#35 Theme 20: Heartbreak Club - KAT-TUN; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Blueberry Crush (1/?)
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 020 Heartbreak Club (KAT-TUN)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU
Comments: He preferred living and thriving on dreams.
Chapter 1
Hiroto wasn't much of an eater. He preferred living and thriving on dreams. Not to mention he could hardly afford to buy everything that caught his eye. Window shopping was the way of the future and when it came to grocery shopping, he was no different.
Stepping through the automatic glass doors, Hiroto plucked a green shopping basket up and began his hour-long spending spree. It was more looking and reading than actual buying and spending, but he liked browsing through the aisles of colorful packaging and interesting descriptions. By now it was an almost ritual, candied peanuts, Monday special bentos, pickled radish and vitamin juice. Slipping into the produce section, he at least knew he'd be buying something fresh. His basket was currently home to one lone box of oatmeal, high in fiber and full of assorted tasteless oats, and he needed something to tang it up.
Lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and broccoli. Everything was shiny and glistening wet. Red, orange, yellow, green. Poking at a bunch of bananas, Hiroto wondered why nothing was ever blue - though he wasn't complaining. His favorite color was red and a close second pink. Maybe because the sky was so big and took up all the blue, none of the fruits and vegetables could have any.
But sometimes the sunsets were red…
Frowning, Hiroto inspected a plastic container of strawberries. They weren't really in season and looked a little bruised around the edges. He didn't like being able to tell when his fruit was about to go bad.
"No," he was startled by a low voice next to him.
"No, I wouldn't get those. They're not even in season."
Eyes widening, Hiroto looked to his left.
A man (he couldn’t be much older than himself) was standing there, pensively examining the refrigerated shelves. He was wearing dark jeans, thick scarf wrapped around his neck, a grey hoodie beneath a fitted blazer, all in all looking comfy and warm with silky black hair framing intense angles and a protruding spiked lip.
"They look bad." His voice was deep, husky.
Flushing, caught red handed with soon to spoil strawberries by an attractive stranger, Hiroto guiltily replaced them on the shelf. Well, it wasn't like I was going to buy them… Everything is more expensive in the winter.
"They're cheaper."
It seemed as though the stranger was reading his mind.
From the safety of his lengthy fringe, Hiroto cast him a suspicious sideways glance, flinching in surprise when a tattooed hand reached out and picked a smaller container off the shelf.
Then he simply turned and walked away, glinting accessories and a studded lip disappearing with an identical basket and container of fruit.
Wanting to follow but wondering what was cheaper, Hiroto shuffled towards the shelf.
Blueberries?
There was an empty space where a box of blueberries had been taken, but glancing at the price Hiroto was pretty sure they weren't cheaper. A pound was a couple yen more than the strawberries… He stood and pondered that for a moment. Strawberries were big and bulky, you could tell where they were rotting, but a pound of blueberries was a lot of tiny fruit. They weren't really blue though, more dark violet and you couldn't really tell which was bad until you touched or tasted them.
Chewing on his lip absentmindedly, Hiroto fingered a box, contemplating, examining, before simply placing them in his basket.
The stranger argued a good point.
Ignoring the fact that Mister Tall and Good Looking had only said all of four things to him, Hiroto gave his items a serious once over before scurrying in the direction he'd seen those broad shoulders go.
Tripping on his feet and slowing to a leisurely gait, he tried to act as if he was naturally wandering past most of the aisles, legitimately looking for something. Something which happened to be where a pale and yet dark figure was standing, glaring at a row of chips. The same tattooed finger pointed up, hovered over something, making a decision, before dropping back down.
Blinking, realizing he was outright staring and in some old lady's way, Hiroto engrossed himself amongst the contents of the opposite facing shelf; soft and sweet instead of salt and crunchy.
He wanted to get close, irrationally so. An itching curiosity dragged at his feet.
He wanted to get close enough to make out the lines inked on one long finger, count the number of rings through two pierced ears.
Waiting until the aisle filled with enough stragglers to make edging closer seem less obvious, Hiroto stepped forward.
"They never have the right kind." Mutterings. His voice was hot, disgruntled.
Licking his lips, Hiroto stretched up on his tip toes. "What kind do you want?"
Black hair swished and tilted his way, full on eye contact that was both startling and nerve-wracking, surprised and irritated at the same time. Deep browns meeting light hazels and the stranger's gaze was so fierce. The narrowing of his brows and slant of his lids, analyzing, sizing. Nearly dropping his basket, Hiroto wondered if he should look away. He was the one who started this, but he hadn't been expecting... well he hadn't really even thought to think about what to expect, feet simply carrying him on a whim and now he was frozen.
"Original. Fucking original."
It was a growl. A guttural sound quite different from the light, conversational tone he'd shared in the produce aisle just minutes ago. Knees going weak, Hiroto stuttered out complete and utter nothing, clutching his basket and settling back onto his heels in response. The other man had shifted his agitated glare back onto the shelf of chips and for that he was grateful, eyes quickly roving the rows of brand names and salty packages to try and make himself useful. He didn't know why he wanted to help, only that this stranger currently held some weird draw over him. He was annoyed, angry, wanted something that he couldn't find and Hiroto needed to find it for him. Needed.
Fingers shaking and eyes nearly popping out of his head when he spotted what he thought might be it, Hiroto plucked a bag up from the bottommost shelf and held it so the other could see.
"O-Original?"
Amazingly, frustrated features morphed into an abrupt smooth calm.
"Oh, hey,” was that a laugh? “Thanks, I guess they're just trying to hide them from me or something." Snorting, the stranger accepted the bag of chips and tossed them in his basket.
Hiroto could barely keep up.
His was a normal old soul. He had a mind that worked at a steady pace and a body that moved with scheduled purpose, functioned just fine on regularity. Here this man had appeared with holes in his ears and a stud in his mouth and Hiroto - just trying to mosey his way on through an eventless day of grocery and window shopping - had found himself trailing after a towering frame, heart stopping at a sharp word and severe features. What the hell was he even doing?
By the time Hiroto's common sense had decided to return, the snacks aisle was completely vacant. Atypically grabbing a big bar of chocolate and taking a detour down the frozen foods aisle for a healthy-sized tub of ice cream (it was going to be a long night and he would definitely be needing it), Hiroto made a beeline for the checkout center.
He just needed to get out of here. And fast. Then he could go back to being normal again.
---
He wanted to forget.
He honestly did, but Hiroto was having a hard time not remembering the man from earlier that evening.
Hands wringing at the hem of his oversized t-shirt, he finally got up from where he was burrowed deep in his bed sheets, belly rumbling and wishing there was someone warm to curl up to or at least feel soft and solid against his back. Padding into his apartment’s small kitchenette, he tugged the freezer door open and pulled out the tub of soft serve.
It was vanilla. Plain, old, boring vanilla that was actually quite tasty and he only got vanilla because he didn’t buy ice cream that much. He felt like a moody girl, grabbing a big spoon and sinking into couch cushions and late night television. But that face. That angry, angry, pissed off face. Hiroto didn’t want to admit it, but the second it transformed into that appreciative stare, something wrong and oh so right had twisted tight in his chest. Nervous butterflies that made his fingers sweat for a complete stranger.
Gulping down a huge spoonful of vanilla, Hiroto stared listlessly at the flickering TV screen.
It was missing something.
His life was missing something. Quite a lot, if he actually sat down and tried to think about it.
There was his halfhearted late night job, starry-eyed dreams, stinging disappointment, and always this empty apartment. Maybe he needed to get a roommate, or a dog rather, since the other bedroom had been permanently converted into a studio. Flicking a sugary tongue over numbing red lips, Hiroto set the carton and spoon on the tiny wooden coffee table and wandered back towards his kitchen. There wasn’t much there, microwave, sink, fridge. The cabinets were for grainy oatmeal, energy and fiber bars, a couple tins of tuna.
Hiroto did a lot of things in moderation and eating only required the bare minimum.
Popping the refrigerator door open with another thunk-stick of sealing magnets and unmoving metal, he stared at its scarce contents. Green tea, yesterday’s leftovers, baking soda.
Calloused fingers pulled out the container of blueberries.
He said these were palette worthy… not in so many words, but cheaper at least right? Better? Trying to shrug the stranger’s voice and face out of his head all over again, Hiroto clambered back onto the sofa with his ice cream; alternating between a spoonful of vanilla and plump purple berries. He hummed, the slightest bit more content with one of his favorite childhood treats melting happily on his tongue.
In his opinion, vanilla went perfectly with just about everything.
---
Forgetting days after turned out to be an even harder task than expected.
By mid next week Hiroto was pretty convinced he’d spent most of his time remembering. Everything was hazy now, nothing solid, but the memory of dark and dangerous, something deep and appealing was imprinted in his mind. There was longing there.
And it was hard not to remember when there was the empty tub of ice cream, foil candy wrapper and blueberry box all in plain sight. Thursday he had attempted blueberry muffins, some odd recipe he’d discovered online, and eaten the burnt berries and juicy crumbs over his dirty kitchen sink. Morning sun soaked his living room warm and he sat recalling strong hands and wry lips over buttery half-muffins and a cup of tea.
Squinting again into the yellow light of his refrigerator, Hiroto slammed the door shut. He needed to go grocery shopping. Again. It was lunchtime and he had nothing. Nothing again. No matter how many times he’d checked since morning there was still only baking powder. Maybe if he actually bought a lot of food in one trip instead of window shopping he wouldn’t constantly be running out of and having to go and buy food all the time. But if he did buy a lot at once… Hiroto was afraid he would stop going out altogether.
Sighing, he crammed his leather wallet into a holey back pocket, locked up and headed to the store.
---
Hiroto decided to stop and eat lunch before heading in. He’d read one too many articles warning him about shopping on an empty stomach and was usually glad he had. Everything looked ten times less tempting with a heavy bowl of ramen sitting low in his belly.
Slurping up noodles and thankful soup came cheap, Hiroto wondered if he would see that guy from earlier in the week. That guy. He wasn’t fooling anyone, it was really quite obvious after the second day Hiroto was constantly looking around every corner and down every aisle hoping to spot that tall stranger.
He was lying.
His fridge was actually quite full.
Three new, unopened packages of blueberries.
This had to be his fourth bowel of ramen this week.
Luck was on his stalker self’s side. Not only had he gone out every day after to redo his rounds in the produce and snack aisles, but by chance, Hiroto had glanced up from his bowel of ramen one day and seen him, walking straight his way. Bells jingled above the shop door and he stepped in, whiff of cologne, shiny metal, and heavy tweed coat all perfectly tangible from Hiroto’s seat at the glass shop front. It made his stomach flutter remembering. Their eyes had met and he wasn’t sure, but the stranger looked like he might have recognized him, lips lifting in the barest of acknowledgments before continuing towards a table in the back.
Hiroto waited for his spoon to scrape across soupless stone bowl before he did anything.
Pulling out his iPhone, he bit his lip and chanced a glance to the back of the shop. A burly man was scribbling down an order and taking up his menu while the blueberry recommending man messed with his cell phone. Releasing abused flesh from between his teeth, Hiroto swiveled back around and lifted up his own mobile, carefully aiming while keeping up an innocent face. Snap. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, nope. Just taking a quick photo of himself and so what if other people happened to be in the background and his face was sort of cut off?
Fingers fumbled and saved, thumbing through albums to click and covet the results. After all, he never knew when he would see the other again. He was so busy staring however, the crumpling of a paper bag, footsteps and jingling went unheard. It wasn’t until the stranger was long gone that Hiroto looked up and saw the empty table.
And thus it had become daily routine to eat here. Luckily it was cheap. Decent and cheap. Sadly he hadn’t seen the stranger since, but it gave Hiroto a sense of dutiful satisfaction and hope, some sort of odd justification for why he came here regularly. He was helping out local business. Yes, that was it.
Leaving his usual tip and finished bowl at his seat, Hiroto crossed the street and once again filed through automatic glass doors.
---
He was worrying over two brands of seasoned seaweed when it happened.
It felt like fate.
He felt special.
It might have been the built up expectations, the waiting, wanting and dreaming, but when he appeared Hiroto couldn’t help but be elated. His mind reeled, fingers feeling tingly and too damp around the handle of his shopping basket. It was an irrational rush, something that didn’t make sense and this had to be a dream.
“No, it’s not. Meet me at the train station.”
They were muttered words, shocking. It was like before, a stranger reading his thoughts all over again. Hiroto didn’t know if he’d heard right, but when the other simply brushed by he was given you chance to ask. The taller man didn’t make any eye contact, just paid for an 8-pack of booze and exited the store.
Hesitantly, not sure if this was the right thing to do, Hiroto dropped his things to the floor - there was enough food at home as it was. Everything after sped up after the first steps closer and closer to the front door. Faster, faster, faster, blur. Sidewalk sped past and then soon he was slowing down at the station’s gate.
Where was he? He hoped this was the right station, all the other ones were too far to be it. Scanning the small clusters of people, Hiroto spotted him right away.
Approaching, I don’t even know his name, he wanted to turn away. This had to be a dream. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. What do I say? Pining after a complete stranger was supposed to get you nowhere. This was too good to be true.
What if… What if he’s dangerous?
Swallowing nervously, Hiroto decided fuck it.
He never tried.
His life was so boring, full of lost chances and given up opportunities for the sake of regularity.
Fuck it he was going to do this.
Taking a bold step up to where the other man was waiting, Hiroto cleared his throat.
“H-H-Hey.”
Stuttering - very smooth.
He expected another polite smile, some sort of meager recognition, but what he didn’t expect was the confused frown.
Surprised. He looked surprised.
“Yeah... I’m at the station already, waiting for you.”
For the first time, Hiroto noticed the gadget attached to the taller man’s ear.
“Hey, you’re that kid from the grocery store aren’t you? The one with the chips?”
Embarrassment burned like Hiroto didn’t know what.
“Y-Yeah. F-Fancy meeting you… here. I just… I just thought you were someone else just now I’m waiting for someone and… bu-but wow. What a coincidence!” He tried to keep the polite smile on his own face, tripping and rambling, jumbling his words.
Shoot me.
“Well good luck with that, this place is packed- Yeah! Yeah the closest one to the gate…” The other man interrupted himself, talking aloud into his Bluetooth headset, hands suddenly fishing into his coat pockets for his Blackberry and three new text messages.
Still smiling and painfully mortified, Hiroto bowed and backed around the nearest corner.
He heaved a choked breath, squatted down to the pavement and stared at his scuffed shoes.
It had been too good to be true. He had never really been talking to him, aside from when he was handed his chips. Eyes stinging at the realization, Hiroto peeked out from behind a waste bin just in time to see a pretty girl walk up to the pierced stranger, smiling and just as prettily dressed.
“Hey babe, took you long enough.”
“Don’t get snarky with me, Tora.”
Next Chapter
A/N:
Ahhhhhhhh harsh. You have no idea how much happier this was supposed to be :(
Unhappy Valentine’s Day in unhappy. LOL but I wrote a happier one before!
I was thinking about making a sequel to this but... idk. Sequel in the making.
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 020 Heartbreak Club (KAT-TUN)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU
Comments: He preferred living and thriving on dreams.
Chapter 1
Hiroto wasn't much of an eater. He preferred living and thriving on dreams. Not to mention he could hardly afford to buy everything that caught his eye. Window shopping was the way of the future and when it came to grocery shopping, he was no different.
Stepping through the automatic glass doors, Hiroto plucked a green shopping basket up and began his hour-long spending spree. It was more looking and reading than actual buying and spending, but he liked browsing through the aisles of colorful packaging and interesting descriptions. By now it was an almost ritual, candied peanuts, Monday special bentos, pickled radish and vitamin juice. Slipping into the produce section, he at least knew he'd be buying something fresh. His basket was currently home to one lone box of oatmeal, high in fiber and full of assorted tasteless oats, and he needed something to tang it up.
Lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and broccoli. Everything was shiny and glistening wet. Red, orange, yellow, green. Poking at a bunch of bananas, Hiroto wondered why nothing was ever blue - though he wasn't complaining. His favorite color was red and a close second pink. Maybe because the sky was so big and took up all the blue, none of the fruits and vegetables could have any.
But sometimes the sunsets were red…
Frowning, Hiroto inspected a plastic container of strawberries. They weren't really in season and looked a little bruised around the edges. He didn't like being able to tell when his fruit was about to go bad.
"No," he was startled by a low voice next to him.
"No, I wouldn't get those. They're not even in season."
Eyes widening, Hiroto looked to his left.
A man (he couldn’t be much older than himself) was standing there, pensively examining the refrigerated shelves. He was wearing dark jeans, thick scarf wrapped around his neck, a grey hoodie beneath a fitted blazer, all in all looking comfy and warm with silky black hair framing intense angles and a protruding spiked lip.
"They look bad." His voice was deep, husky.
Flushing, caught red handed with soon to spoil strawberries by an attractive stranger, Hiroto guiltily replaced them on the shelf. Well, it wasn't like I was going to buy them… Everything is more expensive in the winter.
"They're cheaper."
It seemed as though the stranger was reading his mind.
From the safety of his lengthy fringe, Hiroto cast him a suspicious sideways glance, flinching in surprise when a tattooed hand reached out and picked a smaller container off the shelf.
Then he simply turned and walked away, glinting accessories and a studded lip disappearing with an identical basket and container of fruit.
Wanting to follow but wondering what was cheaper, Hiroto shuffled towards the shelf.
Blueberries?
There was an empty space where a box of blueberries had been taken, but glancing at the price Hiroto was pretty sure they weren't cheaper. A pound was a couple yen more than the strawberries… He stood and pondered that for a moment. Strawberries were big and bulky, you could tell where they were rotting, but a pound of blueberries was a lot of tiny fruit. They weren't really blue though, more dark violet and you couldn't really tell which was bad until you touched or tasted them.
Chewing on his lip absentmindedly, Hiroto fingered a box, contemplating, examining, before simply placing them in his basket.
The stranger argued a good point.
Ignoring the fact that Mister Tall and Good Looking had only said all of four things to him, Hiroto gave his items a serious once over before scurrying in the direction he'd seen those broad shoulders go.
Tripping on his feet and slowing to a leisurely gait, he tried to act as if he was naturally wandering past most of the aisles, legitimately looking for something. Something which happened to be where a pale and yet dark figure was standing, glaring at a row of chips. The same tattooed finger pointed up, hovered over something, making a decision, before dropping back down.
Blinking, realizing he was outright staring and in some old lady's way, Hiroto engrossed himself amongst the contents of the opposite facing shelf; soft and sweet instead of salt and crunchy.
He wanted to get close, irrationally so. An itching curiosity dragged at his feet.
He wanted to get close enough to make out the lines inked on one long finger, count the number of rings through two pierced ears.
Waiting until the aisle filled with enough stragglers to make edging closer seem less obvious, Hiroto stepped forward.
"They never have the right kind." Mutterings. His voice was hot, disgruntled.
Licking his lips, Hiroto stretched up on his tip toes. "What kind do you want?"
Black hair swished and tilted his way, full on eye contact that was both startling and nerve-wracking, surprised and irritated at the same time. Deep browns meeting light hazels and the stranger's gaze was so fierce. The narrowing of his brows and slant of his lids, analyzing, sizing. Nearly dropping his basket, Hiroto wondered if he should look away. He was the one who started this, but he hadn't been expecting... well he hadn't really even thought to think about what to expect, feet simply carrying him on a whim and now he was frozen.
"Original. Fucking original."
It was a growl. A guttural sound quite different from the light, conversational tone he'd shared in the produce aisle just minutes ago. Knees going weak, Hiroto stuttered out complete and utter nothing, clutching his basket and settling back onto his heels in response. The other man had shifted his agitated glare back onto the shelf of chips and for that he was grateful, eyes quickly roving the rows of brand names and salty packages to try and make himself useful. He didn't know why he wanted to help, only that this stranger currently held some weird draw over him. He was annoyed, angry, wanted something that he couldn't find and Hiroto needed to find it for him. Needed.
Fingers shaking and eyes nearly popping out of his head when he spotted what he thought might be it, Hiroto plucked a bag up from the bottommost shelf and held it so the other could see.
"O-Original?"
Amazingly, frustrated features morphed into an abrupt smooth calm.
"Oh, hey,” was that a laugh? “Thanks, I guess they're just trying to hide them from me or something." Snorting, the stranger accepted the bag of chips and tossed them in his basket.
Hiroto could barely keep up.
His was a normal old soul. He had a mind that worked at a steady pace and a body that moved with scheduled purpose, functioned just fine on regularity. Here this man had appeared with holes in his ears and a stud in his mouth and Hiroto - just trying to mosey his way on through an eventless day of grocery and window shopping - had found himself trailing after a towering frame, heart stopping at a sharp word and severe features. What the hell was he even doing?
By the time Hiroto's common sense had decided to return, the snacks aisle was completely vacant. Atypically grabbing a big bar of chocolate and taking a detour down the frozen foods aisle for a healthy-sized tub of ice cream (it was going to be a long night and he would definitely be needing it), Hiroto made a beeline for the checkout center.
He just needed to get out of here. And fast. Then he could go back to being normal again.
---
He wanted to forget.
He honestly did, but Hiroto was having a hard time not remembering the man from earlier that evening.
Hands wringing at the hem of his oversized t-shirt, he finally got up from where he was burrowed deep in his bed sheets, belly rumbling and wishing there was someone warm to curl up to or at least feel soft and solid against his back. Padding into his apartment’s small kitchenette, he tugged the freezer door open and pulled out the tub of soft serve.
It was vanilla. Plain, old, boring vanilla that was actually quite tasty and he only got vanilla because he didn’t buy ice cream that much. He felt like a moody girl, grabbing a big spoon and sinking into couch cushions and late night television. But that face. That angry, angry, pissed off face. Hiroto didn’t want to admit it, but the second it transformed into that appreciative stare, something wrong and oh so right had twisted tight in his chest. Nervous butterflies that made his fingers sweat for a complete stranger.
Gulping down a huge spoonful of vanilla, Hiroto stared listlessly at the flickering TV screen.
It was missing something.
His life was missing something. Quite a lot, if he actually sat down and tried to think about it.
There was his halfhearted late night job, starry-eyed dreams, stinging disappointment, and always this empty apartment. Maybe he needed to get a roommate, or a dog rather, since the other bedroom had been permanently converted into a studio. Flicking a sugary tongue over numbing red lips, Hiroto set the carton and spoon on the tiny wooden coffee table and wandered back towards his kitchen. There wasn’t much there, microwave, sink, fridge. The cabinets were for grainy oatmeal, energy and fiber bars, a couple tins of tuna.
Hiroto did a lot of things in moderation and eating only required the bare minimum.
Popping the refrigerator door open with another thunk-stick of sealing magnets and unmoving metal, he stared at its scarce contents. Green tea, yesterday’s leftovers, baking soda.
Calloused fingers pulled out the container of blueberries.
He said these were palette worthy… not in so many words, but cheaper at least right? Better? Trying to shrug the stranger’s voice and face out of his head all over again, Hiroto clambered back onto the sofa with his ice cream; alternating between a spoonful of vanilla and plump purple berries. He hummed, the slightest bit more content with one of his favorite childhood treats melting happily on his tongue.
In his opinion, vanilla went perfectly with just about everything.
---
Forgetting days after turned out to be an even harder task than expected.
By mid next week Hiroto was pretty convinced he’d spent most of his time remembering. Everything was hazy now, nothing solid, but the memory of dark and dangerous, something deep and appealing was imprinted in his mind. There was longing there.
And it was hard not to remember when there was the empty tub of ice cream, foil candy wrapper and blueberry box all in plain sight. Thursday he had attempted blueberry muffins, some odd recipe he’d discovered online, and eaten the burnt berries and juicy crumbs over his dirty kitchen sink. Morning sun soaked his living room warm and he sat recalling strong hands and wry lips over buttery half-muffins and a cup of tea.
Squinting again into the yellow light of his refrigerator, Hiroto slammed the door shut. He needed to go grocery shopping. Again. It was lunchtime and he had nothing. Nothing again. No matter how many times he’d checked since morning there was still only baking powder. Maybe if he actually bought a lot of food in one trip instead of window shopping he wouldn’t constantly be running out of and having to go and buy food all the time. But if he did buy a lot at once… Hiroto was afraid he would stop going out altogether.
Sighing, he crammed his leather wallet into a holey back pocket, locked up and headed to the store.
---
Hiroto decided to stop and eat lunch before heading in. He’d read one too many articles warning him about shopping on an empty stomach and was usually glad he had. Everything looked ten times less tempting with a heavy bowl of ramen sitting low in his belly.
Slurping up noodles and thankful soup came cheap, Hiroto wondered if he would see that guy from earlier in the week. That guy. He wasn’t fooling anyone, it was really quite obvious after the second day Hiroto was constantly looking around every corner and down every aisle hoping to spot that tall stranger.
He was lying.
His fridge was actually quite full.
Three new, unopened packages of blueberries.
This had to be his fourth bowel of ramen this week.
Luck was on his stalker self’s side. Not only had he gone out every day after to redo his rounds in the produce and snack aisles, but by chance, Hiroto had glanced up from his bowel of ramen one day and seen him, walking straight his way. Bells jingled above the shop door and he stepped in, whiff of cologne, shiny metal, and heavy tweed coat all perfectly tangible from Hiroto’s seat at the glass shop front. It made his stomach flutter remembering. Their eyes had met and he wasn’t sure, but the stranger looked like he might have recognized him, lips lifting in the barest of acknowledgments before continuing towards a table in the back.
Hiroto waited for his spoon to scrape across soupless stone bowl before he did anything.
Pulling out his iPhone, he bit his lip and chanced a glance to the back of the shop. A burly man was scribbling down an order and taking up his menu while the blueberry recommending man messed with his cell phone. Releasing abused flesh from between his teeth, Hiroto swiveled back around and lifted up his own mobile, carefully aiming while keeping up an innocent face. Snap. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, nope. Just taking a quick photo of himself and so what if other people happened to be in the background and his face was sort of cut off?
Fingers fumbled and saved, thumbing through albums to click and covet the results. After all, he never knew when he would see the other again. He was so busy staring however, the crumpling of a paper bag, footsteps and jingling went unheard. It wasn’t until the stranger was long gone that Hiroto looked up and saw the empty table.
And thus it had become daily routine to eat here. Luckily it was cheap. Decent and cheap. Sadly he hadn’t seen the stranger since, but it gave Hiroto a sense of dutiful satisfaction and hope, some sort of odd justification for why he came here regularly. He was helping out local business. Yes, that was it.
Leaving his usual tip and finished bowl at his seat, Hiroto crossed the street and once again filed through automatic glass doors.
---
He was worrying over two brands of seasoned seaweed when it happened.
It felt like fate.
He felt special.
It might have been the built up expectations, the waiting, wanting and dreaming, but when he appeared Hiroto couldn’t help but be elated. His mind reeled, fingers feeling tingly and too damp around the handle of his shopping basket. It was an irrational rush, something that didn’t make sense and this had to be a dream.
“No, it’s not. Meet me at the train station.”
They were muttered words, shocking. It was like before, a stranger reading his thoughts all over again. Hiroto didn’t know if he’d heard right, but when the other simply brushed by he was given you chance to ask. The taller man didn’t make any eye contact, just paid for an 8-pack of booze and exited the store.
Hesitantly, not sure if this was the right thing to do, Hiroto dropped his things to the floor - there was enough food at home as it was. Everything after sped up after the first steps closer and closer to the front door. Faster, faster, faster, blur. Sidewalk sped past and then soon he was slowing down at the station’s gate.
Where was he? He hoped this was the right station, all the other ones were too far to be it. Scanning the small clusters of people, Hiroto spotted him right away.
Approaching, I don’t even know his name, he wanted to turn away. This had to be a dream. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. What do I say? Pining after a complete stranger was supposed to get you nowhere. This was too good to be true.
What if… What if he’s dangerous?
Swallowing nervously, Hiroto decided fuck it.
He never tried.
His life was so boring, full of lost chances and given up opportunities for the sake of regularity.
Fuck it he was going to do this.
Taking a bold step up to where the other man was waiting, Hiroto cleared his throat.
“H-H-Hey.”
Stuttering - very smooth.
He expected another polite smile, some sort of meager recognition, but what he didn’t expect was the confused frown.
Surprised. He looked surprised.
“Yeah... I’m at the station already, waiting for you.”
For the first time, Hiroto noticed the gadget attached to the taller man’s ear.
“Hey, you’re that kid from the grocery store aren’t you? The one with the chips?”
Embarrassment burned like Hiroto didn’t know what.
“Y-Yeah. F-Fancy meeting you… here. I just… I just thought you were someone else just now I’m waiting for someone and… bu-but wow. What a coincidence!” He tried to keep the polite smile on his own face, tripping and rambling, jumbling his words.
Shoot me.
“Well good luck with that, this place is packed- Yeah! Yeah the closest one to the gate…” The other man interrupted himself, talking aloud into his Bluetooth headset, hands suddenly fishing into his coat pockets for his Blackberry and three new text messages.
Still smiling and painfully mortified, Hiroto bowed and backed around the nearest corner.
He heaved a choked breath, squatted down to the pavement and stared at his scuffed shoes.
It had been too good to be true. He had never really been talking to him, aside from when he was handed his chips. Eyes stinging at the realization, Hiroto peeked out from behind a waste bin just in time to see a pretty girl walk up to the pierced stranger, smiling and just as prettily dressed.
“Hey babe, took you long enough.”
“Don’t get snarky with me, Tora.”
Next Chapter
A/N:
Ahhhhhhhh harsh. You have no idea how much happier this was supposed to be :(
Unhappy Valentine’s Day in unhappy. LOL but I wrote a happier one before!
I was thinking about making a sequel to this but... idk. Sequel in the making.
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