Fic: Listen
Title: Listen
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Community: 30_kisses
Theme: #17-kHz
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Pairing: Fujitaka/Nadeshiko
Romantic Notions
As soon as he returned home from school on Monday he began cleaning, leaving the homework he should have been grading sitting forlornly in his bag on the kitchen chair. The vacuum cleaner hummed and whirred for nearly an hour as he ran it over every carpeted surface on the ground floor. The splash of water and faint crackle of soap suds accompanied him as he mopped and polished the kitchen floor to a shine. He was a clean, neat man by nature, but he wanted everything to be… well, perfect.
The spritz of the spray bottle of window cleaner, the soft swish as his polish cloth ran over the dining room table. The clink of china as he dug it out of the back of his cupboards and washed them, setting them carefully on the drying rack. His sneezes as he discovered the long-sought after lair of dust bunnies.
He couldn’t concentrate on grading the homework. It was simple work, just checking answers against an answer key, but he found himself constantly distracted, tapping his pencil rhythmically against the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the edge of his chair, absently staring off at the shelf containing his limited collection of cookbooks. At last, he sighed and pushed his chair back. He was clearly incapacitated, and didn’t stand a chance in grading the homework well. He’d get more complaints about incorrect answers than he needed.
The car hummed pleasantly as he started it up. Good. It was an older car, he hadn’t been able to afford a new one since, but he took care of it and rarely drove since he could walk to work. He just didn’t like the idea of walking alone at night. It made no protest as he drove it carefully towards the market, clicked solidly as he put the parking brake on, and seemed content to sit and cool down while he shopped.
He’d decided in the last hour that he’d make something relatively simple. There was no point in pushing his luck, so there was no point in going all out. Besides, somen would suit the hot weather better than a full meal. He needed only yakumi; as a bachelor, he had plenty of soba noodles and men tsuyu.
The grocery store was full of noise: the hum of refrigerated displays, the creaking of shopping carts that tended to go right, the authoritative click of women’s shoes, the ding of cash registers, the rustle of plastic, the plaintive cries of babies. It was a soothing and familiar symphony as he moved down aisles, dropping packages into his basket with sharp rattles. Kamaboko, ginger, wakame, negi, bonito flakes. Simple, like a meal he’d eat himself. Only he rarely ate anything more than negi with his somen.
The cash register chimed and the plastic bags shifted eagerly as he picked them up and returned to the car. Once home, he put everything in the refrigerator, satisfied that he could do no more to prepare for the next day. Humming softly, he settled down to work at his schoolwork again for another hour until his self-appointed bedtime, after the late morning incident.
His morning classes went well. He barely noticed the passing of time over the laughs and querying voices of his students, the rustle of paper and scritch-scratch of pencils. He didn’t see her all day, though he wasn't surprised. No set of footsteps coming up behind him in the hall quite sounded like her, and not once did he hear her cousin’s loud assertions. During lunch he sat quietly in the lunchroom, chatting with Kato-sensei and Jiro, smiling and humming in approval as they noisily and dramatically went over their “strategy” for the upcoming football game.
In the afternoon, over the laughter and rustling and scraping was the loud tick-tock of the clock, reminding him of every second, every minute that passed, every second closer he drew to that night. Sometimes the ticking was ominous, other times it was pleasant and giddy. Mostly, though, it was just there, louder than any student asking a question about religion in ancient India.
At last, the end of the school day finally arrived, and he was as thankful as his students that it had. He gathered his things just a little faster than usual, his shoes sliding against the tile floor loudly. The bicycle lock clanged, metal against metal, the pedals shifted with easy and well-oiled whispers as he sped home over the pavement. He was dancing to a song only he could hear, a light, lilting melody that dipped and flowed with the wind.
Once at home, a new set of sounds took over: the swish of running water, the click of hashi, the gentle sounds of water and noodles in pots and of packages being opened. Quiet, soft, domestic sounds. They were louder than usual, filling the small house with their joy, their laughter, their smiles. They were excited about this guest too.
He finished dinner in the few hours until she had promised to arrive, wiping his hands with a towel hanging from the oven door. Though the rest of the day had been spent in anticipation, he was suddenly nervous, as if preparation had occupied him too much to think about anything else. He could practically hear the hum of his nerves, the beating of his heart, the shallow durations of his breathing. Anxiously he glanced out the window at the sidewalk, street, corner beyond, waiting, watching.
Of course it happened in the moment he looked away. Of course it happened in the few minutes he took to carry the food to the dining room table, balancing small plates and bowls and serving utensils. When he was gathering hashi from the round container and laying them out.
The doorbell rang, shattering the silence with its sharp foreign pitch. He straightened, walked to the door, padding softly. With a click he turned the doorknob and pulled it open, almost too afraid to confirm who was on the other side.
She was standing on the doorstep, smiling broadly, the sun setting behind her framing her perfectly, golden light kissing and illuminating her dark hair.
“May I come in?” she asked, voice pitch-perfect, silvery and smooth.
He stepped aside to admit her, the sound of her voice echoing in his ears.
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Community: 30_kisses
Theme: #17-kHz
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Pairing: Fujitaka/Nadeshiko
Romantic Notions
As soon as he returned home from school on Monday he began cleaning, leaving the homework he should have been grading sitting forlornly in his bag on the kitchen chair. The vacuum cleaner hummed and whirred for nearly an hour as he ran it over every carpeted surface on the ground floor. The splash of water and faint crackle of soap suds accompanied him as he mopped and polished the kitchen floor to a shine. He was a clean, neat man by nature, but he wanted everything to be… well, perfect.
The spritz of the spray bottle of window cleaner, the soft swish as his polish cloth ran over the dining room table. The clink of china as he dug it out of the back of his cupboards and washed them, setting them carefully on the drying rack. His sneezes as he discovered the long-sought after lair of dust bunnies.
He couldn’t concentrate on grading the homework. It was simple work, just checking answers against an answer key, but he found himself constantly distracted, tapping his pencil rhythmically against the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the edge of his chair, absently staring off at the shelf containing his limited collection of cookbooks. At last, he sighed and pushed his chair back. He was clearly incapacitated, and didn’t stand a chance in grading the homework well. He’d get more complaints about incorrect answers than he needed.
The car hummed pleasantly as he started it up. Good. It was an older car, he hadn’t been able to afford a new one since, but he took care of it and rarely drove since he could walk to work. He just didn’t like the idea of walking alone at night. It made no protest as he drove it carefully towards the market, clicked solidly as he put the parking brake on, and seemed content to sit and cool down while he shopped.
He’d decided in the last hour that he’d make something relatively simple. There was no point in pushing his luck, so there was no point in going all out. Besides, somen would suit the hot weather better than a full meal. He needed only yakumi; as a bachelor, he had plenty of soba noodles and men tsuyu.
The grocery store was full of noise: the hum of refrigerated displays, the creaking of shopping carts that tended to go right, the authoritative click of women’s shoes, the ding of cash registers, the rustle of plastic, the plaintive cries of babies. It was a soothing and familiar symphony as he moved down aisles, dropping packages into his basket with sharp rattles. Kamaboko, ginger, wakame, negi, bonito flakes. Simple, like a meal he’d eat himself. Only he rarely ate anything more than negi with his somen.
The cash register chimed and the plastic bags shifted eagerly as he picked them up and returned to the car. Once home, he put everything in the refrigerator, satisfied that he could do no more to prepare for the next day. Humming softly, he settled down to work at his schoolwork again for another hour until his self-appointed bedtime, after the late morning incident.
His morning classes went well. He barely noticed the passing of time over the laughs and querying voices of his students, the rustle of paper and scritch-scratch of pencils. He didn’t see her all day, though he wasn't surprised. No set of footsteps coming up behind him in the hall quite sounded like her, and not once did he hear her cousin’s loud assertions. During lunch he sat quietly in the lunchroom, chatting with Kato-sensei and Jiro, smiling and humming in approval as they noisily and dramatically went over their “strategy” for the upcoming football game.
In the afternoon, over the laughter and rustling and scraping was the loud tick-tock of the clock, reminding him of every second, every minute that passed, every second closer he drew to that night. Sometimes the ticking was ominous, other times it was pleasant and giddy. Mostly, though, it was just there, louder than any student asking a question about religion in ancient India.
At last, the end of the school day finally arrived, and he was as thankful as his students that it had. He gathered his things just a little faster than usual, his shoes sliding against the tile floor loudly. The bicycle lock clanged, metal against metal, the pedals shifted with easy and well-oiled whispers as he sped home over the pavement. He was dancing to a song only he could hear, a light, lilting melody that dipped and flowed with the wind.
Once at home, a new set of sounds took over: the swish of running water, the click of hashi, the gentle sounds of water and noodles in pots and of packages being opened. Quiet, soft, domestic sounds. They were louder than usual, filling the small house with their joy, their laughter, their smiles. They were excited about this guest too.
He finished dinner in the few hours until she had promised to arrive, wiping his hands with a towel hanging from the oven door. Though the rest of the day had been spent in anticipation, he was suddenly nervous, as if preparation had occupied him too much to think about anything else. He could practically hear the hum of his nerves, the beating of his heart, the shallow durations of his breathing. Anxiously he glanced out the window at the sidewalk, street, corner beyond, waiting, watching.
Of course it happened in the moment he looked away. Of course it happened in the few minutes he took to carry the food to the dining room table, balancing small plates and bowls and serving utensils. When he was gathering hashi from the round container and laying them out.
The doorbell rang, shattering the silence with its sharp foreign pitch. He straightened, walked to the door, padding softly. With a click he turned the doorknob and pulled it open, almost too afraid to confirm who was on the other side.
She was standing on the doorstep, smiling broadly, the sun setting behind her framing her perfectly, golden light kissing and illuminating her dark hair.
“May I come in?” she asked, voice pitch-perfect, silvery and smooth.
He stepped aside to admit her, the sound of her voice echoing in his ears.