(no subject)
title: we're okay like this
author: chartre
rating: pg
pairing: nishikato
summary: there's a love scene on screen.
notes: fictional. shige's pov, a drabble kinda based on a dream. could be anybody, actually, i just like to be a little more definite. :p
We're Okay Like This
nishikato
It's so late. We're sitting in the dark, on either ends of the couch-my side, your side-with the TV light illuminating our work-worn faces. I still have homework to do; I'm lazing around blinking sleep away, but the papers on my lap tell me better. You're just sitting there where it's comfortable, switching channels with the remote control like it's nothing and you complain about nothing good ever being on. It's two in the morning, what do you expect?
You switch to the next channel anyway and we're both suddenly awake. They're showing reruns of this old love-story series. I make a comment ("Oh, I like this show, the story's short but it's really good,") and you're watching intently because you say you like it.
There's a love scene on screen. We're caught in the middle and we're suddenly so quiet.
The credits run in after a short while, and my heart is racing, so fast. Before anything else, I get up and rush to the kitchen for a glass of water, anything to get away from tension. I hear you switch the TV off from behind and when I turn and look over my shoulder, you're digging fingernails into your hair, elbows heavy on your knees.
I rub my temples for a moment and wait for a few more minutes before getting into bed. You follow suit in mere seconds.
It's four in the morning and I stir awake. It's so cold, why isn't the heater on, I complain and try to find my way in the dark, searching blindly for the bedside lamp when an arm curls around my stomach, and I know I'm inches away from the light.
You're so warm, I want to say, but you're probably too sleepy to hear me, but you're holding onto me anyway, your face on the back of my neck through the hair and I can feel your warm breath.
That show is still in my head, that love scene we had seen earlier that night. I can't help it, but I hold onto your hands for that warmth, for that embrace, and you're nestling closer and closer, it's hard to get away, but I don't want to get away, not tonight.
I wake up drearily in the morning when the sunlight hits my eyes. The clock says it's ten, and I wonder why the hours seem so much shorter. You're still holding onto me, I realize. I shift away but to my surprise you're still trying to keep the distance close. You mutter something unintelligible into my neck, and I comply. I forget about my homework and we stay in bed until afternoon just because we're like this, we're okay like this.
author: chartre
rating: pg
pairing: nishikato
summary: there's a love scene on screen.
notes: fictional. shige's pov, a drabble kinda based on a dream. could be anybody, actually, i just like to be a little more definite. :p
We're Okay Like This
nishikato
It's so late. We're sitting in the dark, on either ends of the couch-my side, your side-with the TV light illuminating our work-worn faces. I still have homework to do; I'm lazing around blinking sleep away, but the papers on my lap tell me better. You're just sitting there where it's comfortable, switching channels with the remote control like it's nothing and you complain about nothing good ever being on. It's two in the morning, what do you expect?
You switch to the next channel anyway and we're both suddenly awake. They're showing reruns of this old love-story series. I make a comment ("Oh, I like this show, the story's short but it's really good,") and you're watching intently because you say you like it.
There's a love scene on screen. We're caught in the middle and we're suddenly so quiet.
The credits run in after a short while, and my heart is racing, so fast. Before anything else, I get up and rush to the kitchen for a glass of water, anything to get away from tension. I hear you switch the TV off from behind and when I turn and look over my shoulder, you're digging fingernails into your hair, elbows heavy on your knees.
I rub my temples for a moment and wait for a few more minutes before getting into bed. You follow suit in mere seconds.
It's four in the morning and I stir awake. It's so cold, why isn't the heater on, I complain and try to find my way in the dark, searching blindly for the bedside lamp when an arm curls around my stomach, and I know I'm inches away from the light.
You're so warm, I want to say, but you're probably too sleepy to hear me, but you're holding onto me anyway, your face on the back of my neck through the hair and I can feel your warm breath.
That show is still in my head, that love scene we had seen earlier that night. I can't help it, but I hold onto your hands for that warmth, for that embrace, and you're nestling closer and closer, it's hard to get away, but I don't want to get away, not tonight.
I wake up drearily in the morning when the sunlight hits my eyes. The clock says it's ten, and I wonder why the hours seem so much shorter. You're still holding onto me, I realize. I shift away but to my surprise you're still trying to keep the distance close. You mutter something unintelligible into my neck, and I comply. I forget about my homework and we stay in bed until afternoon just because we're like this, we're okay like this.