nightflight: (keiryo || can't help myself)
[personal profile] nightflight
Okay, so nobody actually reads w-inds. fic anymore, especially unfinished w-inds. fic, especially crap posted here, I know that, but while playing my favorite game (Let's Read Old LJ Entries for Shits and Giggles) I found a scrapped opening of to dance chapter two that I actually like a lot better than the one I eventually chose.

I cannot resist posting it here, so please excuse me.


How was Ryohei? Ryohei was a little odd, Keita had declared once over the telephone to his sister. He'd flashed the boy in question a show-stopping grin as he said it, watching with unmasked amusement as Ryohei'd pretended to look offended. He never knew why the Tachibana girls always chose to call the house number instead of Keita's cell phone number, and he never knew how Keita could so easily rattle on and on to them in front of other people, but he'd seemed to be enjoying it that day. Even had Ryohei wanted to give Keita privacy (at the expense of his seat on the couch -- his seat, his beloved seat, the seat he'd finally managed to make warm by the intense act of sitting on it -- and he'd give it all up, just for Keita!), Keita'd had his own idea, pinning the boy down by lying down on top of him, crossing his heavy legs on top of his scrawny lap.

How was Ryohei strange? Keita'd laughed. He'd thought they'd never ask! Ryohei, Keita'd said, was a freak of nature, an abomination of everything young and teenage and boy. Did they know, for example, that Ryohei actually folded his dirty towels before placing them in the laundry? No? How about this -- did they know, Keita'd asked, the giddiness obvious in his voice, that Ryohei had to have everything in his bedroom organized to a tee or he couldn't function? Not just things like CDs and magazines, no. He had to have each of his socks balled up in just the right place in his dresser, he had to have every oversized shirt he owned in a particular place. He organized by color, than brand (alphabetically, of course!), than -- and he wasn't kidding -- fiber content. Heaven forbid, he'd laughed, one mix their cottons with their cotton blends! That could be disasterous!

Ryohei'd pouted at him. They'd had that conversation before. His skin was sensitive. Some shirts were Over shirts and some were Under shirts. Certain materials made him break out with rash.

Keita'd ignored him, laughing at the obvious sounds of his sisters' incredulation. Mai had been particularly shocked. She'd always thought Ryohei seemed like the reasonable one. Ryohei could hear, even feet away from the receiver, Mio butt in that she'd only thought that because she'd fancied him. Mai'd replied that no, that wasn't true, although, she admitted, she did.

Keita'd just laughed, shaking his head. I'm sorry to break your heart, he'd said, but on top of being an obsessive compulsive maniac, I think you're a little too young for Ryohei Chiba. He'd looked over at him, an eyebrow peeking up over the thick frames of his day-glasses. Wasn't he right?

Ryohei'd shook his head, blushing despite himself. One day, he'd whispered to Keita, he'd kill him in his sleep. Keita had just laughed again, leaning back and continuing to talk to his sisters about whatever else they'd wanted to blather on about. Were they doing well in school? No boyfriends, right? Mom was being okay? The entire time, Ryohei'd been left to sit back, wondering why it was so odd (strange, Keita had said. Strange.) to want to have things in their proper spots and to always, always know where and what everything was.





And oh God, I just found another thing, please indulge me a little.


Keita realizes he's in love when he suddenly can't come up with proper retorts to Ryohei's teases; Ryohei is so slight, so unassuming, so everything that Keita isn't that Keita has no idea what he's doing sometimes, watching from somewhere far beyond himself as he keeps touching him, laughing for far too long and far too loudly at whatever it is Ryohei has just said, unable to keep his hands off of his shoulders (small), his arms (small), his waist (delicate). Ryohei is everything Keita has never wanted out of love. Ryohei has long conversations with Ryuichi consisting of only dorky movie quotes, and Keita finds himself jealous, butting in with a lame attempt at his own and watching Ryohei carefully for any signs of scorn. He hates it. Sometimes Ryohei looks at him and sometihng in his eyes makes Keita feel like he's the only person in the world, and then sometimes Ryohei'll go off for an evening with his mysterious friends and Keita'll choke down the urge to text him with obnoxious tidbits from his night out of a sudden need to reconfirm that Ryohei likes him more than them (whoever they might be). Ryohei drives Keita crazy, makes him incoherent, turns him into a flustered schoolgirl who just can't help herself, which is why it's such a relief when Ryohei finally kisses him, because at least then he knows he can keep his hand on Ryohei's (tiny) knee.


OKAY I'M DONE I SWEAR, YOU CAN ALL SCROLL PAST NAO.
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March 2011

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