Hm… It has been a while since I last posted a fanfic… I hope I do not displease anyone…
Anywho, this fanfic does not mesh well with the Japanese culture. I believe the legal age to drink alcohol is different in Japan, but if I did not use the legal age where I live, then there would not be a fic to write (at least not with the ages I want and how I want). I do know that the legal age of consent is different in Japan (way different), but, again, I am using it where I live (which is eighteen) to support the fic.
Forgive me?
(Standard Disclaimer Applies)
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Ishida Yamato took a quick glimpse at his wristwatch, wondering how the hours seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes. He sighed, lifting his eyes to the few people scattered throughout the tavern. As he did so, he caught the attention of a few, but they shifted in their seats so they would not have to look at him. Typical.
"Are you about to close up?"
Glancing sideways, Yamato nodded at the dark-haired man who was leaning over the counter and filling his glass with an orange-colored cocktail. Yamato reached over and shut off the nozzle, giving the man an irritated glare. The man smirked at him and sipped lightly at the drink, eyes watching Yamato over the edge of the glass.
"All right," Yamato called, stepping through the small swinging door that led behind the marble counter… and to all the alcohol. He noticed that the people were now trying to talk louder so they could pretend like they did not hear him. "Closing time."
There were a few protests, and one man even begged for Yamato to fill his glass once more, but most grudgingly got out of their seats and reached for their coats hanging beside the big, wooden door. Yamato had to shake one woman awake and help her into her coat, wondering absentmindedly if she would make it home alive.
A man that appeared much older than he should have stared at Yamato from the corner of the tavern, lazily lying on the cushions of the corner booth. Yamato ignored him for now, too busy making sure everyone else left, but was aware of the man's eyes on him. He was aware of someone else's eyes on him as well, but he opted to ignore this person, too.
Once everyone was outside, cursing at the cold, Yamato locked the door and grabbed a few glasses off the tables as he made his way back to the counter. The dark-haired man, who had stolen a drink moments before, was still sitting at the counter, his eyes dancing as they followed Yamato's movements.
"Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?" he asked, rolling the cylindrical glass back and forth on the counter.
After dumping the other glasses carefully into a sink and making a sound of contempt, Yamato snatched the man's glass away and reached for his rag that was still lying where he had tossed it after he had finished wiping the counter the first time around, but the dark-haired man caught his wrist and pulled him back.
"Well?" he asked, his voice husky and low. "Have I?"
"Yes!" Yamato snapped irritably. "About a thousand times, Akira! Now would you let me finish?"
Akira laughed heartily and smiled at Yamato, letting his wrist go. "By the way you treat me, I'd swear you were only using me for the money."
"By the way you treat me…" Yamato mocked, though the bitterness that had filtered in his tone before was now gone. "Honestly, how do you expect me to do my job if you are constantly bothering me?"
"Touchy tonight, eh?" Akira teased.
Yamato tried not to smile, but the part of his mind wanting to give in to the playful banter somehow beat the stubborn part wanting to smack Akira around. He, nonetheless, tried to conceal his smile, turning away from Akira to pretend like he was getting a dry towel. He needed one anyway.
"So," Akira spun around on the stool so he could lean back on the counter, propping his elbows up. He made a small motion with his hand toward the older man still lying in the corner booth of the tavern. "Going to need any help tonight?"
With a slight sigh, Yamato snuck a peek at his father from the corner of his eye. Masaharu stared blearily back at him, obviously trying to hang on to the conversation they were having, but too drunk to really keep up. Yamato hated it when his father got like this, and often served the man softer drinks than what he ordered.
"Probably not. He hasn't been very energetic lately," Yamato said softly, a tinge of worry seeping into his normally calm voice. He only allowed the emotions show themselves around Akira, but was still wary of letting anyone see them.
There was a squeak as the stool turned when the weight shifted off of it, the sound of the small door swinging, and soon Yamato felt strong arms wrap around his waist. This was why he did not care to show his worry, or any weakness. As much as he cared for Akira, being so close to someone was just… uncomfortable. But how did he go about telling his boyfriend that he preferred a relationship without physical contact?
After a moment, Akira let go of Yamato, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, and moved to the cash register. He pressed a few buttons and out popped the drawer. Grabbing the entire drawer, he turned back to Yamato, who was leaning against the counter with an almost bored look. "I'm going to take this up stairs and come back down to help you finish cleaning up."
With a roll of the eyes, Yamato stepped through the swinging door, rag in hand, and started cleaning the first table nearest him. "Isn't that what you said last time, and didn't come back until I'd finished cleaning?"
Akira winked at Yamato with a mischievous grin, and trotted up the stairs behind the counter that led to his office and apartment above the tavern. His voice drifted down the stairs to Yamato. "Don't forget to make sure there's no gum under the tables…"
"Lazy, little…" Yamato grumbled half-heartedly. Truthfully, he did care a little bit; it would be nice to have some help, but Akira was already going out on a limb for him, not only risking the chance of getting his tavern shut down by employing a seventeen-year-old, but taking the risk of landing in jail by being a relationship with that seventeen-year-old.
It did not take long for Yamato to finish wiping down the tables, clean the last of the shot glasses, and sweep the floor. He had a routine that he did every night, and had grown so accustomed to the way things were down, he didn't even have to think about what he was doing anymore. Instead, he let his mind drift to more important topics, like how he was supposed to be writing an essay.
Akira came bounding back down the stairs as Yamato was pulling on his coat and scarf. He gave the tavern a look over, smiling at Yamato with a slight hint of amazement. "I never have understood how you get this place so clean."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Yamato answered with a smirk. One of the things he enjoyed most was teasing Akira. Not that Akira minded in the slightest.
"You are in a feisty mood tonight!" Akira laughed. He was about to make a perverse comment to join the statement, but a warning look from Yamato made him bite his tongue.
Yamato was all too aware of the thoughts that ran through Akira's mind, and it bothered him. Maybe if he were a bit more naïve his relationship would run smoother, but he could not shake the wary feelings he had. Akira was twelve years older than him, and demanded a lot more than he wanted to give at the current time in his life. Though, he also held a soft affection for the childish man.
Masaharu, however, did not approve.
With an internal wince, Yamato turned to his father. When sober, his father often frowned disapprovingly at him, but never brought up the topic of Yamato and Akira's relationship. Masaharu knew Yamato did not agree with the way he drank, and therefore chose to keep his opinions about Yamato to himself, but knew his son could see the angry feelings that drifted in his eyes.
"Come on, Dad," Yamato said quietly, helping Masaharu to his feet. "We need to get going."
Masaharu was particularly drunk that night, having had a rough day at work. He grumbled something under his breath and pushed Yamato away from him, trying to show that he could stand on his own. With a slight sway, he began his way to the side door that led into the alley between the tavern and the old bank that had been closed long ago.
"I'll see you tomorrow night," Akira whispered softly in Yamato's ear, and gently gave his hand a squeeze of encouragement.
With a nod, Yamato pulled away from Akira and followed his father out the door.
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The night was colder than Yamato had expected and he wrapped his coat tighter around his gradually numbing body. He was already losing the feeling in his fingers and toes, and his breath shown like dancing smoke in the night air.
Regardless of his earlier, calm behavior in the tavern, Masaharu decided that he did not want to go home, and languidly pushed Yamato away from him. It was a weak shove, but it caught Yamato off guard and caused him to trip over his own feet. With a startled cry, Yamato fell forward onto the ice-covered sidewalk.
Almost immediately Yamato winced and jerked the hand he had come down on close to his body. It throbbed with the pain of being landed on so roughly, and hurt even worse as Yamato shifted it. The wet ice was started to seep through his jeans, making him even colder than before, and he struggled to get to his feet.
He looked up in time to see his father stepping into the street, in front of on coming traffic.
"No!"
Instead of being plowed down by various cars that he was unaware of, Masaharu suddenly felt his coat being grabbed and his body being pulled back the way it came. His son's panicked cry only now registered in his ears, a few seconds after it was made, and he blinked at the busy street, wondering where all the cars had come from.
Having tried to get to his feet so quickly to save his father from a painful death, Yamato found that physics did have a point about friction, or lack of, and he was soon back on the ground, cringing at the sharp pains that streamed through his wrist as it was jolted. He lifted his eyes to the street, half expecting to see his father being crushed and an intense feeling of guilt coursing through him.
All he saw, though, was a hand offering to help him up.
Blinking in confusion, Yamato registered the person standing in front of him, holding tightly onto Masaharu sleeve and smiling brightly down at him.
"Hey, thought you needed a lift."
The boy grinned at his own joke, but Yamato scowled and slowly got to his feet.
"Very funny."
The boy gave Yamato an amused look, but bit his lip and didn't answer.
"What were you doing on the ground, Yamato?" Masaharu asked, oblivious to the problems he was causing.
"Making snow angels," Yamato muttered bitterly. He grabbed his father's other sleeve with his better hand, and turned to the boy, his voice cold, but polite. "That was nice of you. Thank you…"
"Ah, no problem," came the answer. The boy's eyes seemed to twinkle in the streetlight, and he kept them on Yamato.
Yamato surveyed his outfit: shorts, shirt, and a light jacket, all of which were covered in mud. "Uh… aren't you cold?"
"I'm getting there. I was playing soccer a little while ago. Guess I'm still cooling off," the boy replied. He extended his hand to Yamato. "I'm Yagami Taichi."
The name instantly registered in Yamato's mind from the numerous times he had heard it being called to the principal's office, but he kept his expression blank and didn't shake Taichi's offered hand. "Well, again, thank you, Yagami-san. I greatly appreciate your help, but I must get going."
As Yamato turned to go, holding tightly onto his father now, he came face to face with Taichi, who had obviously moved to block his path. A little startled, he stepped back, nearly slipping again, but regained his balance.
"Oh, come off it, Ishida-kun. Don't be like that," Taichi said, his grin getting wider.
"Is this a friend, Yamato?" Masaharu asked, his face twisted in confusion.
"No, I'm afraid I've never met him," Yamato said, confused as well. He stared at Taichi uncertainly. "I haven't met you before, have I?"
"Unless you consider knocking a book shelf on top of me meeting me, then, no. You haven't," Taichi said, his smile growing.
Yamato suddenly took on a look of horror. "That… that was… you?"
Taichi nodded.
"Oh, I'm so sorry about that! I didn't mean to," Yamato said quickly. He flinched when he remembered bumping into the unsteady bookshelf, causing it to topple onto whoever was on the other side of it. He didn't actually get to see the person since the principal had dragged him out of the library, thinking he had meant to knock it over.
Taichi quickly waved his hand for Yamato to stop talking. "It's okay, really. Only little bruises. I hope you didn't get into too much trouble."
"No, just one afternoon of detention. Honestly, it was an accident," Yamato said, chewing uneasily at his bottom lip.
"I believe you," Taichi said sincerely, his expression solemn, but the hint of a grin trying to break past. "After seeing you slip-'n-slide I sort of figured you were a klutz."
Yamato's uneasiness and apologies flew out the window as he gave Taichi a flat look. "I am not a klutz. If you hadn't noticed, there's ice all over the sidewalk."
"Guess I missed it," Taichi replied, lifting one foot to show his cleats. "I understand the ice, but what about the bookshelf?"
"That was simply an unfortunate happening that… Hey, wait a moment. How did you know my name?" Yamato demanded. He folded his arms over his chest, whimpering mentally at his hurt wrist. "I don't remember introducing myself earlier."
Taichi shrugged unconcernedly. "A guy on the soccer team has a sister who is madly in love with you. He comes to practice complaining about how she wont stop writing your name everywhere."
"Really? I've never noticed," Yamato said earnestly. Did he ever feel as dumb as he did that very moment? He didn't think so. Considering he never paid attention to anyone at his school…
"I'm not surprised. You're not always on Earth when I see you. I'd like to know what kind of dream world you stay in," Taichi said with a wink. "Speaking of not noticing… There goes your father."
"How did you know he… Huh?" Yamato spun around, eyes widening. "Ah! Dad! Get back here!"
Taichi shook his head in amusement, and took off after Yamato, who was nearly slipping with every step as he raced after his swaying father. When he reached Masaharu, he grabbed onto the man tightly before his legs could fly from beneath him again. Taichi slowly came to a stop beside him and waited for him to catch his breath.
"Need any help?"
Yamato shook his head. "No. I wasn't watching him is all. I need to get him home before he gets sick, and you should do the same."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Taichi agreed, smiling softly. He took a few steps toward the street, and then paused, turning back to face Yamato. "I'll see you around, even if it is through a shower of books."
Yamato started to make a sharp reply, but Taichi was already dashing across the icy street. That boy was definitely an odd one. Honestly, who played soccer at ten o' clock at night?
* * *
"You're coming to the school play, right Ishida-kun?"
Out of sheer courtesy, Yamato resisted the urge to snap a remark about the school play, and politely took the flyer the girl was handing to him. "Perhaps."
His answer seemed to please her enough, as she smiled and trotted along to give another unwilling person the extremely – blindingly – pink flyer. Yamato had not known that that shade of the color existed, and, to be quite frank, he was frightened of it, and deposited it into the nearest trash bin, which was already overflowing with pink.
Yamato brushed a few strands of hair from his face before continuing down the school stairs. Akira had once told him that he practically flowed when he walked, making the action look like a graceful technique. It bothered him when he thought about it; he hated when Akira tried to compliment him. The comments always seemed to fall short of their flattery-intentions.
The sun was shining bright through the wisps of white clouds, but the air was still chilly and Yamato tugged his green school jacket tighter around his body. He had meant to bring his coat, but his father was using it for a pillow on the couch when he left, and he did not care to wake the older man. Masaharu needed all the sleep he could get.
As Yamato passed the gymnasium he could hear shouts and the squeaks of tennis shoes on the waxed basketball court with the occasional thump of a basketball. He thought about peering inside to see if Takeru was there, but decided it was too cold to be making any detours. Beside, Takeru would hate to know that Yamato was checking up on him.
"Hm, out all alone with no coat. Not even a sweater!"
Startled, Yamato turned sharply toward the cheery voice behind him. It took him a moment to recognize the person grinning at him, and he offered a civil smile in return. "Good afternoon, Yagami-san."
Taichi rolled his eyes and stepped up beside Yamato, mocking him. "'Good afternoon, Yagami-san.' What kind of greeting is that?"
"A well-mannered one," Yamato answered simply.
"Well, we will have to do something about those manners of yours," Taichi said with a bit of a teasing tone. He flashed another grin when Yamato frowned, and the two began to walk down the sidewalk. "Why no coat?"
"It was dirty," Yamato lied.
Taichi paused to pull the scarf he had on from around his neck and held it out to Yamato. "Here. It's not much, but you need something."
"I'm fine, but thank you anyway," Yamato replied.
Taichi raised an eyebrow at him before grabbing both ends of the scarf, slung the middle around his neck, and began to fold it. Yamato started to protest but Taichi, grinning, turned the scarf up so that it covered his mouth. Narrowing his eyes, Yamato waited for Taichi to finish and step away before pulling the scarf away from his mouth.
"Ah, the colors clash," Taichi said, eyeing the scarf. "Just a shade or two difference, though. I can hardly tell."
"What are you talking about?" Yamato asked, looking down at the blue scarf against his green school jacket. "Of course they clash. They're… oh, never mind."
Taichi laughed and grabbed the end of the scarf. He turned around and began to walk again, pulling the scarf and with it, Yamato. Yamato jerked forward, feeling much like a dog on a leash, and pushed Taichi's hand away as they fell into step beside each other.
"So, I take it you got home safe last night? No more ice skating on the sidewalks?" Taichi asked. He ignored Yamato's glare, smiling at something in the distance.
"Why were you playing soccer so late anyway?" Yamato asked, trying to sound bitter as he messed with the tassels hanging off the end of the scarf.
"We got caught up in the game and lost track of time. I didn't realize it was so late until my sister called to see if I was still alive or not," Taichi explained. He leapt onto the short, brick retaining wall, balancing on it like a gymnast as they walked. "I guess it was fate that we ran into each other; me all muddy, and you trying to break your neck. What a sight we were to everyone else, hm?"
A small smile graced Yamato's face as he thought about what they must have looked like together. With him falling gracefully to the ground every time he stood up, Taichi looking like he had participated in a mud fight only a minute earlier, and an older, drunk man in the midst of the two, one could merely wonder what was on other people's minds.
"They say it's going to start snowing soon," Taichi said, peering at the sky through the leafless tree branches that hung over the walk.
Yamato, too, looked up. "It's been snowing."
"But not hard. We've barely had a light snow. They say it's supposed to really pick up and start snowing hard." Taichi smiled down at Yamato, noticing that he was only a little taller than Yamato even though he stood on a brick wall. "I guess you don't care too much if it snows or not. You don't seem to be the outdoorsy type."
"Hm… I prefer to call it 'caring from a distance,'" Yamato answered with a sly smile.
Taichi let out a rich, short laugh and started to walk again. Yamato quickly followed and the two walked in companionable silence for a while, both thinking about separate things. The wind blew past them, making the empty tree branches crack against one another and some loose papers to blow across sidewalk.
When Taichi and Yamato came to where sidewalk split into two different sidewalks, one going toward the north and the other toward the south, Taichi hopped off the brick wall, rubbing his hands together for a moment's warmth.
"So, are you going to that play?" he asked.
Yamato shifted his book bag to his other shoulder and shook his head. "No. I have to work that day."
"Where do you work?"
"A restaurant."
Taichi raised an eyebrow. "A restaurant?"
Yamato nodded.
"What, you think I am going to stalk you?" Taichi teased.
Yamato cocked his head to the side, giving Taichi a serious look. "Honestly?"
Taichi grinned and began to walk away on the northern sidewalk, lifting his hand to wave and saying, without turning, "See you around, Yamato-kun."
* * *
Despite the icy snow that rained down in a rage upon the innocent sidewalks, the howling wind aiding it in striking unfortunate pedestrians that either chose to or were forced to take to the streets at such a wicked hour in the night, the tavern was full of mirth and was quite warm, with its joyous drunks laughing like boisterous clowns.
Their singing amused Yamato as he carefully, and skillfully, flipped fragile bottles around to fill the empty glasses resting on the marble counter from one end to another. He had a special kind of knack for remembering who had ordered what, and he prided himself in seeing the impressed expressions on the faces of men who were still sober.
Akira was sitting at a table with three especially drunk men, joining in on their singing and raising his glass with them in a toast to the moment. Yamato disapproved, but was amused all the same.
During the few slow moments, when words to a song could not be remember or a break was needed to gasp for air, Yamato left the counter to pick up empty glasses at abandoned tables, all the while keeping his eye on the men nearest the easily-accessed alcohol. The tavern was a small one, though at times was often full, so it was simple for Yamato to watch everyone like a hawk. In some cases, like a mother hen.
This particular night, however, Yamato found himself pausing at one of the tables nearest the large windows, his hand stopped half way in its reach for the glass. The snow invited him outside, the wind shouting for him to join in on the fun of dancing through the streets. Yamato, captivated by the swirls brushing against the windows of the tavern, did not hear Akira call his name the first three times.
"Yamato!"
Startled, Yamato jumped, nearly losing his grip on the five glasses he was holding. He spun toward the call, flushing with embarrassment. "Yeah?"
Akira pointed to the counter where the men sitting there were holding the glasses under the nozzles.
"Hey!" Yamato shouted, rushing back to the counter. He set down the glasses he was holding and slapped hands away from the nozzles. "I hope you boys plan to pay for that!"
The men chuckled and gave Yamato toothy grins that clearly said they did not plan to pay for anything. Sending each of them a warning look, Yamato went back to cleaning as another song was started.
His fun in the snow would have to wait for another night.
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"Where's your dad? Working late?"
Yamato traced the frost lines on the tavern window, his mind drifting away with the now calmly falling snow. Akira stared at him expectantly, and then oddly.
"Hey? Are you alive? Yamato?"
"Hm?" Yamato's eyes darted to Akira momentarily before going back to the snow. "Oh… Yeah, I guess he is."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? You've been a bit scatter-brained all night."
"I'm fine," Yamato sighed. He stood up and stretched, smiling softly at Akira. "I'm tired is all."
"Tired, tired, tired. I must be working you too hard, keeping you these late hours," Akira said with a wink. He moved forward and began to fix the scarf Yamato wore, tying it, Yamato noticed, on the opposite side Taichi had. "When did you get this scarf? I don't think I have ever seen you wear it before."
"A person at school let me borrow it. I forgot to take it off and give it back when we went separate ways," Yamato answered, looking down at the scarf. He could have gotten one of his own while he was at home, so not to ruin Taichi's by accident, but he was not good at tying the blasted things so he had only grabbed his coat.
"It's a nice scarf. Matches your eyes beautifully." Akira leaned forward and gave Yamato a quick kiss before turning him toward the door. "Now, go home and get some sleep. I expect you to be bouncy tomorrow."
"When have I ever been bouncy?" Yamato asked, but all he got as an answer was laughter.
The air was colder than Yamato was expecting, and he quickly buttoned up his coat as he stepped outside, wrapping his arms around himself to contain some of the warmth the tavern had left him. He was glad that his father was at work, as this was one night that would make directing a drunken man very difficult.
The snow on the sidewalk was already deep and the sky did not appear to be giving up on its quest to paint the earth below it white. The falling snow speckled Yamato, clinging to his clothes and hair. His toes were numb the moment he stepped into the deep snow, and his fingers, though he wore gloves, were beginning to numb as well. The walk to his apartment was not a long one, and the promise of hot cocoa and a nice warm shower made him walk faster.
--
The warmth of the apartment was entirely too inviting, and Yamato leaned against his front door for a moment after he had closed it, soaking in the heat and defrosting his toes and fingers. The only light on in the apartment was the kitchen light, indicating that Masaharu had not come home yet, as he usually turned it off before going to sleep.
Finally moving away from the door, Yamato kicked off his icy shoes and shivered out of his snow-covered coat. He untied the scarf as he walked to the bathroom, skipping the hot cocoa idea and going straight for the warm shower one.
As he closed the bathroom door, Yamato's eyes met up with his reflection's in the mirror. He paused, fingers playing with the edges of the scarf, the action being performed opposite him. The scarf was a nice blue color and Yamato leaned closer to the mirror to study the color of his eyes. Akira was right. They did match, except…
"No," he mumbled, shaking his head. "There's just a shade or two difference, though. I can hardly… tell…"
Yamato's reflection in the mirror took on shocked expression of realization.
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Ah, hm… I hope to get the second chapter out as soon as possible, but I am one of the slowest writers. I know where I want to take this fic; I just need to figure out how to write it out, so please excuse the amount of time it will take to get the next chapter out.
Forgive me?