[FIC] "Clarify," YanaKiri, G
ohayo gozaimaaaasu! (watches sun set)
so not satisfied with this. found tall shaky platform on which to survey the yanakiri domain, climbed, was too heavy, toppled everything ^^;; but may be able to come up with better later.
Clarify
by MorphailEffect
Renji remembered yesterday's lessons as if he had heard them only a few minutes ago. He remembered last year's lessons as if he had only heard them yesterday. It was one advantage of a perfect memory.
Naturally, a perfect memory also had its disadvantages. One was that he was always expected to freely share his knowledge with others. For example, he was assigned the dubious honor of being Akaya's regular tutor. It would have been Jackal's chore, but after a lengthy observation, Renji decided that giving Jackal a break from handling Akaya now and then was good for the other boy's stress tolerance.
Besides, it wasn't an entirely unwelcome activity. Renji liked tutoring Akaya. As much as he could like tutoring anyone. Teaching was second nature to him, it wasn't a matter of "liking."
Renji knew how to fine-tune the rhythm of his speech so his audience wouldn't fall asleep to his recitations, to select the best words so that the audience would be kept leaning toward him and away from the backrest of the chair. He also chose his pauses carefully, for the slightest slip would completely lose someone with a short attention span ("Are you listening, Akaya?"), but even then he would know how to reel such an audience back.
He no longer even thought about these things. He'd been doing it from as far back as he could remember.
Still, Akaya was a special case. Everyone acknowledged it. He actually absorbed things when it was Renji sitting across from him, straight-backed and composed, voice level to the point of droning. Akaya sat still and did as he was told, and though some things needed to be repeated over and over for them to stick, Akaya surprisingly had the patience for it. Which was good, because Renji had the stamina.
Funny though: Renji had always thought Seiichi was the one with the calming influence...
They were in high school now. He was a senior while Akaya was a junior. He was sitting across the low study table from Akaya, in what had become a time-honored tradition for the two of them. No one even had to tell Renji to go tutor Akaya for this year's finals; Renji had volunteered.
"Akaya, you're taking too long solving that problem. If you need my help..."
"Ah -- no. Sempai. It's all right. I can go at this until I'm tired."
It seemed they were both so much older. The person he was facing, for one thing, was certainly not the wild-haired brat who sometimes bugged him to repeat his explanations in an attempt to annoy him; this was already a wild-haired young man who understood the importance of just saying "Okay, whatever" instead of complaining noisily before settling down to solve the math problems Renji had prepared for the session...
But the look on his face was the same that the brat used to wear when he had something heavy on his mind.
Renji knew. That smooth brow wasn't furrowed in concentration as it should be. The fingers of one hand were playing with the pencil -- not so much twirling it, as moving it idly across the surface of the table.
"...Akaya. Let's rest for a minute. Is there anything you want to talk about?"
It obviously took Akaya by surprise. The young man blinked up at Renji out of the depths of his thoughts, and safely away from the theorem he was supposed to have proven ten minutes ago.
"Uh...what do you mean?"
Renji smiled. "Listen. We've been at this for too long. I know your patterns. You need to let something out of your chest, or we'll never get anywhere tonight."
Akaya straightened up indignantly. "Geez, Renji-sempai!" He'd used to call him "Yanagi-sempai." Somehow it stopped being necessary to be so formal when they both reached high school.
"We're as much old friends as we are sempai and kouhai, Akaya. Now tell me: is it something personal? Perhaps something related to family? Or someone closer?"
Akaya's flashing eyes narrowed. He looked away, pouting in resentment.
As per Renji's notes, that simply meant he was gearing up to talk.
Akaya sat back, away from his sempai's stare, and sighed a loud, deliberately angry sigh. Renji became even more convinced his tenacious calm could get him places.
"Fine, I'll tell you. There's this...person," Akaya began, "like no other person I know. Looking at that person, it's like..." A pause here. Brief, but functional, giving Akaya enough time to draw in a long breath, "Like looking into a deep pool of water. Clear water, the kind that sparkles at the top when light hits it. The surface ripples when you touch it, and you can't see the bottom because it's so deep, but you know no matter what, something beautiful's down there."
Renji listened, careful to keep his face blank. His mind was already working furiously. Who was this person whom Akaya's haphazard, potentially truly uncoordinated mind associated with clear water?
"I'm not sure I understand," he said gently, resting his elbows on the tabletop.
A distant look had come upon Akaya's face. Renji watched the unconscious little changes in his facial expression, quietly fascinated. "When the water reflects things," Akaya continued dreamily, "ripples and all...they make sense. And you think, maybe it would be nice to swim. Stay underwater for a while. Maybe a lot of things are going to make sense when you do. Maybe you'll get to the bottom. And maybe everything you're looking for is there. All the things that make things make sense, that keep the water pure...things you don't see when your feet are on land and you're just standing thirsty and dry."
Renji said, flatly, "You might drown."
It was the first time that night Akaya smiled at him. At him, and not the tutor. Not the sempai. Not even the friend.
"It might be worth it."
The words struck Renji like arrows of ice: melting the instant they hit home. He would have been able to answer this. If he was feeling more sentimental, he could have come up with something that would catch Akaya off-guard, in turn.
He was virtually so many years older. He had been in love before. He had never confessed, so he had never been answered. But it had been such a long time, or so it seemed to him. It had long since ceased to matter.
"This sounds like a very interesting person, worth drowning for." He smiled back. "Surely you'll satisfy my curiosity, Akaya?"
Akaya looked straight into his eyes for much too long. Renji matched him stare for stare, smugly thinking, he is ten years too early to even step beneath the surface.
Then Akaya reached forward, and laid his hand lightly on Renji's.
Renji froze.
Seizing the moment to strike, Akaya smiled again.
"Tell you tomorrow, sempai. I think I'm tired."
And it was indeed with a slouch that Akaya picked up his things from the study table. A terse, genuinely apologetic farewell, a promise to get in touch again come the morning, and then Akaya left.
Renji sat at the study table, looking down at his own notes. If he were actually able to see them, he would have noticed: the pages were all open to what he had learned yesterday, one year ago, today.
Tomorrow's lessons would have seemed a lifetime away.
so not satisfied with this. found tall shaky platform on which to survey the yanakiri domain, climbed, was too heavy, toppled everything ^^;; but may be able to come up with better later.
Clarify
by MorphailEffect
Renji remembered yesterday's lessons as if he had heard them only a few minutes ago. He remembered last year's lessons as if he had only heard them yesterday. It was one advantage of a perfect memory.
Naturally, a perfect memory also had its disadvantages. One was that he was always expected to freely share his knowledge with others. For example, he was assigned the dubious honor of being Akaya's regular tutor. It would have been Jackal's chore, but after a lengthy observation, Renji decided that giving Jackal a break from handling Akaya now and then was good for the other boy's stress tolerance.
Besides, it wasn't an entirely unwelcome activity. Renji liked tutoring Akaya. As much as he could like tutoring anyone. Teaching was second nature to him, it wasn't a matter of "liking."
Renji knew how to fine-tune the rhythm of his speech so his audience wouldn't fall asleep to his recitations, to select the best words so that the audience would be kept leaning toward him and away from the backrest of the chair. He also chose his pauses carefully, for the slightest slip would completely lose someone with a short attention span ("Are you listening, Akaya?"), but even then he would know how to reel such an audience back.
He no longer even thought about these things. He'd been doing it from as far back as he could remember.
Still, Akaya was a special case. Everyone acknowledged it. He actually absorbed things when it was Renji sitting across from him, straight-backed and composed, voice level to the point of droning. Akaya sat still and did as he was told, and though some things needed to be repeated over and over for them to stick, Akaya surprisingly had the patience for it. Which was good, because Renji had the stamina.
Funny though: Renji had always thought Seiichi was the one with the calming influence...
They were in high school now. He was a senior while Akaya was a junior. He was sitting across the low study table from Akaya, in what had become a time-honored tradition for the two of them. No one even had to tell Renji to go tutor Akaya for this year's finals; Renji had volunteered.
"Akaya, you're taking too long solving that problem. If you need my help..."
"Ah -- no. Sempai. It's all right. I can go at this until I'm tired."
It seemed they were both so much older. The person he was facing, for one thing, was certainly not the wild-haired brat who sometimes bugged him to repeat his explanations in an attempt to annoy him; this was already a wild-haired young man who understood the importance of just saying "Okay, whatever" instead of complaining noisily before settling down to solve the math problems Renji had prepared for the session...
But the look on his face was the same that the brat used to wear when he had something heavy on his mind.
Renji knew. That smooth brow wasn't furrowed in concentration as it should be. The fingers of one hand were playing with the pencil -- not so much twirling it, as moving it idly across the surface of the table.
"...Akaya. Let's rest for a minute. Is there anything you want to talk about?"
It obviously took Akaya by surprise. The young man blinked up at Renji out of the depths of his thoughts, and safely away from the theorem he was supposed to have proven ten minutes ago.
"Uh...what do you mean?"
Renji smiled. "Listen. We've been at this for too long. I know your patterns. You need to let something out of your chest, or we'll never get anywhere tonight."
Akaya straightened up indignantly. "Geez, Renji-sempai!" He'd used to call him "Yanagi-sempai." Somehow it stopped being necessary to be so formal when they both reached high school.
"We're as much old friends as we are sempai and kouhai, Akaya. Now tell me: is it something personal? Perhaps something related to family? Or someone closer?"
Akaya's flashing eyes narrowed. He looked away, pouting in resentment.
As per Renji's notes, that simply meant he was gearing up to talk.
Akaya sat back, away from his sempai's stare, and sighed a loud, deliberately angry sigh. Renji became even more convinced his tenacious calm could get him places.
"Fine, I'll tell you. There's this...person," Akaya began, "like no other person I know. Looking at that person, it's like..." A pause here. Brief, but functional, giving Akaya enough time to draw in a long breath, "Like looking into a deep pool of water. Clear water, the kind that sparkles at the top when light hits it. The surface ripples when you touch it, and you can't see the bottom because it's so deep, but you know no matter what, something beautiful's down there."
Renji listened, careful to keep his face blank. His mind was already working furiously. Who was this person whom Akaya's haphazard, potentially truly uncoordinated mind associated with clear water?
"I'm not sure I understand," he said gently, resting his elbows on the tabletop.
A distant look had come upon Akaya's face. Renji watched the unconscious little changes in his facial expression, quietly fascinated. "When the water reflects things," Akaya continued dreamily, "ripples and all...they make sense. And you think, maybe it would be nice to swim. Stay underwater for a while. Maybe a lot of things are going to make sense when you do. Maybe you'll get to the bottom. And maybe everything you're looking for is there. All the things that make things make sense, that keep the water pure...things you don't see when your feet are on land and you're just standing thirsty and dry."
Renji said, flatly, "You might drown."
It was the first time that night Akaya smiled at him. At him, and not the tutor. Not the sempai. Not even the friend.
"It might be worth it."
The words struck Renji like arrows of ice: melting the instant they hit home. He would have been able to answer this. If he was feeling more sentimental, he could have come up with something that would catch Akaya off-guard, in turn.
He was virtually so many years older. He had been in love before. He had never confessed, so he had never been answered. But it had been such a long time, or so it seemed to him. It had long since ceased to matter.
"This sounds like a very interesting person, worth drowning for." He smiled back. "Surely you'll satisfy my curiosity, Akaya?"
Akaya looked straight into his eyes for much too long. Renji matched him stare for stare, smugly thinking, he is ten years too early to even step beneath the surface.
Then Akaya reached forward, and laid his hand lightly on Renji's.
Renji froze.
Seizing the moment to strike, Akaya smiled again.
"Tell you tomorrow, sempai. I think I'm tired."
And it was indeed with a slouch that Akaya picked up his things from the study table. A terse, genuinely apologetic farewell, a promise to get in touch again come the morning, and then Akaya left.
Renji sat at the study table, looking down at his own notes. If he were actually able to see them, he would have noticed: the pages were all open to what he had learned yesterday, one year ago, today.
Tomorrow's lessons would have seemed a lifetime away.