[FIC] Not Much... Just Enough (Jackal/Marui)
So... Yes. This journal really has become just about fiction. Here is the latest installment of JaBun. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi, Konami, et al. I make no profit and write only for my enjoyment.
Warnings: AU, m/m, mild language
A/N: written for 30_kisses theme #15: perfect blue
Not Much... Just Enough
by Solanum Dulcamara
The fingertips of his left hand caressed the strings, pressing them against the neck, rapidly rocking in vibrato with the swells of the longer notes. The bow slid across the strings under the guidance of the right - long gliding strokes through slurs and short crisp eighth notes. The cello was a comfortable familiar weight against his thighs. He had long since lost himself in his favorite piece, "Après un Rève" by Gabriel Faure. It wasn't difficult for him to play, but he'd always adored the lilting melody. He usually chose it for warming up and often played it when he just wanted to clear his head.
Marui sat on the edge of the bed as he played; not exactly the ideal posture for a cellist, but it was where his always sat when playing at home. There was only one chair in the tiny apartment, and it was Jackal's, and he often sat in it while listening to Marui play. Somehow it just seemed wrong to Marui to sit in Jackal's chair for practice when Jackal wasn't there.
The apartment was very tiny. Their bed was against one wall facing Jackal's desk that was cluttered with work from his internship and various books from his studies. They had a little closet, a bathroom that was purely functional - toilet, sink, shower (no tub) - and a kitchenette. Jackal always seemed particularly large moving through the narrow walkways. It wasn't much, but it suited them just fine. They were university students after all. They weren't supposed to have luxurious accommodations, and real estate was astronomical in San Francisco. And anyway, they had a beautiful view of the beach... or so went their favorite joke. On a clear day, if you looked out the window at the head of the bed, in the small spot between two row houses, you could just make out a sliver of the bay glinting blue in the distance. Again, it wasn't much, but it was somehow perfect for them. It was like a far-off promise.
The window was open that day, letting in the autumn breeze. Marui loved to play with the windows open, despite the effects the weather could have on his strings and their ability to stay tuned. In and amongst the exhaust and all the smells of the city, he could usually catch the slightest hint of salt on the wind. Today was no different. The clean, cool autumn breeze brought the salty beach air to him easily. He relaxed into the comfort of playing. Every vibration of every note sent a tiny thrill up through his fingers. It was an ecstasy only musicians understand. He would be composing today... when he got past just playing, which was difficult because it was such a nice day to just sit and play and lose himself in the music. He was working on a piece with a fellow student from the fine arts department, Ohtori Choutarou. Their friendship had been born of necessity, as opposed to any kind of instant connection. Marui's English had been crap when he'd first arrived stateside and finding an America-born Japanese in his own department had been a godsend. Ohtori, the most accommodating person on the planet, had been happy to help Marui communicate with the locals, and though their personalities didn't mesh in the most linear of thought-prossesses, an easy friendship developed between them. Marui's English had improved greatly over the three years he'd studied in San Francisco, though he was fond of purposely messing up sentences to imbue them with sexual overtones that made Americans uncomfortable.
He'd get around to working on their project eventually, but for the time being he'd just enjoy their sliver of blue - though he couldn't see it because his eyes were closed - and the lovely autumn breeze, and the comfort of their cozy little apartment. Marui knew if he opened his eyes, he'd be staring at the hutch shelf devoted to Paulo Coelho, and really, he wouldn't be sitting where he was if it weren't for The Alchemist. He'd been sitting at a table in a student café, rereading a passage to make note of it for his World Lit course, when a deep voice behind him said, "The translations of his work are actually decent." The low timbre of that voice alone was enough to make Marui sit up and pay attention (and his English was still in the developmental stage), but when he turned around to meet that voice's owner, his ability to coherently form sentences (with said developmental English) temporarily took a vacation. Tall, dark, and bald, Jackal could come off as intimidating, but his expression was open and inviting, so he just looked strong and pleasant, like the three cups of coffee Marui'd downed while working on that novel. "Yu shitto hiyaa ando herupu mi." He tried to inflect as much knowing and as little accent into the sentence as possible, as he gestured to the chair across the table. But when the response was, "Nihonjin?" as this beautiful stranger slid into the suggested chair, Marui felt like he must have been dreaming. He didn't go so far as to pinch himself, though he considered it. The conversation that ensued in rapid and fluent Japanese was largely inconsequential. Marui, born and raised in Tokyo, had decided to attend university in the United States. Jackal had lived in various parts of California most of his life, though he'd been born in Sao Paulo, Brazil to a Japanese mother and Brazilian father. Marui thought it was devastatingly sexy that Jackal spoke three languages. Sure Marui was attracted to Jackal - he thought anyone who wasn't had to be crazy - but he wasn't gay so much as an equal opportunist. 'Why limit yourself' was his personal philosophy for just about everything.
As it turned out, Jackal was an English major, and he was happy to discuss the novel. They sat at that café table talking, first about the book, then about their other classes, and later about families, jobs, and all the other little things that make up everyday life until Jackal realized he was late for class and Marui realized he'd missed one of his classes altogether. He didn't mind. Dealing with his professor would be well worth that single conversation. He'd made himself available at the same time, at the same table everyday that followed, with a single-minded determination and assurance that Jackal had enjoyed the conversation as much as he had. Three days later, his stubbornness paid off. Jackal walked up to the table and sat down as easily as if he'd done it a million times instead of just once. He needed Marui's help this time - a review for the school newspaper about the orchestra's upcoming performance. Apparently, he'd volunteered for the assignment without any technical knowledge in music, but he knew Marui could help. "Wouldn't it be biased if I helped you? I am playing in the performance you're reviewing, after all." It was a question that needed asking.
"My review would be biased anyway. This way it'll at least have the facts to back up the opinions. And newspapers are always biased, despite assertions otherwise."
"And why would your review be biased," Marui'd asked as casually as he could muster.
Jackal answered with an easy grin, "Because you're in it."
That was the beginning of what would be the best of friendships and so much more. Marui later found out that Jackal wasn't gay so much as Brazilian, and Marui had the best ass he'd ever seen.
They'd moved in together after a year, once they'd scraped together enough money; Jackal working at the student bookstore and Marui cooking at a local bistro. A little more than a year and a half later, things were only getting better. Marui was looking to complete his degree within the year, and Jackal had already been offered a position with the magazine where he'd been interning. They were still scraping money together with their part-time jobs, but they made do. They ate cheaply because they both ate a lot. Fortunately they were both raised on rice-heavy diets. They were busy with school and work, and what free-time they had was spent enjoying each other, so they didn't have many extraneous expenditures. Now, they could sincerely look at the prospects of steady work and no homework.
Marui swayed with the rhythm of the music, his body moving side to side with the gentle rise and fall of the notes. It was a habit that drove his conductors batty, but one he wasn't about to lose. It wouldn't matter in the long run. He and Ohtori would forge a brave new world with their music that would shatter preconceived notions about classical instruments and bring them to the modern era... or so he liked to believe.
The sound of a key in the lock broke him from his musical revery. He opened his eyes to see Jackal coming in loaded down, as usual, with research materials for fact-checking the reporters' work; such was the life of an intern. But he was also balancing some grocery bags, which was unusual because the always shopped together. "Hey! You're home early. And what's with the groceries? It's not shopping day."
"Yeah," Jackal shut the door with his foot and deposited the plastic bags in the kitchen area that was more of an after-thought than an actual room, before coming into the apartment proper to add the new stack of paperwork to the already existing mound, "They let the interns go early today. For no particular reason that I was able to glean, not that I'm complaining." He turned to face Marui and smiled at the blank sheet music and unused pencil sitting on the little folding stand. "So I thought I could change, and we could head down to our section of the beach for a picnic. You don't have to be into work until later tonight, right?"
"Yes!" It was an answer to the suggestion and the question and enthusiastic as much because of the the thoughtfulness of the gesture as because it involved food. Marui liked to eat and any activity that included Jackal and food was as near perfect as he could imagine. "I was just looking at our little beach front earlier."
"I could smell the salt on the air on the streetcar." Jackal went to the closet to change into some jeans and a t-shirt. It was the same one he'd been wearing the day they'd met. Marui smiled.
"Gave you a craving for the beach?" He set aside the stand and put his cello in its case.
"Well, I was already craving you... so I guess it just gave me a more specific craving."
Marui flushed happily. Jackal always said things like that, simple and straight-forward, and it made him warm all over. "So what are we eating?" He went to inspect the bags.
"Does the 'what' really matter if we're together?"
"Yes."
Jackal laughed knowing how much of that answer was joking and how much was truth. The laughter was warm and rich and deep, and it filled their little apartment. Really though, Marui thought, as long as he had laughter like that, the 'what' really didn't matter. Ciabatta, tapenade, fresh mozzarella, pears, toasted almonds, and iced black tea. Sure, it wasn't much, but it was perfect.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi, Konami, et al. I make no profit and write only for my enjoyment.
Warnings: AU, m/m, mild language
A/N: written for 30_kisses theme #15: perfect blue
Not Much... Just Enough
by Solanum Dulcamara
The fingertips of his left hand caressed the strings, pressing them against the neck, rapidly rocking in vibrato with the swells of the longer notes. The bow slid across the strings under the guidance of the right - long gliding strokes through slurs and short crisp eighth notes. The cello was a comfortable familiar weight against his thighs. He had long since lost himself in his favorite piece, "Après un Rève" by Gabriel Faure. It wasn't difficult for him to play, but he'd always adored the lilting melody. He usually chose it for warming up and often played it when he just wanted to clear his head.
Marui sat on the edge of the bed as he played; not exactly the ideal posture for a cellist, but it was where his always sat when playing at home. There was only one chair in the tiny apartment, and it was Jackal's, and he often sat in it while listening to Marui play. Somehow it just seemed wrong to Marui to sit in Jackal's chair for practice when Jackal wasn't there.
The apartment was very tiny. Their bed was against one wall facing Jackal's desk that was cluttered with work from his internship and various books from his studies. They had a little closet, a bathroom that was purely functional - toilet, sink, shower (no tub) - and a kitchenette. Jackal always seemed particularly large moving through the narrow walkways. It wasn't much, but it suited them just fine. They were university students after all. They weren't supposed to have luxurious accommodations, and real estate was astronomical in San Francisco. And anyway, they had a beautiful view of the beach... or so went their favorite joke. On a clear day, if you looked out the window at the head of the bed, in the small spot between two row houses, you could just make out a sliver of the bay glinting blue in the distance. Again, it wasn't much, but it was somehow perfect for them. It was like a far-off promise.
The window was open that day, letting in the autumn breeze. Marui loved to play with the windows open, despite the effects the weather could have on his strings and their ability to stay tuned. In and amongst the exhaust and all the smells of the city, he could usually catch the slightest hint of salt on the wind. Today was no different. The clean, cool autumn breeze brought the salty beach air to him easily. He relaxed into the comfort of playing. Every vibration of every note sent a tiny thrill up through his fingers. It was an ecstasy only musicians understand. He would be composing today... when he got past just playing, which was difficult because it was such a nice day to just sit and play and lose himself in the music. He was working on a piece with a fellow student from the fine arts department, Ohtori Choutarou. Their friendship had been born of necessity, as opposed to any kind of instant connection. Marui's English had been crap when he'd first arrived stateside and finding an America-born Japanese in his own department had been a godsend. Ohtori, the most accommodating person on the planet, had been happy to help Marui communicate with the locals, and though their personalities didn't mesh in the most linear of thought-prossesses, an easy friendship developed between them. Marui's English had improved greatly over the three years he'd studied in San Francisco, though he was fond of purposely messing up sentences to imbue them with sexual overtones that made Americans uncomfortable.
He'd get around to working on their project eventually, but for the time being he'd just enjoy their sliver of blue - though he couldn't see it because his eyes were closed - and the lovely autumn breeze, and the comfort of their cozy little apartment. Marui knew if he opened his eyes, he'd be staring at the hutch shelf devoted to Paulo Coelho, and really, he wouldn't be sitting where he was if it weren't for The Alchemist. He'd been sitting at a table in a student café, rereading a passage to make note of it for his World Lit course, when a deep voice behind him said, "The translations of his work are actually decent." The low timbre of that voice alone was enough to make Marui sit up and pay attention (and his English was still in the developmental stage), but when he turned around to meet that voice's owner, his ability to coherently form sentences (with said developmental English) temporarily took a vacation. Tall, dark, and bald, Jackal could come off as intimidating, but his expression was open and inviting, so he just looked strong and pleasant, like the three cups of coffee Marui'd downed while working on that novel. "Yu shitto hiyaa ando herupu mi." He tried to inflect as much knowing and as little accent into the sentence as possible, as he gestured to the chair across the table. But when the response was, "Nihonjin?" as this beautiful stranger slid into the suggested chair, Marui felt like he must have been dreaming. He didn't go so far as to pinch himself, though he considered it. The conversation that ensued in rapid and fluent Japanese was largely inconsequential. Marui, born and raised in Tokyo, had decided to attend university in the United States. Jackal had lived in various parts of California most of his life, though he'd been born in Sao Paulo, Brazil to a Japanese mother and Brazilian father. Marui thought it was devastatingly sexy that Jackal spoke three languages. Sure Marui was attracted to Jackal - he thought anyone who wasn't had to be crazy - but he wasn't gay so much as an equal opportunist. 'Why limit yourself' was his personal philosophy for just about everything.
As it turned out, Jackal was an English major, and he was happy to discuss the novel. They sat at that café table talking, first about the book, then about their other classes, and later about families, jobs, and all the other little things that make up everyday life until Jackal realized he was late for class and Marui realized he'd missed one of his classes altogether. He didn't mind. Dealing with his professor would be well worth that single conversation. He'd made himself available at the same time, at the same table everyday that followed, with a single-minded determination and assurance that Jackal had enjoyed the conversation as much as he had. Three days later, his stubbornness paid off. Jackal walked up to the table and sat down as easily as if he'd done it a million times instead of just once. He needed Marui's help this time - a review for the school newspaper about the orchestra's upcoming performance. Apparently, he'd volunteered for the assignment without any technical knowledge in music, but he knew Marui could help. "Wouldn't it be biased if I helped you? I am playing in the performance you're reviewing, after all." It was a question that needed asking.
"My review would be biased anyway. This way it'll at least have the facts to back up the opinions. And newspapers are always biased, despite assertions otherwise."
"And why would your review be biased," Marui'd asked as casually as he could muster.
Jackal answered with an easy grin, "Because you're in it."
That was the beginning of what would be the best of friendships and so much more. Marui later found out that Jackal wasn't gay so much as Brazilian, and Marui had the best ass he'd ever seen.
They'd moved in together after a year, once they'd scraped together enough money; Jackal working at the student bookstore and Marui cooking at a local bistro. A little more than a year and a half later, things were only getting better. Marui was looking to complete his degree within the year, and Jackal had already been offered a position with the magazine where he'd been interning. They were still scraping money together with their part-time jobs, but they made do. They ate cheaply because they both ate a lot. Fortunately they were both raised on rice-heavy diets. They were busy with school and work, and what free-time they had was spent enjoying each other, so they didn't have many extraneous expenditures. Now, they could sincerely look at the prospects of steady work and no homework.
Marui swayed with the rhythm of the music, his body moving side to side with the gentle rise and fall of the notes. It was a habit that drove his conductors batty, but one he wasn't about to lose. It wouldn't matter in the long run. He and Ohtori would forge a brave new world with their music that would shatter preconceived notions about classical instruments and bring them to the modern era... or so he liked to believe.
The sound of a key in the lock broke him from his musical revery. He opened his eyes to see Jackal coming in loaded down, as usual, with research materials for fact-checking the reporters' work; such was the life of an intern. But he was also balancing some grocery bags, which was unusual because the always shopped together. "Hey! You're home early. And what's with the groceries? It's not shopping day."
"Yeah," Jackal shut the door with his foot and deposited the plastic bags in the kitchen area that was more of an after-thought than an actual room, before coming into the apartment proper to add the new stack of paperwork to the already existing mound, "They let the interns go early today. For no particular reason that I was able to glean, not that I'm complaining." He turned to face Marui and smiled at the blank sheet music and unused pencil sitting on the little folding stand. "So I thought I could change, and we could head down to our section of the beach for a picnic. You don't have to be into work until later tonight, right?"
"Yes!" It was an answer to the suggestion and the question and enthusiastic as much because of the the thoughtfulness of the gesture as because it involved food. Marui liked to eat and any activity that included Jackal and food was as near perfect as he could imagine. "I was just looking at our little beach front earlier."
"I could smell the salt on the air on the streetcar." Jackal went to the closet to change into some jeans and a t-shirt. It was the same one he'd been wearing the day they'd met. Marui smiled.
"Gave you a craving for the beach?" He set aside the stand and put his cello in its case.
"Well, I was already craving you... so I guess it just gave me a more specific craving."
Marui flushed happily. Jackal always said things like that, simple and straight-forward, and it made him warm all over. "So what are we eating?" He went to inspect the bags.
"Does the 'what' really matter if we're together?"
"Yes."
Jackal laughed knowing how much of that answer was joking and how much was truth. The laughter was warm and rich and deep, and it filled their little apartment. Really though, Marui thought, as long as he had laughter like that, the 'what' really didn't matter. Ciabatta, tapenade, fresh mozzarella, pears, toasted almonds, and iced black tea. Sure, it wasn't much, but it was perfect.