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Entry tags:
Count on the Ghost
Title: Count on the Ghost
Prompt: 5. You are a phantom in that far-off city where daylight climbs cathedral walls
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Matoba/Natori
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 1217
A/N:
- hitting these prompt deadlines like a boss, aw yeah
- AU - they both lose.
- Seiji's predictions about Natori losing his left leg come true.
- Seiji loses against the monster after his right eye.
- Natori is the nice guy that reaches out, Seiji makes a power grab.
- (of course, it's all domestic, sappy pairing fic here)
-
-
“Come here, before you get lost.”
Seiji’s lips drew back and he tried not to scowl. Hard to do these days when half his face was tissue that didn’t move. “Lost,” he mocked, pressing back into Shuuichi’s space, watching a hundred shadows pace around them like a blind moving with sun streaming through. A forest different than the kind he knew, but familiar; people parted around their slower moving bodies and that too felt right. Buildings loomed -- all these shapes couldn’t possibly be good for his eyes.
“Could happen,” Shuuichi murmured. He fixed the top button up to the bottom of his chin. Seiji drew their daily passes from his coat pocket and handed over his. The stoplight changed and they began to cross -- Shuuichi slowed until they were shoulder to shoulder, wrists bumping into each other like clumsy, indiscreet teenagers. “Stop walking behind me, would you?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. Would that he said it enough, maybe Shuuichi would start to believe him.
“Any pain or stiffness?”
“Just the usual.” The PA nodded and began peeling up the velcro, loud and crunching static in Seiji’s ears. Antiseptic had filled his nostrils as soon as they were lead to the patient rooms. Only now, he thought, begrudgingly, was Shuuichi showing any sign of discomfort. The excessive smiling was a dead giveaway -- the PA knew it too.
While under the spotlight nonetheless. His skills have gotten rusty.
Shuuichi flexed his fingers and drew his shorts up higher out of her way, shoes abandoned on the bottom step of the patient bed. Seiji discreetly pulled them out of the way. “I walk several miles daily on this one. Did I toast it?”
“No, it looks good. You sound like you’re getting around well enough. Have you considered transferring to the recreational department?” She stood up and reached for a pair of latex gloves, roller chair moving slick and soundless across the waxed floor.
“Well, I’m not a sprinter. I just need to be able to get around... normally. As possible.”
“Are they better built?” Shuuichi’s eyes drew up to his face, expression unreadable. Seiji leaned forward, hand in chin. He hadn’t said no. “This one will lock up sometimes. He cleans it daily, but it’s lost some of it’s range of motion.”
“They’re better built for shock absorption and cushioning, yes.” She swiveled back to Shuuichi. “More expensive, but usually a better fit for people who want to pursue a heavily active lifestyle. It’d be easy to set up an appointment for you if you wanted a closer look.”
Your choice, he thought grimly. Shuuichi’s hands closed over the wheelchair’s arms when all the supports were removed.
“Alright,” he yielded.
“Great,” she said. The prosthetic came off with a pop.
Seiji closed his fingers tight around the bottom of his chair and already knew the name of the place she’d suggest.
Seiji folded a handful of yen bills from the ATM into his pocket, fingers following in after it, chapped pink with the cold. He really should have brought gloves.
Natori’s favorite seasonal restaurant was an oden bar, tucked deeply into Japan’s labyrinth of green corridors like hands into dough. Bicycles sat out front like cheerful shisa -- the modern world's equivalent of something that still permeated his dreams.
When he sat, an empty plate slid into his space followed by a beer. He raised a single functioning eyebrow and sipped on it, washing the cold against the rough side of his cheek with his tongue. Not the worst, not the best.
“Well?” Natori waited. His red eyes looked darker under fluorescent lights, or maybe it was just the glare bouncing elsewhere. His glasses were folded on the table by his hands, and he fiddled with the frames absently. He still had the angle and candidness of someone familiar with always being camera ready. Even here on bar stools, his smile hit him.
“It’s sweet,” Seiji said simply.
“Do you like it though?”
“Well enough.” Shuuichi asked for another.
Soon enough, plates and bowls were being handed to them from over the window display case. Glittering pieces of fish and vegetables peered back from the bin of ice below. A post-it note had been stuck to the outside of the glass and as Seiji tried to decipher it, reaching for a pair of take out chopsticks from a bowl of them -- a cook peeled it off and cheerfully pinned it on the back of one of his co-workers. Ah.
Natori elbowed him. “You’re expected to help me with all this, you know.”
“We didn’t come here just to stare at it?”
“I’m eating, I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Seiji pressed the corner of his mouth up with a finger, cloth just brushing against the top of a nail. Shuuichi laughed -- and quick as winking, ducked his head low and aimed for his mouth. He tasted like beer. He hadn’t had a bite of anything yet, either, the liar.
“I have an interview tomorrow at nine thirty. What time are you leaving?”
“Eight.” Shuuichi’s mouth shaped the word; the end of his toothbrush disappeared and he retreated back to the bathroom, towel still hanging over his shoulders like a ward.
Seiji finger combed his hair, then drew back the sheets, flopping lengthwise into the space. The eye drops had alleviated the dryness, but he was at his wits end for keeping them open any longer.
“Did you need me to stay?” he asked, voice muffled. The bed dipped on Shuuichi’s side -- then calloused hands were combing along his scalp toward the nape, the motion repeating, steady, like Shuuichi thought he could practice throwing paper in the same manner. Like he hadn’t had his first taste of work again just last weekend, where they both stumbled around Yatsuhara seeking a jami and were kicked out by one crotchety Natsume Takashi instead.
Seriously, I don’t need a license to know how to deal with this. Go home, both of you.
“No, that’s alright.”
He repeated the words in his head. “Do you want me to stay?” he tried again. He turned his head to the right, left eye hardly working at all in this light, and grimaced at the feeling as the sheet dragged against his skin. Like stiltgrass, he thought in annoyance, the kind he hated to step barefoot on in the estates’ gardens as a child.
Shuuichi looked at him. Then at something through and past him. “I always want you to. Doesn’t mean you should.”
He thought that was permission to leave. Didn’t mean he would.
In the morning, Shuuichi kissed his mouth, the scar tissue under his remaining eye, asked if he had any qualms about bringing home dinner.
Did I really fail you this badly, he wondered.
No, it’s the just the weather. I hate dishes.
Shuuichi slotted their legs. Cross your fingers for me today? My manager thinks this is all it will take before directors start asking for me again.
Your big break’s over. He tried to smile. Shuuichi must have noticed the crinkling around his eye, because his finger traced it in slow, lazy circles.
I’m starting to miss your long hair, he murmured. Seiji acquiesced.
What he wouldn’t do at this point to keep him just a little longer. The clock moved forward though, and so they would too.
Prompt: 5. You are a phantom in that far-off city where daylight climbs cathedral walls
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Matoba/Natori
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 1217
A/N:
- AU - they both lose.
- Seiji's predictions about Natori losing his left leg come true.
- Seiji loses against the monster after his right eye.
- Natori is the nice guy that reaches out, Seiji makes a power grab.
- (of course, it's all domestic, sappy pairing fic here)
-
-
“Come here, before you get lost.”
Seiji’s lips drew back and he tried not to scowl. Hard to do these days when half his face was tissue that didn’t move. “Lost,” he mocked, pressing back into Shuuichi’s space, watching a hundred shadows pace around them like a blind moving with sun streaming through. A forest different than the kind he knew, but familiar; people parted around their slower moving bodies and that too felt right. Buildings loomed -- all these shapes couldn’t possibly be good for his eyes.
“Could happen,” Shuuichi murmured. He fixed the top button up to the bottom of his chin. Seiji drew their daily passes from his coat pocket and handed over his. The stoplight changed and they began to cross -- Shuuichi slowed until they were shoulder to shoulder, wrists bumping into each other like clumsy, indiscreet teenagers. “Stop walking behind me, would you?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. Would that he said it enough, maybe Shuuichi would start to believe him.
“Any pain or stiffness?”
“Just the usual.” The PA nodded and began peeling up the velcro, loud and crunching static in Seiji’s ears. Antiseptic had filled his nostrils as soon as they were lead to the patient rooms. Only now, he thought, begrudgingly, was Shuuichi showing any sign of discomfort. The excessive smiling was a dead giveaway -- the PA knew it too.
While under the spotlight nonetheless. His skills have gotten rusty.
Shuuichi flexed his fingers and drew his shorts up higher out of her way, shoes abandoned on the bottom step of the patient bed. Seiji discreetly pulled them out of the way. “I walk several miles daily on this one. Did I toast it?”
“No, it looks good. You sound like you’re getting around well enough. Have you considered transferring to the recreational department?” She stood up and reached for a pair of latex gloves, roller chair moving slick and soundless across the waxed floor.
“Well, I’m not a sprinter. I just need to be able to get around... normally. As possible.”
“Are they better built?” Shuuichi’s eyes drew up to his face, expression unreadable. Seiji leaned forward, hand in chin. He hadn’t said no. “This one will lock up sometimes. He cleans it daily, but it’s lost some of it’s range of motion.”
“They’re better built for shock absorption and cushioning, yes.” She swiveled back to Shuuichi. “More expensive, but usually a better fit for people who want to pursue a heavily active lifestyle. It’d be easy to set up an appointment for you if you wanted a closer look.”
Your choice, he thought grimly. Shuuichi’s hands closed over the wheelchair’s arms when all the supports were removed.
“Alright,” he yielded.
“Great,” she said. The prosthetic came off with a pop.
Seiji closed his fingers tight around the bottom of his chair and already knew the name of the place she’d suggest.
Seiji folded a handful of yen bills from the ATM into his pocket, fingers following in after it, chapped pink with the cold. He really should have brought gloves.
Natori’s favorite seasonal restaurant was an oden bar, tucked deeply into Japan’s labyrinth of green corridors like hands into dough. Bicycles sat out front like cheerful shisa -- the modern world's equivalent of something that still permeated his dreams.
When he sat, an empty plate slid into his space followed by a beer. He raised a single functioning eyebrow and sipped on it, washing the cold against the rough side of his cheek with his tongue. Not the worst, not the best.
“Well?” Natori waited. His red eyes looked darker under fluorescent lights, or maybe it was just the glare bouncing elsewhere. His glasses were folded on the table by his hands, and he fiddled with the frames absently. He still had the angle and candidness of someone familiar with always being camera ready. Even here on bar stools, his smile hit him.
“It’s sweet,” Seiji said simply.
“Do you like it though?”
“Well enough.” Shuuichi asked for another.
Soon enough, plates and bowls were being handed to them from over the window display case. Glittering pieces of fish and vegetables peered back from the bin of ice below. A post-it note had been stuck to the outside of the glass and as Seiji tried to decipher it, reaching for a pair of take out chopsticks from a bowl of them -- a cook peeled it off and cheerfully pinned it on the back of one of his co-workers. Ah.
Natori elbowed him. “You’re expected to help me with all this, you know.”
“We didn’t come here just to stare at it?”
“I’m eating, I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Seiji pressed the corner of his mouth up with a finger, cloth just brushing against the top of a nail. Shuuichi laughed -- and quick as winking, ducked his head low and aimed for his mouth. He tasted like beer. He hadn’t had a bite of anything yet, either, the liar.
“I have an interview tomorrow at nine thirty. What time are you leaving?”
“Eight.” Shuuichi’s mouth shaped the word; the end of his toothbrush disappeared and he retreated back to the bathroom, towel still hanging over his shoulders like a ward.
Seiji finger combed his hair, then drew back the sheets, flopping lengthwise into the space. The eye drops had alleviated the dryness, but he was at his wits end for keeping them open any longer.
“Did you need me to stay?” he asked, voice muffled. The bed dipped on Shuuichi’s side -- then calloused hands were combing along his scalp toward the nape, the motion repeating, steady, like Shuuichi thought he could practice throwing paper in the same manner. Like he hadn’t had his first taste of work again just last weekend, where they both stumbled around Yatsuhara seeking a jami and were kicked out by one crotchety Natsume Takashi instead.
Seriously, I don’t need a license to know how to deal with this. Go home, both of you.
“No, that’s alright.”
He repeated the words in his head. “Do you want me to stay?” he tried again. He turned his head to the right, left eye hardly working at all in this light, and grimaced at the feeling as the sheet dragged against his skin. Like stiltgrass, he thought in annoyance, the kind he hated to step barefoot on in the estates’ gardens as a child.
Shuuichi looked at him. Then at something through and past him. “I always want you to. Doesn’t mean you should.”
He thought that was permission to leave. Didn’t mean he would.
In the morning, Shuuichi kissed his mouth, the scar tissue under his remaining eye, asked if he had any qualms about bringing home dinner.
Did I really fail you this badly, he wondered.
No, it’s the just the weather. I hate dishes.
Shuuichi slotted their legs. Cross your fingers for me today? My manager thinks this is all it will take before directors start asking for me again.
Your big break’s over. He tried to smile. Shuuichi must have noticed the crinkling around his eye, because his finger traced it in slow, lazy circles.
I’m starting to miss your long hair, he murmured. Seiji acquiesced.
What he wouldn’t do at this point to keep him just a little longer. The clock moved forward though, and so they would too.