i shared my writing from 4 years ago with a friend and i feel so proud of myself because back then, i would’ve been averse to it. she encouraged me to read it aloud too and i thought that was sweet
characters: giyuu tomioka
prompt: anxiety
note: day 5 of @hurtcember
Tonight, the moon was dim, shielded by leaden clouds and mist. Dusk’s canines latched onto every morsel of moonlight and shredded them into ash and dust, blanketing the forest floor. The fraught wind battered against Giyuu’s windows in tandem with his heartbeat. He sat on a tatami mat, palms propped on his knees as he counted.
One.. two. One.. two. One.. two— Bang!
Teeth sliced through his roof and descended upon him, suspended by a hairsbreadth. The wind clawed at cracks and crevices, losing sync with Giyuu’s heart, which raged on, louder and faster. One chased two. Two chased one. And Giyuu chased his breath.
He couldn’t breathe.
Giyuu balled his fists and dug his nails into his palms. His veins protruded. Hot blood pumped beneath the thin barrier of his skin, drumming in his ears like a taunt, threatening to burst.
You’re weak, it hissed. You don’t deserve to be here.
One, two.
You’re a pathetic excuse for a pillar. An eyesore of a human.
One, two. One—
Trying to breathe? Do you have a reason to?
Bang!
Giyuu felt the surface of his skin peel. His nails dug into the ravine of the body he called his own, searching for something to grasp onto. Plunging into his recesses, he inhaled sharply and sunk his teeth in.
One.
He opened his eyes to find moonlight at his knees. Gusts howled ravenously, furious. He unfurled his hand across the shadows, fingers taut, cold flesh flushed with unhealed bruises from a recent mission.
Silver light settled beneath his pulse like a gentle caress and spilled into him, washing away tatters of the violent storm. Like a beacon, it perched at his precipice and fluttered twice before setting the night aflame.
characters: giyuu & tsutako
prompt: the light that flickers
note: for day 2 of dreadcember by @monthlywritingchallenges
Giyuu liked to stay up during the summer to watch the darkness blink. He perched on the engawa, a tray of unfinished tea sitting forlorn beside a resting palm.
Dark blue eyes flitted between countless glowing embers. A sinuous mist of dusk settled over Giyuu’s garden—a generous title for the charming sparseness—and surmounted the skull of the forest lying beyond the estate walls.
He gazed at the fluttering heartbeat of nightfall. Each flicker orchestrated a melodious dance across the shadowy backdrop, now muted and yielding. They punctured holes into the night sky, through the moisture laden air.
Giyuu silently watched on and yielded, too, to the flickering ensemble.
“The fireflies.. they’re like lanterns. Living lanterns!” Eight years old Giyuu squatted down to admire a firefly that landed on a faded leaf, pearly doe eyes glistening with awe.
“They sure are.” Tsutako smiled fondly at her brother. She bent down, leveled herself to Giyuu, and carefully enclosed her palms around the resting firefly. Light spilled from the minute gaps between her fingers.
“Though unlike a lantern, or fire, which gets hot if you’re too close, a firefly’s light is cold.” She explained and slowly transferred the ember into Giyuu’s small, outstretched hands.
“Meaning you can touch one without burning yourself.”
Giyuu’s eyes impossibly widened. He peaked through the roof of his glowing hands.
“Wow.. So like cold light?”
Tsutako giggled and nodded.
“Cold light, huh? I like that. It’s simply beautiful no matter what form it’s in.” She mused, watching the golden flare flutter from Giyuu’s palms to join the hundreds that surrounded them.
Giyuu blinked at his sister, dazzled by the spectacle. “Oh. I think fireflies are more beautiful though.”
Soft laughter. Tsutako nodded earnestly. “You’re right, Giyuu. There’s nothing more beautiful than fireflies on a summer night.”
On the engawa, a faint glow emanated from Giyuu’s periphery. He looked down to find that a firefly had landed in his sencha cup. Instinctively, he tipped the cup onto his palm. He watched the light grow weaker and more subdued as the fly tumbled out, the remnants of the tea trickling down his hand.
Unsure of what to do, he cupped his hand over the other, shielding the fading light—from what? He stayed there for a while, unmoving, until he felt a taut stickiness from the tea.
With a sigh, he removed his hand. Almost immediately, the firefly shuddered as if awoken by the gust of warmth. Its wings fluttered, then fluttered again, and the bulb flashed to life, leaving a blazing trail as it flew away.
Giyuu followed the meandering streak. Dusk rooted its claws into the soil, yet the stars in Giyuu’s garden persisted, undeterred. The darker it got, the brighter they burned, twinkling in a cipher only Giyuu understood.
He watched as the night sky swirled and blurred, eternally lit by the only fire that could be touched.
pairing: sanemi x giyuu
prompt: a room that feels lonely
note: for day 1 of dreadcember by @monthlywritingchallenges
Giyuu rolled onto his side, awakened by the chilled morning air. His covers were uneven, the sheets wrinkled and worn. He smoothed the wrinkles with his calloused palm and pressed into the futon, hand flush against the soft contours. With his other hand tucked under his head, he dragged his fingertips over the pillow beside him.
He stared and stared, eyes readjusting, as if staring harder would help the figure he desperately sought to conceive materialize before him. He traced the subtle indent of the pillow, watching the hazy glow of daybreak restore color to his white sheets. It pulsed and retracted, spreading and receding like spilled ink across a reeling canvas.
Giyuu followed its path with bated breath. He shivered and tugged the covers over his shoulders. He brought his knees to his chest and curled toward the sunrise, waiting for the warmth to settle, but it never did.
He unfocused his eyes and watched the phantasmic shapes collapse into each other. They appeared nebulous at first. Slowly, they grew darker and rougher, sharper and louder. Eventually, he found himself staring at a distortion of serrated scars and purple specks. He stared and stared into the eyes that beckoned him with hated, disgust, desire, rapture, but never warmth. Sand scratched at his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Giyuu knew the conditions of their so-called meetings. Sanemi was to never stay longer than he needed to, as if the implications carried a weight far greater than their sacrilegious partnership. Yet the Wind Hashira insisted.
“It’s better off this way,” he muttered as he fastened his belt.
Giyuu watched Sanemi’s silver strands glisten under the moonlight. He made no move to stop him from leaving but the willfulness in his voice betrayed him.
“I see.”
“Don’t forget who proposed this, Tomioka.” Sanemi’s back was turned to him, the expanse hiding flushed streaks underneath the haori.
Giyuu wished Sanemi forgot.
“How come it’s always at my place?”
Sanemi paused. He had one foot out the door. With a harsh chortle, he looked at Giyuu.
“Why would it be at my place?”
The door slid close. The wooden thud ricocheted off the walls of the room, landing in the hollows of Giyuu’s chest.
He splayed his hand across the empty space beside him. The cool night air was tinged with Sanemi’s scent.
Giyuu knew the conditions of their meetings because he was the one to suggest they established them in the first place. He thought it would prevent an unnecessary emotional entanglement. Damage control, essentially.
Yet the more they met, the more the lines blurred. He found himself contesting the very safeguards he imposed only to realize that they were useless.
Sanemi didn’t need them at all.
Giyuu opened his eyes and saw the blinds teeming with light. He tore his gaze away and exhaled.
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