[one-shot] Homecoming
PSYCH IS BACK ON! :D
And after forcing my roommate to watch it earlier and seeing Neil Patrick Harris on American Idol tonight, we decided to buy the Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog DVD together. YES.
Oh, and I have fic.
Title: Homecoming
Fandom: My Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 843
Notes: SPOILERZ!!! for the last episode. Because I wanted to write something My Girl related. Written in... half an hour, maybe? But hooray for meeting deadlines! This is based on the drama only, by the way; I’ve never read the manga.
The city was unusually quiet that night, calm, lacking the typical noises he’d become used to after living in the never-sleeping city of New York for the past three years. The apartment Kenmochi-sensei provided was much nicer than Masamune expected (actually, he hadn’t expected for Kenmochi-sensei to provide anything at all, other than the opportunity, but the photographer surprised him with his generosity). It was smaller, much smaller than his home in Japan, but still very nice. Better yet, it was only a block away from the studio Kenmochi-sensei used to develop his pictures, and Masamune was allowed to use the equipment and darkroom any time he wished.
Masamune tugged on the suitcase zipper, shoving the clothes back into the overstuffed bag when they pushed out from the zipper’s strain. He would only be residing in this apartment for one more night. In only a short while, he would be flying back to Japan. Shizuoka was a bus ride away after that.
And then, after three years, he would see her again.
Masamune shuffled across the room to the coffee table, where he’d spread out all of his old photographs, a scrapbook without pages. He fingered through them, chuckling at the silly poses and smiling back at the happy faces. He inhaled; the room smelled a bit stale and nothing like the colorful flowers. The room was dark, relying on the illumination from the city through the open blinds rather than the overhead lights, and when he looked up that was what he saw. He wasn’t standing near the harbor, and there was no salty breeze from the ocean tickling his skin. He wasn’t surrounded by the greenery of the park and he wasn’t watching the world whizz by as he flew down the streets on his bike. He was in a place far away, staring at photographs as if they’re illustrations from a storybook about a world that didn’t exist.
But it did exist, even if Masamune couldn’t see or smell or taste or hear or touch it. It existed, and soon he would be there.
Soon.
Gathering the photographs and safely packing them away, he scanned the room again. All of the things he’d need for tomorrow were piled up on his desk and chair in the corner, and everything else had been packed up or moved out. He slumped onto the bed and closed his eyes. The world was still abnormally hushed, as if silencing itself for Masamune’s sake. Perhaps the moon sang it a lullaby - a song it learned from a little girl in Japan.
For a moment he wondered if she was singing now, until remembering that Japan was already seeing dawn. He held up the photo he’d kept with him instead of packing, the one of Koharu standing in front of Yoko-san’s old school. The one of Koharu standing in front of her school. Was she getting dressed in the uniform Yoko-san wore when she was a student, using the schoolbag Masamune bought her? Did she still wear her hair in pigtails? Did she still climb that tree and play with the ladybugs she loved? Was she waiting with her paper cup telephone for his return, waiting to spill out all of the things in her heart? Or had she been telling them to Yoko-san and the moon, entrusting them to pass the messages along to him?
Masamune held his breath and stilled, listening. He could hear them vibrating off of his veins and into his heart just like two cups connected by a string. Koharu-chan’s voice, Yoko-san’s voice, and the moon’s song - they were all faintly calling out to him.
Photographs could capture memories and freeze moments, but they couldn’t stop the flow of time. Even though part of him felt as if he’d return to the Japan and child he’d left, their conversations on the phone and letters sent back and forth have reminded him that the three years affected them both. She’d grown up. But Masamune hoped that she’s been seeing the photographs he’d taken and sent her - both the ones that have been published and the ones just for her - and understood that he’s been growing and changing, too. He didn’t want to meet her as a stranger again, even if they’ve both become a bit different than the people they were.
Masamune sat up and gazed out the window. The gleaming city lights conquered the stars, but the moon was nearly full, shining too brightly to be defeated. He stretched his arms out and cradled the moon, just like he did every night. It was there in his arms even though it was far away, just like she was.
He sang the moon a lullaby so that the moon would sing it back to Koharu when she went to sleep the next night. When he returned to her, after whispering his love through a paper cup and riding their bikes together and becoming the wind, he would scoop her in his arms and they would sing to the moon together, so that it could fall asleep and the sun could rise again.
---
Yay! Not crossposting anywhere because I'm lazy and it's not worth it. Woohoo. And I had this done four hours ago, actually. You know why I waited? Because at the end of the drama, the photo in the magazine has a date: 2012.01.28 - I waited until after midnight so I could post it on the 28th. Yeah, I'm a dork. A sleep-deprived dork, so maybe I should get some sleep now... *slips away*
And after forcing my roommate to watch it earlier and seeing Neil Patrick Harris on American Idol tonight, we decided to buy the Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog DVD together. YES.
Oh, and I have fic.
Title: Homecoming
Fandom: My Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 843
Notes: SPOILERZ!!! for the last episode. Because I wanted to write something My Girl related. Written in... half an hour, maybe? But hooray for meeting deadlines! This is based on the drama only, by the way; I’ve never read the manga.
The city was unusually quiet that night, calm, lacking the typical noises he’d become used to after living in the never-sleeping city of New York for the past three years. The apartment Kenmochi-sensei provided was much nicer than Masamune expected (actually, he hadn’t expected for Kenmochi-sensei to provide anything at all, other than the opportunity, but the photographer surprised him with his generosity). It was smaller, much smaller than his home in Japan, but still very nice. Better yet, it was only a block away from the studio Kenmochi-sensei used to develop his pictures, and Masamune was allowed to use the equipment and darkroom any time he wished.
Masamune tugged on the suitcase zipper, shoving the clothes back into the overstuffed bag when they pushed out from the zipper’s strain. He would only be residing in this apartment for one more night. In only a short while, he would be flying back to Japan. Shizuoka was a bus ride away after that.
And then, after three years, he would see her again.
Masamune shuffled across the room to the coffee table, where he’d spread out all of his old photographs, a scrapbook without pages. He fingered through them, chuckling at the silly poses and smiling back at the happy faces. He inhaled; the room smelled a bit stale and nothing like the colorful flowers. The room was dark, relying on the illumination from the city through the open blinds rather than the overhead lights, and when he looked up that was what he saw. He wasn’t standing near the harbor, and there was no salty breeze from the ocean tickling his skin. He wasn’t surrounded by the greenery of the park and he wasn’t watching the world whizz by as he flew down the streets on his bike. He was in a place far away, staring at photographs as if they’re illustrations from a storybook about a world that didn’t exist.
But it did exist, even if Masamune couldn’t see or smell or taste or hear or touch it. It existed, and soon he would be there.
Soon.
Gathering the photographs and safely packing them away, he scanned the room again. All of the things he’d need for tomorrow were piled up on his desk and chair in the corner, and everything else had been packed up or moved out. He slumped onto the bed and closed his eyes. The world was still abnormally hushed, as if silencing itself for Masamune’s sake. Perhaps the moon sang it a lullaby - a song it learned from a little girl in Japan.
For a moment he wondered if she was singing now, until remembering that Japan was already seeing dawn. He held up the photo he’d kept with him instead of packing, the one of Koharu standing in front of Yoko-san’s old school. The one of Koharu standing in front of her school. Was she getting dressed in the uniform Yoko-san wore when she was a student, using the schoolbag Masamune bought her? Did she still wear her hair in pigtails? Did she still climb that tree and play with the ladybugs she loved? Was she waiting with her paper cup telephone for his return, waiting to spill out all of the things in her heart? Or had she been telling them to Yoko-san and the moon, entrusting them to pass the messages along to him?
Masamune held his breath and stilled, listening. He could hear them vibrating off of his veins and into his heart just like two cups connected by a string. Koharu-chan’s voice, Yoko-san’s voice, and the moon’s song - they were all faintly calling out to him.
Photographs could capture memories and freeze moments, but they couldn’t stop the flow of time. Even though part of him felt as if he’d return to the Japan and child he’d left, their conversations on the phone and letters sent back and forth have reminded him that the three years affected them both. She’d grown up. But Masamune hoped that she’s been seeing the photographs he’d taken and sent her - both the ones that have been published and the ones just for her - and understood that he’s been growing and changing, too. He didn’t want to meet her as a stranger again, even if they’ve both become a bit different than the people they were.
Masamune sat up and gazed out the window. The gleaming city lights conquered the stars, but the moon was nearly full, shining too brightly to be defeated. He stretched his arms out and cradled the moon, just like he did every night. It was there in his arms even though it was far away, just like she was.
He sang the moon a lullaby so that the moon would sing it back to Koharu when she went to sleep the next night. When he returned to her, after whispering his love through a paper cup and riding their bikes together and becoming the wind, he would scoop her in his arms and they would sing to the moon together, so that it could fall asleep and the sun could rise again.
---
Yay! Not crossposting anywhere because I'm lazy and it's not worth it. Woohoo. And I had this done four hours ago, actually. You know why I waited? Because at the end of the drama, the photo in the magazine has a date: 2012.01.28 - I waited until after midnight so I could post it on the 28th. Yeah, I'm a dork. A sleep-deprived dork, so maybe I should get some sleep now... *slips away*