The Breaking-Down of a Strong Emotional Figure
or
Mitsuru's Date
---
by rinoastar
---
Categorization: shonen-ai, POV [Shinobu]
Archive: PRAORPOARI, any that ask
Warnings: OOC, shonen-ai, angst, language
Pairings: MaS [Mitsuru and Shinobu]
Disclaimer: I don't own Mitsuru and Shinobu. I borrow them
just a bit to use in my ficcies, and I put them back just as
they were. I hope. I don't get any money out of writing,
but I DO get a lot of pleasure out of using my twisted little
imagination, and since that's about the only thing I own, it's
all you'd get if you sue me. Trust me, you don't want it.
---
I've never wanted to hit someone as badly as I do now.
I've always been calm and rational. Everything has a reason
and a purpose. I've always been the one to know that purpose
--to exploit it to the fullest so that it comes out to my
benefit.
I've never wanted to yell and cry and scream and throw
a tantrum before. I've been polite and quiet, silently bearing
everything on my shoulders. I can't even remember crying as a
baby. It's amazing to me that I can't even remember what it was
that made me this way. A human ice sculpture. Perfect.
So why does this make me want to corner him and force
him to admit . . . something? Something's wrong with the
situation, but I don't know what. Something's missing.
In all actuality, this works for my benefit. Really.
I get more time to myself to study, work, and think. I don't
have to put up with him pestering me while I read. I don't
have to listen to his constant questions. So why doesn't it
feel like a godsend? Why does it feel like a punishment?
It's not like he's always been around. I didn't meet
him until three years ago. I lived a full, healthy life before
we met, right? I had to have. Why do I feel like a big piece
of my life has disappeared? It's not like he's dead. He'll
still be here to sleep and eat. He'll still study with me
during homeroom.
It won't be the same. I know that, but why do I care?
He's just someone else to live on the fringes of my consciousness,
to haunt me by being there but not being there. Like my brother.
Like my parents.
Not like my sister, though. Why do I wish he'd be like
her, though? Some constant, nagging force in my life that will
always be there? Why would I condemn him to a life of being a
pathetic, shadowy figure that stalks me and is obsessed with
my life? Why would I want him to dote on me?
He's my first friend. He makes friends so easily, though.
Why did he settle for me? I'm cold. I'm anti-social. I'm an
ice demon, as the other kids I grew up with told me. They hated
me. I hated them. It was a mutually understood relationship.
Why is this different than that? Why can't it be that easy?
If I look over my book in exactly the right angle, I can
see him buttoning up his sleeves and he won't see me looking in
the mirror. I don't know why I care if he notices, anyway. I
wonder if I should tell him how well his shirt shows off his
eyes. It's a very nice color. One of my favorites, but like
most of the things in my life, I can't remember when they happened.
I used to hate purple. Why do I ache for an amethyst something
in a certain color?
I want to tie him up. I want to tie him down. I want to
keep him from going wherever it is he's going and I want him to
stay here with me. I want to know why I want him to stay. I
want to know why I want him near me. I want to know everything
I don't.
Of course, I'm not going to say anything. Any minute
now, he's going to turn around and ask me how he looks and I'm
going to say, "Fine enough for her." I just have to wait for him
to turn around. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll turn around and ask
what I'm thinking about. Maybe I'll know then. I doubt it.
Maybe he'll turn around and say, "I don't feel like going tonight.
Let's stay home and study for trig." I doubt that, too.
I'm so engaged in my thoughts that I don't really notice
him staring at me. I look up at him. His eyes are the perfect
color, really. My favorite color. His shirt is very nice, too.
Pale stripes of a dusky jade run vertically down his dress shirt.
It brings out the lighter colors in his eyes. I think it could
become one of my favorite colors, too.
He smiles at me. His teeth are so bright. He looks like
he's put a lot of care into his appearance tonight. Why do I care
that he's never done it before?
"Good book?" he asks, sitting down on the bed at my feet.
I nod incoherently, suddenly entranced by the swirl of typecast
in my hands. It's making such pretty patterns. He puts his hand
inbetween the leaves of the book and closes it, smiling. "Lighten
up! You've got to get out there and live! Get a girlfriend!" he
chirps. For some reason, this hurts me. He's happy, but I'm not.
I must be jealous. That's the logical explaination.
"What if I don't want one?" I ask tempermentally. I try
to get back into the book I'm supposed to be studying, but he
takes it away.
"Then get a boyfriend. It worked for Watanabe and
Fujikake," Mitsuru rolls the sentence around on his tongue,
making it seem less offensive. He just called me queer and I can't
keep my eyes off of his mouth. Maybe I am.
"Do you know of any volunteers?" I lazily reply. As cool
as I sound saying it, my heart speeds up to around a thousand beats
a minute and I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down the middle of
my back. I can't believe I just said that. One day, we're really
going to have to stop these innuendos before one of us gets his
feelings hurt. I don't mean him. Maybe I really--who am I
trying to kid? This is an internal monologue. I wouldn't be
thinking it if it weren't true.
"Hasukawa might just dump Miya for you, " he jokes,
breaking the mood. "Or Shun. At least no one would know you
were at first sight, " he laughs. I feel angry at him, but
not for saying it. Am I angry because he didn't volunteer?
How irrational.
"How do I look?" he asks me, standing up and doing a
catwalk strut. He wiggles his hips at me and winks. With a
few short moves, he has riveted my eyes to him and burned his
image in my memory forever. Along with the first time I saw
him. And the imagined picture of an angel under the forsythia
tree.
"Fine enough for her, " I respond, glad to be in
familiar ground. Why does that sound so bitter then? Did it
sound so malicious to him? Does he care that he can make me
jealous? Does he care that with a lazy batt of his perfect
lavender eye he can yank my heartstrings and drag me across
the room with them? Does he know?
Do I want him to know?
For the minute, I'll try to shove down these feelings and
get back into my book, which he left by my foot. As I sit up to
grab it, he sits on it, grabbing my shoulders. "What's up?" he
asks, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of my shoulders.
He forces me to sit up and I stare defiantly--yet coolly--into
his eyes, trying not to melt.
"Nothing. You're bothering me, " I tell him, reaching
for my book. He smiles. I can feel his smile in the air.
When did I learn to do that?
"Am I? Maybe I'd better go on this date then, and leave
you alone, " he says. I can hear his mocking tone. It burns.
"Go then!" I yell. I can hear my voice echoing in my
own ears. I've never lost my temper before. The air thickens
and I can hear my heart thudding in my chest.
Silence reigns.
"What's going on?" he finally asks. I shrug, confused.
I've never acted this way before. I've never broken my calm,
collected facade. I've never let that other side of me out.
Never.
And yet I feel myself being picked up in a whirlwind and
thrown for a loop. I feel everything mixing up and my mind taking
over and nothing makes sense anymore and I get so confused. I've
never lost control before and it scares me that his mere presence
can make me lose everything I've known and everything I've had and
done and worked for. Nothing makes sense anymore. Why did he have
to waltz into my life?
"Come on, Shin. Like I believe that shit, " he says. I
wince at the swear words on his lips. "You're always on top of
everything." I shrug again.
"I don't know. I'm not on top of everything, I just act
like I am, " I reply, instantly cursing myself for letting such
an important piece of information about myself out. Why did I
say that? He looks at me funny, then stands up, adjusting his
shirt. He probably knows now. He has to. I don't blame him
if he hates me.
"Shin, what's wrong?" he asks again, touching my arm.
I shrug again. He frowns, then hands me my book. "Here, " he
says softly, brushing my hand with his. I can feel my hand
quaking in some sort of schoolgirl rush. Damnit. Why can't I
get myself under control? Come on, Shinobu, you've done it for
seventeen years. Just a little bit longer--until you graduate.
Then you won't have to worry about him. To hell with living
together after school.
"Shinobu Tezuka, tell me what the hell's going on. If
you're worried that I'll hate you, there's nothing to worry
about. If you're worried that-"
I cut him off, "I'm losing control and I can't stand it!"
I twist my neck to hide my face from him. "I don't like this
feeling of being powerless. I hate not knowing everything."
The air is thick again, with tension and my worries.
They fill the spaces between the air molecules, making it hard
for me to breath and pressing in on us from all sides. I can
feel my whole body shuddering under the pressure of the air
and I bring my hand up to my face. I brush it along my cheek
and move it away, awestruck by the glistening on the tips of
my fingers. I've never cried before.
"Shinobu, " he breathes, touching my face with a soft,
questing hand. "Oh, Shin, " he brings me closer to him. I
can feel his smooth, sleek muscles through his shirt and as my
own chest meets his, I am snapped into reality and I shove him
away. My tears have left a small spot on his shoulder, and he
raises a hand to touch the spot as though it were holy. "Why
couldn't you tell me? Why did you let it get this bad?"
I shake my head, my chest spasming painfully around the
tears. "I don't know, " I murmur between sobs. "I don't know
anything."
His arms are around me instantaneously, soothing my back
and helping me breathe. He twists me around so that I can lay
on his lap without being uncomfortable. I twine my arms around
him, sliding my profane hands through his silken hair. "'Suru, "
I choke out, into his shirt. He runs his comforting hands over
my back and down my sides.
"Shinobu, why couldn't you tell me? I would've
understood, " he chants like a mantra over me, blessing me
with his odd words. I shudder again and nuzzle into him.
"I don't know anything. I don't know, " I repeat,
basking in his glow. He pulls me up into his arms and meets
my gaze with piercing amethyst. This is the amethyst something
I ached for. This is the something missing.
I tear my eyes away from his and he smiles again. When
he smiles, the air comes alive around him and you can feel his
tangible joy. He touches my jaw with his fingertips and I am
drawn irrevocably to his face. His eyes are filled with mirth
and they flutter closed, then open again, a few times before I
get the picture.
I, Shinobu Tezuka, am being wooed, and am about to be
kissed. Amazing. He probably had it all planned out. His lips
come closer to mine, and I can see emotion darkened violet
peering out from beneath his golden lashes.
Ohhh. His lips are so warm . . . soft . . . I wonder,
is this . . . heaven? Mmnnn . . .
All too soon, he brings his lips away from me, and I sit
there, eyes closed, savoring the moment. I can feel his eyes on
me, but for this brief period I am happy. I must be positively
beaming.
My eyelids flutter open and I can see his amused smirk.
He touches my face and smiles down at me. "You were scared, "
he replies. He knows the answer to all of my questions! He
has to. Maybe he'll tell them to me. His eyes lazily sweep
over me and he unbuttons his sleeves.
"I don't feel like going tonight. Let's stay home and
study . . . " he drifts off, picking up my book, "for Trig."
Well, what do you know?
--------------------------------------------------------------
OWARI~
or
Mitsuru's Date
---
by rinoastar
---
Categorization: shonen-ai, POV [Shinobu]
Archive: PRAORPOARI, any that ask
Warnings: OOC, shonen-ai, angst, language
Pairings: MaS [Mitsuru and Shinobu]
Disclaimer: I don't own Mitsuru and Shinobu. I borrow them
just a bit to use in my ficcies, and I put them back just as
they were. I hope. I don't get any money out of writing,
but I DO get a lot of pleasure out of using my twisted little
imagination, and since that's about the only thing I own, it's
all you'd get if you sue me. Trust me, you don't want it.
---
I've never wanted to hit someone as badly as I do now.
I've always been calm and rational. Everything has a reason
and a purpose. I've always been the one to know that purpose
--to exploit it to the fullest so that it comes out to my
benefit.
I've never wanted to yell and cry and scream and throw
a tantrum before. I've been polite and quiet, silently bearing
everything on my shoulders. I can't even remember crying as a
baby. It's amazing to me that I can't even remember what it was
that made me this way. A human ice sculpture. Perfect.
So why does this make me want to corner him and force
him to admit . . . something? Something's wrong with the
situation, but I don't know what. Something's missing.
In all actuality, this works for my benefit. Really.
I get more time to myself to study, work, and think. I don't
have to put up with him pestering me while I read. I don't
have to listen to his constant questions. So why doesn't it
feel like a godsend? Why does it feel like a punishment?
It's not like he's always been around. I didn't meet
him until three years ago. I lived a full, healthy life before
we met, right? I had to have. Why do I feel like a big piece
of my life has disappeared? It's not like he's dead. He'll
still be here to sleep and eat. He'll still study with me
during homeroom.
It won't be the same. I know that, but why do I care?
He's just someone else to live on the fringes of my consciousness,
to haunt me by being there but not being there. Like my brother.
Like my parents.
Not like my sister, though. Why do I wish he'd be like
her, though? Some constant, nagging force in my life that will
always be there? Why would I condemn him to a life of being a
pathetic, shadowy figure that stalks me and is obsessed with
my life? Why would I want him to dote on me?
He's my first friend. He makes friends so easily, though.
Why did he settle for me? I'm cold. I'm anti-social. I'm an
ice demon, as the other kids I grew up with told me. They hated
me. I hated them. It was a mutually understood relationship.
Why is this different than that? Why can't it be that easy?
If I look over my book in exactly the right angle, I can
see him buttoning up his sleeves and he won't see me looking in
the mirror. I don't know why I care if he notices, anyway. I
wonder if I should tell him how well his shirt shows off his
eyes. It's a very nice color. One of my favorites, but like
most of the things in my life, I can't remember when they happened.
I used to hate purple. Why do I ache for an amethyst something
in a certain color?
I want to tie him up. I want to tie him down. I want to
keep him from going wherever it is he's going and I want him to
stay here with me. I want to know why I want him to stay. I
want to know why I want him near me. I want to know everything
I don't.
Of course, I'm not going to say anything. Any minute
now, he's going to turn around and ask me how he looks and I'm
going to say, "Fine enough for her." I just have to wait for him
to turn around. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll turn around and ask
what I'm thinking about. Maybe I'll know then. I doubt it.
Maybe he'll turn around and say, "I don't feel like going tonight.
Let's stay home and study for trig." I doubt that, too.
I'm so engaged in my thoughts that I don't really notice
him staring at me. I look up at him. His eyes are the perfect
color, really. My favorite color. His shirt is very nice, too.
Pale stripes of a dusky jade run vertically down his dress shirt.
It brings out the lighter colors in his eyes. I think it could
become one of my favorite colors, too.
He smiles at me. His teeth are so bright. He looks like
he's put a lot of care into his appearance tonight. Why do I care
that he's never done it before?
"Good book?" he asks, sitting down on the bed at my feet.
I nod incoherently, suddenly entranced by the swirl of typecast
in my hands. It's making such pretty patterns. He puts his hand
inbetween the leaves of the book and closes it, smiling. "Lighten
up! You've got to get out there and live! Get a girlfriend!" he
chirps. For some reason, this hurts me. He's happy, but I'm not.
I must be jealous. That's the logical explaination.
"What if I don't want one?" I ask tempermentally. I try
to get back into the book I'm supposed to be studying, but he
takes it away.
"Then get a boyfriend. It worked for Watanabe and
Fujikake," Mitsuru rolls the sentence around on his tongue,
making it seem less offensive. He just called me queer and I can't
keep my eyes off of his mouth. Maybe I am.
"Do you know of any volunteers?" I lazily reply. As cool
as I sound saying it, my heart speeds up to around a thousand beats
a minute and I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down the middle of
my back. I can't believe I just said that. One day, we're really
going to have to stop these innuendos before one of us gets his
feelings hurt. I don't mean him. Maybe I really--who am I
trying to kid? This is an internal monologue. I wouldn't be
thinking it if it weren't true.
"Hasukawa might just dump Miya for you, " he jokes,
breaking the mood. "Or Shun. At least no one would know you
were at first sight, " he laughs. I feel angry at him, but
not for saying it. Am I angry because he didn't volunteer?
How irrational.
"How do I look?" he asks me, standing up and doing a
catwalk strut. He wiggles his hips at me and winks. With a
few short moves, he has riveted my eyes to him and burned his
image in my memory forever. Along with the first time I saw
him. And the imagined picture of an angel under the forsythia
tree.
"Fine enough for her, " I respond, glad to be in
familiar ground. Why does that sound so bitter then? Did it
sound so malicious to him? Does he care that he can make me
jealous? Does he care that with a lazy batt of his perfect
lavender eye he can yank my heartstrings and drag me across
the room with them? Does he know?
Do I want him to know?
For the minute, I'll try to shove down these feelings and
get back into my book, which he left by my foot. As I sit up to
grab it, he sits on it, grabbing my shoulders. "What's up?" he
asks, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of my shoulders.
He forces me to sit up and I stare defiantly--yet coolly--into
his eyes, trying not to melt.
"Nothing. You're bothering me, " I tell him, reaching
for my book. He smiles. I can feel his smile in the air.
When did I learn to do that?
"Am I? Maybe I'd better go on this date then, and leave
you alone, " he says. I can hear his mocking tone. It burns.
"Go then!" I yell. I can hear my voice echoing in my
own ears. I've never lost my temper before. The air thickens
and I can hear my heart thudding in my chest.
Silence reigns.
"What's going on?" he finally asks. I shrug, confused.
I've never acted this way before. I've never broken my calm,
collected facade. I've never let that other side of me out.
Never.
And yet I feel myself being picked up in a whirlwind and
thrown for a loop. I feel everything mixing up and my mind taking
over and nothing makes sense anymore and I get so confused. I've
never lost control before and it scares me that his mere presence
can make me lose everything I've known and everything I've had and
done and worked for. Nothing makes sense anymore. Why did he have
to waltz into my life?
"Come on, Shin. Like I believe that shit, " he says. I
wince at the swear words on his lips. "You're always on top of
everything." I shrug again.
"I don't know. I'm not on top of everything, I just act
like I am, " I reply, instantly cursing myself for letting such
an important piece of information about myself out. Why did I
say that? He looks at me funny, then stands up, adjusting his
shirt. He probably knows now. He has to. I don't blame him
if he hates me.
"Shin, what's wrong?" he asks again, touching my arm.
I shrug again. He frowns, then hands me my book. "Here, " he
says softly, brushing my hand with his. I can feel my hand
quaking in some sort of schoolgirl rush. Damnit. Why can't I
get myself under control? Come on, Shinobu, you've done it for
seventeen years. Just a little bit longer--until you graduate.
Then you won't have to worry about him. To hell with living
together after school.
"Shinobu Tezuka, tell me what the hell's going on. If
you're worried that I'll hate you, there's nothing to worry
about. If you're worried that-"
I cut him off, "I'm losing control and I can't stand it!"
I twist my neck to hide my face from him. "I don't like this
feeling of being powerless. I hate not knowing everything."
The air is thick again, with tension and my worries.
They fill the spaces between the air molecules, making it hard
for me to breath and pressing in on us from all sides. I can
feel my whole body shuddering under the pressure of the air
and I bring my hand up to my face. I brush it along my cheek
and move it away, awestruck by the glistening on the tips of
my fingers. I've never cried before.
"Shinobu, " he breathes, touching my face with a soft,
questing hand. "Oh, Shin, " he brings me closer to him. I
can feel his smooth, sleek muscles through his shirt and as my
own chest meets his, I am snapped into reality and I shove him
away. My tears have left a small spot on his shoulder, and he
raises a hand to touch the spot as though it were holy. "Why
couldn't you tell me? Why did you let it get this bad?"
I shake my head, my chest spasming painfully around the
tears. "I don't know, " I murmur between sobs. "I don't know
anything."
His arms are around me instantaneously, soothing my back
and helping me breathe. He twists me around so that I can lay
on his lap without being uncomfortable. I twine my arms around
him, sliding my profane hands through his silken hair. "'Suru, "
I choke out, into his shirt. He runs his comforting hands over
my back and down my sides.
"Shinobu, why couldn't you tell me? I would've
understood, " he chants like a mantra over me, blessing me
with his odd words. I shudder again and nuzzle into him.
"I don't know anything. I don't know, " I repeat,
basking in his glow. He pulls me up into his arms and meets
my gaze with piercing amethyst. This is the amethyst something
I ached for. This is the something missing.
I tear my eyes away from his and he smiles again. When
he smiles, the air comes alive around him and you can feel his
tangible joy. He touches my jaw with his fingertips and I am
drawn irrevocably to his face. His eyes are filled with mirth
and they flutter closed, then open again, a few times before I
get the picture.
I, Shinobu Tezuka, am being wooed, and am about to be
kissed. Amazing. He probably had it all planned out. His lips
come closer to mine, and I can see emotion darkened violet
peering out from beneath his golden lashes.
Ohhh. His lips are so warm . . . soft . . . I wonder,
is this . . . heaven? Mmnnn . . .
All too soon, he brings his lips away from me, and I sit
there, eyes closed, savoring the moment. I can feel his eyes on
me, but for this brief period I am happy. I must be positively
beaming.
My eyelids flutter open and I can see his amused smirk.
He touches my face and smiles down at me. "You were scared, "
he replies. He knows the answer to all of my questions! He
has to. Maybe he'll tell them to me. His eyes lazily sweep
over me and he unbuttons his sleeves.
"I don't feel like going tonight. Let's stay home and
study . . . " he drifts off, picking up my book, "for Trig."
Well, what do you know?
--------------------------------------------------------------
OWARI~