([identity profile] wrote in [community profile] planetarylight2011-12-09 01:54 am

(no subject)

Title: someday
Pairings: kaoru&toshiya
Rating: G
Summary: "Tokyo will never cease to make me feel as I'm a stranger.."
Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me.
okay in all honesty i thought i was not going to make able to finish this on time, but here is it!!
this is my entry for the winter's [ profile] kaoxtotchi winter contest.

my prompt was this video.

it was incredibly hard for me to focus on something or even find something to talk about, but i managed to do it. i think
the year is the 2010, so try to think about them with the hair of that era.

at first i didn't like it much, but somehow it ended up writting itself, and i'm very proud.
it's not betaed because i seriously need a beta, but i hope there are no major grammar mistakes.

please comment! ;A;

Tokyo will never cease to make me feel as I'm a stranger.
A stranger surrounded by strangers in a stranger place.
It's big and noisy, and too crowded and the lights are so bright they are just so blinding.
But even big and noisy and bright, a home is a home, as they say.
And Tokyo is where my heart is.

We spent the late half of this year touring around. First Japan, then Europe, then the States and then Japan again. When we toured around the States it was in the depht of the summer, so hot it made my clothes wet with sweat and my hair damp on my face.
We've started our tour in Japan and here is winter. It's so cold I can't feel my fingers.

Winter will always make me feel like home.

It's Christmas season and the city is so decorated it looks like a childlike dream. I know I should be resting, sleeping, doing all the things I can't do when we are touring. But when I woke up, even if it was at an ungoldly hour, I couldn't care less about spending the whole day at bed if I had a day off, I thought that maybe a walk around wouldn't hurt a bit.
It's really cold, so cold the wind feels like a knife and my fingers are freezing to the point I barely can feel them anymore. As I breathe in and out, my breathing creates a steam so thick it seems like I'm smoking. And it reminds me too much of you, because the smoke of a cigarette it's something is always surrounding you.

I think that, certainly, you're awake.

I'm in the subway, along with salary men and girls wearing too much make up and old men holding their grandsons hands who have the widest eyes as they are staring at the Tokyo lights as if they are the prettiest of the stars in the sky.
And when I'm notice and I put a foot again on the street, I'm in Shimbashi, and it feels even colder.

Probably you don't remember, but I do.

The first night we met, outside work, it was here and it was as cold as is it right now. It even hurt me when I walked and there was steam around us, not because of how cold it was, just because we were smoking so much.
We were like teenagers, not saying anything because we couldn't find anything to talk about.
Lost in the cold and us, walking through thousand people.

"Do you like sushi?"

Your question was so unexpected yet so sincere it made me laugh, making more steam between us and my abs ended up hurting and the moment I started to feel my fingers again were when your hand was holding mine so tightly.

"I love it."

And you walked me through narrow streets with bright red lanterns and wooden doors of traditional Japanese restaurants. And I was still laughing, lightheaded and my hand became so warm because it was still holding yours and your skin felt like it was on fire. We walked and laughed and walked for more and somehow I wished we didn't never arrive. I didn't want to forget the feeling of that hand against mine.
We ate too much, and we drank too much. Until our cheeks were pink and our jokes were lame but we were still laughing because there wasn't anything better than you and me and us. And even the food and the way you took the soy sauce because the tip of your fingers would brush against my arm when you did so.

When we walked out of the restaurant we walked for too long again, until we arrived to a wide straight, to the subway. I felt as if I didn't want to leave. I got anxious, as if I was somekind of cinderella and this was the end of my own fairytale. Even if there was no crystal shoe, I felt as if I was losing you if I stepped into that train alone.

I looked around and I grabbed your wrist so tightly you were surprised about my own strengh. And I walked and walked until I found a line of vending machines and two girls with light hair giggling at something they were reading in their cellphones. I pushed you against a wall, right behind the machines and the girls and it felt for a second it wasn't Tokyo, or anything else, and there was you and your eyes so deep and wide as if asking me what was I going to do.

Our first kiss tasted like cigarettes, cheap sake and wasabi. And it was shaky because it was so cold and we were so scared. Our hair was so long and I could feel the tip of your icy nose poking against my cheek as we kissed and kissed again, pressed against a wall in a lost corner near to the Shimbashi station.

My phone starts ringing and I don't need to guess who is it, because I already know.
It's a text from you, probably worried because I didn't contact you since I passed out yesterday night.

"Where are you."
All your texts were so simple, so short. As if even a question mark wasn't necessary at all. You know I will always answer.

I press the send button with an amused grin on my face and I wait for your answer.

"Do you like sushi?"
I start laughing so loud the person next to me is startled. You're such a dork, even after all these years and I can picture you so clearly in my mind smirking to yourself.

"I love it."
I send right away and I start walking, because I know. I just know you're going to be there.

I'm actually surprised to notice that actually nothing much has changed. Even if more than ten years has passed since that night we shared that kiss in the Shimbashi station. I walk around and my eyes are everywhere, noticing everything. The same red lanterns and the same old and traditional looking restaurants. The smell of fried food and ramen, the tourists and the salary men, all together over the smell of a plate of fresh made gyoza. The takoyaki stalls you love so much, so much I ended up loving them just as much myself.
I walked for so long and when I arrive to the station, I'm panting a little and my heart is beating out so fast, not only out of effort but also in the absolute knowledge that you're here, even if it feels stupid and silly to think so. As I can feel your presence around.
The vending machines didn't change, either. Tea, coffee, calpis. The usual.
I'm the last of them and I have to hold my breath, because I don't know what I am going to do if you're not there.

I take a step forward and I almost cry out loud, but instead I bit my lip and I chuckle.
You're leaning against the wall, as you were ten tears ago. Wearing sunglasses even if it's already dark and with a cigarette hanging between your lips. Your hair dark and curly falling over your shoulders. "You're late." You said with a chuckle yourself as I move forward, my arms circling around your waist as yours circle around mine.

Our last kiss tastes like cigarettes, coffee and fresh mints. It's not shaky anymore, because it's not as cold and we're not as scared. My hair is so short I can feel your curles moving against my cheeks and my neck, and I still feel the tip of your nose pressed against my cheek as we kiss for what it seems forever pressed against a wall near to the Shimbashi station.

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