coughed out my heart in the last stall.

a little discourage

sharksmiled — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 06:27:28 GMT

A Little Discourage.

FANDOM: Harry Potter.
WORDCOUNT: 2,147.
PAIRING: I can't decide if it's gen or Sirius/Remus. To be fair, it could be either.
RATING: PG at the absolute most.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Like all of my fanfiction, nothing happens and everyone is sad about it. Originally this was meant to be derogatory's birthday fic, and it was totally fueled by partaken's Sirius/Remus FST. This is only half of my text file, but I wanted to get at least this much off my hard drive and out of my life. This is actually the first Harry Potter fanfic I have ever finished. Unbelievable.

After they're finished with their NEWTs, the Marauders have always planned, they're going to skip out on the feast in the Great Hall, take their dinners out to the outskirts of the forbidden forest and celebrate under the moon. As the times get more and more dangerous and as it becomes clear to them with age and experience what a fantastically bad idea it is, they of course all become increasingly attached to it, and the plan begins to expand. Sirius observes that if they're lucky it'll be a full moon, to which Remus always retorts that that sort of thing is written in almanacs, thank-you-very-much. He doesn't mention that the first time in first year James'd brought the whole scheme up he'd spent the next several hours in the library pouring over almanacs in an attempt to convince himself that nothing could possibly go wrong.

As NEWTs get closer and closer, Remus finds himself feeling conflicted; if one assumes that he has a future after Hogwarts beyond social pariah-hood, the full moon represents a stumbling block to getting all Os, time lost that cannot be returned. If one accepts the truth of the matter, he supposes, these are the last few full moons they'll be guaranteed together. Eventually he finds a happy balance between them, obsessively checks the date of the feast in the almanac and sleeps in the recovery room with his Charms text in his lap and a dog at his feet (James slips in during visiting hours, of course, but Dumbledore's confiscated his invisibility cloak for a while following an unexplained incident in the ladies' washroom, and for some reason it is difficult for anything about an almost fully-grown stag in the hospital wing to be stealthy or discreet after-hours).

Once, and only once, Sirius accidentally shifts back into human form in the middle of the night. They’re awakened in the morning by Madam Pomfrey, who walks in, sees two sleeping teenaged boys in pajamas curled up on opposite ends of the bed. When she shakes Remus awake he stares horrified back and forth between her and Sirius, who thankfully is clothed but who is grinning in his sleep in a self-satisfied way that looks to Remus’ hormone and academic anxiety-fried brain like an expression of absolute blissful fulfillment.

For one horrible second Remus is sure he’s either going to be expelled or else seated down and given a stern life choices talk by Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey – honestly, he can’t decide which option would be more horrifying to him. But she just shakes her head and thins her lips, tells him to tell Mr. Black when he wakes up that students are not allowed in the hospital wing after hours. When she leaves, Remus lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Sirius takes this moment to roll over from his side to his back, stretching his long legs up and over the headboard and forcing his friend to duck.

“At least she didn’t check your stitches to see if you’d reopened them in the night,” Sirius notes, and Remus hates how his face burns in spite of himself at the insinuation. He’s grateful that at least his friend can’t catch him being embarrassed until, like magic, Sirius cracks one eye open, sees how his observation has landed, and then laughs in a way that telegraphs I knew it.

“Should have known you’d changed back.” Remus gripes at him in a way that clearly sounds like he’s sure it was on purpose. “Since when do dogs kick people in the face in the middle of the night.”

“You’ve never complained any other full moon,” Sirius retorts, and Remus has to admit to himself that it’s impossible to stay angry with him for any real period of time; any genuine frustration he feels rolls off with his friend’s laughter. Instead, he shoves the other boy’s legs off of the headboard, smiles his own self-satisfied smile as the rest of his friend’s body follows in turn, crashing to the floor. As Sirius reaches up and pulls both his friend and the cot crashing down with him, Remus can’t help noting that one way or another, it looks like Sirius Black’ll be ripping his stitches open after all.

Two months later to the day, Remus trods back toward Gryffindor Tower from his post-wolf checkup in the hospital wing, marveling at how little he's been feeling the aftereffects of the moon recently. Perhaps it's that he's gotten better at controlling himself, but he figures it's more likely that Sirius and James have just figured a happy medium between letting the wolf do whatever it pleases and throwing him halfway across the Forbidden Forest every time his hackles so much as rise.

Sirius and Peter are lazing about the common room when he gets back; they perk up briefly when they hear the entrance open, but return to staring at each other dejectedly from across the table once they confirm that it's just him. James, Remus determines wryly, must be on patrol with Evans. Never one to sail against the wind, Remus takes out a book and stations himself on the couch with a clear view of the entrance. He notes with a smile that this whole situation is not unlike dogs lying in front of the front door waiting for their master to come home, an observation which makes Peter blush and Sirius bristle. Remus hums into his Defense Against the Dark Arts text, at least until Sirius kicks him in the back of the head.

His friend must actually be kind of angry, because he spends the rest of the week playing minor pranks on Remus. There's never any proof, of course, that he's the culprit; just the way a smile dances just around the corner of his eyes as the other Marauders express their shock and horror at [his notes being changed to erotic poetry / his being secretly hexed to only be able to pose all statements in question form / all of his clothes being charmed to smell like wet dog (Remus isn’t convinced Sirius didn’t just accomplish that last one by taking a shower and rolling around in Remus’ trunk) ], not to mention the combination of relative harmlessness of the pranks and the complete creative obnoxiousness of them. James blames Severus Snape again.

It's three days until his last exam and Remus has been in the back of the library for at least four hours; he's got a cramp in his neck that started at least a half hour ago and the shoulder he dislocated in third year is radiating a dull ache for some reason or another. He doesn't hear anyone come up behind him, just feels the presence of someone closing in on his back, hand hovering near a shoulder, and hears Sirius start,

"Hey, Lu--"

Lupin's mouth twists upward, partially with the frustration of at least four failed attempts at revenge and partially with sleep deprivation induced mania, and without a word he jerks his chair backward, catching the person behind him sharply in the stomach before toppling over himself, chair and boy both landing squarely on top of his target. His triumphant grin at the success of his kamikaze attack melts into an expression of dismay and horror, however, when he hears glasses clatter to the floor and realizes he is currently straddling James. Sirius is leaning on the doorjamb, doubled over and shaking with silent laughter.

"Can't." Sirius manages to choke out around smothered guffaws, "Manage to keep your paws off him, huh Moony." Remus allows himself a split second of fantasizing about grabbing his friend by the scruff of the neck and throwing him into the nearest stack of books - these homicidal urges are not residual from the last full moon and therefore undeniable symptoms of his condition, he assures himself, if those urges are completely founded.

James makes excuses for both of them as Remus scrambles off, then pulls him up; it's near the full moon, after all, and what with NEWTs and all, those animal instincts must be running on high - Remus doesn't feel the need to correct him; after all, all of those sound better than his real reasons for owing Sirius a good kick in the teeth.

They've met Peter coming out of a last-minute herbology tutorial and are halfway to the Gryffindor common room when James interjects,

"By the way, about the feast in a couple of days," he looks embarrassed, an expression that Remus notes with the tiniest shred of dark amusement always seems to make Sirius' face sink with disgust, "I know we've been planning on skivving for years and all, but. That's our final night here, isn't it? Shouldn't we--"

He can't even finish his sentence before Sirius starts in on him, and Peter - although vocally agreeing that skipping out to the Forbidden Forest is a stupid kid's idea anyway - can't manage to keep the heartbreak out of the edges of his voice. Remus keeps silent through the argument, watching the way James' face is turning a little pink around the ears in that way it always does when he's thinking about a certain prefect-cum-Head Girl before finally interjecting,

"D'you want to see if she wants to come with, Prongs?"

Years of trying to gauge his friends' reactions, see if he's gone too far and should backpedal or apologize or pass whatever he's said as a joke, have given Remus something of a taste for reading others' expressions, and the change in everyone's demeanor this time around is really interesting, he thinks offhandedly; James' expression clears, Peter's switches from conflict to single-minded horror, and Sirius blinks twice at him before grinning broadly, smile sharp with an unspoken victory. James crosses the distance between the two of them in two long strides, grins a meter wide, and throws an arm over Remus' shoulders. Remus can't decide whether it'd be more appropriate to lean away uncomfortably or to lean in and shrug him off, so he allows himself a moment and basks in the attention.

Later, after James has gone to bed, Sirius finds Remus in the common room in front of the fire with a book, laughs at him, "So, Moondoggy, do you actually think Lily 'Never Broken a Rule in her Life' Evans is going to come with, or have I underestimated your capacity for deceiving James?"

"My kind," Lupin skirts around the word "werewolf" even now; it aches in the way an old scar does, shiny and pink but still perpetually raw and sensitive, "are liars by necessity. Besides," he shoots Sirius a sideways glance, still a little sore from earlier in the day, "Isn't it possible that the one you're underestimating is Lily Evans?"

Sirius makes a rude noise and doesn't deign to acknowledge his friend's question beyond that.

Remus can't help feeling smug on the night of the Great Hall Feast, as Sirius trudges sullenly behind the group. Lily's giddy and flushed with excitement, and she and James pull ahead of everyone else, skirting and orbiting around each other, never quite managing to meet halfway. Peter shuffles as quickly as possible to keep up, and the misery on the edges of his eyes is the only thing Remus feels any regret about (later, he makes a note, he'll have to remind James to let Pete know there's no one he likes better than them). Lily's voice, although hushed, is high with excitement; it's the most girlish he's heard her in a long time, he thinks.

For a teenaged werewolf, Lupin is quick to forgive and even quicker to regret hurting others, and so he drags his feet and makes Sirius catch up with him, admits grimly,

“Yeah, this is a bit of a letdown.”

His friend looks at him with a disgusted expression, but it quickly melts into a resigned smirk. Remus figures it must be terribly hard on Sirius, always being right. “I’ve seen worse,” Sirius says, and the space between them is warm as they watch James and Lily melt further and further into the distance.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Lily turns, looks back at both of them, and waves them closer. The two of them watch as Peter manages to catch up, bending over to catch his breath. James rubs small circles on their friend’s lower back, brays encouragement that the two boys can’t hear from this distance. Watching their three housemates grin and shout and wave soundlessly, Remus can’t help cracking a smile in turn. Sirius snorts, places a warm hand on the back of Remus’ head and shoves him toward their friends. The two boys break out in a run, racing, heading toward the forest, toward James and Peter and Lily, toward the waning moon.

untitled.

sharksmiled — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 12:01:46 GMT

FANDOM: Naruto.
WORDCOUNT: 508.
PAIRING: Gen. I guess onesided Neji/Naruto, like if you squint.
RATING: G.
SUMMARY/NOTES: No real comments; this isn't long enough to write any. Wanted to practice writing something short and putting it out without getting all epic about it.

The number of people who wish Naruto could give up on Sasuke grows exponentially every day; Neji tells Naruto one day over an evening training exercise, noting the way that the scent of cigarettes - a new bad habit, he supposes - manages to make Naruto's presence even more difficult to miss than before.

Naruto grins ruefully - Neji's eyes have only ever missed two things, and it’d have been completely impossible for either of them to be the dark circles creeping up around the other ninja's eyes - and says,

"I don't want him to be the one person I couldn't save."

It's only years shut up in the Branch House, surrounded by eyes watching through walls and from impossible distances, that allows him to inhale and exhale normally and look straight ahead, away from Naruto, away from Konohagakure, up through the sky, chasing a bluebird. It's hardly as though this is the deed that defines you, he wants to protest. It was you who brought me out of the darkness, taught me how weak my eyes could be, had become, and where the light was; without you, Hinata-sama would have remained a quivering wreck, useless to everyone, most of all herself. Even though the Hyuuga prodigy doesn't say anything, Naruto puts his hand on a shoulder, rests it there for three breaths. Neji goes completely still, tries not to breathe; Naruto feels him stiffen and with a laugh claps him on the shoulder twice, saying,

"Or, okay, it's just I don't want the only person I couldn't save to be the one who mattered the most."

Neji knows it's melodramatic to feel like all of the wind has been kicked out of his lungs, knows even Hinata-sama would be able to accept that kind of declaration for what it is - the truth, as Naruto sees it. Still, he can't help thinking to himself how terribly painful it can be to be one of Naruto's successes; that the truth of the matter is that something that fundamentally altered the course of your entire life was to the person who changed you not even a genuine choice, just something that happened because there was nothing else but to do it.

Number one ninja at taking the piss out of people, Neji would say if he was inclined to make jokes, but he isn't and never has been. Instead he continues to sit unmoving beside Naruto, staring blankly over the remains of Konoha. Over in the Hyuuga family compound someone is cooking – wisps of smoke rise up into the air, dissipate like a pointless argument. Naruto's thought process is easy to read because his eyes move to match it; to the faces of the hokages that came before him, to where the Uchiha clan used to live, out beyond the borders toward Sasuke. Neji doesn't have time for traitors or myths, only heroes, and he allows his eyes to unfocus briefly, sitting still and placid in the twilight until all he can see is an outline of orange and yellow.

we only ever notice when it feels like all is lost; three moments from the japanese occupation

sharksmiled — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 05:46:46 GMT

We Only Ever Notice When It Feels Like All is Lost.
(Three Moments From the Japanese Occupation of Hong Kong)

FANDOM: Axis Powers Hetalia.
WORDCOUNT: 1, 077.
PAIRING: Ugh not really a pairing per se, but implied England/Hong Kong.
RATING: PG for some violence and a little cuddling.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Requested by derogatory on this meme; it was the most I've written of anything since the school year ended, so I figured I'd post it up. As always, standard disclaimers apply; I am not a historian, and I am not a revisionist, I am Japanese-politics-studying graduate student who likes writing about hugs and family. I also couldn't decide if the last paragraph was necessary, but I kept it in anyway. Written mostly to the first volume of my Hong Kong fst, particularly "Atonement" by Bloc Party.

1.

The agreement is signed on Christmas Day, which Hong Kong finds kind of ironic in light of how he'd barely even heard of Christmas until England introduced him to it. They'd bought a tree, of course, but hadn't really had time to decorate it, but he supposes that of all of his worries at that point the tree is the least of them. Japan opens the door and steps out into the cool night air, nodding curtly at Hong Kong in a way that indicates that he should be followed; England puts a hand on his shoulder briefly, though it hovers uncertainly for only a second and Hong Kong isn't sure whether it's meant to be pushing him forward or holding him back. His hand is covered in bandages; inside the house, Hong Kong knows that Canada and India are the same. The colony knows that he has to go, but his legs won't move. In the end, Japan reaches back and grabs him by the wrist.

He isn't expecting to be treated gently; he's been an Asian colony in a Western house for a while now, and knows better than that. He doesn't expect, however, to be thrown down the flight of stairs. Japan comes down after him, sets on him with kicks and his rifle butt, shouting at him in a language he can't understand. Hong Kong is taken aback by the sudden attack; sure, Japan has been hard on the other colonies, he knows, but he was nice enough to Taiwan and Korea until they started misbehaving, so he'd figured if he was good -- he finds he doesn't have the time to think harder about this, as Japan's kicks have moved away from his torso and up to his face. He curls up into a ball, tries to remember the best way to guard his face from major damage.

When Japan's done, he moves away and barks at two of his followers to carry Hong Kong. They're practically in front of a hospital, but the building is cold and dark as death - perhaps no one is in it anymore? The group begins to move in the opposite direction. He looks back to England's house. England is watching from the window, but when their eyes meet the older nation looks away and allows the curtain to fall between them.

---

2.

Hong Kong isn't used to the resistance forces, but he finds that he likes them anyway - often they're much older than his taste, much harder and more violent. The him of two years ago would have been repulsed at their behavior, and every fiber of his old self would have rejected the idea of open rebellion. But he finds that he's gotten tougher, and hungrier, and more than anything else angrier. Even his memories are tinged with something very much like hate - every time he thinks back to his time with China all he can remember is Japan's stupid superior face, reading separate from the group, and when he thinks back to living with England he just remembers being stuffed into a stupid suit and being told to serve first-grade tea and expensive cakes to Japan-the-ally, who looks at him like he doesn't remember him and remarks on England's taste in cute manservants.

So Hong Kong takes it upon himself to make as much of an impression on Japan as he possibly can. He's not particularly successful; he manages to take out an airport and save some prisoners before Japan has enough of him, locks him in a cold room and doesn't feed him for days. Hong Kong counts it as a victory anyway, because he knows he has to take what he can manage. Alone in his room, he tries to think back to his youth, when his belly was full and his feet were warm and he'd sleep with the sound of China's heartbeat as background noise, steady and reliable, like the sun. He tries to forget who used to sleep on China's other side, a hand fisting into Taiwan's hair.

---

3.

There's talk of him going home to China at the end of the War; America is talking cheerfully in the next room over of the end of imperialism, though he doesn't seem to be taken very seriously by his companions. He can't bring himself to care; they've fed him and bandaged him and put him to bed, but his chest still feels the same cold ache he's felt since Christmas more than three years ago. He closes his eyes tightly and thinks of China's house, of China still warm and whole, tries to grab on to the memory of that warmth.

His eyes snap open when he feels heat radiating through his body; he's greeted by England, who pulls his hand away from where it was resting on his forehead, looking sheepish and a little put out.

"I thought you were asleep." His blush is spreading from his cheeks to his ears - it's strange, Hong Kong catches himself thinking in wonder, how comforting blood can look when it's still under the skin. Without any real ceremony, England drops to his knees, facing away from Hong Kong. "Get on," he mutters curtly, "While those idiots are arguing I'm taking you home." The harbor isn't really in a position to argue, and he clambers onto England's back without a fuss. The other country makes some complaining noises as he stands, but his arms supporting Hong Kong are strong, and Hong Kong thinks he can feel the steady pulse of his heart drumming in his back.

When they get home, Hong Kong's surprised to find that he's been moved from the servant's quarters and presented with a bed in the room down the hall from England's. Not America's old room, he notes, but close anyway. Late that night, when he figures England is asleep, he scoots furtively across the hall and peeks into the older country's room. England's still awake, but just barely - he sleepily frowns, then reaches out and beckons Hong Kong in. He doesn't need further invitation - his feet are cold. He clambers up into bed with England, reaches out tentatively for his hand. He feels ridiculous, like this is the closest they've ever been. Their hands awkwardly intertwine, and Hong Kong forgets momentarily about everything - about being abandoned, about the way China's jiaozi taste on a cold night, about breathing.

repeat the sounding joy: the ouran high school host club saves christmas

sharksmiled — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 02:58:03 GMT

Repeat the Sounding Joy: The Ouran High School Host Club Saves Christmas.

FANDOM: Ouran High School Host Club.
WORDCOUNT: 1, 110.
PAIRING: Gen as fuck.
RATING: G.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Christmas fic for partaken, three-plus months late. Like most of my fic that isn't miserable, it is unbearably silly. Hopefully I was okay at it. Thinking of it, like all of this (except for the final draft) was written on transportation of some sort; buses, long car rides, in airports and airplanes, which is weird because it was basically the same for my first and only other OHSHC fic. I tried to get this of comparable length with Jax's Christmas fic, but I failed horribly - unlike miserable, which I can handle at length, I can only be funny for so long. I don't love this, but I don't hate it, and I do love Monica, so there, take that.

Haruhi figured, upon opening the door to her apartment and finding herself facing the entire Host Club in costume, that she should really have known better; after all, no one but Tamaki-sempai ever knocked on the door like that ("oh, how quaint," he'd cooed when she'd showed him the doorbell, and then he'd insisted that she go into her apartment so that he could try it out; he'd ended up holding the button down for a good thirty seconds yelling "Haruhi?! Haruhi, can you hear me?! Haruhi, I think the reception on this is bad!!" while the twins stood in the background searching for the camera they assumed had to be somewhere - really, who didn't at least have video intercom outside of his or her house?).

So really, she chided herself as she faced her upperclassmen, who for some reason she couldn’t quite grasp but was sure would be amply explained to her sometime never, were standing in her entranceway in full Christmas cosplay, she should have known better, and had she really not wanted to deal with them she could have pretended not to be home. Of course, she had to admit with a suspicious look toward Kyouya-sempai, there was a comparatively high chance of that not working, either.

"Can I help you?"

"HARUHIIII," came the response, muffled by a thick Santa Claus beard, "We brought traditional Christmas games!! I know here in Japan you don't really celebrate it as such, but Christmas is a holiday to be spent with your family!!"

"And I'm sure they are all missing you right now," she retorted, wondering who had tipped Kyouya-sempai off that her father was working tonight and scanning the other members of the host club for possible threats; Kyouya-sempai was carrying what looked like pin the tail on the donkey, and the twins were both sporting bags full of chestnuts (surely, she thought to herself exhaustedly, they aren't expecting an open fire on which to roast those!!). She was contemplating shutting the door and telling them all to go home, vase debt be forgotten, but then Hunny-sempai (was that -- was that a snowman costume?) leaned up toward her and whispered confidentially,

"Haru-chan, Haru-chan! We brought figgy pudding!!"

Mori-sempai's serious nod, holding out something that smelled delicious as if to verify this information with her, was only half as convincing in his Rudolph costume. Even so, she'd never had figgy pudding, wasn't even really sure what it was... and she wasn't sure when she'd ever get a chance to bring it up again.

"Come on in, then," she gave in with a sigh, opening her door wide enough to accommodate Tamaki-sempai and the twins as they all three simultaneously made a dash for the kotatsu.

("Haruhi, we made you a matching Mrs. Claus costu-"

"I don't want it.")

---

"Really, Haruhi," Tamaki chided her when everyone was safely under the Fujioka family kotatsu (which was really too small for seven people, she protested, only to be met with the reply that family closeness was the cornerstone of Japanese culture - "tono, your feet keep rubbing against mine," Kaoru interjected, and this complaint led into a whole subdrama with the twins), "Why didn't you tell us that your father was working tonight?! Just think, you might have been alone on Christmas Eve!"

Without thinking, she replied that she'd actually been counting on it - the Host Club had been busy with events and with special meetings for weeks thanks to the holiday, and tomorrow was looking to be even busier; this had been her one chance at a real break. The Host Club president, never one to hide his heartbreak (unless, she reminded herself as an afterthought, it was something really important), looked horrified at the very idea; indignation, however, choked his protests, and she was able to continue.

"Besides," she added with a cursory look out the window at the black clouds barely visible through the twilight, "the weather would be pretty terrible to actually go anywhere tonight, don't you think? The forecast was calling for clouds and mixed wintery weather all night, and the wind is picking up..." with a small laugh, she added, blissfully unaware of the way Tamaki was watching her with increasing interest, "Even Santa-san is going to have difficulty navigating in this weather!!"

She only became aware that she'd said something horrifyingly dangerous when she looked up from her cup of tea with a bright smile and was instantly greeted by the twins' ever-widening grins. Tamaki had already pulled out his cell phone, and almost as soon as Haruhi had begun assuring herself that no way was he actually taking her seriously he'd made a grand arm gesture toward Mori and Hunny, who stood up without any real vocal cues and sprinted into the cold night air.

As Tamaki's phone call connected, Kyouya moved to stand. Placing his hand lightly on Haruhi's shoulder, he leaned in closely and requested in low tones,

"In the future, I'd prefer it if you'd think more carefully about your audience before making offhand comments like that."

Haruhi looked back up at the vice-president, expression growing more horrified by the second. In the background Tamaki's plans continued to solidify.

"We'll need night vision goggles..."

---

It was only Kyouya’s connection with the Ootori family that got them out of being arrested. The next day all of the girls at the Host Club's annual Christmas Day gala were talking about the mysterious helicopter that was spotted flying low over Tokyo in the wee hours of the morning, throwing toys and gingerbread cookies down onto the streets below.

"They dropped from such a height it left a dent in my father's car!"

"Really? I almost got hit by a shower of sprinkles - I could have been maimed!"

"Do you think they were terrorists? I heard that when the helicopter turned sharply and caught the wind people could hear what sounded like a girl screaming!"

"Scary!!"

Some of the other girls couldn't help expressing their concern in low tones to Kyouya; Haruhi-kun really didn't look good, and they'd heard that commoners ate fried chicken on Christmas Eve, and could he be sick? Kyouya smiled and nodded and reassured them all that Haruhi would be back to normal shortly; he was too busy calculating how many photobooks they’d have to sell to make up the difference between their current funds and the bill for property damages to come up with an elaborate lie. Hunny and Mori pretended not to hear, while the twins grinned wickedly and Tamaki nodded his approval, blissfully secure in the knowledge of a good deed well done.

go places

sharksmiled — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 04:41:20 GMT

Go Places.
(D.Gray-Man High School AU; the one about college entrance exams.)

FANDOM: D.Gray-Man.
WORDCOUNT: 4,298.
PAIRING: Pretty gen. Kanda/Lavi and Allen/Lenalee implied, but it's not like SUPER IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT or anything.
RATING: PG. This one didn't end with fumbling hand jobs as I originally intended (SEQUEL?!?!), and it's pretty harmless, but - Kanda's mouth.
SUMMARY/NOTES: This is maybe the most plot-filled thing I have ever written, and I can't decide if it's suffered for it (also - grad school has KILLED my writing. Just KILLED it). I can never stop writing this universe, but this encompassed several smaller ideas I'd had for it. It's Christmas fic, for derogatory (the prompt was "DGM more high school au, perhaps preparing for college?!! anything"). I've been staring at this thing (which is actually I think the longest fic I've ever written, tragically) for so long that I can't tell if I hate it or not, but - here you go anyway. Oh PS. This whole thing was written to "Go Places" by the New Pornographers, so: put the song on, get ready for reading.

Lavi has developed a schedule when it comes to school mornings. He likes to get up near the crack of dawn, often before the first rays of light come filtering through his blinds; he eats a leisurely breakfast with his grandpa, stuffs his work haphazardly into his bag, and bikes to the neighborhood around the school.

Then he finds a bookstore and stands around reading manga until the last possible second, because he's found that the image of a student who is constantly running in at the last possible second is first: much easier to uphold, and second: much, much more fun.

One of these mornings at the end of his second year, he's biking along the riverbank when he sees a long head of hair, much longer than a boy's should really be, jogging ahead of him toward school. With a grin, he speeds up, then cuts in front of the jogger.

"Hey, Yuu! At that pace you'll never make the bell! You want a ride?" Kanda’s face is flushed with the exertion of his jog, and his athletic bag is slung over his shoulders, backpack-style. He makes a face that clearly indicates that he would most definitely not like to hitch a ride on the back of Lavi's bicycle, and grumbles,

"Aren't you early today? I overheard some of the guys in your class talking about how you almost never really make the bell."

"Ahhhh, Yuu, that's neither here nor there!!" Lavi at least has the decency to flush before turning the question back on his friend, saying, "And anyway, didn't you say the reason we couldn't walk to school together was because you have practice in the morning?! What are you doing back here? Was it just a lie? Are you keeping your schedule open to walk to school with a girl? Too mean, Yuu!"

"I've already practiced this morning," Kanda retorts, "but I forgot my Future Goals Report sheet on my desk, so I had to run back and get it." He shoots Lavi a look that could slice bone and demands, "You didn't forget yours, right? They're due today."

Lavi finds himself denying it before he even thinks about whether or not he actually has the sheet. "What are you talking about, class rep; of course I've brought it!" He has, he remembers, although he's not sure of its condition; once he’d finished it, he’d shoved it in the bottom of his bag and hasn’t retrieved it since. He grins in a way he hopes is disarming but mostly just manages to be obnoxious and motions to the seat of his bike. "Anyway, how about hopping on the back, here, and we'll both be at school on time?"

Kanda stares for a minute as if he's trying to figure out what Lavi's angle is before shrugging and climbing on. He's gotten heavier since the last time he's ridden like this, Lavi can't help noticing, but it looks to be mostly muscle; in middle school when they used to go together to school Kanda'd always struck Lavi with his girlish willowyness, the femininity of his face. There's nothing like that now, he thinks with a sigh that might be ever-so-slightly tinged with regret. "If you're gonna go, then GO!" Kanda barks at him, and Lavi wobbles in surprise for a second before kicking the stand up and setting off.

They're making good time when Lavi breaks the comfortable silence, starting, "I guess you've decided where you're trying for college, huh? I'm trying for three, 'cause there were three slots on the sheet, right - that private school in town, they've got a pretty good name, another private school, this one in the city - the one that Lenalee's brother went to? And that public school in the city; you know gramps went there."

"Hn," is Kanda's only reply.

The sun is mostly up at this point, and the light bouncing off of the pavement gives Lavi a little bit of a headache. "What about you?" Kanda pauses for a minute, perhaps trying to frame his response, before admitting in a quieter tone than usual,

"I haven't decided yet. My paper's still blank. I guess I thought I'd think of something to write and turn it in at the last second." Lavi knows that Kanda isn't good at planning ahead, and that he's more focused on his club activities than anything else right now, but this admission surprises him anyway.

"Yuu, don't you want to go to university?" Kanda shrugs, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation. "Ah, if you don't have schools you already want to try for, why don't you just put mine down?"

"Why would I do that?" Kanda grumbles, voice embarrassed. "We don't even have the same interests!"

"Ah--!! But think of how much fun we would have, Yuu! We'd be living in the city! I could take classes from some of the greatest academics in the country, and you could sleep through your lectures, and then after we could go out for yakiniku!! HEY, WE COULD BE ROOMMATES, AND SHARE AN APARTMENT LIKE TWO ADULT MEN SETTING OUT ON THEIR OWN FOR THE FIRST TIME!!"

"Don’t assign me some slacker no-good college student persona!” Kanda's shoulder is pushing at Lavi's back, and Lavi knows that the way it's gone tense is a bad sign (like a video game boss who always uses "attack stat up" magic immediately before a major attack, he thinks).

Still, he can't resist adding, “Also, the public school has a really good kendo club!"

"GODDAMN IT, LAVI, WOULD YOU JUST FUCKING DROP IT?!" Apparently Kanda doesn't consider (or care) that attacking Lavi might have some negative effect on his steering, or take into account the canal they're riding next to. They tumble off of the road. They both arrive to school late, wet, and muddy. They're given new forms to fill out.

--

"No way," Allen laughs good-naturedly that weekend; they've met up for parfaits (and in Kanda's case, just black tea) at a family restaurant near Lenalee's, and Lavi has been recounting his plan to them. "Isn't that school really difficult to get into?!"

"It doesn't matter," Kanda growls across the table at him, "since I'm not applying there anyway!"

"Sorry, Lavi," Allen grins at his friend, "I guess we'll just have to visit you a lot on the weekends."

Lenalee smiles knowingly at the three boys over her ice cream.

--

Kanda makes prefecturals, then loses to a boy twice his size in the finals. Lavi thinks about entering a juku, but most of the good ones have kids who've been in them since elementary school, and his grandpa points out - "why would I shell out all that money for extra work that you'll probably just sleep through anyway?!" Lavi supposes that he has a point. In the spring, Allen and Lenalee enter high school. None of them really talk about the upcoming entrance exams.

--

One day in early June Lavi is summoned to school early for a conference with his homeroom teacher, who slams his latest practice test onto the desk along with his half-done homework and says in a voice that is openly biting back frustration that Lavi's problem is not intelligence but focus, and that he can't expect to skate by on just his practice scores, that isn't how the university exams work – especially not ones for public schools. Lavi listens with half-interest, contemplating how much work he's put into this slacker thing already, and wonders grumpily when teachers will start teaching him something he doesn't already know.

When it's over he wanders the grounds to clear his head; he isn't sure how he gets there, but he ends up in the kendo club's practice room. Kanda is the only one there; for a moment Lavi thinks that, like a movie, Kanda'll be too deeply lost in his practice to notice that he isn't alone. Unfortunately, Kanda's paranoia outweighs his warrior's soul, and he turns on his heel and stares at Lavi.

"What are you looking at?" The question lacks its usual bite, hazy with exhaustion. Kanda's face is once again flushed with exertion; he's sweating lightly. He must be planning to take a quick shower before class, Lavi thinks offhandedly, and then he's suddenly embarrassed to have been caught looking.

"You've got a tournament this week, right?" Lavi covers, hoping Kanda's not paying him close enough attention to notice the redness around his ears. "Good luck, team captain!"

Kanda stares at him for a moment before breaking out in a toothy, sharkish smile. "I don't need it." Somehow the expression shifts a little, losing its sharpness, and the way the morning light filters in through the doors has Lavi making excuses and cutting a hasty retreat to Allen's classroom.

--

Lenalee tells Lavi around bites of cake (Allen's guardian has insisted that he help clean the house before a new lady friend drops by, so rather than burgers the two of them have gone to a cute sweet shop near Lavi's house), "Captaincy has really made Kanda-kun step up his game, hasn't it? I mean, he's always been serious about kendo, but I've never seen him like this. He's made it really far this year; I hear there have been university scouts coming to his matches!"

"I know, I was there for his last match," Lavi admits. He's making an unhappy face, and Lenalee can't decide if it's because he's getting nervous for Kanda's upcoming nationals match or if he's feeling neglected because Kanda hasn't had time for them all summer. Attempting to steer the subject toward something more palatable for Lavi, she notes thoughtfully,

"The sponsor of the school newspaper doesn't seem that interested, though… even though he seems to take photos of the track team all the time."

Lavi makes an entirely different face, buries his head in his hands, and mutters something along the lines of "That's because Bak-sensei has different hobbies, and a specific interest in the track team..." Lenalee can't help laughing.

"Sometimes you don't make any sense, Lavi."

Lavi's face clears, and he grins up at her gratefully before reaching over and taking a forkful of her cake.

--

Lavi confides to Allen over lunch that, although it'd taken three years and a teacher intervention to get it accomplished, Kanda's class has finally succeeded in voting to have a cross-dressing cafe for the cultural festival. Apparently this has been a goal of Daisya, a friend of Lavi's who has been in Kanda's class all three years, since the first day of first year, but Kanda has willfully used his class rep status every year to halt its passage. Allen laughs uncontrollably for a full five minutes.

"I guess it’s good for Daisya then, huh? Since the school festival is kind of the third-years' last hurrah until you're done with entrance exams." Allen muses, more to himself than anyone else. He can't help feeling a little lonely at the prospect of Lavi leaving town.

"Haha, I guess you could say that," Lavi concedes a little ruefully, "although I may have already made plans for karaoke with Lenalee the weekend after the festival! Oh, by the way, you're coming, right?"

Allen supposes that Lavi'll probably get in wherever he wants with minimal studying.

--

"Hey, Lenalee," Allen murmurs at his friend as they're waiting for Lavi and Kanda to get out of teacher conferences, "have you thought about where you're going to college?" He holds his hands up in surrender at her surprised expression, disclaiming, "I mean, I haven't really at all - I barely know anything about schools, Mana told me some things but shishou doesn't really talk about it; but because Lavi and Kanda seem so busy I can't get it off of my mind."

Lenalee pauses a moment, then smiles and nods. "I've thought about it a lot! I'm looking at applying to the school my brother graduated from, and of course onii-chan has found a whole list of private all-girl's colleges for me to try for..." Allen laughs in spite of himself. That sounds like Komui-sensei, all right. "What about Allen-kun? Have you got a plan yet?"

Allen's heart sinks a little, and he admits, "Not yet. I just never considered what I would do after this point, I guess. I am taking things a day at a time." He grins at her. "Having plans - it's not something everyone can do. I think that's really great, Lenalee."

--

Lenalee doesn't say that she has always had a plan of one kind or another. She'd planned her college choices when her brother had; she wanted to be a doctor, a teacher, a lawyer. Someone who could help people.

She can't think, she realizes when she sees how lonely he looks when Lavi brings a practice test to karaoke and fills it out half-interestedly, of anyone she wants to help more than Allen.

--

It's Christmas Eve; since none of them have significant others, all four of them go out for dinner and karaoke. They're out until the last train, and after Allen agrees to walk Lenalee home Kanda and Lavi are left alone in the abandoned train station. Lavi's had several vending machine beers, and Kanda isn't much better; fearing his grandpa's retribution, Lavi follows Kanda back to his apartment. If Kanda notices, he doesn't say anything. On the way they pick up convenience-store bento. When Kanda lets Lavi into the apartment, he simply mutters, "don't say anything" and pushes past into the kitchenette to heat water for tea.

Lavi takes the moment to take in Kanda's apartment; it's studio-style, Spartan, with only the basics of furniture. That doesn't particularly surprise Lavi, and neither does the neatly hung kendo uniform or the nationals trophy (shoved into a corner; once it was won it was easily forgotten). What takes him off guard is the sheer amount of college exam preparation books stacked everywhere.

"Yuu, did you finally decide which exams you're taking?"

"Of course," Kanda grouses from behind a thick curtain of hair, "I'm not irresponsible!" He stumbles into the main room with two cups of tea. "A school a city over scouted me. I'd be allowed on the kendo team, but I have to pass the exam first."

Lavi looks over the half-finished practice exams spread out over the kotatsu. They look like they're way over Kanda's head.

Kanda's voice is slurred and his eyes are a little unfocused, and he admits offhandedly, "Marie and Daisya are both applying."

Lavi looks up, catches himself staring at his friend's alcohol-flushed face, and tries to ignore how miserable this information makes him.

When he wakes up in the morning he is back-to-back with Kanda. The other boy's a light sleeper, but he doesn't stir when Lavi presses his back harder to Kanda's, searching for a heartbeat. Lavi forces his good eye closed and tries to shut out the image of Kanda's nationals trophy, buried in the corner under piles of study guides.

--

The day of the public school entrance exam, Lavi gets up early and arrives with a half hour to spare. Thankfully, he's at the front, so he doesn't have to see all of the other examinees as they file in. He finishes with plenty of time, takes a nap until they allow everyone to go home. He dawdles in a secondhand record store for a while and then drags his feet on the way back. His grandfather knows better than to ask how it went, so Lavi skips dinner and shuts himself in his room. He stares at the ceiling and thinks of Allen and Lenalee eating lunch alone together, of Kanda and Daisya sleeping through classes at their new university a city away, of all the money he's going to spend on train tickets home.

--

Lavi doesn't hang out with Kanda much after his exams are over; it's partially because Allen's schedule always seems to be open and partially because he can't bear to think about college alone; he'd been fine when he'd transferred here. When had he become so dependent on these people?

One morning he's heading to school for a final report with his homeroom teacher regarding how he'd felt about the exam, and he notices a familiar head of hair jogging toward the school. He considers taking another route, but somehow in spite of his own misgivings his muscles move, and he's speeding ahead and cutting in front.

"Heading to school?" Kanda looks surprised for a second - it's been a while since they've seen each other. He looks tired, Lavi thinks, probably both from the exertion of his run and from his own examinations. Kanda looks like he's thinking hard for a moment (it isn't easy for him, and it's always obvious when he does it), before grinning and retorting,

"For someone who always shows up late, you sure wake up early."

Something inside Lavi eases somehow, and he starts to laugh. The winter sun hasn't quite risen, and without saying anything else Kanda climbs onto the back of Lavi's bike, grabs his shoulders, and holds on. They take off toward their school without any more conversation.

--

The day that results are posted for the public school entrance exams is a rainy one in early spring. Lavi drags Allen along with him for moral support (and also because he feels like he’ll go crazy without someone paying attention to him), promising to treat him to food in the city - all he can eat; but his friend is drowsy and nodding off, and Lavi's left alone with his thoughts. They take one of the first trains into the city, transfer to the subway, and finally step out of the station and into the crisp, cool air. The walk to the school is fairly short ("it'll be easy to visit, huh Lavi?" Allen asks teasingly, and Lavi replies with nervousness-fueled laughter). When they arrive at the bulletin board where results are posted, he searches for his identification number; of course it's up there, near the top. He lets a tired sigh go, and as Allen asks, "hey Lavi, did you make it? What's your number?" he turns around and prepares to leave.

He slams directly into Kanda.

The clouds are beginning to clear, but it's still raining; both of their umbrellas are forgotten on the ground. Droplets of water are running uncontrolled down Lavi's face, but all that he can see is that there's a slight flush - NOT from exertion - coloring Kanda's cheeks. They stare at each other for a moment, dumbstruck. Lenalee runs up the hill, going,

"Kanda-kun, will you wait a second, I told you I was buying some juice--" she stops short when she sees her friends. "Allen-kun? Lavi-kun?"

"Ah, Lenalee!" Allen walks over to her; her arms are filled with bags, and she looks like she's about to drop the sodas she's purchased. "Do you need some help?" She smiles at him gratefully and offers an armful.

"What," Lavi manages to croak out, "Are you doing here?"

Kanda's face folds into a grimace, and he looks away. "Lenalee wanted to go into the city, and now that exams are done I didn't have a good reason not to go with he--" his explanation is cut off by Lenalee's little foot shoving into the small of his back, and he wheels around, grousing, "What was THAT fo--"

"Kanda-kun," Lenalee reprimands him with a soft smile toward Lavi. "Sometimes it's kinder to tell the truth."

"The truth?" Allen's face indicates that he has no idea what is happening. Lavi stares at Kanda's hand; an identification number is written on it in Lenalee's handwriting, possibly with a felt-tipped pen. His memory, always perfect, flashes back to the board - it'd been the second to last number there.

"You got in," he states, voice thick with disbelief.

"HE GOT IN?!" Lenalee's sprint over to the board would have made the track team coach weep for joy.

"You applied?!" Allen's voice is the most disbelieving of all.

Kanda doesn't say anything, just shoots Allen a withering look and turns slightly redder. Lenalee comes back, confirms the news, and Kanda's shoulders sag a little bit with - what? Embarrassment? Relief? Lavi can't tell for sure, but he feels like this is the same expression that Kanda made after he won at Nationals.

--

When he watches Kanda step up and take his class' diplomas, Lavi feels like he's in a dream. The whole graduation ceremony thing seems so unbearably sudden, like something he isn't ready for and really isn't even equipped to acknowledge. Allen and Lenalee run toward him afterward; Lenalee is laughing and crying at the same time, and Allen insists he isn't crying but keeps wiping his eyes suspiciously with his sleeve. Lavi thinks that he sees Kanda, first talking to the kendo club advisor and then to Daisya and Marie, and then Lavi can't find him at all.

After everything's over, Lavi makes excuses to his grandfather and assures Lenalee and Allen that he'll meet up with them at the family restaurant as soon as he finds Kanda. Rather than seeking the other boy out, however, he walks down the third-year's halls, taking in the classrooms and the smell of chalkboard and running his fingers along the windowsills. He whispers his goodbyes into the cement, and he knows that they’ll stay there for at least as long as Allen and Lenalee do – honestly, Lavi thinks, he knows that eventually his friends will leave, but he hopes that bits and pieces of him’ll linger in the hallways of this place forever.

When he makes it to the kendo practice room, the sun is sinking down below the skyline. Kanda's leaning against the doorframe, looking up at the ceiling as if he's never seen it before. His diploma dangles carelessly in one hand, almost forgotten, like his nationals trophy gathering dust in the corner of his apartment. Lavi tries to say "Allen and Lenalee are waiting" or "Let's go," but all he manages is,

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't do it for you," Kanda retorts almost immediately, as if he's been holding it in for weeks - and he probably has, Lavi realizes ruefully, he's probably been thinking it furiously this whole time and just hasn't wanted to seem too defensive.

"You could have told me anyway! I would've helped you study, Yuu! We could have done this whole thing together!" Kanda's brows knit, like he wants to be furious but can't manage it here. "Besides, what did you do it for, then?" Kanda's annoyance shifts to the grin he usually wears right before he switches from defense to attacking, and he retorts,

"It's like you said; they have a very good kendo team."

And Lavi's furious, more furious than he's been this whole time, and he realizes that all of this loneliness and sadness and nervousness and worry, it's all Kanda's fault for being stupid and stubborn and incapable of human understanding, and before he knows what he's doing he's punched Kanda in the jaw.

That's enough of an invitation for the other boy, who snarls and shoves him into the practice room before going after him in earnest, and then they're on each other, all kicking and fists and (Lavi isn't proud, but Kanda has been asking for it this whole time) maybe some hair-pulling, and then Kanda goes down and pulls Lavi down with him, and Lavi isn't sure what happens exactly but he freezes and he is leaning over Kanda and for some reason he can't stop crying.

"You could have told me," he sobs, and Kanda sits up, frowns grumpily, and reluctantly pats Lavi on the back. His face is slightly flushed from the exertion of their fight, and there's blood trickling down from his eyebrow, but he reaches up and grabs Lavi's tie, pulls him down into perhaps the single most awkward hug Lavi has ever experienced.

"Don't expect the impossible, goddamn it," Kanda grouses, but the way his hand lingers on the small of Lavi's back a moment too long just has Lavi scrunching his good eye up to stop it from crying and clutching weakly at the fabric of Kanda's uniform jacket. After a moment Kanda shoves Lavi off of him, hard, and as Lavi stares at his friend Kanda is standing up, brushing his pants off, fixing his hair, and picking up his diploma from the floor where it'd fallen when he used it to brain Lavi.

"Come on," he urges, "Lenalee and that beansprout are waiting for us, right?"

Lavi'd biked to the ceremony, but Kanda'd walked; before Lavi can even offer, Kanda grumbles, "Only if I'm pedaling." Lavi's grin is a thousand watts bright when he nods his approval. He hops onto the back seat and Kanda takes his place at the front.

"The truth is," Kanda admits without turning to look at the other boy, "that I can't afford an apartment in the city by myself, and Marie and Daisya didn’t end up getting in, so you'd better stick to your goddamn word about that roommate thing."

Lavi laughs, rests his head on Kanda's back and feels the heartbeat there. It's faster than probably normal, he realizes, but Lavi's face is bright red. They have four years to decide the ramifications of that phenomenon, though, Lavi decides, and he keeps laughing long after Kanda's kicked off and away from the school. Their home for three years disappears into the night horizon, but Lavi just can't stop grinning, and he and Kanda pedal downhill, toward the sun, into the city, and back to Lenalee and Allen.

d.gray-man high school au: the one about text messaging

sharksmiled — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 08:23:39 GMT

D.Gray-Man High School AU: The One About Text Messaging.

FANDOM: D.Gray-Man.
WORDCOUNT: 1235.
PAIRING: So gen.
RATING: So G. I swear the one about either college or about crossdressing ends with sex in a broom closet.
SUMMARY/NOTES: A summary can't possibly happen, since there isn't really a plot. I was trying to write Christmas fic and I ended up on this one instead; who knows why. The first part of this was a gift drabble for partaken; this is a good example of how ideas about this universe build in my head without any real driving plot or direction. As always for this universe, this is wildly self-indulgent and frankly I regret nothing.

"Ah, Yuu!!" Allen doesn't even bother to look up from his lunch to see what it is that has Lavi fussing; it's probably Kanda's fault anyway. "You still haven't sent me a response to that text I sent you! I waited all day yesterday..."

"I talked to you yesterday," Kanda barks around his yakisoba-pan, "in person."

"It's not the same as replying!" Lavi moans, simultaneously managing to sink further into his seat and scoot closer to Lenalee, seeking pity. "Like, I've got seventy-four messages to you in my sent folder, but only ten messages from you in my inbox!! Isn't that unfair? Unbalanced, somehow? Hey, hey, Lenalee, don't you think that's weird?"

"Kanda-kun," Lenalee says soothingly around a mouthful of sandwich, more to Lavi than Kanda, "When someone says something to you, don't you think you should respond?"

"IN WHAT WAY," Kanda snarls, "IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A MESSAGE?!" He pulls out his phone and displays his messages.

"Ah --" Allen peers around Lenalee's shoulder, mouth still full, "that's a lot of emoticons. Lavi, what's the umbrella for?"

"Metaphor!!" Lavi responds smugly, as if he's been waiting for just this question, "For the rain in my heart that his not responding causes me!!"

Allen pulls Lenalee out of the way just in time as Kanda lunges over the desks at the redhead.

---

When Allen and Lavi go out to eat, there's always a problem of pacing; even though Allen eats much more quickly than his friend, he's always still eating long after Lavi is finished. When they started this tradition of after-school hamburgers on days when Kanda and Lenalee have club activities, Lavi'd made an effort to fill the silence, but it's hard for a conversation to go anywhere when half of it consists of grunts around mouthfuls of food. He's learned to fiddle on his cell phone while he waits for Allen to come up for air.

"Ah," Lavi says one afternoon as Allen is plowing through his fifth double cheeseburger, "Yuu should be out of practice by now~ I'll ask him how it went." Allen gives his best I-could-care-less-what-that-jerk-has-to-say face, a real accomplishment around a mouthful of burger patty, and watches in mute awe as his friend's thumb flies across the keypad.

Less than fifteen seconds after Lavi has pressed 'send', his phone jangles with a response. He glances over the screen, then presses his lips together in a tight grin and presents it to Allen.

Kanda's response reads, in its entirety, "ive told you not to email me right after practice goddamn it."

"Ah," Allen notes, his laughter tired, "for someone who hates writing so much, Kanda's response time is unexpectedly fast, isn't it?" Lavi joins in laughing, grinning as he says,

"Yeah, Yuu's actually a really fast texter - look at the times I've sent emails and then when he responds." A cursory look through Lavi's sent and inbox confirms it - a text sent at 12:40:23 is replied to at 12:40:43 with 'this email had too many emoji and i didn't bother reading it'. One sent at 14:24:30 is replied to at 14:24:57 with 'what the hell should i care? do what you want'. There are several emails along the lines of 'WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU IT IS 3AM'.

"You really should be in bed at three in the morning, Lavi," Allen admonishes him gently.

"That only takes him ten seconds to type and send." Lavi sounds reverent and a little worried as he stares into the screen before leaning back in his seat and beginning to draft a reply. "It's like a superpower. Yuu can be really scary when he wants to."

---

Kanda's superpower comes up a few weeks later; he's promised to meet Lenalee and (reluctantly) Allen at a shopping mall a few train stops away from the school after club activities in order to help her pick a birthday present for Lavi.

"I don't see why we had to invite Kanda," Allen mutters mostly to himself as they sit in the food court. Lenalee looks stern and reminds him as her fingers dance deftly over the keypad of her cell phone,

"You know Kanda-kun has known Lavi-kun for a really long time, easily as long as I have, and they're pretty good friends! We need his input." Allen doesn't bother to remind her that last year Kanda's birthday present to Lavi had been treating him to ramen, and he probably wouldn't have done anything if Lenalee hadn't been watching him so expectantly. "Ah--!! There!" She smiles brightly and presses send. Allen waits expectantly for the almost instantaneous reply he's come to expect from watching Lavi's texts.

The reply doesn't come for another five minutes at least. When it does, it's halting and choppy, clearly deeply thought about, and with backhanded but clear answers. It also arrives only two minutes before Kanda does, so it's virtually useless. When he walks up, Allen is reading the screen intently, Lenalee rifling through her purse for her wallet. He looks up and at Kanda with an expression somewhere between pity and disbelief, and asks,

"Kanda... is it possible that you've just... just memorized the key combination for a few set replies to Lavi's emails, and that in fact you're a really, really slow texter?"

"Shut up," Kanda snaps, shoving his own cell phone further into his pocket.

"Also, you used the wrong kanji here."

"I said shut up, beansprout, not all of us can be fast at texting like a stupid first-year in high school."

"I am a first year in high school! And it's not stupid to try to communicate!"

"WHAT communication? Have you READ these messages?"

"It's common decency to think of a real reply before you shoot off a response! Haven't you thought of Lavi's feelings?"

"MAYBE LAVI SHOULD STOP MAILING ME AT 3 IN THE MORNING."

"MAYBE YOU SHOULD LEARN TO PUT YOUR PHONE ON SILENT!"

"All right, that's enough." Suddenly Lenalee is between them, fingertips pushing them apart as if they're both made of paper. "Kanda-kun, we'll practice writing a real email to Lavi-kun later; in the meantime, let's go before the stores close." And then she's past them and moving toward the shops. Allen glares at Kanda momentarily before chasing after her, the charms on her cell phone jangling in his pocket. Kanda hefts his athletic bag over his shoulders with a scowl before loping after them.

---

A week later at burgers, Lavi's phone jingles (a new ringtone, Allen notices - can't he keep anything longer than a month?) about halfway through fries. He checks the screen, then shows it to Allen with a vaguely surprised expression. It's from Kanda, unsolicited, several sentences in length. "That's weird, huh?" Lavi notes with a grin. Allen doesn't reply that in all likelihood Lenalee has cornered Kanda after practice and has forced him to write the note. Lavi replies, then goes back to his meal.

The next morning when Allen is walking past the shelter where students park their bicycles, he hears Lavi's voice.

"Ah, Yuu, g'mor-" And then suddenly there is the sound of metal crashing, people's bikes falling over in a domino effect, and Kanda is yelling,

"WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF RESPONSE IS A LINE OF 'W's?"

Allen sighs, making a mental note to see that Lavi and Kanda both lose their cell phones in their next game of poker.

japan's economic miracle

sharksmiled — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 09:16:27 GMT

Japan's Economic Miracle.

FANDOM: Axis Powers Hetalia!
WORDCOUNT: 733.
PAIRING: Gen.
RATING: G.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Requested on the main community; I don't love this, I don't hate it, but I am starting to really resent Chalmers Johnson.

America is genuinely pleased that Japan seems to be all fired up to get himself back onto his own feet - sure, the war hadn't been all that good, but UK is all right with him and Japan's earnest seriousness is actually a little bit charming (though nowhere near as charming as America is!!) when it's being applied to rebuilding, and America doesn't mind helping Japan out a little now and then - after all, Japan is still weak, it's important that Russia not get any weird ideas into his head, and who cares if he's selling fabric all over the world but putting weird restrictions on buying from other people? Japan is just being careful, and with his hands full with Russia (who keeps getting handsy with China) and then Korea (America is starting to understand Japan's rebellious phase if this is the family he grew up with), America figures that an overly cautious ally is better than the alternative.

---

"Most of my steel is from Japan, at this point," the UK grudgingly admits when America comments on it. "And anyway," he grouses, "Yours is the same, isn't it?!"

America hasn't thought to check, but when he goes home he checks his ships. It's true. He doesn't think too hard about it, though, because even though he's got a new fan, a new washing machine, and a new electric rice cooker, Japan still smiles tiredly and does things like stay out and watch the moon and write weird poetry that doesn't rhyme, and it's hard for America to feel too threatened, frankly.

---

"Ah, Japan... have you remodeled?" England's question comes as a surprise to America, who has been too caught up in thought about China and Russia cozying up to Vietnam. "It looks like you've built this place up. It's cooler, too"

"Mm." Japan's response is embarrassed but proud. "The truth is that I bought myself an air conditioner a little bit back. I couldn't have done it without America-san's help, though! He always buys so much from me, it's really saved me."

America absent-mindedly grins and responds, but he can't help noticing that in the next room over there's a color tv set nicer than the one he has at home.

---

"All right, Japan." America sits his ally down, face firm (if a little tired - Russia is starting to wear him out with the 24-7 crazy badtouching thing, and it doesn't help that they can't seem to hold a civil conversation through anything besides third parties or notes scribbled on notebook paper and lobbed furiously back and forth across the room with increasing force and - if he's not mistaken - more and more aiming for each other's faces). "We've got to talk about all of these cars you're exporting. Some people - SOME PEOPLE!! Think it's not fair that you aren't buying our stuff but you keep selling things to us."

Japan's face is a mass of carefully arranged confusion. "Were... were the free tissues we threw in with your last purchase not to your satisfaction? Because I'm now running a point-card system where you can trade points for larger prizes, like stuffed animals and makeup kits..."

"No, no, it's not the tissues, though they were cheap and made my nose sore!" America continues, "You've grown since the war, probably because of my skillful leadership, and I'm proud of you, Japan! I've raised you way better than my brother would have. And so I haven't had the heart to tell you, but... people are talking and I thought you should know. I mean, who's even going to buy those things? I didn't want to say anything about it, but your cars are funny looking and too small. No one's going to buy them."

"Oh, really." Japan's face is a blank, "I seem to recall passing three of them in your garage on my way in, America-san."

"THE POINT IS," America interjects, "YOU AREN'T THE HERO, IT'S ME."

"I suppose," Japan concedes in a voice without any real apology and with the smallest of satisfied smiles. And then, as if he's just thought of it, he reaches into his jacket pocket (designer, highest-notch quality; better even than America's nicest suit) and says,

"By the way, America-san, this is quite forward of me, but I was wondering if I might interest you in my new line of semiconductors..."

far from here where the beaches are wide

sharksmiled — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 05:50:59 GMT

Far From Here Where the Beaches Are Wide.

FANDOM: Tenjho Tenge. Yeah, man, I know.
WORDCOUNT: 1206.
PAIRING: Hirohiko/Mitsuiro.
RATING: G.
SUMMARY/NOTES: You've seen a fourth of this before, but I don't think 400 words is really long enough to warrant an entry of its own. These are four semi-unrelated bits that should be able to stand alone but work better as a fluid piece; they aren't in chronological order, I don't think. I wanted to make this an epic fic for the pairing but it's summer vacation and I haven't the attention span. Regular warnings apply; spoilers, a series no one cares about, trite, trite, trite. ♥

Hirohiko first hears about the Shoujou family marriage practices from one of Mitsuiro's cousins; he doesn't believe them, so he goes to ask her himself. She inclines her head slightly; at first he thinks it's just a nervous habit of hers, an attempt to get a clearer look at him, but after a moment he all at once realizes that his mouth is dry and his heart is pounding and that she is nodding.

"It's true," she says, and opens her mouth to explain further. He smiles widely, his eyes over-bright, and manages to cut her off easily (as if he isn't choking back bile),

"Oh... I suppose it wasn't a lie, then." He turns around and leaves her family compound; he shoves his feet into his shoes at the gate but is in such a hurry to get out that he doesn't tie the laces. He's supposed to stay for dinner but he knows he won't make it through the first course. His untied shoelaces threaten to tangle in the bike he's borrowed from the stationmaster. He boards the last train home; if they were heading out of his station, closer to the city, he supposes that he'd be packed in with salarymen on their ways home, but Mitsuiro lives in the countryside and there's only a few old ladies in the car with him.

He's too young to understand why his chest tightens the way it does remembering Mitsuiro's characteristically blank-faced affirmation, or why the tears pour uncontrollably out of his eyes. It's the middle of winter and he pulls his coat tightly around him. He tries to keep his sobs quiet so that the other people on the train won't notice.

The only time Hirohiko expresses any doubt is a heady evening in late August; they are pulling out of the drive after meeting Takayanagi Mitsuomi for the first time, and he's been unusually quiet all afternoon. His hood covering his eyes (why is he wearing a hood in late summer, she wonders a little exasperatedly, but she's long since learned to not ask him these questions - all he ever does is break out in that infuriating little laugh that makes her wish she could smile, too), he mutters in a way that indicates not a subdued tone but that he only wants to be heard by her,

"Hey, Mitsuiro. If I don't get out of this alive, promise me you'll bury me in a field of sunflowers?" She can't help thinking for the first time since he became family head that he looks much, much too young and tired for this. Straightfaced, she retorts,

"Don't be silly. You'll be buried in your family plot, of course, and I will not rob your grave for you, no matter how hard you beg me now." He sighs, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and in a resigned tone concedes,

"Well, then you'll just have to bring me fresh-cut sunflowers every day."

"You are the biggest sentimental I have ever met," she says angrily, in part unhappy with the topic of conversation but mostly frustrated at how even so she can't keep the fondness from creeping into her voice. In her pocket, her hand clenches over a good-luck charm.

"Ah, also will you wear a ridiculously short skirt whenever you come to visit me? You can count it as my last request." He looks up to meet her eyes, and this time his smile is a mile wide. She reaches out to smack him but he tumbles across the car seat, laughing like he's twelve again.

"I wonder if I would love you like I do," he muses to Mitsuiro-as-Mitsuomi, "If you weren't so strong like a freak." Mitsuomi opens his mouth to retort, but Hirohiko grabs at the back of his neck and pulls the other "boy"'s lips down to meet his own.

Hirohiko has kissed her in five hundred different faces, but for each one whenever her chi shifts away from her mirage and toward herself, he pulls away as if stung. "What are you doing?" she asks him one day, frustrated for reasons she can't quite explain.

"All of these are my weaknesses and failures," he explains ruefully, "but Mitsuiro, I asked for a reward, right? So I have to earn it first."

She doesn't reply that it seems vitally unfair that he hasn't really touched her in years while she has tasted his lips over and over again; she's not really sure who deserves to be more unhappy, so she stares at the floor.

From when they were very young, Hirohiko has always had an extremely unsightly fondness for sprawling himself over whatever furniture is made available to him. During ceremonies and events at his home temple, he'd sprawl out over the tatami; in Mitsuiro's home, he'd fall asleep under the kotatsu while she studied to the background of her parents ‘tsk’-ing. At his old school, when she'd drop by to see him, he'd almost never be in class; she'd constantly find him napping on the roof. It’s led to some people not taking him particularly seriously as the head of the Kabane family, but the two of them both know that it doesn’t matter what other people think of him in the end. Mitsuiro notes when she enters the Enforcement Group's designated lounge that time, a weighty destiny, and having just fought a person gifted with the "dragon's eye" do not seem to have cured him of this habit.

"You know", he remarks to Mitsuiro; his legs are over the back of the sofa, and his head is dangling off of the seat. He leans further backward, regarding her upside-down with those blind eyes of his as what might be interest flits across his face, "Today, during that fight with Natsume Aya... I found myself wishing I could see her face. I wonder what she looks like." His head tilts - how on earth is he doing that while he's upside-down, she wonders. "Is she pretty?"

Mitsuiro's expression doesn't change, and she knows that he can't smell any irritation from her, but she stands up and makes to move away from the couch. "Normal." He reaches out, grabs the edge of her jacket.

"Naa, Mitsuiro... just now, did I make you jealous?" She doesn't respond, but as the rest of the Enforcement Group comes in, he grins brightly enough to light up the whole room.

Later, when they are alone again, he flips onto his stomach, rests his head on his arms, directs his sightless eyes toward her face. "You don't need to be, you know."

"I'm not."

"I know." He smiles slightly, his expression faraway. "But I just wanted to say it. That having Mitsuiro as the last thing I ever saw... I've never been sad about it, even for a second."

Mitsuiro's nose is not as good as Hirohiko's, but the smell of hydrangeas that has been making her dizzy all afternoon seems to dissipate. When he beams up at her she thinks about the way he used to laugh at her as a child, and even though they haven't yet stopped the cogs of fate, she finds herself almost wishing that he would take her hand in his.

shrine to fast goodbyes

sharksmiled — Thu, 01 May 2008 22:08:26 GMT

Shrine to Fast Goodbyes.

FANDOM: D.Gray-Man.
WORDCOUNT: 866.
PAIRING: Gen, kind of. I have my own ideas about what the pairing is, but it's not really even implied anywhere in this, so you know.
RATING: G.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Neither Kanda nor Lavi are as good at cutting their losses as they tell themselves they are. Set around the beginning of volume seven-ish, when Lavi and Lenalee have had to leave Allen behind in China.

Kanda's golem vibrates long after the sun has slipped behind the trees; in spite of his hearing, Marie doesn't even stir. Teidoll snores lightly; but then again, Kanda thinks sourly, he's probably faking. To be safe, he takes the golem a few hundred yards away before answering,

"Kanda reporting. What's wrong?"

"Yuu~, that's a really cold way to greet a friend who you haven't heard from in a long time, you know?!" Kanda relaxes slightly upon hearing the familiar lilt of Lavi's voice, though he snaps irritably,

"What time do you think it is?"

"Ah, sorry, boss!" Lavi's voice indicates that he's not sorry in the least. "Guess I forgot about the time difference..." Kanda knows from painful experience that Lavi never, ever forgets anything, so he lets out an annoyed noise deep in his throat and doesn't reply. Lavi seems happy to fill the silence, chirping, "Anyway, we had a brief break from shelling, and thought it'd be nice to hear your voice!!" Kanda can feel the other boy's shit-eating grin from the other side of the communication device, and barks frustratedly in response,

"These are not toys! Don't just call when you feel like it, damn it."

"Mm-hm." A placating noise of agreement, followed by a thoughtful, "You know, Yuu... about that white haired kid. The one with the akuma's curse?"

Kanda can feel himself getting angrier by the second. "The Beansprout? What about him?! You met up with him, right?"

"Yeah, that's the thing..." Lavi's voice is cloudy now. Kanda can hear sloshing water in the background; the other boy is probably on a ship somewhere. Komui'd told Kanda that Lavi's team has been sent out after General Cross, so heaven only knows where their search has taken them. There's a long pause on the other end, as if Lavi's collecting his thoughts. This is a bad sign and Kanda knows it; Lavi never takes more than two seconds to think about what he's going to say, which is why he is constantly getting into trouble. "We met up with him, found two Exorcists, got 'em synched with their Innocence and everything, right..." Of course they have. That stupid beansprout and his hangup over 'people'. Kanda doesn't say anything, fights off shivers as the wind whistles through his coat and looks back over toward the campfire. The General is still snoring noticeably, but Kanda's sure he's rolled over to hear better.

"Good to know that bleeding heart of his is still slowing you all down," Kanda intones sourly, aware that he's being unfair and not caring in the slightest. He's only half-interested in what Lavi is saying, anyway. He's bad at listening to the Junior Bookman on his best days, and it's an unreasonable hour even by Lavi's standards. Did he really just contact Kanda to chat...? "What about Lenalee?"

"Ah, you know, she's been better." Lavi's voice is still clouded; Kanda wonders to himself if there's interference between the two golems.

"Beansprout's fault?"

"In a way..." Lavi sounds doubtful.

"Well, I'm sure she's let him have it, then." Kanda is intimately familiar with Lenalee Lee's reaction to the boys around her being stupid; in fact, it's probably been his favorite part about her since they were children.

"I'm sure she'd like to, boss, but she can't." Lavi sounds like he's finally gotten to his point. "We had to leave Allen in China, actually. Had a bit of a problem finding General Cross; y'know how someone keeps finding the Exorcists?" Kanda's mouth is suddenly dry. He knows quite well, actually. "The guy who'd sold their information, he'd turned to a big monster thing, but Allen thought he was still a person." There's an edge of disbelief that the Junior Bookman can't manage to keep out of his voice as he swallows and continues, "He tried to save 'im." Lavi is silent for a long time before he finishes his story, saying, "Anyway, we had to leave." Can't be helped, the pause at the end of the statement continues, but it's different from the qualified pauses Kanda has heard before from the Junior Bookman.

"Oh, really." Collateral damage, Kanda thinks. It's an inevitability in wartime. Still, thinking about the loss of Allen Walker, Kanda can't help thinking that he'd always known that the beansprout would make Lenalee cry at the rate he was going.

The back of his throat is still inexplicably dry, and his breathing has shallowed for some reason. He reaches into his pocket, pulls a silver button from it, runs his thumb over the name carved into the back.

"Daisya got himself killed in Prague." Kanda hadn't intended to tell Lavi the next time he heard from him; actually, Kanda hadn't really planned on ever telling him. "They hung him upside-down and they took his lungs." There's a long pause on the other end; Lavi is being uncharacteristically quiet. Somewhere in the distance a boat creaks and a bird cries. The sun is coming up, Kanda thinks, and stares up at the blackness stretching for miles above him.

"Oh, really." is the final response.

"Yeah."

A thousand miles away from each other, the two boys sit side-by-side and measure their losses.

five things about wanijima akito(&agito)

sharksmiled — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 07:53:43 GMT

Five Things About Wanijima Akito(&Agito).

FANDOM: Air Gear.
WORDCOUNT: 818.
PAIRING: None, really? Kind-of-sort-of Akira/Agito, canon levels of Ikki/Agito.
RATING: PG. Precautions for Agito's mouth, blah blah blah.
SUMMARY/NOTES: If you've read back in the history of my munhead, you've seen this in its beginning stages. A series of five drabbles/vignettes. Each should be able to stand on its own (hence why each gets its own cut tag), but I think it works better as a fluid piece?

Akito's progression is normal at first. He's a smart and agile little boy, but he's small; the changes in speed are hard on him and he's buffeted everywhere on windy days. He can see his older brother's hands clenching impatiently around his lighter as he starts on his fourth cigarette that afternoon. Akito presses his lips tightly together and tries the wall one more time. He makes it to the top but slips on the dismount; he grabs at a fire escape ladder in a panic, and it's enough to break his fall.

A month or two later his brother takes him in to get his tonsils removed. His throat hasn't been hurting but his brother always knows more about his body than he himself does, knows what muscles need what kind of exercises, presses slabs of raw meat to Akito's aching bruises. When they put him under he smiles sweetly at Kaito, waves weakly as his vision swims. "Goodnight, onii-chan. See you when I wake up."

When Akito is lucid again, months have passed. His brother doesn't look at him, stares at the gun he's cleaning out, says, "You had a bad reaction to the drugs. You've been pretty out of it. Shut the fuck up or I'm not buying you a milkshake."

The next time he puts on AT, everything is different. His reaction time is faster, his balance is better. Walls that almost killed him before are like walking up a low incline. His first chase is after a seasoned AT veteran, but Akito catches him in no time whatsoever. He imagines as he's planting his AT in the man's gut that this is the old him that he's destroying, and the tears and snot and saliva that leak out of his prey's eyes, nose, mouth - they make Akito laugh childishly. That night Kaito takes him out for yakiniku.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he whispers. He's alone in the trailer and no one can hear him, but he whispers it over and over again like a prayer. He stares at his hands, at the dried brown under his nails, and his voice gets louder and louder. He scratches helplessly at the bars of the cage until his own blood mixes with the flakes of other people's. Sobbing, he slides down the cold metal of the bars, clutching at himself. He's injured his eye earlier in the day, and the tears welling up in his right eye never fall, caught instead by the eyepatch over it.

This is when Agito is born.

Agito doesn't like Akira particularly when they first meet; it's only after their first run, when Akira pushes ahead of him and takes them all on on his own. His attack style is different from Agito's, all power and choppy hits as opposed to gliding, darting, ripping, but Agito catches himself admiring it anyway. It's beautiful, in a simplistic, terrifying way.

"Don't steal my fucking prey!" he growls in the break room afterward.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, Agito?" Akira has been calling after him familiarly since they first met, but Agito can't bring himself to care. "He who stands around will have his food eaten."

He grins, and Agito matches it in spite of himself. This is the first person he's ever really liked. The next night he and Akira go after a crowd of fourteen. He only allows Akira three of them.

One night on a stakeout Agito looks over at Akira, who is half-asleep in spite of all the energy drinks he's been downing, and realizes suddenly that for the first time since his birth he actively doesn't want to disappear.

When he wakes up in a hospital bed after the battle for the fang regalia and finds his ribs broken and his feet bare, it's only Akito's desperate pleading (please Agito, no, he sobs to himself, clutching hopelessly at the sleeves of his own hospital gown like he's trying to stop a friend from leaving, you promised you'd fight for me, please don't leave me alone again) that convinces him not to.

Ikki is always in motion, so he gives the impression that he'd generate a lot of heat. The truth is that his hand is cool on Akito's head. He's like a breeze without meaning to be, a cool breath of air on Akito's face. Sometimes when Akito crawls into Ikki's bed he entwines his fingers with the other boy's, presses them to his flushed cheeks.

Normally Agito is quick to warn Akito not to attach himself to dangerous people, but at these times he's silent. There's something like a small sigh at the back of Akito's mind, one he matches instinctively.

They both know that this can't last forever. Agito worries that Akito won't be able to pull himself together when they have to leave. Akito doesn't think about it. When he sleeps, he dreams of blue skies.

five things about the d.gray-man high school alternate universe.

sharksmiled — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 03:58:30 GMT

terrorcandy: high school au is my favorite
terrorcandy: i hate that i love it
terrorcandy: but i do
terrorcandy: desperately
terrorcandy: i think it's the school uniforms
wither: it's ok
wither: thinking of highschool ravi and kanda is
wither: really
wither: adorable
terrorcandy: :-( i know
terrorcandy: i think it's because dgray is like so
terrorcandy: WARTIME ALL THE TIME
terrorcandy: and so i'm like you know what this needs? school uniforms and bicycles
wither: frankly i think ravi is like one of the only characters i would probably like to play in high school AU
wither: he'd be cute
wither: i'd have to make a horrible way for him to lose his eye though
wither: he's just not the same with two
terrorcandy: klsajdkddkj freak skiing accident
wither: ROFJALKJG
wither: jsdfkg i'd do something awful like GOT BURNED IN THE EYE
wither: BLIND EYE
wither: it would be all white and probably ugly
terrorcandy: "YOU'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN TO THE MOUNTAINS", says kanda
wither: FKRJIFAOJRGLKJAFLKAJF
wither: fojasdflka;sdlfkjasdlkfjas;dlkfjasdf
wither: oh shit
wither: he'd totally make up a new story every time
wither: to tell to a different person
wither: just to be ANNOYING
terrorcandy: "helping an old lady across the street"
wither: kljlkfjsdlkjfs
terrorcandy: kanda: last time it was ducklings
terrorcandy: ravi: yes well she was carrying ducklings
wither: flkjlhkjlfkjs
wither: ROFJG
terrorcandy: ravi: down the ski slope
wither: ravi: then there was the issue of the army of razor kittens
terrorcandy: kanda: do you see this protractor?
terrorcandy: kanda: i am going to stab your other eye out with it

Five Things About The D.Gray-Man High School Alternate Universe.

FANDOM: D.Gray-Man.
WORDCOUNT: 844.
PAIRING: None, really?
RATING: So G I could cry.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Part of a larger alternate universe that I've no doubt I will add to. This is completely self-indulgent and I don't expect anyone to read it or care about it but me. Shamelessly inspired by this piece of fanart and "My Rights Versus Yours" by the New Pornographers.

1.
They were all in the same club together in middle school, so when Allen and Lenalee get to high school they fall into the pattern of seeing Lavi and Kanda with the ease of someone who has practiced something until it's second nature. Even Kanda and Allen's bickering, glaring daggers at each other from across the desk during a break between classes, is familiar. They spend many of their afternoons with Li-sensei in the nurse's office. Komui is annoying sometimes and cries when he's heard rumors that Lenalee got confessed to again, but he gives them tea and listens to Lavi. None of them make a move to join the high school equivalent of their middle school club.

2.
The day that they switch their uniforms, out of the entire student body it is only Allen and Lavi who forget and wear the winter version. Lenalee is sure that Allen genuinely forgot, and his bewildered expression as he walks into the classroom to discover that he is the only one wearing a blazer makes her smile in spite of herself.

Kanda is convinced, watching Lavi get needled by his classmates and bemoaning his mistake loudly, that he did it on purpose, just for the attention.

3.
No one remembers at this point who nominated Kanda for class representative; it was probably the teacher, who saw a serious, unamused face in a classroom full of laughing kids and assumed that that denoted responsibility. As class rep, Kanda vacillates wildly between not being willing to be bothered and inflicting violent retribution on those who don't seriously write their future goals down in clear, readable kanji (later retribution also extends to people who write their characters wrong or use too much hiragana). Within a month he has earned the nickname "the demon lord of 3-C", although no one calls him that to his face. It's the first time that Lavi is genuinely glad not to have been put in the same class as him.

Down two floors, class representative Lenalee Li collects surveys from her classmates with the cool calm of someone who is suited for leadership.

4.
Everyone in their class takes Allen lightly most of the time, but soon after he enrolls there is a significant increase in the number of people who bring their own lunch. No one wants to have to fight him for the last curry-pan. Not after last time.

5.
Allen wonders, sometimes, how Kanda got into their school. His grades are average, Allen supposes, but somehow it's hard to picture Kanda sitting down and taking an entrance exam. Lavi's the opposite way; his grades are also about average, but it's an issue of focus, not intelligence, and Allen's sure that if he had wanted, Lavi could probably gotten into a pretty prestigious college feeder school.

When Allen asks Lenalee how she thinks Kanda got in, she smiles like she knows a secret and says, "You know, Allen-kun, when Kanda-kun decides on something, even if he isn't good at studying, I think you'd be impressed at what he can accomplish!"

That answer does nothing but confuse Allen, but because he doesn't have anyone else to ask, he asks Lavi. The sun is setting and they're getting their street shoes out, and Allen says as if he's just thought of it,

"Hey, Lavi, are you taking any college entrance exams?" When he sees Lavi's questioning look, he waves his hands, clarifying, "I mean, I was just thinking, you're really good at test-taking, and you could probably get in wherever you wanted, but I was wondering why you chose to come here instead of somewhere else..." Lavi's face breaks into a grin, like he's heard something gut-wrenchingly funny but doesn't want to laugh out loud.

"Hmmm, I wonder..." shoving his indoor shoes into his cubby, he makes a face that Allen knows means that he wants to look like he's thinking about his answer. "I guess you could say, like... college'll come or it won't, and it's a question of priorities?"

"Priorities?"

"I'm leaving," Kanda's voice is tinged with annoyance and rings through the doorway.

"Ahhhh, Yuu, wait up!" Lavi calls out after him, shoving his feet into his street shoes. Turning to Allen, he pats him on the head, handing him a folded up sheet of paper and saying, "Anyway, do good on your homework and study hard! Do your best, I'll see you tomorrow!" Running out the door, he hops onto the back of Kanda's bike with ease, cooing, "Yuu, c'mon, give me a ride, I don't live that far from you, we can go home together~” The bike wobbles but doesn't crash; both the vehicle and the rider are used to uninvited guests.

Allen watches the two of them ride away together, clutches his schoolbag to him, and unfolds the paper Lavi has given him. It's his latest English exam; the first half is filled in perfectly, but the second half is answered entirely in French. Toward the bottom are pencil doodles of what look like Allen and Lenalee and maybe a rainbow and a red-inked "Lavi, come to the teacher's lounge after class."

through the bottom of the sky

sharksmiled — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 23:11:49 GMT

Through the Bottom of the Sky.
(Five ways Akira thought of for taking Agito's virginity (and how Akito finally took his)).

FANDOM: Air Gear.
WORDCOUNT: Approximately 3,342; epic.
PAIRING: Akira/Agito, Akira/Akito, I guess Akito/Agito if you squint.
RATING: I'm going to go with haaaard R.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Uh, the subtitle actually serves as a fairly good summary, I think. This thing has been a long time (like a semester) in the making and is totally and completely for derogatory. It was written almost entirely to "Luno" by Bloc Party.

1]
The first time when anything of the sort occurs to Akira is a hotter-than-usual night in the beginning of July; inhaling as much of the summer air as he can, he thinks offhandedly to himself through a haze of lack of oxygen and exercise-induced endorphins that if cicadas could survive in this part of the city they'd be out en force right now. He's breathing heavily and sweating a little, but he blames it on the lack of breeze down between the buildings. Agito is crouching down next to the prone figure of their one-time prey, rifling through his wallet in search of identification. He looks up at Akira, and his face - pale, blood-spattered, the usual little flush around the cheeks that he gets after a good chase - shines momentarily in the dark, briefly illuminated by the headlights of a passing car.

"Wrong guy." He flashes the ID nonchalantly, a bored flick of the wrist toward the other boy - a banker from Shizuoka, not a parts-smuggling car dealer from the seedy end of the city. He stands up, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face. A grin flickers at the corners of his mouth as he tosses the card away, almost succeeding at keeping the electric excitement that carving a road always seems to grant him out of his voice as he says, "you know, if we just keep running, we're sure to catch the guy eventually. Those fuckers in the backup squad'll never have to know."

The shark is still breathing in short gasps, because for an old salaryman that bastard managed to give them a fairly good run, and something in the way his sweat is mixing with the blood on his face and the humidity in the air makes something in Akira's lungs hollow out, makes him want to slam Agito against the wall, taste the blood and the salt and the sweat pooling at the tendon where neck meets collarbone. Akira realizes blurrily as visions of fucking Agito hard and fast into the wall, of the Fang King's hands raw with searching for grip on the unfinished concrete, of Akira's name repeated over and over again mix with the heady smell of blood in the air and the way the neon signs at the end of the alley seem to spread their light hazily over the two of them, that the tromping he can hear is the backup team, shuffling uneasily on their new AT toward the Crocodile's two aces.

"Akira-san?" someone - Akira normally knows the names of his subordinates, but for some reason he can’t identify the speaker - calls out to them uneasily. "Who is- did you get him already?"

"No," Akira gasps out, looking at the floor, the target, the men - anything but Agito, "he's just some drunk. Let's move on."

Agito has already started his run, and Akira rushes to catch up.

Marks from the fang regalia are clearly embedded into the man's wounds, but the team says nothing and follows the crocodile's beasts.

2]
By O-Bon, Akira is fairly certain that the whole affair was a one-time thing, brought on a little bit by bloodlust and a little bit by lack of oxygen to the brain due to smog and hyperventilation. He's been able to act normally around Agito since then, and although he occasionally remembers what he thought nails scrabbling on brick might sound like, overall he's able to put the whole thing behind him.

It's the end of August and they're on a stakeout; it's been three hours so far and Akira is fairly certain that no one is coming, but Kaito has talked the target’s AT skills up enough that Agito is barely able to hold still with anticipation. He keeps talking about everything that he's going to do to the target, and Akira is watching lazily through hooded eyes as Agito animatedly details the road that he's going to carve. The Fang King has kicked off his AT and his feet (striped socks with little pompoms on the back - Akira supposes that they must be Akito's) are on the dashboard, over on Akira's side, almost in his lap, and when he leans back, his shirt rides up, exposing the tiniest sliver of skin. Akira finds himself transfixed by Agito's mouth, wonders what it would feel like against his skin, what noises he could elicit from it. He's suddenly certain that the target is never coming, that they've got the whole night, that it's even though it’s hot out that they could fog up the windows easily, that no one wants to interrupt the two of them when they're working, that it wouldn't even matter anyway. It'd only be the work of a moment to reach over and push Agito's seat back, shove his shirt up, and Agito's pants are a size too big, so once he got past the belt they could easily be shoved down around his knees-

"Akira, you fucker!" Agito is scrabbling for his AT, grabbing for the door (shit, when did he unlock the door?). "What the fuck do you think you're doing? That's the target." Akira scrambles with the clutch, but he puts it in third by accident and the car stalls out. Agito makes a frustrated, unsatisfied noise, and opens the door and dives into the night. He's in hot pursuit before Akira has even managed to put together what has happened to him. When he touches it, Agito's seat is still warm with anticipation and bloodlust.

As he forces the whining stick shift into first gear, he fights the rising urge to slam his face against the steering wheel.

3]
By October, Akira is certain that he is actually going crazy. He can't think of any other explanation for the way Agito keeps flitting in and out of his thoughts, the way he keeps waking up with the distant memory of blunt fingernails scratching helplessly at his back. When he sees bed sheets he remembers dreaming of small, delicate fingers twisting wildly in and around them, sees the awkward angles Agito's spine might bend to as he writhes beneath him.

He has to take frequent trips to the bathroom during the day, to wash his face and get a grip in a place where Agito won't want to follow, but after a particularly vivid dream in early September, all he can think of is the smaller boy holding on for dear life to the top edge of the bathroom stall, of biting hard into the palm of Akira's hand to keep quiet. He imagines that Agito's gasping would sound a lot like it does at the end of a run; when he dreams it, it's a sort of heaving pant somewhere between a sob and a prayer, and his breaths are hot on Akira's sweat-slicked skin.

He's taking a nap in the break room, where no one usually goes since Kaito cracked a man's skull open on the table during lunch last April; he's feverish and tired, and in his dream he is just maneuvering his way around the buttons of Agito's jacket when he's awakened by his chair giving a jolting lurch forward, hitting his solar plexus directly against the edge of the table. Gasping, choking, his head snaps up, desperately searching for the source of the intrusion, and he finds himself pinned under the cool gold stare of a shark eye.

Agito leans forward, almost inquisitively. “What the fuck’re you in here for? If that crocodile catches you napping on duty, sleep deprivation’s going to be the least of your worries.”

“Shut up,” Akira grumbles, slumping back onto the table and resting his head in his arms, “he’s been working us crazy recently, and I’m allowed to make use of the break room on my break, it’s in my contract.” The other boy makes a ‘hmm’-ing noise, pushes himself up onto the table next to Akira. His thigh is mere inches away from Akira’s nose, and in the next few minutes of comfortable silence the brunet can’t help noticing that the edge of Agito’s t-shirt has faint brown speckles, like Kaito-nii had lost interest halfway through trying to get the blood out of it. Suddenly Agito’s face is inches away from Akira’s own, and he asks with carefully practiced lack of concern,

“What, are you sick or something? Your face is all red, and you’re breathing irregular.” Like the animal that he is, Agito is incapable of missing these basic biological cues. Akira can barely stop himself from laughing aloud. Yes, he’s sick, he’s sick with something that he can’t explain, all he wants is for it to stop but he knows how to stop it and he knows that he can’t. He wonders wildly what Agito’s blood tastes like, thinks of pushing him down onto the table and biting his lip to find out, of slamming the back of his head into the lockers behind them, of hooking his thumbs in the other boy’s belt loops and dragging him forward to meet him. As it is, Agito stares openly as Akira’s shoulders are wracked with silent laughter.

4]
Kaito is a lot sharper than Akira had really ever given him credit for, as it turns out, and one night during a stakeout, Kaito turns suddenly on his protégé, saying, “So, there’s a girl, huh?”

Akira chokes on his coffee. Kaito is inching steadily closer, and years of training with the Shinjuku Crocodile have taught Akira to be especially cautious when he’s being friendly. He freezes, cautiously trying to work his brain into an appropriate response, but Kaito continues, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“What you have to do,” Kaito’s breath reeks of Jack Daniels, and Akira can’t decide whether he’s more bewildered by the concept of his boss giving him love advice (on how to get a girl!) or by the way his free hand is wandering toward Akira’s jugular, tracing the vein with a finger. “What you have to do is, get her into the police commissioner’s office,” the finger has danced its way deftly to his collarbone, “and fuck her on the desk.” Akira estimates that his eyes are roughly the size of AT gears at this point, and Kaito catches his disbelieving look, drops his hand from Akira’s shirt to his own holster, fires two warning shots out Akira’s open window. “I’m fucking serious, girls get off on that kind of shit. She’ll do anything after that.”

Agito takes this inopportune moment to return from his run; his shirt is clinging to his skin and his hair is in his eyes, and his AT has left a bloody trail behind him. When he moves to join the other two in the Hummer, Kaito fires a rubber bullet straight into his thigh. The fang king crumbles, momentarily surprised, and only Akira’s hand shooting out of the vehicle to catch him by the wrist stops him from falling nastily onto the pavement.

“What’d I tell you about hosing those things off before getting into the Hummer?” Kaito blows a cloud of smoke toward his two beasts, brotherly bonding and advice forgotten with the coppery tang of new blood in the air.

Akira knows that Kaito hasn’t forgotten the advice that he gave, however, when three days after catching Akira trying to talk Agito into going to check the commissioner’s office out, he accidentally takes his subordinate out with a stray bullet to the kneecap during a relatively routine mission.

“Friendly fire.” Kaito shrugs above Akira’s hospital bed. “It happens. Come on, Akito.” Akito shrinks after his older brother, pausing only to leave a dry, pressed flower on the bedside table.

“Sorry, Akira-kun,” the younger Wanijima smiles somewhat nervously, fingers ghosting around the doorframe. “Agito thinks that wounded people are boring.” Akira watches Akito leave, listens to the peals of his laughter in the distance, a vague ghosting of sharkish amusement around the edges, and wonders when he’ll be well enough for Agito to come visit him.

5]
Akira’s breathing heavily and his lip is split, but his injuries are nothing compared to what Agito is dealing with. The Fang King’s breathing is ragged and one of his arms is completely useless. The fight has gone on for four hours and most of the spectators have gone home by now, expecting it to get broken up by SWAT team WIND at any moment; most of the stone structures around them and a large section of the seating area are crumbling into ruin, and the call’s been made. For the first several hours it was a real run, probably the most fun he’s ever had in spite of its implications; but something has been off for a while with Agito, and it hasn’t been like he’d thought it would be when he’d idly imagined what it would be like, were he and the other boy ever to square off. Ren Fa is watching, though, so Akira continues with the fight. Agito can barely move, but something is keeping him standing, and somehow it infuriates Akira. In an instant he’s within reach – was Agito always this slow, this clumsy?; the other boy moves jerkily to block, but Akira simply grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him angrily, hissing,

“Just give up already, goddamn you, this is my win.”

Agito looks at him with the deepest disgust possible – he’s never even given the people he carves his road on that look - but when he tries to retort, Akira knees him in the stomach and all he can do is cough helplessly. He struggles futilely, his grip on Akira’s arms weak but determined, but his shoulders are shaking. Akira stares openly when he realizes that there are tears streaming out from under the eye patch, because although Agito is too proud to lose here, to Akira and Ren, somewhere inside that tiny body Akito is screaming.

He grabs both of Agito’s wrists in one hand; they are thin and pale, and although he’s held them a hundred times before, for the first time they look fragile to him, like he could crush them without even trying. He bends a finger on Agito’s bad hand back, backwards, much, much too far back; it snaps easily, like an icicle hit by a stray snowball, like the pencils they used to use to fill out post-stakeout reports, like the legs of what seems to him like thousands of people that they have taken down together, and Agito screams, breath wracked with sobbing gasps. Shark eyes meet his own and don’t leave them, even when he punches him once, twice, three times in the gut. The great beast grabs the Fang King’s face in one hand, thinks: this is my last chance, that it would be easy to pry Agito’s mouth open now, to throw him onto the ground and be done with it, but Ren is watching and when he looks at Agito he can see that there’s no way anymore, not in a thousand years, and he head-butts him instead. The fight is finished, and Agito falls forward, onto Akira. His breathing is ragged and sobbing, and right before he loses consciousness completely, the fingers of his good hand twist helplessly in his friend’s sleeve. Akira sets him down onto the ground, switches the eye patch, takes the regalia; it’s only after he’s limped away with Ren, her voice trembling as she calls for an ambulance to come to where they’ve left the other boy, that the crocodile’s ex-beast notices that his shoulder is soaked through with blood and tears.

+1]
Akira sends his letter of resignation by email and changes his cell phone number; he hears through the grapevine that Chief Wanijima doesn’t even come to pick his degenerate underling up at the hospital, but the rumors trail off after that. It’s three weeks later when Akito shows up on his doorstep, dark eye reddened with crying and right arm in a soft cast. Ren Fa has gone out for the day, leaving Akira to resize the Fang regalia, and it’s a mystery how Akito’s managed to find Akira when his older brother has been so unsuccessful. At first Akira suspects a trap, but just the sight of the older boy is enough to start Akito trembling uncontrollably, and something about his old friend (or at least the child in his body), terrified and battered on his doorstep, causes Akira to let him in.

It’s only after two cups of hot chocolate that Akito calms down enough to talk to him, although their conversation is as stilted as always. A cold rain starts pouring down outside, chilling the apartment, and Akito manages to chirp conversationally, staring deeply into the brown liquid in his mug,

“You know, Akira-kun… Agito didn’t want me to come.”

Akira knows this, has known this, and the only question that he can think of is why this little midget thinks that he needs to be told. Akito continues carefully,

“Actually, even now he really doesn’t want to be here. This is… this is one of the first things I’ve ever done that Agito really hates. I, um, think Agito said that he didn’t want to see your face again except to rip it off, so, um, he’s pretty mad.” He looks up at Akira suddenly, his single dark eye somehow unreadable, continuing, “But--! I think that really, Agito is going to…”

And then before he even finishes his sentence, he’s dropped the half-full cup onto the floor; he is in Akira’s lap, pressing his own lips fiercely against the other boy’s and tangling the fingers of his good hand in his hair. Akira could crush his windpipe right now; there’d be no witnesses and no one is waiting for Akito at home, but he opens his mouth to allow the other boy’s tongue entrance, thinks hazily: this is what Agito tastes like. Pulling back, the younger Wanijima’s lips are swollen and his hands are shaking as he fumbles with Akira’s belt, but he offers as an explanation,

“You know, I… I’m pretty useless. I never do anything but hold Agito back, so I’m.” He takes a deep, shaking breath, but his fingers are steadier than they were before. “I want to at least do this for him.”

From there on everything dissolves into a mess of sweaty, tangled limbs, of shuddering breaths and sobbing moans, of fingers grasping for something to hold onto. Fucking Akito is a lot like he’d always thought fucking Agito would be; their skin is the same, the way their hair feels when Akira grabs at it and tugs is the same, and their blood is the same coppery liquid that he’s smelled a thousand times. But instead of hoarse, shallow gasps for air like at the end of a good run, Akito only whimpers; when Akira bites at his lower lip, he squeaks in surprise and pain. Once he’s been pushed into the couch, there’s no biting, no scratching, no kicking, and when he comes Akira’s name sounds wrong and broken tumbling over his lips.

When it’s over Akito is in even worse condition than he was when he arrived, but he shies away from Akira’s attempts at help, and he stumbles out of the door on trembling, unsteady legs without ever looking backward.

It’s a cool night at the beginning of March, but Akira opens all of the windows and stares out toward Akito. The other boy looks very small silhouetted against the sky, making his way home as quickly as he can, earthbound. There’s no breeze in this part of the city and the new owner of the fang regalia rests his head quietly in his arms, remembering the way that Agito clutched at his sleeve right before he lost their fight and trying to ignore the hollowed-out, airless feeling that’s settled deep into his lungs.

untitled.

sharksmiled — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 04:28:56 GMT

Untitled.

FANDOM: Air Gear.

WORDCOUNT:

233.

PAIRING:

Ikki/Kururu if you squint.

RATING:

SUMMARY/NOTES:

This thing isn't long enough to warrant a summary or notes.

Since meeting Ikki, Kururu’s taken to jumping down stairwells. At first it's just two steps at a time, fingers sliding easily along the cool metal of the handrail, skirt lifting ever so slightly before swishing back to her upper thighs. She hums a melody she doesn’t know the words to and allows the corners of her mouth to drift upwards with the hem of her blazer.

Her friends start commenting on it when she’s taking them seven at a time, her fingers drifting automatically to push the hem of her skirt down; she’s switched her loafers for running shoes and her fingers only skirt over the handrail. One time she flips her legs over the bar, skipping the turn altogether. Her knees bend easily to slow her landing, and her legs, already used to the five-fourths rhythm of launch two three land-bend extend, accommodate the trick with practiced ease.

Even Canon notices eventually, and simply asks her: what has that crow got to offer you? She smiles lightly, staring out the window. Earlier she’d jumped the steps from chapel to the main hall; her hair is a mess, but she made it to the classroom a whole thirty point five four seven seconds faster than before. Outside of the classroom, the birds are drifting languidly through the air, and her skirts swish around her thighs as she taps her pencil in five-four time.

prague in the springtime.

sharksmiled — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 15:38:07 GMT

Prague in the Springtime.

FANDOM: Ouran High School Host Club.
WORDCOUNT: 1,238.
PAIRING: Kyouya/Tamaki.
RATING: PG at most.
SUMMARY/NOTES: One of those requests from way back when; this one's for arisato, who requested "Ouran High School Host Club, Mom/Dad, Prague in Springtime"; I guess this kind of counts as derogatory's request for Kyouya/Tamaki, too, since this thing turned into a monster and has pretty much eaten any ideas I have ever had for this pairing.

I think it should be explained that I wrote the majority of this on the train to Osaka, and that I wrote it out of order - if things don't make sense, that's why. I thought it might work out stylistically and it actually resulted in me finishing something for once, so whatever. As always, I don't know if I love it or hate it (probably hate, inevitably), but here it is anyway.

MONDAY
Although they meet with almost off-putting regularity, Prague in the springtime is theirs. The statement seems overwrought and silly to Kyouya, like something out of a depressingly optimistic movie or a badly written romance novel, because really in day-to-day life, only an idiot makes statements like that.

Maybe that's why it sounds so perfect to him when Tamaki first says it.

---

TUESDAY
It starts as a birthday present for Kyouya - the day before he turns twenty-five, he gets the call from Tamaki, who is sitting in his living room (what are you doing working at this hour, it's dinner time, don't you know time spent around the table with family is very important to children during their formative years, buzzes the voice on the other side of the phone; Kyouya hangs up, but relents and answers by the third voicemail). Three hours later, he's flying out in a Suou family jet, canceling meetings with the board, pleading - death in the family - will be back on Saturday by midday - apologize for the inconvenience - will be reachable by email or cell during work hours.

They never discuss business on their trip, as both of them (Tamaki's always said, but it isn't until a chilly night on the fourth year that Kyouya admits it, aided by a couple glasses of wine and the face that Tamaki makes when he realizes that Kyouya's telling him something he hasn't told anyone else) are afraid of turning into their fathers. Tamaki always inquires after Kyouya's wife and sons, wants to know about their health, their growth, their favorite colors. Kyouya never asks about Tamaki's wife and daughter, and Tamaki knows from his silence not to bring them up.

Mostly they (Tamaki) talk about the Host Club, and about Haruhi. Haruhi's become a district attorney, Haruhi's twin girls have the top marks in their year at Ouran's elementary school, Haruhi forgot to call again (!!!). Tamaki wonders if perhaps she's been kidnapped, forced to work in the commoner salt mines (he read that they're becoming a problem now, and they're very harsh, and his delicate and cute daughter shouldn't have to be subjected to that sort of labor!) and Kyouya nods sympathetically and sends a carefully-worded email to Haruhi's work address, requesting that she call the hotel ASAP so that he might be able to catch a nap and sleep off his stress headache.

---

WEDNESDAY
Tamaki claims that the first trip is because he's never been to Prague. By the third trip he knows every inch of their hotel room, but it's only on the fourth trip that he manages to see the astronomical clock. Truth be told, Tamaki loves the idea of Prague more than he loves the city itself, and Kyouya actually despises most of Western Europe. When Tamaki finds this out, they go through a couple of years trying to find a new location. In Britain they both get food poisoning. In America Tamaki drags him to a country-western bar. They agree never to bring up their trip to Egypt again.

They go to Paris one year, and then never again - the scenery is lovely and the food is first-class, but although she's long-gone, the memory of the one thing Tamaki could have given the Host Club for lingers like a third person just around the corner, and the pate is ashy in Kyouya's mouth. The next year, they go back to Prague, because it's safe and familiar and anyway Tamaki still hasn't seen Vinohrady.

"Next year, let's go to Kyoto," Tamaki always says, long arms outstretched above his head, in a voice that indicates that he's made up his mind, but he never means it really. Kyouya books a room in a hotel near the Golden Pavilion every year, just in case.

---

THURSDAY
Kyouya always requests a room with a view, but they inevitably stick them in room 319, which overlooks a side alley. Their third year, when Kyouya thinks to complain, Tamaki confesses that he's been requesting it.

"What do we come here for, anyway?" Kyouya mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, collapsing frustrated and exhausted and a little jet-lagged into a nearby armchair. Down below three children are playing loudly in the street, their mother's scolding echoing up through the open window. Tamaki is stretched out on the bed, long pianist's fingers gripping the windowsill as he pulls himself up for a better look. "Two rooms and a hallway down and we could be looking over the Charles Bridge, and you request this one. Why don't you want a view?!"

"I've got one," Tamaki replies, watching languidly out the window as the mother ushers her children into their house for dinner. A smile lights his face, and Kyouya realizes that his question was rhetorical, and he knows exactly why he comes to Prague.

---

FRIDAY
Tamaki over-sugars his coffee, Kyouya notes one morning over breakfast. The blond sheepishly admits that since he's started drinking commoner coffee, he's lost all taste for the real thing. Kyouya sips his coffee black, and Tamaki laughs boyishly. "That's so like you!" he says, and Kyouya smiles around his mug ("World's #1 Mom," it proclaims proudly - a Christmas gift from you-know-who two years ago; Kyouya observes that, luckily, his children have more taste than this clown. "But Kyouya," was the protest, "I made it myself, in a 'kiosk' at a commoner shopping mall!" as if that explains or excuses it) and says nothing in reply.

They sightsee in the morning, but retire by mid-afternoon; their first year they stay out for the whole day, but the streets are annoyingly crowded and Tamaki has an unfortunate habit of buying anything that comes with a sob story, so by the third year they retreat into their room by three in the afternoon. The breeze is light and the curtains rustle gently and occasionally it even manages to be quiet in the alley below, and Kyouya closes the windows and draws the blinds.

Some days in the early evening he wakes up and in spite of the windows being shut the smell of newly blooming flowers hangs heavy in the air. He rolls over, presses his back to Tamaki's, times his breathing to match, and whispers to no-one - let me stay like this just a moment longer.

---

SATURDAY
Every year they survey their empty room, their packed bags in the corner. Tamaki opens the window one last time, waves enthusiastically at the kids down below, brushes pollen from his coat and inhales the spring air deeply. Kyouya has eight missed calls and fourteen new messages, but he spreads his fingers out over the sheets, runs them over the fabric. They never say anything, because everything that they should be saying is deeply embedded in every speck of dust, every flaking paint peel, every breath that they take together, inhale sharply with the scent of goodbye hanging all around.

Kyouya’s driver picks him up at the landing site. "Don’t forget," Tamaki shouts as the car is pulling away, "next year, it’s Kyoto for sure!" Kyouya waves out the window with an exasperated smile, doesn't look back; he pulls out his cell but doesn’t check his missed calls, and thinks instead about the paint flecks in that hole-in-the-wall hotel, about dusk, about room 319. He calls Tamaki instead.

"We forgot to go to Vinohrady again."

five things naruto wishes jiraiya hadn't told him.

sharksmiled — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 15:36:47 GMT

Five Things Naruto Wishes Jiraiya Hadn't Told Him.

FANDOM: Naruto.
WORDCOUNT: 612.
PAIRING: Gen.
RATING: PG.
SUMMARY/NOTES: Wrote the first of the most recent requests; I don't know if I hate it or not (probably) and it's a lot longer than I think these are supposed to be but it's Naruto and it's for derogatory so there.

Five things Naruto wishes Jiraiya hadn't told him.

1. Naruto is never really certain if it's actual concern or just his sensei's sadistic streak that prompts "the talk"; he's okay with the first parts ("when a man loves a woman very much - or, uh, just, you know, she's got a good build and is coming on to him, you know, whatever...") but then there's the reproductive cycle and there's talk of bleeding and birth cycles and Naruto topples over, clutching at his ears and trying to drown out Jiraiya's voice as his teacher continues on - between guffaws - to explain methods of birth control.

2. One night, when Jiraiya has had a little too much to drink, Naruto starts talking about Sasuke, about their rivalry and about their friendship and about why he has to bring him back, no matter what the cost. Jiraiya is almost uncharacteristically attentive, nodding without interrupting and making what might even be sympathetic noises, and Naruto is thinking about reevaluating his opinion on the quality of his makeshift guardian's character. The moment is ruined, however, when Jiraiya goes from drawing the parallels between Naruto's relationship with Sasuke and his own relationship with Orochimaru to telling the story of how the morning after the chuunin exams - they'd passed with flying colors, or course - he woke up bleary-headed from stolen sake next to a smug-looking Orochimaru, and how for the next three days whenever he'd have to talk to his teammate for a mission or whatever Tsunade would ask if they wanted some alone-time for tongue-wrestling practice, because she could totally go somewhere else if they needed.

3. Tsunade's real three sizes.

4. "Do you think can bring Sasuke back?" Naruto asks on a hot night in July, when Jiraiya is putting fresh bandages over a mysterious wound in his chest and it feels like the kyuubi's chakra is eating him alive. Jiraiya looks at him and Naruto can't shake the impression that he's looking past Naruto, at the monster that is throwing itself against the cage of the seal.

"Not at this rate. At this rate, you're just going to be fox food."

5. Of course it has occurred to him to ask about his parents, since they'd presumably been alive when Jiraiya was still in Konoha; although they'd probably died in the war and have never really exerted any influence over his life, something about Jiraiya makes him want to ask about them. However, Jiraiya is remarkably closed-lipped on the subject, to the point where even Naruto can recognize the abrupt changes in topic and attempts at distraction. Which is why when on a clear night in early April he asks the perverted hermit about his father, he's taken aback when Jiraiya, aided and abetted by several bottles of sake, responds. "THERE." Jiraiya gestures wildly. "There was a man who enjoyed the FINER things in life. Never seen a ninja do his job better or enjoy it more. Liked good sake, too. Not this crap here, that wouldn't have done at all, not for HIM. Not to mention the WOMEN."

Naruto isn't sure he likes the way this is going, but okay.

"Especially your mother! Now THERE was a FINE-LOOKING LADY. Absolute knockout. Used to use her for my research ALL THE TIME. They - your parents - they inspired the first Icha-Icha, you know, what with the way they were all over each other; they were pretty much connected at the tongue-"

Jiraiya's voice is drowned out by Naruto's scream of abject horror, and the legendary ninja watches in an alcohol-confused daze as his student races to the river, presumably to bathe thoroughly.

He never asks about his parents again.