i never loved nobody fully
Feb. 12th, 2007 03:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisa couple of random drabbles to get me back in the groove, some are actually stuff I've already done and yeah.
I did this one a bit back for Becky.
title: the rainy season
prompt: umbrella
Umeda takes his coffee dark and without cream as he makes his way through the rainy season. Damn thing, he thinks. He wants anything but sweetener these days,
He craves the sun and a world without this excess wetness which leaves him cold and shivering, drops of moisture leaving a spotted pattern all over his new designer overcoat.
When he leaves, Umeda’s mood in unchanged, still just as moody and grey as the day has unfolded, except perhaps more so.
A bit of unwelcome sweetness follows him from the doorway, yellow, like sunlit rays slipping through the clouds. Perhaps he and the rain have more in common afterall.
Akiha half smiles, wry, knowing, in his hands in a clear umbrella, he spins it in his hand, a shower of droplets flung at every angle.
“It’s big enough for the both of us.” he says in one of his saner moments. The rain has brought a more cynical side up, the saccharine happiness washed away like grains of sand.
The clear fabric of the umbrella is a looking glass, with towers and sky-scrapers all pushing up, like ladders to the clouds.
But Akiha does not notice the sky when Umeda is there.
CODA:
"so I'm the sunshine in your life?" Akiha said, his smile threatening to break his face from sheer volume.
"more like a sunburn on my ass" Umeda replied, and stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray.
"What better place to be than on senpai's ass!" Akiha said with a flourish.
Umeda ran out of comebacks, because he just couldn’t fight with such superior stupidity.
-
tenjou tenge, someone else’s girl (maya, tawara) sorta spoilers for the shin arc.
Maya’s legs are crossed, and it would be almost modest if her breasts weren’t almost bursting from her shirt, just as she is, half revealed, half grown, full of almost innocence and hope, she flickers like a firefly, burning so bright, so unaware that summer’s almost over.
She is marked, Shin’s sister, Mitsuomi’s other half, and even through all the forbidden fruit tastes sweetest, and she would be even sweeter still, this is one time he doesn’t touch.
cider
“Go on, drink”
The first time Tezuka tastes it’s biting, bittersweet, it plays along his tongue and remains in an undefined grey area between tart and something less sour. He brings the cup to his lips again on Fuji’s prompting, for even if following Fuji’s tastes can be dangerous, there’s times when Tezuka accepts. (Something he’d never do with Inui, which Fuji is a bit smug about, but always silently)
But being dragged to strange restaurant is something Tezuka is hardly a new thing, it became a habit of Fuji’s somewhere around his second year. Pulling Tezuka to every exotic restaurant and café with foreign goods, where Tezuka would sit and do homework, and order water and ignore any other offerings of food.
It was only until recently that Tezuka actually gave in and ordered the safest sounding thing, which only made Fuji find more things to try and “Tezuka-test”
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it, Tezuka?”
Tezuka’s only answer is a low nod and another sip of the drink.
it's been ages since![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blind_go was revealed, so I guess it's ok to post these here. ♥
Spaces (vaguely Shindou/Touya)
blame any over-poeticism on Dave Matthews, I overdosed on him while writing this. No themes were used.
—
you cannot quit me so quickly
It’s so complicated that it’s simple.
Logic tells him this is an addiction, their relations, the moments grasped in-between black and white stones, tryst-like meetings in Go salons and the cafes that line the road home are all symptoms of the disease, and that disease is named Shindou Hikaru
Shindou fell into his life, tripping before his path which was perfectly straight and focused. Shindou, his antithesis in seeming every way, ruffled his spotless world and turned it upside, askew.
That was years ago, and still, only the settings and players have changed. The Go board remains the same, unchanging, timeless as oceans spread in balsa wood, unchanging as deserts in each move.
This is something akin to a playground game, no matter how much chasing either of them does, neither is caught in a web. There is always tomorrow, the score will only get better, they will get that much closer.
There are sides of Shindou that Touya can claim as his own, that unwavering rivalry, a sheet of sparks laid between them, the electric, atmospheric change that comes whenever either is in the same proximity, same room.
This is mine, and mine alone Touya thinks, unaware of the underlying consequences of such a thought.
To Shindou their world is one of unending summers, his calm assuredness is broken only by waves of sadness the spring up over the lull. These storms are brief, but violent. When they cease, Shindou withdraws within him self, to a place that Touya can never quite reach, no matter how much territory he captures.
Touya is more realistic than Shindou, he knows what life will hold for him, beyond the autumn and its fading colors, when childhood finally falls away like that, just like that.
And he knows there will be Go, and Shindou to join the bills and worries of the future. There will be the trysts of coffee, Shindou’s latest addiction, time spent reading the kifu, their fingers tracing it as if it were made of braille, and the only way to properly read the words was to touch finger to finger on each spot.
Of all the things that Touya knows, it is what he knows of Shindou that is perhaps the most paradoxical person he has ever met. If all the unknown aspects of Shindou Hikaru could be labeled and set in boxes, they would fill rooms upon rooms, with each box overflowing.
Shindou quite simply popped out of nowhere, a legend already half formed, and that was only the first mystery of him. No one knows his teacher, his style is old, ancient, even, yet no one can quite lay a finger to where he had come from.
Because he cannot differentiate between them, Touya collects all the little details and stores them for later. Shindou is always a touch melancholy in spring, especially around the beginning of May. He likes cheap food and eats messily, slurping up his ramen and looking unabashed when Touya stares at him.
He’s completely open to everything but the most important things, which never seem to get told, of all the pieces of Shindou he has found, none completes the puzzle, they only fill parts of the very edges, leaving the whole picture still in fragments, still leaving the sense of mystery that always stays about Shindou, a perfectly ordinary boy who came out of nowhere.
But no matter, for if anything, Shindou has taught him to be patient, has drawn out every last drop of skill, when he plays Shindou it is another type of game entirely, one that seems new, even the feel of the stones feels different than when it is against someone else.
And if anything, he can wait by Shindou’s side for the moment when he will begin to reveal those secrets, there is always another time, another visit or game to play.
There is always tomorrow.
-
I once dreamed that I was dying.
Sai once dreamed of meeting someone he loved, in the short time of his life, as brief as spring flowers taken too early by the stinging lace designs of frost.
The rooms were spacious, undecorated and beautiful in their simplicity.
She had white skin, whiter than the first dusting of snow, and a face framed with thin black hair that fell about her, and was even more beautiful than the silks she wore. They were dark colors, brown, mahogany, unusal yet still elegant on her thin frame. They fell about her, rivulets of material spread all about her lithe body.
She spread her fingers in greeting, and he bowed before her, to which she half-smiled, her lips hidden behind the multicolored fan in her left hand.
“Although you chase me, you will never catch me” she said. There seemed a tinge of regret in that melodic voice, as if she wanted to be caught by him, yet was promised steadfastly to another.
“But you will teach someone who will, in the very end of his life, he will reach it, then pass it on to others before his death.”
She smiled again before morning came, stealing away the images as sunlight to melting snow.
He never did quite understand it, not until much later, when he was again a teacher, white and black stones at his command, each movement sounded like a woman’s soft laughter.
-
no themes were used.
–
She worries about him, sometimes. It is a difficult thing to watch her son grow up apart from the other children. Touya Akiko tries her hardest, but Akira is a world away from anyone his age, he seems prematurely aged, at times she almost expects to find traces of gray in his hair.
His clothes are always clean when he returns from school – too clean in fact, for Akira never jumps in puddles or skins his knees when running. Akira’s life only reaches as far as the territory of a Go board, everything beyond that is something else, a foreign land he never really cared to visit.
It seems so ironic sometimes, that she worries when other mothers worry about their children hurting themselves, breaking a bone, and her worry is that one day Akira won’t.
A couple years ago someone came into Akira’s life, at first Akira would freeze for a moment, almost as if his hackles would rise at the very name, but soon this ‘Shindou’ was being mentioned often, he said the name like a profanity. Then it seemed as if every conversation Shindou came up, then the notes and apologies came – sorry for being late, I was playing with Shindou, I won’t be in tonight I have tutoring and dinner later with Shindou
She worries less now, it’s good to know that he has another person to talk to, fight with, play against – even if his world goes no farther than a Go board, at least he is not alone.
*
Sunlight streams through the cheap diner, a large poster displays Ramen, 280 Yen!!! in bright colors, there’s a small tear down the side, the ends have been smoothed down again and again, but still curl defiantly upwards.
The booths are red and white, the seats only marginally comfortable and the table is of some odd material that clicks against Akira’s fingertips, and makes scuffling sounds at each turn of Hikaru’s bowl.
Hikaru downs bowl after bowl of ramen, barely pausing for a break to continue their (insults are thrown about as easily as paddleball, soon they will be screaming at each other, thinks the waitress wearily)
This is not a rare occurrence, it seems every odd day Hikaru drags him in, often after heated games, half of which were yelling.
“–Tbwu-ya” he says, noodles half spilling out of his mouth as he talks. “What? I haven’t eaten anything all day,
This, Akira concedes. His empty bowl is another point where he has conceded — he still hasn’t figured out the mystery of Hikaru’s obsession, but he will admit ramen isn’t too bad – but not aloud.
One more bowl later they slip into something like friendly conversation, only a minor amount of raised voices, about the other pros, the next tournament, the next game.
Hikaru swears he’s going to drag Akira to a movie or something and prove that there is in fact, life beyond Go. Akira scowls back, and is silent – but this anger doesn’t last for long.
Their time together is always black or white, either fighting or traces of almost silence which somehow fits them.
When they go to pay, Hikaru empties his pockets, finding only empty gum wrappers and a bent straw.
“How could you leave your wallet behind?!” Akira hisses.
“Don’t freak out, Touya, it was an accident!” Hikaru counters.
Touya tosses his head in disgust “fine I’ll pay this time, but you better bring it next time!”
Touya will never admit that he doesn’t mind half as much as it would seem.
They argue the entire way on the walk home, but neither minds quite as much, but never lets on.
*
Shindou Mitsuko shakes her head at tonight’s note. Most children get caught up in hobbies at this age, acting, baseball, basketball, tennis. She would’ve guessed any of these before the sport her son picked.
It wasn’t completely unfounded, her father had been always been an excellent player, trophies lined his walls, proudly displayed where the sunlight could gleam off of their gilded sides.
She hadn’t seen it coming, definitely, and the change in her boy was almost overnight. His grades rose and he took on Go of all things.
But somehow, she always knew deep down that Hikaru was going to be different. A mother’s intuition, perhaps.
She sighs and puts dinner away, wondering if she’ll see him tonight, or if she’ll just see the traces of her own ghost child – empty room, strangely clean, but still mussed, with yesterday’s clothes in a pile by the side and yesterday’s and day before’s excuse notes.
*
When Hikaru appears on her doorstep, it is through the mists of a rainy day. Steam rises about them, him and her son, as they shook the moisture from their shared umbrella (Akira always brings his, Hikaru never bothers, because he can always borrow Akira’s if need be)
“He invited himself” Akira mumbles, with a glare Hikaru’s way, which is ignored.
When Akiko asks what they would prefer for dinner (it is special, afterall, she can’t remember the last time her son brought a friend home)
“Anything but ramen” Akira says flatly before Hikaru can respond.
“You should let the guest pick” she admonishes.
But Hikaru goes along with it, and agrees to be surprised, which Akira agrees to as well.
The rain comes down outside, pitter patter against the roof, her husband is away, a faint worry in her mind, but Akira brought home a friend, and she steals glimpses every now and then of them, her son, always so withdrawn into his own world of black and white stones, so far off from every competitor and person, this time, he’s laughing.
I did this one a bit back for Becky.
title: the rainy season
prompt: umbrella
Umeda takes his coffee dark and without cream as he makes his way through the rainy season. Damn thing, he thinks. He wants anything but sweetener these days,
He craves the sun and a world without this excess wetness which leaves him cold and shivering, drops of moisture leaving a spotted pattern all over his new designer overcoat.
When he leaves, Umeda’s mood in unchanged, still just as moody and grey as the day has unfolded, except perhaps more so.
A bit of unwelcome sweetness follows him from the doorway, yellow, like sunlit rays slipping through the clouds. Perhaps he and the rain have more in common afterall.
Akiha half smiles, wry, knowing, in his hands in a clear umbrella, he spins it in his hand, a shower of droplets flung at every angle.
“It’s big enough for the both of us.” he says in one of his saner moments. The rain has brought a more cynical side up, the saccharine happiness washed away like grains of sand.
The clear fabric of the umbrella is a looking glass, with towers and sky-scrapers all pushing up, like ladders to the clouds.
But Akiha does not notice the sky when Umeda is there.
CODA:
"so I'm the sunshine in your life?" Akiha said, his smile threatening to break his face from sheer volume.
"more like a sunburn on my ass" Umeda replied, and stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray.
"What better place to be than on senpai's ass!" Akiha said with a flourish.
Umeda ran out of comebacks, because he just couldn’t fight with such superior stupidity.
-
tenjou tenge, someone else’s girl (maya, tawara) sorta spoilers for the shin arc.
Maya’s legs are crossed, and it would be almost modest if her breasts weren’t almost bursting from her shirt, just as she is, half revealed, half grown, full of almost innocence and hope, she flickers like a firefly, burning so bright, so unaware that summer’s almost over.
She is marked, Shin’s sister, Mitsuomi’s other half, and even through all the forbidden fruit tastes sweetest, and she would be even sweeter still, this is one time he doesn’t touch.
cider
“Go on, drink”
The first time Tezuka tastes it’s biting, bittersweet, it plays along his tongue and remains in an undefined grey area between tart and something less sour. He brings the cup to his lips again on Fuji’s prompting, for even if following Fuji’s tastes can be dangerous, there’s times when Tezuka accepts. (Something he’d never do with Inui, which Fuji is a bit smug about, but always silently)
But being dragged to strange restaurant is something Tezuka is hardly a new thing, it became a habit of Fuji’s somewhere around his second year. Pulling Tezuka to every exotic restaurant and café with foreign goods, where Tezuka would sit and do homework, and order water and ignore any other offerings of food.
It was only until recently that Tezuka actually gave in and ordered the safest sounding thing, which only made Fuji find more things to try and “Tezuka-test”
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it, Tezuka?”
Tezuka’s only answer is a low nod and another sip of the drink.
it's been ages since
blind_go was revealed, so I guess it's ok to post these here. ♥Spaces (vaguely Shindou/Touya)
blame any over-poeticism on Dave Matthews, I overdosed on him while writing this. No themes were used.
—
you cannot quit me so quickly
It’s so complicated that it’s simple.
Logic tells him this is an addiction, their relations, the moments grasped in-between black and white stones, tryst-like meetings in Go salons and the cafes that line the road home are all symptoms of the disease, and that disease is named Shindou Hikaru
Shindou fell into his life, tripping before his path which was perfectly straight and focused. Shindou, his antithesis in seeming every way, ruffled his spotless world and turned it upside, askew.
That was years ago, and still, only the settings and players have changed. The Go board remains the same, unchanging, timeless as oceans spread in balsa wood, unchanging as deserts in each move.
This is something akin to a playground game, no matter how much chasing either of them does, neither is caught in a web. There is always tomorrow, the score will only get better, they will get that much closer.
There are sides of Shindou that Touya can claim as his own, that unwavering rivalry, a sheet of sparks laid between them, the electric, atmospheric change that comes whenever either is in the same proximity, same room.
This is mine, and mine alone Touya thinks, unaware of the underlying consequences of such a thought.
To Shindou their world is one of unending summers, his calm assuredness is broken only by waves of sadness the spring up over the lull. These storms are brief, but violent. When they cease, Shindou withdraws within him self, to a place that Touya can never quite reach, no matter how much territory he captures.
Touya is more realistic than Shindou, he knows what life will hold for him, beyond the autumn and its fading colors, when childhood finally falls away like that, just like that.
And he knows there will be Go, and Shindou to join the bills and worries of the future. There will be the trysts of coffee, Shindou’s latest addiction, time spent reading the kifu, their fingers tracing it as if it were made of braille, and the only way to properly read the words was to touch finger to finger on each spot.
Of all the things that Touya knows, it is what he knows of Shindou that is perhaps the most paradoxical person he has ever met. If all the unknown aspects of Shindou Hikaru could be labeled and set in boxes, they would fill rooms upon rooms, with each box overflowing.
Shindou quite simply popped out of nowhere, a legend already half formed, and that was only the first mystery of him. No one knows his teacher, his style is old, ancient, even, yet no one can quite lay a finger to where he had come from.
Because he cannot differentiate between them, Touya collects all the little details and stores them for later. Shindou is always a touch melancholy in spring, especially around the beginning of May. He likes cheap food and eats messily, slurping up his ramen and looking unabashed when Touya stares at him.
He’s completely open to everything but the most important things, which never seem to get told, of all the pieces of Shindou he has found, none completes the puzzle, they only fill parts of the very edges, leaving the whole picture still in fragments, still leaving the sense of mystery that always stays about Shindou, a perfectly ordinary boy who came out of nowhere.
But no matter, for if anything, Shindou has taught him to be patient, has drawn out every last drop of skill, when he plays Shindou it is another type of game entirely, one that seems new, even the feel of the stones feels different than when it is against someone else.
And if anything, he can wait by Shindou’s side for the moment when he will begin to reveal those secrets, there is always another time, another visit or game to play.
There is always tomorrow.
-
I once dreamed that I was dying.
Sai once dreamed of meeting someone he loved, in the short time of his life, as brief as spring flowers taken too early by the stinging lace designs of frost.
The rooms were spacious, undecorated and beautiful in their simplicity.
She had white skin, whiter than the first dusting of snow, and a face framed with thin black hair that fell about her, and was even more beautiful than the silks she wore. They were dark colors, brown, mahogany, unusal yet still elegant on her thin frame. They fell about her, rivulets of material spread all about her lithe body.
She spread her fingers in greeting, and he bowed before her, to which she half-smiled, her lips hidden behind the multicolored fan in her left hand.
“Although you chase me, you will never catch me” she said. There seemed a tinge of regret in that melodic voice, as if she wanted to be caught by him, yet was promised steadfastly to another.
“But you will teach someone who will, in the very end of his life, he will reach it, then pass it on to others before his death.”
She smiled again before morning came, stealing away the images as sunlight to melting snow.
He never did quite understand it, not until much later, when he was again a teacher, white and black stones at his command, each movement sounded like a woman’s soft laughter.
-
no themes were used.
–
She worries about him, sometimes. It is a difficult thing to watch her son grow up apart from the other children. Touya Akiko tries her hardest, but Akira is a world away from anyone his age, he seems prematurely aged, at times she almost expects to find traces of gray in his hair.
His clothes are always clean when he returns from school – too clean in fact, for Akira never jumps in puddles or skins his knees when running. Akira’s life only reaches as far as the territory of a Go board, everything beyond that is something else, a foreign land he never really cared to visit.
It seems so ironic sometimes, that she worries when other mothers worry about their children hurting themselves, breaking a bone, and her worry is that one day Akira won’t.
A couple years ago someone came into Akira’s life, at first Akira would freeze for a moment, almost as if his hackles would rise at the very name, but soon this ‘Shindou’ was being mentioned often, he said the name like a profanity. Then it seemed as if every conversation Shindou came up, then the notes and apologies came – sorry for being late, I was playing with Shindou, I won’t be in tonight I have tutoring and dinner later with Shindou
She worries less now, it’s good to know that he has another person to talk to, fight with, play against – even if his world goes no farther than a Go board, at least he is not alone.
*
Sunlight streams through the cheap diner, a large poster displays Ramen, 280 Yen!!! in bright colors, there’s a small tear down the side, the ends have been smoothed down again and again, but still curl defiantly upwards.
The booths are red and white, the seats only marginally comfortable and the table is of some odd material that clicks against Akira’s fingertips, and makes scuffling sounds at each turn of Hikaru’s bowl.
Hikaru downs bowl after bowl of ramen, barely pausing for a break to continue their (insults are thrown about as easily as paddleball, soon they will be screaming at each other, thinks the waitress wearily)
This is not a rare occurrence, it seems every odd day Hikaru drags him in, often after heated games, half of which were yelling.
“–Tbwu-ya” he says, noodles half spilling out of his mouth as he talks. “What? I haven’t eaten anything all day,
This, Akira concedes. His empty bowl is another point where he has conceded — he still hasn’t figured out the mystery of Hikaru’s obsession, but he will admit ramen isn’t too bad – but not aloud.
One more bowl later they slip into something like friendly conversation, only a minor amount of raised voices, about the other pros, the next tournament, the next game.
Hikaru swears he’s going to drag Akira to a movie or something and prove that there is in fact, life beyond Go. Akira scowls back, and is silent – but this anger doesn’t last for long.
Their time together is always black or white, either fighting or traces of almost silence which somehow fits them.
When they go to pay, Hikaru empties his pockets, finding only empty gum wrappers and a bent straw.
“How could you leave your wallet behind?!” Akira hisses.
“Don’t freak out, Touya, it was an accident!” Hikaru counters.
Touya tosses his head in disgust “fine I’ll pay this time, but you better bring it next time!”
Touya will never admit that he doesn’t mind half as much as it would seem.
They argue the entire way on the walk home, but neither minds quite as much, but never lets on.
*
Shindou Mitsuko shakes her head at tonight’s note. Most children get caught up in hobbies at this age, acting, baseball, basketball, tennis. She would’ve guessed any of these before the sport her son picked.
It wasn’t completely unfounded, her father had been always been an excellent player, trophies lined his walls, proudly displayed where the sunlight could gleam off of their gilded sides.
She hadn’t seen it coming, definitely, and the change in her boy was almost overnight. His grades rose and he took on Go of all things.
But somehow, she always knew deep down that Hikaru was going to be different. A mother’s intuition, perhaps.
She sighs and puts dinner away, wondering if she’ll see him tonight, or if she’ll just see the traces of her own ghost child – empty room, strangely clean, but still mussed, with yesterday’s clothes in a pile by the side and yesterday’s and day before’s excuse notes.
*
When Hikaru appears on her doorstep, it is through the mists of a rainy day. Steam rises about them, him and her son, as they shook the moisture from their shared umbrella (Akira always brings his, Hikaru never bothers, because he can always borrow Akira’s if need be)
“He invited himself” Akira mumbles, with a glare Hikaru’s way, which is ignored.
When Akiko asks what they would prefer for dinner (it is special, afterall, she can’t remember the last time her son brought a friend home)
“Anything but ramen” Akira says flatly before Hikaru can respond.
“You should let the guest pick” she admonishes.
But Hikaru goes along with it, and agrees to be surprised, which Akira agrees to as well.
The rain comes down outside, pitter patter against the roof, her husband is away, a faint worry in her mind, but Akira brought home a friend, and she steals glimpses every now and then of them, her son, always so withdrawn into his own world of black and white stones, so far off from every competitor and person, this time, he’s laughing.
