot tapping against the doormat.

“Kyoko isn’t here,” he told her automatically.

“I know,” she replied, “I’m not here to talk to her. I’m here to talk to you.”

“You want to join the boxing club in school?” The question was immediate, the voice hopeful.

The girl shook her head and raised her hand to his face for extra measure. “No,” she clarified. “I want you to tell me what’s been going on – Kyoko tells me about sumo-wrestling competitions,” she recounted while making frustrated hand gestures that kind of scared him, “ but I don’t believe a word of it.”

“W-what are you talking about?” he laughed mechanically.

As he stepped away from the door, the girl advanced, expression set with resolve. Ryohei had never felt so cornered in his life.

“Sasagawa, don’t you dare think for a second that you could ever outsmart me,” she told him.

“We can’t tell you anything, it’s an extreme rule!” he yelled, as if raising his voice would make her any less determined to pry the truth right out of him.

He lunged for the open window, cleared the jump and landed in his backyard. His first thought was that he was safe, but the girl was yelling at him and running out the front door and he had to move fast if he wanted to get away from her suspicion.

Ryohei began running, and when he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw that she was trying to keep up, but to no avail. He’d felt extremely guilty just then, but perhaps it was for the best – he was never good at talking to her. It made him wonder how she’d make a good girlfriend next time.

-

She came back the next day.

“Relax, I’m not here to interrogate you, I don’t think it’d go very well,” she reassured him as his eyes darted to the kitchen window. He relaxed the tension in his muscles and straightened his legs, turning to look at the girl proper. She seemed tired, more unhappy and intimidating than usual. He didn’t really know why she looked so down, and tried to remember what made Kyoko’s smile fade. Kyoko was a humble girl who was contented even when she didn’t receive what she wanted, the only time when she’d honestly looked depressed, was when she’d found out that he was fighting alongside Tsuna, against people who weren’t very prone to sportsmanship.

The girl standing before him, with the way her eyebrows creased and her lips were tugged in a frown, mirrored Kyoko’s worried expressions. Maybe, somehow, she wasn’t that different from the typical girl as he first thought. And Ryohei couldn’t explain it, but he wasn’t comfortable seeing her like that, it made him feel empty inside.

Once, when the only things that mattered to him were becoming strong and protecting the light in Kyoko’s eyes, he had promised Tsuna that he wouldn’t drag anymore casualties into the dangerous matches of the mafia.

“When I’m strong enough to protect you, I’ll tell you everything, okay?” he told her, holding out a fist.

The girl was speechless for once, unable to piece a reply together because her cheeks were coloured up with embarrassed red and her heart, the traitorous thing, pummeled her ribcage.

Ryohei waved his fist at her, oddly quiet. The girl, still disoriented for the most part, lifted her own right hand and balled it up, and the young man punched their knuckles together lightly, in a way that seemed uncharacteristic of him and his roughish tendencies.

It was sudden and unexpected, came in out of nowhere like a first round loss.

And it was the first time he touched the pretty girl, who had soft skin but firm hands, and he got an inkling of why he’d fall in love with her ten years down the road.

She began visiting their house with greater frequency, substantiating her presence with her worry and concern for Kyoko, who seemed more and more attached to Tsuna and his hazardous friends.

Ryohei didn’t mind, especially when he was doing homework and she’d peer over and snort because she knew how to do the questions he’d left blank – five-sixths of the page, which was quite impressive. She swiped an idle pencil and drew out the steps to take, and Kyoko clapped her hands because she was happy to see her best friend trying to teach her brother.

It became a routine of sorts, twice a week at the Sasagawa dinner table, after his boxing practice and before the nightly broadcast of her favourite soap. And though Ryohei was not the most sensible person in town, even he knew that it was best that he distance himself from her despite her knack for tutoring.

As much as she was intelligent and as much as she struggled to be patient with him, it was not easy sitting next to her. She used a nice shampoo, a different kind of nice from the smell of clean boxing gloves, and her handwriting was so straight and neat that she seemed to type with her pen. Her sitting just there beside him on the table sent his heart pounding faster than it did on his longest workouts.

Ryohei honestly intended to thank her extremely and tell her that he would do fine without her help, but she was decisive and she rewrote the dizzying equations countless of times until he finally got the answer right. His resilience had been knocked out when a smile spread across her face in thankful relief.

That was the second round, and he lost.

When they were older but (Ryohei) none the wiser, he flicked beads of yellow paint on her hair while they were helping Kyoko re-paint the walls of her bedroom. It was, of course, pure blundering accident, but she was furious, filling the drying room with a murderous intent. No matter how much he apologized (and used the word ‘extremely’ in his sorrys liberally) she refused to speak to him.

She ordered the hairdresser to cut her hair mercilessly.

She only forgave him when he found her sitting in the park, hiding her new cropped haircut underneath a humongous sunhat. He yanked off the ridiculous thing and scrutinized the way her hair framed her face, before thrusting a thumbs-up against her resentment.

“I like it, it looks extremely good on you,” he told her, and it was easy to see that he was telling the truth because Ryohei had been born a terrible liar.

She chewed her lip and snatched the hat back. She couldn’t say ‘thank you’, but the young man didn’t mind. He smiled in encouragement, almost as if he knew she would never grow her hair out ever again.

He was twenty and she was nineteen when she learned about the mafia; about Sawada’s league of pseudo-gallant fighters and how Kyoko’s head now fetched a hefty price in the back corners of smoky streets. Ryohei wished he could have been the one to tell her, like he’d said four years ago, but the way she found out was from overhearing a careless conversation between Haru and Kyoko when they’d been over for tea.

It was the first time Kyoko had a fight with any of her friends, it wasn’t even full-blown like the ones he’d seen on television, with plates smashing and voices shrieking. They just stopped talking, and Kyoko looked all haggard with guilt and distraction.

Perhaps it may not have been the fact that her best friend had kept such a secret hidden for so long, perhaps it was the simple (but complex) fact that Haru had known all along, but she hadn’t.

Ryohei acted instinctively, like the big brother he was. He scaled the aged tree that reached for the second-storey window of her house and tumbling onto the boarded floors, before realizing he was in the wrong room. Her parents weren’t very pleased about being intruded upon.

Suddenly he was in her room, standing awkwardly in the alien environment, until she pushed him back with one nonchalant hand. He sat on the edge of her bed as she leaned against the door, arms crossed.

“What?” she stabbed when she caught him staring at her.

“Um, ah,” Ryohei floundered about. He couldn’t think properly, not when her usually sharp eyes were now a cranky red, defeated in the way they fell to the floor at her feet.

“Let’s just be clear, I’m not mad at anyone,” she cleared her throat, desperately sturdy. Ryohei thought that she looked fragile just then, in all her effort to be strong, and it was humbling to know a girl who was as tough as any other fighter in the ring. He could have shouted out a supportive statement just then, but something that squeezed in his chest made him refrain.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” she choked, “but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

And he couldn’t touch her because she was a girl and she wasn’t Kyoko and she probably didn’t want anyone to go near her at all right then, and she was so brittle she might break if he really did –

but Ryohei, against the tiniest strand of judgement he boasted, stood up and walked over and enclosed her in his arms.

She was most probably the only person who made everything that sounded easy become inherently difficult. He’d braved through matches with the top boxers of the schools in the district, with mafia men that had deadly weapons welded into their skin, with stronger opponents that forced him into an underdog.

This - this was the only match he could never win.

He accepted it modestly, the fact that a girl with zero mastery of combat and a temper as short as her glossy hair, with a nice (but rare) smile and a kind heart, could overpower him. It didn’t mean that he’d stop trying to win against her, though. When he was twenty-two and a little drunk on happiness from returning to Japan after half a year tussling in Italy, and because she was wearing a nice dress when she met him at the arrival gates, Ryohei asked (rather, yelled) the pretty girl if she had extreme feelings for him too –

and I said yes.

notes –
★ a ‘barnburner’ in boxing refers to is a very good fight, one that is very intense and exciting, so close it's hard to predict who will come out the winner until seconds before it ends
★ in boxing, boxers bump fists in the ring before the start of a match as a sort of greeting, and I think in the fic it kind of signals the start of their battle and their friendship as well