sleeping shorelines
Title: Sleeping Shorelines
Pairing: Massu x Yamapi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2100+
Notes: I was roped into the 24 Hour Valentine’s Day Challenge by ky_rin. Blame her for this thing. alksdf what failed hiatus? I know not of what you speak.
Summary: Massu and Yamapi go to the beach.
alissa | crystallekil | coiled_iris | joshua_glass | ky_rin | liangzhu | mousapelli | myxstorie | nicocoer | pastdazed | silver_rose88 | slytherisa | snowqueenofhoth | tinyangl | trivialaffair
Sleeping Shorelines
“Do you want to go to the beach?” Yamapi asks, on a Thursday afternoon after their last photo shoot of the day. The set is abandoned, adorned with obnoxious hearts and sickening sparkly red. The other members have long left, desperate to escape the Valentines Day overload and return to sanity as quickly as possible.
It is rare for the two of them to be the only ones left, and they both know it.
Massu pauses before he zips artfully patched jeans, swallows in the back of his throat. He sifts through his bag for his grey t-shirt and slowly unfolds soft cotton that rustles smooth against his palm.
“Sure,” Massu says. Thoughts flit through his head but none of them coherent; mostly he wonders why, why he waited for everyone else to leave before asking, why Yamapi’s eyes are hooded as he asks, why Massu of all members?
But he says yes anyway, so Yamapi nods. “Okay.”
He grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder; light catches on the buckles of the leather shoulder bag as he moves toward the door. “I’ve got my car parked in the back lot. I’ll meet you there.”
“Oh,” Massu says, “now?” But Yamapi is already gone, out the door of the dressing room and halfway down the hall.
Massu turns back to his t-shirt and sighs, smoothes an odd crease and sweeps away specks of dust with careful fingers. He takes the shirt into his hand and puts it on slowly, makes sure not to stretch the fabric any more than he has to. He rolls his neck before he sits down, drinking green tea that slides warm down his throat. Eventually, he remembers to call his mother and tells her that he’ll be late that night.
Fifteen minutes later he joins Yamapi, who leans casually against the hood of his car, flipping idly through his phone’s messages. He barely looks up when Massu arrives, just waves as he hops into the driver’s seat and revs the engine.
Yamapi is a different person when he drives; he is animated, excited, passionate. He fiddles with the CD player, plays Southern All Stars as he speeds down expressways. He taps rhythms on his steering wheel and bops his head to catchy tunes, and Massu can only watch in unabashed awe as Yamapi croons along to his favorite songs and head bangs to intense guitar riffs. Yamapi weaves between slow trucks with dexterity, honks at cars that get in his way, and Massu thinks it is fascinating, watching Yamapi behind the wheel, watching him act completely at ease.
They’re about an hour into the drive when Yamapi turns the music down and glances at Massu, “You doing okay?”
Massu stares; surprise overtakes his emotions and his back stiffens in odd discomfort. He clears his throat, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Yamapi shrugs and snaps his eyes back to the road. “Just checking,” he mumbles. He is about to turn the volume back up when Massu stops him.
“Are you?” Massu asks; his eyes reflect concern and his words resound in the vehicle.
Yamapi laughs. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he repeats, and flashes a lopsided smile in Massu’s direction. He cocks his head as he speeds past an old lady driving ten kilometers under the speed limit.
“We don’t do this very often, do we?” Yamapi muses.
Massu nods slowly in response, “Yeah.” There is a pause before he shifts to face Yamapi, collects himself to ask the one question that has been running through his head the past hour.
“Why are we doing this?”
Yamapi doesn’t respond for a while, but eventually his shoulders sag and he lets out a breath.
“Why not?” Yamapi counters quietly.
They don’t say anything for a few minutes more, and Yamapi turns the music way up, bass pounding through the car and reverberating up Massu’s spine.
Another hour later, they finally arrive at a nearly empty beach. It is getting late and the sky is grey. Chilled air greets Massu when he steps out of the car; wind brushes against his skin and he can taste the salt in the atmosphere.
Yamapi stretches when he gets out and shivers when salty wind rushes past him; he wraps his jacket tight around his body and glances at Massu. Massu smiles.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing his jacket and heading towards the sea. Yamapi grins back gratefully and he follows.
They settle themselves in comfortable silence. Together they sit on speckled sand, rough particles that sift through Massu’s fingers. He sits back and leans on his elbows; the crash of waves on the shore drowns out his steady breathing. Gulls call loudly to each other in raucous cacophony, and Massu feels the disharmony seep into his pores.
Yamapi yells out and flops onto the sand with a huff.
“The weather’s shitty today,” he grumbles, flicking sand off his shirt and onto Massu’s forearm.
Massu hums in agreement before easing onto his back next to him. “I think we’re the only ones crazy enough to be here,” Massu notes.
“Probably,” Yamapi sighs. A calm pause passes before Yamapi nudges Massu’s shoulder, “Thanks for coming with me today.”
Massu laughs lightly, “No need to thank me. I’m having a good time.”
“Yeah, well,” Yamapi trails off.
The two of them chuckle and continue to lie on the shore. Sand gets into their hair and Massu buries his fingers in rough grains. In front of them, wave licks the shore in odd beats and the sounds filter loosely through Massu’s ears.
“Hey,” Massu says.
Yamapi looks sideways and Massu closes his eyes tight, “When I asked why we were doing this, I really meant, why me?”
Silence surrounds their space before Yamapi shifts and soft sand brushes Massu’s cheek.
“I wanted to spend the day with you,” Yamapi says quietly. He glances at Massu and Massu feels something weird clench in his stomach, something tight tremble up his spine and lodge itself in his chest. Massu giggles and attempts to ignore the nervous rumbling that settles in the pit of his stomach.
“You make it sound like a date,” he says. “All we need to do now is consummate our love and the day will be complete.” His remark is dry, almost sarcastic; they both laugh.
Yamapi’s eyes crinkle in amusement but he doesn’t refute the statement. He gets up and stretches, walks to his car and returns shortly with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of water. He places the six-pack next to Massu and opens the bottle with a sad little sigh.
“You’re even getting me drunk tonight?” Massu grins as he pulls out a Kirin. He bats playful lashes and pops the beer open. “You’re really going all out.”
Yamapi rolls his eyes and ignores the quip, sits down cross-legged. “One of the pains of being the driver,” Yamapi notes with a sardonic chuckle.
Massu touches his beer can to the plastic bottle and together they drink in comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by the gulls’ cries. Beer fizzles down his throat and Massu flops back onto the ground. The rumbling in his stomach returns and cuts into the quiet. Yamapi’s eyes widen at the sound.
“Oh,” he says, and he shoots up and jogs back toward the car.
Massu sits up just as Yamapi returns with a bag full of shrimp crackers. Massu grins.
“I love you,” he declares, amidst the waves crashing against the shore and gulls screeching all around them. Massu digs in happily and Yamapi pauses in the middle of gulping down fresh water. He glances at Massu and seconds pass before he smiles, eyes soft and lips wide with a sincere sort of happiness that makes Massu’s skin prickle like gooseflesh.
They nurse their drinks and let the sounds and smells of the seawater, the beach, the birds, wash over their senses and fill their lungs. The sun slowly sets and Massu hums songs under his breath; eventually, his eyes flutter closed just as Yamapi finishes writing his name with a stray twig into dirty sand.
“Damn,” Massu says after his eyes struggle to open.
He turns to Yamapi splayed out beside him, mouth slack-opened and limbs in odd positions. He pokes Yamapi’s cheek; Yamapi makes unintelligible noises and he sniffs loudly. Massu giggles.
Eventually, he sits up with a groan, massages his back lightly as he takes in the beach that is transformed by nightfall. Waves tumble onto the shore in succession, and the sea stretches far into an expanse of pitch black. The gulls’ caws are gone; a solitary lamppost behind them illuminates the lifeless beach. The bulb’s light reflects dully off bottles scattered on the shore and highlights their sandy skin.
He fishes in his jacket pockets for his cell phone and cringes when the sky blue screen flashes bright into his eyes. Then he notices the time and he curses under his breath; he nudges Yamapi and Yamapi swats a blind arm in Massu’s face.
“What?” Yamapi breathes. His eyes slowly open and he pauses.
“It’s dark,” he remarks.
Massu rolls his eyes. “Yamapi,” he whispers, though he doesn’t know why he does; they’re the only ones there. “It’s 2 AM. We need to get back. I have Rescue filming tomorrow. And you. Well, I’m sure you have something. You always have something.” Massu nudges him again, “Yamapi.”
Yamapi remains still. “You can really see the stars here,” he observes, voice quiet and relaxed as he gazes upwards at the nighttime sky.
Massu glances up. A myriad of specks dots the dark sky and for a second he is inclined to stay. “They’re fantastic,” he agrees with a smile.
Then he looks at his phone’s display again and reality sinks in deep. He pushes Yamapi’s shoulder once more, “Yamapi, I really have to go.”
Yamapi stretches out a hand and grabs Massu’s jacket sleeve. Fingers brush against fingers and Massu feels Yamapi’s skin press cool against his wrist. Sand tumbles from jacket creases and the two of them stay still, Massu upright and salty breeze sweeping against his face and Yamapi laying flat, chest rising and falling with each deep, sated breath.
“Just five more minutes,” Yamapi mumbles.
They sit for another hour, hands touching and not touching, toes curling and chest thumping.
Massu forgets the world for that moment.
The ride home is mostly filled with Yamapi responding to missed calls and tiredly discussing his schedule with his manager. Eventually, he gets off the phone with a huff and turns to Massu with bleary eyes.
“I have three interviews tomorrow.” Yamapi sighs, rubs his temples tiredly; his bangs sweep loosely against taut forehead and he brushes them away with angry fingers. “I swear, if I have to give another Valentine’s day-themed interview, I’m going to punch someone. In the face. And it’s going to hurt.”
Massu chuckles and stretches languidly in the passenger’s seat. His outstretched arm hits the roof of the car and he winces. “Agreed,” he mutters, “I always end up saying the same thing anyway.” His voice rises in a sing-song pitch.
“No, I rarely got any chocolates in high school. I like white chocolates best. My ideal date would be to hold hands with a cute girl and giggle at each other all night long.” Massu scoffs, “What a farce.”
Yamapi snorts and Massu glances sidelong at him.
“You were always popular, right?” he asks matter-of-factly.
He shrugs in response. “I did okay,” Yamapi says simply, obviously. His hand grips the steering wheel loosely, fingers grazing black leather.
“But does it really matter?” he asks, more to himself than to Massu. “As long I’m with the one person I like, it’s more than enough.”
Massu nods in agreement even though Yamapi isn’t looking, and then he leans over and turns up the volume. Yamapi flashes Massu a quick smile and melodies fill the space between them, Mr. Children washing smoothly over their senses.
They spend the rest of the car without saying another word, but Massu finds he doesn’t really mind.
Yamapi pulls up to the curb in front of Massu’s house at around four in the morning; Massu can barely keep his eyes open and Yamapi shakes his shoulder gently.
“We’re here,” he whispers.
Massu groans and he glares halfheartedly at Yamapi for rousing him from near-sleep. “I don’t want to get up,” he mumbles, rubbing the weights sitting heavy on his eyelids with stubby fingers. Yamapi half-smiles and he watches as Massu stumbles out of the car with a whine. Before he closes the door, Massu turns back and leans in.
“Thanks for this,” he gestures vaguely and Yamapi smiles a tired smile.
“Let’s do this again sometime,” Yamapi suggests, eyes bearing deep into Massu’s; the unspoken invitation makes something in Massu’s throat tremble and chest pound.
“Yes,” Massu says eventually, lips curving into a smile. “Let’s.”
AN: I wonder how long I can keep on pretending that I’m on hiatus.
Happy Valentines Day everyone! Love you all and hope your day goes fantastically! :D
Pairing: Massu x Yamapi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2100+
Notes: I was roped into the 24 Hour Valentine’s Day Challenge by ky_rin. Blame her for this thing. alksdf what failed hiatus? I know not of what you speak.
Summary: Massu and Yamapi go to the beach.
alissa | crystallekil | coiled_iris | joshua_glass | ky_rin | liangzhu | mousapelli | myxstorie | nicocoer | pastdazed | silver_rose88 | slytherisa | snowqueenofhoth | tinyangl | trivialaffair
Sleeping Shorelines
“Do you want to go to the beach?” Yamapi asks, on a Thursday afternoon after their last photo shoot of the day. The set is abandoned, adorned with obnoxious hearts and sickening sparkly red. The other members have long left, desperate to escape the Valentines Day overload and return to sanity as quickly as possible.
It is rare for the two of them to be the only ones left, and they both know it.
Massu pauses before he zips artfully patched jeans, swallows in the back of his throat. He sifts through his bag for his grey t-shirt and slowly unfolds soft cotton that rustles smooth against his palm.
“Sure,” Massu says. Thoughts flit through his head but none of them coherent; mostly he wonders why, why he waited for everyone else to leave before asking, why Yamapi’s eyes are hooded as he asks, why Massu of all members?
But he says yes anyway, so Yamapi nods. “Okay.”
He grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder; light catches on the buckles of the leather shoulder bag as he moves toward the door. “I’ve got my car parked in the back lot. I’ll meet you there.”
“Oh,” Massu says, “now?” But Yamapi is already gone, out the door of the dressing room and halfway down the hall.
Massu turns back to his t-shirt and sighs, smoothes an odd crease and sweeps away specks of dust with careful fingers. He takes the shirt into his hand and puts it on slowly, makes sure not to stretch the fabric any more than he has to. He rolls his neck before he sits down, drinking green tea that slides warm down his throat. Eventually, he remembers to call his mother and tells her that he’ll be late that night.
Fifteen minutes later he joins Yamapi, who leans casually against the hood of his car, flipping idly through his phone’s messages. He barely looks up when Massu arrives, just waves as he hops into the driver’s seat and revs the engine.
Yamapi is a different person when he drives; he is animated, excited, passionate. He fiddles with the CD player, plays Southern All Stars as he speeds down expressways. He taps rhythms on his steering wheel and bops his head to catchy tunes, and Massu can only watch in unabashed awe as Yamapi croons along to his favorite songs and head bangs to intense guitar riffs. Yamapi weaves between slow trucks with dexterity, honks at cars that get in his way, and Massu thinks it is fascinating, watching Yamapi behind the wheel, watching him act completely at ease.
They’re about an hour into the drive when Yamapi turns the music down and glances at Massu, “You doing okay?”
Massu stares; surprise overtakes his emotions and his back stiffens in odd discomfort. He clears his throat, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Yamapi shrugs and snaps his eyes back to the road. “Just checking,” he mumbles. He is about to turn the volume back up when Massu stops him.
“Are you?” Massu asks; his eyes reflect concern and his words resound in the vehicle.
Yamapi laughs. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he repeats, and flashes a lopsided smile in Massu’s direction. He cocks his head as he speeds past an old lady driving ten kilometers under the speed limit.
“We don’t do this very often, do we?” Yamapi muses.
Massu nods slowly in response, “Yeah.” There is a pause before he shifts to face Yamapi, collects himself to ask the one question that has been running through his head the past hour.
“Why are we doing this?”
Yamapi doesn’t respond for a while, but eventually his shoulders sag and he lets out a breath.
“Why not?” Yamapi counters quietly.
They don’t say anything for a few minutes more, and Yamapi turns the music way up, bass pounding through the car and reverberating up Massu’s spine.
Another hour later, they finally arrive at a nearly empty beach. It is getting late and the sky is grey. Chilled air greets Massu when he steps out of the car; wind brushes against his skin and he can taste the salt in the atmosphere.
Yamapi stretches when he gets out and shivers when salty wind rushes past him; he wraps his jacket tight around his body and glances at Massu. Massu smiles.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing his jacket and heading towards the sea. Yamapi grins back gratefully and he follows.
They settle themselves in comfortable silence. Together they sit on speckled sand, rough particles that sift through Massu’s fingers. He sits back and leans on his elbows; the crash of waves on the shore drowns out his steady breathing. Gulls call loudly to each other in raucous cacophony, and Massu feels the disharmony seep into his pores.
Yamapi yells out and flops onto the sand with a huff.
“The weather’s shitty today,” he grumbles, flicking sand off his shirt and onto Massu’s forearm.
Massu hums in agreement before easing onto his back next to him. “I think we’re the only ones crazy enough to be here,” Massu notes.
“Probably,” Yamapi sighs. A calm pause passes before Yamapi nudges Massu’s shoulder, “Thanks for coming with me today.”
Massu laughs lightly, “No need to thank me. I’m having a good time.”
“Yeah, well,” Yamapi trails off.
The two of them chuckle and continue to lie on the shore. Sand gets into their hair and Massu buries his fingers in rough grains. In front of them, wave licks the shore in odd beats and the sounds filter loosely through Massu’s ears.
“Hey,” Massu says.
Yamapi looks sideways and Massu closes his eyes tight, “When I asked why we were doing this, I really meant, why me?”
Silence surrounds their space before Yamapi shifts and soft sand brushes Massu’s cheek.
“I wanted to spend the day with you,” Yamapi says quietly. He glances at Massu and Massu feels something weird clench in his stomach, something tight tremble up his spine and lodge itself in his chest. Massu giggles and attempts to ignore the nervous rumbling that settles in the pit of his stomach.
“You make it sound like a date,” he says. “All we need to do now is consummate our love and the day will be complete.” His remark is dry, almost sarcastic; they both laugh.
Yamapi’s eyes crinkle in amusement but he doesn’t refute the statement. He gets up and stretches, walks to his car and returns shortly with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of water. He places the six-pack next to Massu and opens the bottle with a sad little sigh.
“You’re even getting me drunk tonight?” Massu grins as he pulls out a Kirin. He bats playful lashes and pops the beer open. “You’re really going all out.”
Yamapi rolls his eyes and ignores the quip, sits down cross-legged. “One of the pains of being the driver,” Yamapi notes with a sardonic chuckle.
Massu touches his beer can to the plastic bottle and together they drink in comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by the gulls’ cries. Beer fizzles down his throat and Massu flops back onto the ground. The rumbling in his stomach returns and cuts into the quiet. Yamapi’s eyes widen at the sound.
“Oh,” he says, and he shoots up and jogs back toward the car.
Massu sits up just as Yamapi returns with a bag full of shrimp crackers. Massu grins.
“I love you,” he declares, amidst the waves crashing against the shore and gulls screeching all around them. Massu digs in happily and Yamapi pauses in the middle of gulping down fresh water. He glances at Massu and seconds pass before he smiles, eyes soft and lips wide with a sincere sort of happiness that makes Massu’s skin prickle like gooseflesh.
They nurse their drinks and let the sounds and smells of the seawater, the beach, the birds, wash over their senses and fill their lungs. The sun slowly sets and Massu hums songs under his breath; eventually, his eyes flutter closed just as Yamapi finishes writing his name with a stray twig into dirty sand.
“Damn,” Massu says after his eyes struggle to open.
He turns to Yamapi splayed out beside him, mouth slack-opened and limbs in odd positions. He pokes Yamapi’s cheek; Yamapi makes unintelligible noises and he sniffs loudly. Massu giggles.
Eventually, he sits up with a groan, massages his back lightly as he takes in the beach that is transformed by nightfall. Waves tumble onto the shore in succession, and the sea stretches far into an expanse of pitch black. The gulls’ caws are gone; a solitary lamppost behind them illuminates the lifeless beach. The bulb’s light reflects dully off bottles scattered on the shore and highlights their sandy skin.
He fishes in his jacket pockets for his cell phone and cringes when the sky blue screen flashes bright into his eyes. Then he notices the time and he curses under his breath; he nudges Yamapi and Yamapi swats a blind arm in Massu’s face.
“What?” Yamapi breathes. His eyes slowly open and he pauses.
“It’s dark,” he remarks.
Massu rolls his eyes. “Yamapi,” he whispers, though he doesn’t know why he does; they’re the only ones there. “It’s 2 AM. We need to get back. I have Rescue filming tomorrow. And you. Well, I’m sure you have something. You always have something.” Massu nudges him again, “Yamapi.”
Yamapi remains still. “You can really see the stars here,” he observes, voice quiet and relaxed as he gazes upwards at the nighttime sky.
Massu glances up. A myriad of specks dots the dark sky and for a second he is inclined to stay. “They’re fantastic,” he agrees with a smile.
Then he looks at his phone’s display again and reality sinks in deep. He pushes Yamapi’s shoulder once more, “Yamapi, I really have to go.”
Yamapi stretches out a hand and grabs Massu’s jacket sleeve. Fingers brush against fingers and Massu feels Yamapi’s skin press cool against his wrist. Sand tumbles from jacket creases and the two of them stay still, Massu upright and salty breeze sweeping against his face and Yamapi laying flat, chest rising and falling with each deep, sated breath.
“Just five more minutes,” Yamapi mumbles.
They sit for another hour, hands touching and not touching, toes curling and chest thumping.
Massu forgets the world for that moment.
The ride home is mostly filled with Yamapi responding to missed calls and tiredly discussing his schedule with his manager. Eventually, he gets off the phone with a huff and turns to Massu with bleary eyes.
“I have three interviews tomorrow.” Yamapi sighs, rubs his temples tiredly; his bangs sweep loosely against taut forehead and he brushes them away with angry fingers. “I swear, if I have to give another Valentine’s day-themed interview, I’m going to punch someone. In the face. And it’s going to hurt.”
Massu chuckles and stretches languidly in the passenger’s seat. His outstretched arm hits the roof of the car and he winces. “Agreed,” he mutters, “I always end up saying the same thing anyway.” His voice rises in a sing-song pitch.
“No, I rarely got any chocolates in high school. I like white chocolates best. My ideal date would be to hold hands with a cute girl and giggle at each other all night long.” Massu scoffs, “What a farce.”
Yamapi snorts and Massu glances sidelong at him.
“You were always popular, right?” he asks matter-of-factly.
He shrugs in response. “I did okay,” Yamapi says simply, obviously. His hand grips the steering wheel loosely, fingers grazing black leather.
“But does it really matter?” he asks, more to himself than to Massu. “As long I’m with the one person I like, it’s more than enough.”
Massu nods in agreement even though Yamapi isn’t looking, and then he leans over and turns up the volume. Yamapi flashes Massu a quick smile and melodies fill the space between them, Mr. Children washing smoothly over their senses.
They spend the rest of the car without saying another word, but Massu finds he doesn’t really mind.
Yamapi pulls up to the curb in front of Massu’s house at around four in the morning; Massu can barely keep his eyes open and Yamapi shakes his shoulder gently.
“We’re here,” he whispers.
Massu groans and he glares halfheartedly at Yamapi for rousing him from near-sleep. “I don’t want to get up,” he mumbles, rubbing the weights sitting heavy on his eyelids with stubby fingers. Yamapi half-smiles and he watches as Massu stumbles out of the car with a whine. Before he closes the door, Massu turns back and leans in.
“Thanks for this,” he gestures vaguely and Yamapi smiles a tired smile.
“Let’s do this again sometime,” Yamapi suggests, eyes bearing deep into Massu’s; the unspoken invitation makes something in Massu’s throat tremble and chest pound.
“Yes,” Massu says eventually, lips curving into a smile. “Let’s.”
AN: I wonder how long I can keep on pretending that I’m on hiatus.
Happy Valentines Day everyone! Love you all and hope your day goes fantastically! :D