Title: Our Day in Summer
Author's Note: My obsession with No. 6 has been relentlessly aching for release these last few days and, I couldn't help but give in and start anew. Welcome one and all to the mind of DTU. Have a seat, grab some popcorn, and please, enjoy the ride. Anyway, if you're not interested in slow development and detail, turn back now. More from me later.
⇒Please make sure you heed the bolded font. Especially the are there for a reason.
Pairing: Nezumi/Shion , One-sided Yoming/Shion
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: AU, OoC, Yaoi(hints)
Summary: Shion is stuck in a monotonous job as a company employee, and has no real aims in life. One day, he meets Nezumi, a street musician and aspiring artist, and things in his life begin to change.
Disclaimer:
No. 6 does not belong to me. All rights belong to Atsuko Asano-san. These boys, how I wish I could own them but, they will never be mine.
It hadn't been this way forever, but it was sure starting to feel like it.
Shion's life for the last couple of years had been like slow, monotonous television reruns, each day so indistinguishable from the next that they'd long since begun to blend together in his head. He'd started working for this company not long before his 22nd birthday, and now, a month before his 24th, he was still working in the same office, at the same desk, doing the same thing he'd been doing since his first day on the job two years ago.
University had been different. In university, he'd been known on campus as "Shion - you know, that guy with the scars"; that guy with weird snake that seemed to coil around his skin and weird humour; that guy who was always smiling like he didn't have a care in the world. Shion thought he probably smiled a lot less these days.
Even after all this time, he couldn't get used to the dreariness of the office. He liked colour, liked vibrancy, in everything around him, but the office had beige carpet and cream walls and grey desks. The office was filled with stale AC air, felt stuffy even when the temperature was just right, was filled with even stuffier people, all in the traditional black and white suits that everyone, including Shion, was required to wear.
Individuality was something he desperately prized above all else, but at work there was so little room for it; even the photos and colourful bits and bobs he kept on his desk could only add so much to the personality of his little square metre of space. There wasn't even any room for originality in his work; he wrote and proofread reports, was occasionally asked to edit things, but that was really the extent of his job. Everything about it was grey, but it paid well, and that was what put food on the table at the end of the day.
Today was just like any other day; he finished his jobs just before sunset, shut down his computer and packed up his briefcase. His team worked in a tiny office – him and three other people – which made him feel claustrophobic sometimes, but also meant he wasn't pressured to stay behind until everyone else was ready to go home to avoid affecting team spirit.
He bid his team leader, Yoming-san, good bye as he headed for the door, briefcase in hand,
feeling his heart lighten with every step. Going home was his favourite part of the day, and always made him feel like a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders; it was like getting out of prison.
"If you can stay an hour longer, we can all go for a drink together afterwards," Yoming offered casually, and Shion missed the faint glimmer of hope that flickered in his eyes.
Instead he smiled, replying as he always did, kindly and politely, "Thank you Yoming-san, but I should really be going now."
It was a phrase he'd perfected over the years, something no one could argue with or try to talk him out of. In reality, he had no pressing matters, nowhere he needed to be, but inside, he was alive and buzzing, desperate to escape down and out of the steel clutch of the elevator, walk through the automatic doors and burst out into the rich, dazzling world.
As usual, Shion didn't notice the barely hidden disappointment in Yoming's tone as he bid him farewell with an 'okay' and a nod, and then he was finally free; he'd survived another day.
He checked his watch as he hurried down the sunset drenched street. He was out a little earlier today, which meant if he hurried, then...
A smile turned up the corner of Shion's lips as he arrived by the river, stopping halfway across the bridge and looking down onto the concrete walkway below.
There he was, standing by the water with his guitar, strumming at the strings and singing in a voice that echoed in the tunnel of the bridge and carried out across the river.
Shion felt the residue of the bleak, grey office wash away with each note the man's lips formed. It was a song he knew well by now, one he suspected the man had composed himself, because he never had been able to find the lyrics on the internet when he'd tried looking. He had each word, each chord, perfectly memorised, the same way he'd come to memorise the flat slope of the young man's nose, his delicate cheekbones and jaw, his wide eyes with a carefree shine that Shion both admired and envied.
This was what Shion worked through the day for; these moments here on the bridge, when he would stop and watch and listen to the man with his guitar, singing in the orange glow of the setting sun. It didn't matter if it was for five minutes or an hour, if the songs he sung were uplifting melodies or slow ballads about heartbreak; this man was the colour in Shion's day.
It had been like this for months now. He didn't know the exact date, but one day he'd switched gyms and had taken a new route from work. The first time he'd come this way, he hadn't even made it to the gym. He'd caught the sound of a tune from down below as he crossed the bridge, seen the head of beautiful, dark hair, the nimble hands on the old, wooden guitar, and those eyes that reminded Shion of freedom. Suddenly, he'd been coming this way every day.
That first day, he'd stayed long after the man had left – watching the reflection of the sun disappear from the water as it sunk into the ocean of buildings, thinking that something very momentous had just happened. He wasn't sure what, but he could feel it; could remember the way the man tipped his head back as he belted out the high notes, the way his body swayed to his own music, how he'd felt, could still feel, a flutter in his chest.
Yes, something amazing had certainly taken place, he'd told himself, even if he didn't quite understand what.
What he did know was that now there was something other than a pay check waiting for him beyond the never ending flow of reports that needed to be written and corrected, something more meaningful, more valuable.
For the first couple of months, Shion stood up above on the bridge, leaning on the railing and watching the man below as people walked past him on the street. The days he wasn't there, he'd channel his frustration into hours at the gym, pushing himself harder than usual before going home to his empty house and doing extra paperwork over dinner.
And then one day, a few days before his birthday, Shion was standing on the bridge as usual, watching the man sing as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The man craned his head back, finishing on a high note with his eyes squeezed shut, strummed the last few chords on his guitar and then, without straightening his neck back up, he'd opened his eyes, locking gazes with Shion.
Shion felt like his heart had just dropped into his stomach, and his skin began to prickle. The man looked up at him curiously and Shion did the first thing he could think of; stood straight and pulled away from the bridge so he was completely out of sight.
After standing there for a few seconds, trying in vain to calm his wildly thumping heart, Shion began to feel stupid. Why had he almost run away? He was hardly the only person who watched this guy sing every evening; far from it. There were girls – there were plenty of girls – who regularly watched him, probably more regularly than Shion, since he sometimes got stuck at the company doing overtime until well past dark. He shouldn't be embarrassed about getting caught watching. It was normal.
He slowly leant back over the railing to find the man still staring up at him, face scrunched by a broad smirk, and Shion realised with a start that he was laughing at him. He felt his complexion colour, but the man just winked at him, waved with his fingers and launched into his next song.
Shion watched until the end, and then when the man began to pack up, he was out of there as fast as he could move without actually running. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to get away, why he wanted to escape before the man had a chance to climb the steps up to the bridge and walk past him, but he did. He did laps at the pool that evening, changing the chaos in his mind into energy and swimming until he was too exhausted to push himself another inch.
That night, he dreamed of the man's smile and a fleeting melody, dreams that grew hazy the moment he opened his eyes the next morning.
It wasn't the last time their gazes met – far from it. Whenever Shion watched him now, the man would look up at the bridge between songs to check if he was there, beaming in satisfaction when he saw he was. Each time they made eye contact, Shion felt a shiver shoot down his spine like a bolt of lightning, leaving his skin tingling and his face hot. Each time, he left the moment the man went to put his guitar back in his case, speed walking the short distance to the gym with his nerves and heart a flutter.
It couldn't have been much more than a week later that the evening came when the man looked up at him, his usual little smile missing, replaced by a contemplative expression. Then he waved at him, not a wave hello, but a wave saying 'come down'.
Shion felt a lump forming in his throat. His first instinct was to run away, but with the man's eyes – those eyes that meant just as much to Shion as the music he played – locked firmly with his, he found it was impossible.
He felt numb as he descended the stairs, one foot in front of the other, and came to stand in front of this person who had become such a big part of his life, yet neither of them had any idea of who the other was.
Unlike what Shion had expected, they didn't exchange greetings; they didn't even exchange a single word before the man began to pluck at the strings again and launched into another song.
He was even more breathtaking up close than he was from afar, lips perfect-pink and glossy as they shaped to form notes, and eyes framed by long, dark lashes that caressed the curves of his high cheek bones when they slipped shut.
Today when the man went to put his guitar away and the small crowd of spectators dispersed, Shion found he couldn't run. He stood there feeling awkward, watching him pick up his case and swing the strap over his shoulder. Then he was in front of Shion, up closer than he ever thought he'd really see him, and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the moisture that glistened in a line above his lip.
And then he spoke, and it was smooth and deep, rich and sultry, all at once.
"You have a nice voice."
Shion stared at him, puzzled. "I have… what?"
The man chuckled, adjusting the strap of his case until it hung off him more comfortably.
"You were singing along with me. You have a nice voice. Maybe we should sing together some time."
Shion felt his face burning, and even though he struggled to find something to reply with, all he could do was stutter until the man took pity on him.
"What's your name?" He asked.
Shion didn't know how to respond, feeling his flush grow hotter under all the attention.
"I… why do you want to know?"
One side of the man's mouth quirked up in an amused smirk.
"Because I've nicknamed you Juliet since you're always up above me on that bridge, and if I don't know your real name, that's what I'm going to have to keep calling you."
He wasn't sure what kind of personality he'd thought the man would have – maybe he hadn't really made any proper assumptions yet – but this wasn't quite what he would have expected.
"Ah. I'm Shi… Shion…" He mentally kicked himself for his stupid nervous stutter and stopped for a moment, trying to relax himself.
"Shion?" The man repeated, and Shion flushed harder, shook his head.
"Yes. Yes, it's Shion."
"So, Shion then. I'm Nezumi."
Nezumi. Finally, Shion had a name to put to the face, to the voice, and he committed it to memory, imagined how it would feel on his tongue. It was a strange name but, all in all it seemed to suit the man and Shion had no further questions.
It should have been awkward after that, but Nezumi seemed oblivious to this and asked him all sorts of embarrassing questions about why Shion watched him, if he liked his music, how long he'd been watching him for. Shion fumbled his answers more often than not, and eventually Nezumi just laughed and asked him if he wanted to go for a drink.
"It's late," Shion said sensibly, but Nezumi shrugged.
"So? You don't have anywhere else you need to be, right?"
It sounded more like Nezumi was deciding the answer for him rather than asking, and Shion wasn't sure how to answer. He had paperwork he should probably have been doing right now, but Nezumi's eyes held a faint hope there, so eager, that he found himself nodding.
"Nowhere really," he replied, and couldn't bring himself to regret his answer when those beautiful, grey eyes lit up, and that small smile threatening to spread wide and overtake his whole face.
"I know a really good place a couple of blocks from here. You'll like it."
Shion followed him up the stairs, clutching his briefcase and watching Nezumi's hips sway as he walked ahead of him, guitar case bumping against his back. A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that if he wanted his weekend free, he should go home and go about his usual routine, make dinner and work on reports, but he pushed it away. It didn't seem right to be thinking about rules or regimen or paperwork with Nezumi's whistle in his ear, a light and carefree tone, and so Shion forced himself not to.
They ended up having dinner together as well, Shion wondering the whole time why Nezumi had invited him out all of a sudden.
"I like your face. You have a nice smile," Nezumi said when Shion got up the courage to ask. "What about you? You didn't tell me why you come to watch me every day. You're an office worker, right? It seems a bit strange."
Shion looked away, stuffing a piece of yakitori into his mouth to try and avoid answering the question, shrugging noncommittally.
Nezumi kept talking. "Lots of people stop and listen, but the only ones who come to watch me regularly are school girls. Probably because they like my face."
Shion didn't tell him that he liked his face as well, just for entirely different reasons.
"I like your music," he explained, because it wasn't really a lie. "It relaxes me after work."
Nezumi smirked, as though Shion had just told him he'd gone platinum on his first CD.
"I'll write you a song," he promised, and Shion felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, not unlike the one he'd experienced on his first date.
"You don't have to," he assured him, but Nezumi was already asking him rhetorical questions about themes and lyrics, and Shion found that he wanted him to anyway.
When they finally said goodbye – Shion paid for their meal, though he wasn't sure if he remembered offering to do so or not – it was almost midnight, and Shion was practically asleep on his feet. Nezumi didn't seem worn-out at all, the way he walked almost like he was floating, next to Shion's tired, dragging feet.
"You'll come by tomorrow too, right?" Nezumi asked when they said goodbye at the crossing.
"I always do." He felt a little silly after the words came out of his mouth, but Nezumi looked so pleased that he wouldn't have taken them back even if he could've.
A/N: Well, First chapter complete. My apologize for grammar issues. But other than the grammar issues, how's that for a start? This story is going to be really fun to write and, now that I have three going on at once ( Well, with one of my stories on hiatus at the moment), I've got to keep on top of my updates! Please send me a lovely review! It motivates me in every sense of the word. AND, It also gives me confidence in my story. Favorites and Alerts are nice and all but I want to know what you think. No flames, please. I'm prone to attacking people who flame me quite violently… ahah. Anyway, Thanks for reading! Please look out for the next update!
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