目をつぶるな、一瞬でおわっちまうよ.
21 November 2008 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fencer_xFiclet. Randomly inspired by the words in Nagayan's latest post.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His father said it to him when he was 7 and he really didn't want that flu shot. Who cared about getting sick? Getting sick was fun! His mother would take such care of him and bring him warm corn pottage and green tea and set him up in the middle of a stack of pillows right by the kotatsu, wrapping a thick blanket around him while he watched variety shows all day. So why would he sacrifice all that, why should he let some strange old lady shove a needle into his arm and tell him in the most patronizing tone possible what a good boy he was?
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His mother said it to him when he was 16 and graduation was three weeks away and finally, finally his letter had come. The letter he'd been waiting for since December (waiting for his whole life) and god oh god what would he do if he didn't get in? It wasn't the best high school in the prefecture academics-wise, but every baseball boy in Kanagawa-ken grew up wanting to get into this school. What if they didn't want him? What if he, at his staggeringly unimpressive 161 (161.5!) cm and curve-ball-that-wouldn't-curve, just didn't make the cut?
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His manager said it to him when he was 19 and he'd just signed on with an agency because hey, pitching wasn't the only thing he could do without thinking, he found out. This was a big step, he'd made it to the final round of the audition, and all he had to do was wait. For thirty minutes. In a stuffy room with lukewarm tea and his manager. They couldn't talk--it wouldn't look good--and they couldn't leave, they could only wait. If he messed this up, he'd told himself, he'd just go back home. Maybe he could coach one of the little league teams, or just be a freetaa and work a few part-time jobs until something else came along. This acting thing, it'd probably never really take off anyways.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His best friend said it to him when he was 23 right before he ran out on stage for the opening number that very first show, and he hadn't quite understood Kimeru's words then. Close his eyes? Of course he wouldn't close them, he'd be liable to miss a step or run into a costar or--god, it was possible--slip off the stage and take a sprawling leap into the audience. His heart was pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest and his mouth was so dry he was afraid the first note he sang was going to screech to the rafters, he'd never felt more awake in his life. So no, he definitely wasn't going to close his eyes.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Tuti whispered it into the crook of his neck when he was 26, the sound muffled against his heated bare skin, but Takashi understood it, heard it as clearly as he had all those years ago from people older and wiser than he. He angled his arms under Tuti's and wrapped them around to grasp the man, holding on for dear life as another thrust came and he fought against just falling into the sensation and heat and tightness and pleasure. A moment was just unfair, what he wouldn't give to be able to stay here forever.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Tamaoki-san yelled it to him, choking back laughter, when he was 29, watching through the lens of a video camera as he scaled the shaky steps up to the platform high above him. How on earth had he managed to get talked into doing this? Wouldn't it kind of ruin the whole event if he was, you know, dead? He was sure if he survived, too, he'd hear no end of reprimands from Tuti who'd likely take the time out of his own busy rehearsal schedule to look up articles on wikipedia about bungee-jumping-related deaths and, "Why the hell would you almost kill yourself if you weren't even going to have it be a part of the event?!"
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Moments were all he had these days, it felt like. A breath between rehearsals ending and his front door, a chance to blink before one run ended and another began, a frown and sorry, I've got an interview in the morning before rolling over in bed and checking to be sure his alarm was set. Every time he closed his eyes, something else had changed, something had ended.
It was easy to get swept away and forget that he could, if he wanted, make some of those moments last. It was human nature to wish the bad to end quickly and the good to stay forever, and common law that the opposite tended to happen. Rehearsals ended at 10:30 instead of 10, or a kiss good-morning was interrupted by a frantic phonecall from Tamaoki-san. All events out of his hands, but all ones he had to deal with daily.
It was good advice, don't close your eyes. It taught him to accept his fate--good or bad--straight and true and never to fear the unknown, because if you sat with your eyes closed, scared of the bad, you were bound to miss a few good things, too. It'd held true for 30 years so far, and well--Takashi figured he'd stick with it. When he found something he liked, he tended to use it for a good long while. Bags, boyfriends, and bits of old advice.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His father said it to him when he was 7 and he really didn't want that flu shot. Who cared about getting sick? Getting sick was fun! His mother would take such care of him and bring him warm corn pottage and green tea and set him up in the middle of a stack of pillows right by the kotatsu, wrapping a thick blanket around him while he watched variety shows all day. So why would he sacrifice all that, why should he let some strange old lady shove a needle into his arm and tell him in the most patronizing tone possible what a good boy he was?
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His mother said it to him when he was 16 and graduation was three weeks away and finally, finally his letter had come. The letter he'd been waiting for since December (waiting for his whole life) and god oh god what would he do if he didn't get in? It wasn't the best high school in the prefecture academics-wise, but every baseball boy in Kanagawa-ken grew up wanting to get into this school. What if they didn't want him? What if he, at his staggeringly unimpressive 161 (161.5!) cm and curve-ball-that-wouldn't-curve, just didn't make the cut?
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His manager said it to him when he was 19 and he'd just signed on with an agency because hey, pitching wasn't the only thing he could do without thinking, he found out. This was a big step, he'd made it to the final round of the audition, and all he had to do was wait. For thirty minutes. In a stuffy room with lukewarm tea and his manager. They couldn't talk--it wouldn't look good--and they couldn't leave, they could only wait. If he messed this up, he'd told himself, he'd just go back home. Maybe he could coach one of the little league teams, or just be a freetaa and work a few part-time jobs until something else came along. This acting thing, it'd probably never really take off anyways.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
His best friend said it to him when he was 23 right before he ran out on stage for the opening number that very first show, and he hadn't quite understood Kimeru's words then. Close his eyes? Of course he wouldn't close them, he'd be liable to miss a step or run into a costar or--god, it was possible--slip off the stage and take a sprawling leap into the audience. His heart was pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest and his mouth was so dry he was afraid the first note he sang was going to screech to the rafters, he'd never felt more awake in his life. So no, he definitely wasn't going to close his eyes.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Tuti whispered it into the crook of his neck when he was 26, the sound muffled against his heated bare skin, but Takashi understood it, heard it as clearly as he had all those years ago from people older and wiser than he. He angled his arms under Tuti's and wrapped them around to grasp the man, holding on for dear life as another thrust came and he fought against just falling into the sensation and heat and tightness and pleasure. A moment was just unfair, what he wouldn't give to be able to stay here forever.
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Tamaoki-san yelled it to him, choking back laughter, when he was 29, watching through the lens of a video camera as he scaled the shaky steps up to the platform high above him. How on earth had he managed to get talked into doing this? Wouldn't it kind of ruin the whole event if he was, you know, dead? He was sure if he survived, too, he'd hear no end of reprimands from Tuti who'd likely take the time out of his own busy rehearsal schedule to look up articles on wikipedia about bungee-jumping-related deaths and, "Why the hell would you almost kill yourself if you weren't even going to have it be a part of the event?!"
Don't close your eyes, it'll be over in a moment.
Moments were all he had these days, it felt like. A breath between rehearsals ending and his front door, a chance to blink before one run ended and another began, a frown and sorry, I've got an interview in the morning before rolling over in bed and checking to be sure his alarm was set. Every time he closed his eyes, something else had changed, something had ended.
It was easy to get swept away and forget that he could, if he wanted, make some of those moments last. It was human nature to wish the bad to end quickly and the good to stay forever, and common law that the opposite tended to happen. Rehearsals ended at 10:30 instead of 10, or a kiss good-morning was interrupted by a frantic phonecall from Tamaoki-san. All events out of his hands, but all ones he had to deal with daily.
It was good advice, don't close your eyes. It taught him to accept his fate--good or bad--straight and true and never to fear the unknown, because if you sat with your eyes closed, scared of the bad, you were bound to miss a few good things, too. It'd held true for 30 years so far, and well--Takashi figured he'd stick with it. When he found something he liked, he tended to use it for a good long while. Bags, boyfriends, and bits of old advice.
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 02:40 pm (UTC)superb!
*claps and wipes tear*
you are my tutinaga fanfic kami! *bows*
no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-22 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-22 02:47 am (UTC)♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
(When I am left incoherent, it's a good thing. Yiz. Thanks for writing this, Court. ♥♥♥♥)
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 01:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 04:49 am (UTC)♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 11:11 pm (UTC)