ficlet + voting
Title: Unravel
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito, of course.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Synopsis: "It's a lonely sort of night, don't you think?"
Comments: My last little fic for 4seasons_fics.
Too much to drink. Too much to drink and tired. Too much to drink and tired and overworked. Leaning heavily on the table, Sakito stretched, reaching for the pitcher that Niya pulled back an inch. Just far enough so the searching fingers missed their mark and withdrew in disappointment. He gave a dreary whine of protest and let his head fall to the table, already unsure of what he was after. Usually Niya was the encourager, especially after a few beers himself, but the guitarist was in such a pathetic state he felt a twinge of guilt around the haze.
“You’re drunk. No more.” But that didn’t mean Niya couldn’t finish his while they were still seated.
“Not so…” Sakito lifted his head briefly and made a face, then yawned.
“Uh huh.”
Sakito waved a hand nonchalantly, sinking down to rest on his other arm which remained folded on the table. Niya rolled his eyes indiscreetly; his companion wouldn’t notice. Minutes passed staring at the top of Sakito’s silky head, and it finally occurred to him that the guitarist hadn’t moved at all. Reaching across, Niya tapped gently on the outstretched arm. “Hey…”
Sakito stirred temporarily, only to switch pillows from one arm to the other. He was asleep. Sighing, Niya abandoned the dregs of his pint and moved to wake his companion. They had been sitting there quite long enough. Niya zipped his sweatshirt, then shook Sakito’s shoulders to rouse him, greeted with a set of bleary dark eyes squinting up at him grudgingly.
“We’re leaving. Come on,” Niya goaded, trying unsuccessfully to lift Sakito out of the chair by his arm.
A frown creased the smaller man’s pretty face, but he pushed himself up, wobbling on long legs, looking like a spindly fawn. If fawns wore skinny jeans and designer t-shirts that is. Niya grinned inwardly at his own mental image of Sakito, but his amusement faded quickly when the subject of his thoughts slumped against his chest, arms dangling like a rag doll.
“Why can’t we just stay here?” he hiccupped and tried to sit again. With one hand, Niya held him up while the other reached for the oversized black sweater draped over the back of his chair. How they would both get home safely was going to be a dubious endeavor.
Instead of answering (Sakito wouldn’t remember in a few minutes anyway), Niya slipped the sleeves of the sweater onto his arms, adjusting it more carefully on Sakito than he would have bothered on himself, and pulled him toward the door, outside, to find a taxi. The last breath of balmy air was receding into a northerly wind, a sure sign that the golden warmth of early autumn was fading already. Under his hand, he could feel Sakito’s arm shiver, causing the bassist to turn his attention back to his friend.
“Are you cold?” Pointless question, it was obvious Sakito was cold. Glassy eyes looked back at him with a nod, then changed opinion and shook sideways instead. “You’re cold,” Niya stated, since he seemed not to understand the concept.
“Okay,” Sakito slurred in reply. But he didn’t appear to notice when the sweater was drawn more closely around him.
Taxis were easy to come by, thanks to the popularity of the strip. Niya bundled his friend into the first one they found, no mean feat with Sakito being as obliviously uncooperative as he was that night. They fell into the backseat, leaning against each other, pliant and warm with drink. Niya gave Sakito’s address to take him home first, and settled back to wait out the ride.
Sakito’s hand had replaced his own holding the sweater closed; the silly thing lacked buttons save for the two near the lower hem. His breath brushed against Niya’s shoulder where he leaned his cheek, unable to sit up or raise his heavy head.
“It’s a lonely sort of night, don’t you think?” Sakito commented, the first clear thing he’d said in hours. Niya looked down at him, but the guitarist’s eyes were closed, probably half asleep. Without a second thought, he tapped the plexiglass and redirected the cab driver to his own address.
---
And today is the last day to vote for the 2008 Nisaki Day banner! Go HERE to vote. Winner will be posted tomorrow~
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito, of course.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Synopsis: "It's a lonely sort of night, don't you think?"
Comments: My last little fic for 4seasons_fics.
Too much to drink. Too much to drink and tired. Too much to drink and tired and overworked. Leaning heavily on the table, Sakito stretched, reaching for the pitcher that Niya pulled back an inch. Just far enough so the searching fingers missed their mark and withdrew in disappointment. He gave a dreary whine of protest and let his head fall to the table, already unsure of what he was after. Usually Niya was the encourager, especially after a few beers himself, but the guitarist was in such a pathetic state he felt a twinge of guilt around the haze.
“You’re drunk. No more.” But that didn’t mean Niya couldn’t finish his while they were still seated.
“Not so…” Sakito lifted his head briefly and made a face, then yawned.
“Uh huh.”
Sakito waved a hand nonchalantly, sinking down to rest on his other arm which remained folded on the table. Niya rolled his eyes indiscreetly; his companion wouldn’t notice. Minutes passed staring at the top of Sakito’s silky head, and it finally occurred to him that the guitarist hadn’t moved at all. Reaching across, Niya tapped gently on the outstretched arm. “Hey…”
Sakito stirred temporarily, only to switch pillows from one arm to the other. He was asleep. Sighing, Niya abandoned the dregs of his pint and moved to wake his companion. They had been sitting there quite long enough. Niya zipped his sweatshirt, then shook Sakito’s shoulders to rouse him, greeted with a set of bleary dark eyes squinting up at him grudgingly.
“We’re leaving. Come on,” Niya goaded, trying unsuccessfully to lift Sakito out of the chair by his arm.
A frown creased the smaller man’s pretty face, but he pushed himself up, wobbling on long legs, looking like a spindly fawn. If fawns wore skinny jeans and designer t-shirts that is. Niya grinned inwardly at his own mental image of Sakito, but his amusement faded quickly when the subject of his thoughts slumped against his chest, arms dangling like a rag doll.
“Why can’t we just stay here?” he hiccupped and tried to sit again. With one hand, Niya held him up while the other reached for the oversized black sweater draped over the back of his chair. How they would both get home safely was going to be a dubious endeavor.
Instead of answering (Sakito wouldn’t remember in a few minutes anyway), Niya slipped the sleeves of the sweater onto his arms, adjusting it more carefully on Sakito than he would have bothered on himself, and pulled him toward the door, outside, to find a taxi. The last breath of balmy air was receding into a northerly wind, a sure sign that the golden warmth of early autumn was fading already. Under his hand, he could feel Sakito’s arm shiver, causing the bassist to turn his attention back to his friend.
“Are you cold?” Pointless question, it was obvious Sakito was cold. Glassy eyes looked back at him with a nod, then changed opinion and shook sideways instead. “You’re cold,” Niya stated, since he seemed not to understand the concept.
“Okay,” Sakito slurred in reply. But he didn’t appear to notice when the sweater was drawn more closely around him.
Taxis were easy to come by, thanks to the popularity of the strip. Niya bundled his friend into the first one they found, no mean feat with Sakito being as obliviously uncooperative as he was that night. They fell into the backseat, leaning against each other, pliant and warm with drink. Niya gave Sakito’s address to take him home first, and settled back to wait out the ride.
Sakito’s hand had replaced his own holding the sweater closed; the silly thing lacked buttons save for the two near the lower hem. His breath brushed against Niya’s shoulder where he leaned his cheek, unable to sit up or raise his heavy head.
“It’s a lonely sort of night, don’t you think?” Sakito commented, the first clear thing he’d said in hours. Niya looked down at him, but the guitarist’s eyes were closed, probably half asleep. Without a second thought, he tapped the plexiglass and redirected the cab driver to his own address.
---
And today is the last day to vote for the 2008 Nisaki Day banner! Go HERE to vote. Winner will be posted tomorrow~