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[toma/yamapi] drabbles
A handful of drabbles I had originally written for a 10 song iPod random music meme, but didn't finish because I had somewhere to go. It also didn't work out as well as I hoped as a source of inspiration because, well, five songs out of 40GB of music on my iPod is a new experience.
Rated G to PG-13.
*
Toma keeps telling Yamapi it’s all right. Yamapi believed him.
Yamapi can’t believe he almost forgot. Almost forgot the shape of Toma’s eyebrows, surprising and cheerful, excellent accents to his carefree laugh.
Yamapi laughs. The sound is not melodic; it is sharp and hurts his own ears to listen to when he doesn’t feel like laughing, really. No one is actually at fault; time will heal all wounds but it also keeps people apart against their will.
He curses, kicking at the corner of the train where its panel meets its sliding doors, willing the vehicle to move faster. Work had ended late, and he had worn his phone’s battery flat trying to send mails out of range. He knew he should have listened to Ryo and gotten a new one.
Toma’s still there, waiting for him when he gets there, though.
*
It should be obvious that Toma likes to make people smile. Wide, face splitting smiles that show teeth. Shy, demure smiles that grace delicate, soft lips. Rough, uncontrolled, almost wild, deeply dimpled smiles with chapped lips.
Those smiles stay with him in his lowest of times, when there is nothing in the world that seems to be able to make Toma happy. He goes for a walk, and sees an old obaasan sitting by the pond, waiting for her grandchild. She reminds him with her unassuming, undiscriminating smile of what he wants: he wants to make people smile.
*
The summer’s thunderstorm can barely be heard from where they are, curled up tightly in Toma’s bed, cover drawn tightly over their heads. Yamapi’s breath is loud as they lie, their fingers linked tightly.
“It’s like we are children again,” Toma says, and smiles a crooked smile with his cheek pressed against the sheets.
“Un,” Yamapi mumbles, brushing his finger pads over Toma’s knuckles, the rise and dip, the soft skin in between, he thinks, is like the web that holds them together. It holds them together, even though it is occasionally fragile, cracks when the air is dry, but it heals quickly.
The rain falls against the glass window in a smattering of musical notes as they sleep.
*
“I’m going to count till five, then you’re screwed!” Toma covers his eyes and leans his forehead against the wall.
Yamapi almost shrieks with excitement but decides it was highly unbecoming – he shrieks indignantly when Toma counts to five in a rush of breath ichinisanshigo! and pounces on him, tackling him into the couch before Yamapi can even open the nearest cupboard door to crawl into.
They end up wrestling on the floor, nearly breaking something. Yamapi ends up almost crying, tears leaking out of his eyes as Toma tickles him. But eventually Toma finally relents, smirking, and lets Yamapi sit on him.
Years later, when Yamapi straddles Toma in bed, he’s the one who’s smirking.
*
Usually it’s the other way around, but Jin comments that Yamapi is “so whipped” when he grows his hair out when Toma mentions how he likes girls with long hair in a magazine interview.
*
Poisonous love is something they never had, even though it feels like they’d be able to cure each other of any troubles they have.
When Yamapi leans in to kiss Toma, he feels it spread like poison through his veins, burning, screaming into his gut and curling a deadly hand around his heart.
Toma cups Yamapi’s neck when they finally pull apart, eyes aflame with something that shudders down his spine.
“Oh you don’t know what you’ve done,” he presses their lips together again, hard and impatient.
*
“You guys fucking freak me out,” Jin says, when it happens again.
“Excuse me while I call Toma,” Yamapi had said, and then his phone had started ringing. Jin watched in amazement as Yamapi flipped it open and chirped brightly. “Toma! I was just about to call you!”
“You look like a goldfish,” Ryo just throws the magazine he had just finished reading at Jin’s head.
*
He reminisces about those times they were on stage together, never mind the terrible shiny costumes his grandchildren will never let him live down (if he had them). Shiny ticker tape falls through the air, scattered from somewhere unknown above, and Toma watches them glitter and flitter from hands as couples try to grab them.
“What are you thinking about?” Yamapi’s voice comes from faraway, as if Toma were underwater and the tickertape fish food. Except Toma isn’t hungry.
“Look at the camera!” Yamapi admonishes, and the annoyed tone cuts short the tangents in Toma’s thoughts. So Toma does, pointing a peace sign towards the brightly glowing star on top of the Giant Christmas tree in the middle of Shibuya.
Rated G to PG-13.
*
Toma keeps telling Yamapi it’s all right. Yamapi believed him.
Yamapi can’t believe he almost forgot. Almost forgot the shape of Toma’s eyebrows, surprising and cheerful, excellent accents to his carefree laugh.
Yamapi laughs. The sound is not melodic; it is sharp and hurts his own ears to listen to when he doesn’t feel like laughing, really. No one is actually at fault; time will heal all wounds but it also keeps people apart against their will.
He curses, kicking at the corner of the train where its panel meets its sliding doors, willing the vehicle to move faster. Work had ended late, and he had worn his phone’s battery flat trying to send mails out of range. He knew he should have listened to Ryo and gotten a new one.
Toma’s still there, waiting for him when he gets there, though.
*
It should be obvious that Toma likes to make people smile. Wide, face splitting smiles that show teeth. Shy, demure smiles that grace delicate, soft lips. Rough, uncontrolled, almost wild, deeply dimpled smiles with chapped lips.
Those smiles stay with him in his lowest of times, when there is nothing in the world that seems to be able to make Toma happy. He goes for a walk, and sees an old obaasan sitting by the pond, waiting for her grandchild. She reminds him with her unassuming, undiscriminating smile of what he wants: he wants to make people smile.
*
The summer’s thunderstorm can barely be heard from where they are, curled up tightly in Toma’s bed, cover drawn tightly over their heads. Yamapi’s breath is loud as they lie, their fingers linked tightly.
“It’s like we are children again,” Toma says, and smiles a crooked smile with his cheek pressed against the sheets.
“Un,” Yamapi mumbles, brushing his finger pads over Toma’s knuckles, the rise and dip, the soft skin in between, he thinks, is like the web that holds them together. It holds them together, even though it is occasionally fragile, cracks when the air is dry, but it heals quickly.
The rain falls against the glass window in a smattering of musical notes as they sleep.
*
“I’m going to count till five, then you’re screwed!” Toma covers his eyes and leans his forehead against the wall.
Yamapi almost shrieks with excitement but decides it was highly unbecoming – he shrieks indignantly when Toma counts to five in a rush of breath ichinisanshigo! and pounces on him, tackling him into the couch before Yamapi can even open the nearest cupboard door to crawl into.
They end up wrestling on the floor, nearly breaking something. Yamapi ends up almost crying, tears leaking out of his eyes as Toma tickles him. But eventually Toma finally relents, smirking, and lets Yamapi sit on him.
Years later, when Yamapi straddles Toma in bed, he’s the one who’s smirking.
*
Usually it’s the other way around, but Jin comments that Yamapi is “so whipped” when he grows his hair out when Toma mentions how he likes girls with long hair in a magazine interview.
*
Poisonous love is something they never had, even though it feels like they’d be able to cure each other of any troubles they have.
When Yamapi leans in to kiss Toma, he feels it spread like poison through his veins, burning, screaming into his gut and curling a deadly hand around his heart.
Toma cups Yamapi’s neck when they finally pull apart, eyes aflame with something that shudders down his spine.
“Oh you don’t know what you’ve done,” he presses their lips together again, hard and impatient.
*
“You guys fucking freak me out,” Jin says, when it happens again.
“Excuse me while I call Toma,” Yamapi had said, and then his phone had started ringing. Jin watched in amazement as Yamapi flipped it open and chirped brightly. “Toma! I was just about to call you!”
“You look like a goldfish,” Ryo just throws the magazine he had just finished reading at Jin’s head.
*
He reminisces about those times they were on stage together, never mind the terrible shiny costumes his grandchildren will never let him live down (if he had them). Shiny ticker tape falls through the air, scattered from somewhere unknown above, and Toma watches them glitter and flitter from hands as couples try to grab them.
“What are you thinking about?” Yamapi’s voice comes from faraway, as if Toma were underwater and the tickertape fish food. Except Toma isn’t hungry.
“Look at the camera!” Yamapi admonishes, and the annoyed tone cuts short the tangents in Toma’s thoughts. So Toma does, pointing a peace sign towards the brightly glowing star on top of the Giant Christmas tree in the middle of Shibuya.