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andrew_in_drag) wrote2013-02-22 11:58 pm
Oneshot: Dress Up In You
Author:
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andrew_in_dragPairing: Kaoru/Toshiya - in my head, although it could really be just about anyone.
Rating: PG-15
Synopsis: If I could have a second skin, I wish I could dress up in you.
Dress Up In You
There was a time, seems very long ago now, when I was the star and you were the nobody.
When I was the singer in the band, and you were the loser, and you weren't really good enough for me.
That was back during high school. My band, we really thought we'd make it, playing three-chord two-bit rock 'n roll and crowning ourselves kings of the twelfth grade common room; we thought we were heroes. When high school ended and we all split up, well, we all promised to keep in touch, but I don't really know what happened.
A lot of our classmates stayed in town, but you and I both moved away. I went to Osaka and what a surprise, so did you – well, you always had a crush on me. You called me every now and again, but I was working and I was playing in a different band; anyway, I didn't really have the time.
I got a boyfriend. Sometimes he seemed so far away. In that city, I walked the pavements all night and thought about you: the buildings rising up on all sides reminded me of your long, lean body, and the coltish legs that you were still growing into; the lights in the windows made me think of your eyes. It rained a lot in Osaka, and
sometimes in the early dawn I'd look at the mist of moisture over the sidewalks and think of the place we were both from, where it always got so hazy in the distance on all those golden summer mornings.
I dumped my boyfriend. I think he was seeing someone else. I tried to return your phone calls but it seemed you must have changed your number during the years I was so quiet, and I got dead signal after dead signal.
You always had a lot of style. I thought that again when you showed up on my doorstep, twenty-three years old and still teenagerish, still smiling bashfully and trying to figure out how to arrange those long limbs of yours. I asked you in and I offered you coffee; you gulped it down like it was water. I don't know how you found the time; you were too busy chattering away, sweet songbird voice bubbling through the narrow walls of my apartment like a leak. You said you'd started playing the bass; you'd heard there was a vacancy in my band; and was that true, because if so, maybe we might have a lot to talk about?
I dismissed it. I was too busy with myself. You got over-caffeinated and over-confident, and in the end I kissed you just to shut you up. Outside, it was raining again. My apartment was tiny and damp and all the windows started to steam up as I took your clothes off. I set your coffee cup carefully to one side and let everything you were wearing drop to the floor – the floor that could have used some cleaning, so in the end I didn't lay you down on it; I had you on your back on the kitchen table like a surgical subject, and I got caught up examining you. I was still wearing all my clothes whilst you shivered from nervousness or excitement or the cold or maybe all three, and my hands trembled with jealousy because I realised at last that you were so beautiful.
But I was the star. I was the leader of the band; and you were a nobody. You had a pretty face, but I didn't think too much about it. In the end, having sex with you was just another beautiful accident of the city, like a gasoline rainbow or the colour the light of a street lamp can turn a lover's skin.
You called me a lot of times after that. Maybe I even picked up about half the time. We had sex again, and then again and again, mostly at my place, and afterwards you would follow me around like a puppy, suck me off in the shower or, if I asked, let me watch you touch yourself.
I don't know how it fell apart. Maybe one day I just stopped. You kept on calling; I meant to return it but I guess I just forgot. These things happen: I guess there's no use really dwelling on it, but still, sometimes I really wish I'd kept you around.
And, my band broke up. It wasn't anything I didn't expect; it was always coming, and I found myself feeling more relieved. I went back to walking around the city, but in those long shadows thrown by the headlights of the cars, everybody turned into you. I heard your musical laugh in every single crowd, and in each passer-by I saw some part of you: the turn of your head or the length of your stride; your smile, your eyes, and my hands would feel so empty.
So these days, I'm living back in our home town. There's something peaceful about that; about warm evenings and the sound of silence at night; it's a small place, but still, we get the news, straight from the city where you live without me.
And hey, just look at you now. You got fortune, you got fame – you got lucky, every morning I see your picture on the front page; so you're a rockstar – so you're headlining; well, I say I'm happy for you, but I think I really know the truth.
I've always loved you. That's something you don't know. You're really talented; I wish I'd seen that years ago; well, no use moping – I tried to call you, actually, just the other day, but I guess you must be out of town.
I take a lot of really long walks out in the country, where the stalks of wheat are an entirely different shade to the gold of your skin, and the blue skies have nothing to do with the colour you dyed your hair, and the squalling birds sing a song very different to yours. It's very tranquil. Sometimes I think tranquillity is something bad; you always lived in chaos – in fact, you are chaos, a pretty little boy that suddenly everyone wants to talk about.
I say I knew you. That's just about my bragging rights, these days – after everyone forgot the name of my band, I had you to fall back on. And it's nice, when they believe me – although that's not all the time. Thinking about it, I don't think I'd believe me, either.
But I believe this: you're the star now, and I'm the loser no one knows. You've got everything, and I've got vague memories of bliss – I've got a journal, and last night I stuck a picture in, wrote:
If I could have a second skin, I'd wish I could dress up in you.
I've got a new boyfriend. He's alright, but hardly ever home. He's an actor: actually, I think you know him.
I think he's seeing someone else.
He always had a thing for you.
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i really, really liked this.
please never stop writing kaoru/toshiya ;A;
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Your icon is too adorable today.
It's funny, you commented just as I was rereading Protect Me (yeah, I reread my own work, sad) and now I'm toying with the idea of writing a prequel to that. So more KxT! So yeah, maybe that'll happen. Eek!
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and aiba is way too adorable himself, it's practically unfair.
i reread my own works as well! but it's been long, too long, since i've written something.
oh god! a prequel of that, it sounds fantastic already.
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I don't think I've ever read any fanfiction of yours, so I'd be pretty curious. It's obvious from your more blog-type LJ entries that you have that kind of gift for expression, so I feel like any fic of yours should be cool.
As for the prequel, yup, in the rereading, I just noticed that I'd put in a heck of a lot of backstory. So I guess I'd start it on the night Toshiya commits his murder and joins the house, and on Kyo falling for him in that kind of setting, etc...but I'd also wanna follow Shinya and how he got his tongue cut out (hang on, this is sounding strange), and why he went in as a cop but stayed, which is a storyline that would certainly involve Die...and then I have some plans for some Die/Toshiya interaction...allllllll a big mess. So sorting out those tangles should amuse me for a few days!