[dessertarianism]

proprioception

Characters/Pairings: Qiao Yifan

Summary: “Please set a name for your character,” the system prompted.

Qiao Yifan’s smile, wobbly and tinged with the hysteria of someone who couldn’t quite believe what they were doing, widened slightly.

“One Inch Ash.”

[Drabbles set in an AU where everything is the same except Glory is a VR game]

proprioception

n. perception governed by proprioceptors, as awareness of the position of one’s body.

i.

As the most advanced VR game currently available in the market, Glory of course provided an option to alter one’s appearance.

Any feature could be changed, body proportions included. But Qiao Yifan ignored these and went straight for the color editor to change his hair and eye color.

Once done, he brought a hand up to his hair and pulled a piece of his fringe down to his eyes.

Gray hair and gray eyes.

“Please set a name for your character,” the system prompted.

Qiao Yifan’s smile, wobbly and tinged with the hysteria of someone who couldn’t quite believe what they were doing, widened slightly.

“One Inch Ash.”

Ash for his hair, ash for his eyes, and ash for his name.

To take it a step further, he also chose gray and white clothing for his character.

He must have appeared utterly colorless.

Qiao Yifan was satisfied.

At least everything matched now.

-

ii.

Qiao Yifan neatly folded his clothes, carefully placing them in his carry-on. Everything he owned could fit in a single luggage.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Gao Yingjie twisting his hands together.

Aside from a tentative “hi,” Gao Yingjie hadn’t spoken a word to him since coming to his room to watch him pack.

Qiao Yifan had just zipped up his luggage when Gao Yingjie finally spoke up.

“Yifan, what do you plan to do?”

For months Qiao Yifan had been worrying about this day.

But today his smile was genuine.

“I’m going to visit a certain internet cafe.”

-

iii.

Qiao Yifan could not remember what class he played before being on Tiny Herb.

But he did remember the two years when he religiously visited the dojo near their house to learn kendo at the urging of his parents.

He kept to himself even then. When asked, he would not be able to name any of the instructors or any of the students. What he remembered was the shinai in his hands and the endless practice swings—repetitive, soothing, and the closest thing to peace in a noisy dojo.

-

iv.

“You’ve been practicing for only a month and you want to challenge Li Xuan already. Honestly, I’m completely speechless.”

Qiao Yifan flushed when he finally realized who was talking to him.

Ye Qiu’s feature were slightly different from Lord Grim. But the things that mattered—the tilt of his head, the slump in his shoulders, even his gait—were the same.

His voice was also the same.

And so was the look in his eyes as he peered through his lashes.

“Glory isn’t as simple as you think.”

-

v.

Numerous studies had already proven that a person’s actual abilities in real life did not necessarily translate into tangible advantages in the virtual reality. The reverse also applied. Proficiency in Glory did not make anyone an expert combatant in reality.

The famous example for this was a god-level player getting beaten up and hospitalized after he was mugged. The story was a few years old but it never failed to make anyone recounting it grimace in pain. This was a cautionary tale for the young and the heedlessly idealistic. People like Han Wenqing, who could hold their own in a fight both in real life and in-game, were the exception rather than the rule.

Qiao Yifan knew this of course.

But maybe the studies didn’t account for things such as reckless desperation or the sentimentality attached to a fond childhood memory.

Because the first time Qiao Yifan swung a tachi in Glory it felt faster, lighter (and just right) compared to the dual blades of his assassin.

-

vi.

Qiao Yifan knew he was not smart enough to think about the philosophical implications of whether virtual objects or virtual sensations could ever be considered as, well, real.

But everything in Glory felt real to him: sight, smell, sound, and especially touch.

That brief second when Lord Grim tapped One Inch Ash’s shoulder and told him, “You’re a pro-player too!” was real for him. And so were the tears Qiao Yifan couldn’t quite hold back.

-

vii.

Qiao Yifan had checked—double checked and triple checked even—Happy Internet Cafe’s address.

He arrived at his destination with minimal fuss.

It’s a simple thing really, to push open a door and step through an entryway.

But this feels something more than that. This is a new beginning and Qiao Yifan couldn’t remember the last time he felt this hopeful.

-

viii.

“Yifan really does have some foresight,” Cleansing Mist commented out of nowhere while they waiting for the dungeons to refresh.

One Inch Ash blinked at her. “Sorry?”

“Monochromes are really popular right now. Especially gray on gray. All the models at fashion week are wearing it. It’s really chic.”

Soft Mist nodded in agreement. “Guo Guo showed me some pictures. It does look nice.”

“I don’t get it,” Lord Grim said flatly.

“Don’t I look chic too?!” Steamed Bun piped up while striking a pose.

“No!”

Qiao Yifan laughed. He was still laughing when they entered the dungeon.

[dessertarianism]

Hello, Shoukoku No Altair fan here! I seen your fanfics! I really them! ^-^ You're the only I seen so far besides Altun from AO3 that wrote fics for the series! Have you heard the MAPPA is making an anime out of it? I was wondering, since Tumblr doesn't all the older posts in the search results, I was wondering if you could somewhat get your 2 fics up in the recent column? Please continue support series and tell you friends, fans, followers about the manga & anime series!!

OMG ANON!!! I’VE NEVER EXPECTED THIS TO HAPPEN SJHBSHJDG AND MAPPA’S DOING IT I THINK?!?!?!?!

i let out a high pitched scream of some sort when i read this because i honestly didn’t know altair was gonna be an anime TT_______TT 

i’m not sure how to get it to the recent column but i posted them in ao3 if that helps: the links are here and here 

also everyone please read shoukoku no altair!! the art is beautiful and mahmut is the dictionary definition of a cinnamon roll <3

the characters are engaging and i admit the plot is a bit heavy. like i have to be in a certain mood to read it because you have to pay attention to the details and admittedly there’s a bit of a learning curve with the terms BUT THE FOUR SULTANS ARC WILL RIP YOUR HEART INTO SHREDS AND YOU WILL CRY ALL THE TEARS BUT YOU WILL ENJOY IT. i’m not kidding i’ve read that arc like three? four times already and I CRIED EACH TIME (please love my child orhan!!)

[dessertarianism]

bless you for shipping hyoudou/tatara, they need more love! i'm so happy with the metropolitan arc focus on "being unable to look away" from those who attract you, either artistically or romantically. so far the argument could be made of hyoudou's interest being purely artistic, but the only charas to get ridiculously jealous 'n/or kind of petty are our canon lesbian, the siscon and hyoudou how-dare-you-ask-others-to-take-care-of-you-i'll-blowdry-yo-face kiyoharu so... yeah, happy <333

thank you so much anon! i honestly love the panels where hyoudou’s ~intensely~ watching tatara’s dancing :DDD

hopefully we get more fics once the anime comes out!! (づ￣ ³￣)づ thanks again!

[dessertarianism]

a palpable hit

Characters/Pairings: Miyoshi

Summary: Miyoshi still hated fencing. [Random drabbles about Miyoshi]

-

1.

Miyoshi was five when he started receiving fencing lessons from his mother.

“Pick it up, please,” she said softly.

He remembered shaking his head and stomping his feet in a satisfying, but ultimately worthless, show of rebellion.

His eyes shifted guiltily to the foil he threw at his feet but he raised his chin, determined.

“I hate fencing, maman.”

His mother regarded him with a tilt of her head. A few moments pass in silence, then she was slipping off the rings on her fingers and tucking back her fringe with a crook of her pinky finger.

There’s a wry twist to her mouth when she said, “Sometimes we have to do things that we don’t like. And even then we must do them well.”

“So pick it up, mon petite.”

-

2.

The histories of D-Agency’s candidates were all considered as top secret military information. But for the candidates themselves the lives of their fellow trainees was just another prize to be won.

It’s not a subtle game. Nothing could be more blatant than Hatano mockingly saluting to Odagiri’s face or Kaminaga adopting a grating British accent whenever he teased Tazaki.

When asked, Miyoshi would say he hated this particular game because it was artless.

No one believed him.

In a lull between their lessons, Jitsui took his left hand to trace the characters of his father’s surname in his open palm.

(Defeat was never an inevitable outcome for Miyoshi, but in this particular game it had to be expected since his father’s name appeared frequently in newspapers.)

Miyoshi refused to let anything show on his face.

He smiled slightly, softly and offered Jitsui his congratulations.

-

3.

The truth was that his birth certificate may say otherwise but Miyoshi had always used his mother’s surname.

-

4.

In another time or in another life, Miyoshi would’ve been content to study art (and history, and philosophy, and literature) and to live in idle luxury, trying his hardest to fritter away the wealth of his father’s family.

But adrenaline and intrigue were the most potent of drugs and he couldn’t imagine living a life of peaceful monotony.

-

5.

The best kind of deception was grounded in truth and the most effective seduction was subtle.

All it took was a softer tone, lowered lashes and lingering touches.  

And in the space of the scant half hour he’s allowed, he made the targets believe that they’re the only person in the room worth paying attention to.

The coup de grace is a reluctant goodbye, a pout, and a crooked finger tucking his fringe behind his ear.  

Eight out of ten times, when Miyoshi stood up to leave, there’s a hand around his wrist and a plea for him to stay just a bit longer.

-

6.

And since nothing can be left to chance, Miyoshi depended on a quick sleight of hand and the most potent of aphrodisiacs when his natural charms failed him.

-

7.

Miyoshi sat closer than necessary to Sakuma, ensuring that their shoulders and knees bumped constantly.

All his efforts yielded nothing but a furrow between Sakuma’s brows and a suspicious glint in his eyes.

A pity Yuuki had just issued a strongly worded memorandum that mixing any form of substances in Sakuma’s food and drink was strictly prohibited unless under special circumstances.

Miyoshi was good, but even he couldn’t find an angle to defend a failed flirtation as a special circumstance.  

-

8.

Yuuki warned them constantly of the all-consuming loneliness that awaited them in their career as spies.

But Miyoshi had always thought that there much worse things than being alone.

-

9.

Miyoshi was twenty-five and he still hated fencing. A knife was more convenient and a gun more efficient.

But as his mother’s lessons taught him, personal taste should never be an excuse for incompetence.

He smiled gently at Tazaki from across the piste.

Tazaki grimaced at him. His previous confidence in his chosen sport had already been broken by Kaminaga and Hatano.

Miyoshi holds the foil limply in his hand, his stance languid and casual.

He was almost (but not quite) regretful about continuing the trend.

[dessertarianism]

rally

Characters/Pairings: Sakuma, Miyoshi

Summary: In which Sakuma and Miyoshi play badminton. [means, motive, opportunity ‘verse]

-

Sakuma hurried through the gym doorway, hair askew and slightly out of breath. 

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Miyoshi ignored him. He held the shuttle in front of his body, wrist locked, right hand ready to swing a forehand long serve. The shuttles that littered the opposite side of the court told Sakuma that Miyoshi had been practicing his serves for some time now.

Sakuma watched Miyoshi strike the shuttle. The follow through was textbook perfect and the shuttle predictably dropped at the backline of his imaginary opponent’s service court.  

When Miyoshi finally turned to acknowledge Sakuma, he did so with an air of practiced nonchalance. He deftly twirled the badminton racket in his palm before gesturing vaguely towards the other side of the court.

“So you’ve finally made an appearance. I guess we can start after you’ve picked up the shuttlecocks.”

If it were anyone else, Sakuma would’ve bristled at the mere idea of someone casually ordering him around. But this was Miyoshi. So instead, he arched an eyebrow and made a show of surveying him from head to toe.

“Okay. But you do know that this isn’t Wimbledon.”

Miyoshi wore white on unrelieved white, from his shirt down to his sneakers. Even the wrist band wrapped around his deceptively delicate wrist was the color of driven snow.

He inclined his chin and peered at Sakuma through his lashes, lips pressed together in a painfully a straight line.

It was the exact same look Miyoshi leveled at people who wore socks with their sandals.

“I look good in white,” was the succinct explanation.

Sakuma lied through his teeth. “I don’t know. It kind of washes you out.”

If he wasn’t waiting for a reaction from Miyoshi he would’ve missed the brief flicker of irritation that passed through his face.

“I beg to differ. Numerous people have told me that white goes nicely with my skin. I believe it gives me a certain glow.”

“Numerous people?”

“Yes,” Miyoshi replied shortly.

“And can you actually name these people?”

“Of course. But that would take all night. So are we going to play or do you want to hear me rattle off a list of people who think I look divine in white?”

Sakuma tried not to grin too widely. “Nope, let’s play. Tell me about all those people some other time. Best out of three?”

“Let’s make it best out of five.”

Sakuma blinked. “Five games? Up to how many points?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?! That’s going to take all night!”

Miyoshi tilted his head sideways and paused.

And Sakuma suddenly remembered how he’d had to cancel on their last two meetups because of work. So he grimaced and bit out, “Fine. But you’re buying dinner.”

Miyoshi smiled, pleased to be finally getting his way. “The loser will buy dinner as per usual.”

“That’s exactly what I meant,” Sakuma said as motioned towards the other end of the court to pick up the shuttles.

[dessertarianism]

endgame

Characters/Pairings: Sakuma, Miyoshi

Summary: “I give up. This is a disaster. I don’t know why you keep asking me to play chess. You always win anyway.” [means, motive, opportunity ‘verse]

-

Miyoshi sighed.

Then he carefully took off his glasses and set it beside the chessboard.

Sakuma glared at him because one: those glasses were fake and he hated them. Two: the action screamed I won’t be needing these.  

Propping a cheek on one hand, Miyoshi sighed again.

“Shut up,” Sakuma hissed.

Miyoshi stared blankly at the clock on the wall. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” Sakuma accused.

Miyoshi pouted but he didn’t bother to deny it.

Sakuma huffed. There was nowhere for his king to run. Every possible move would end in checkmate.

“You know, chess really isn’t my kind of game—” he started.

“—Oh please,” Miyoshi rolled his eyes. “Spare me.”

“I mean! For one thing why can’t we use the opponent’s pieces we’ve won? They’re spoils of war! Why can’t I add them to my army?”

“When you take your opponent’s piece, you’re killing them. There’s no use for dead soldiers.”

“But you can use them in shogi!”

“Well then, I guess we must give credit to the man who made shogi so flexible. I suppose when you capture pieces in shogi you’re making them surrender instead of killing them.”

“Chess should be the same way!”

Miyoshi tucked his fringe behind his left ear, only for the strands to fall back into his face. “I don’t think going turncoat sits well with the spirit of knighthood.”

"I give up." Sakuma shook his head. “This is a disaster. I don’t know why you keep asking me to play chess since you always win anyway.”

“Well then, do you want to play something else? One of the students left a monopoly board lying around somewhere in this lab.”

“No. You cheat in monopoly.”

“How does one cheat in monopoly exactly? How about poker?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Strip poker then?” asked Miyoshi, eyelids falling to half-mast, lips forming a sly smile.  

Sakuma refused to blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in the flattest tone he could manage.

Miyoshi slumped in his seat elegantly. (Sakuma wasn’t quite sure how one went about slumping elegantly, but Miyoshi managed to do just that.)

“Then what do we do now? We still have quite some time before dinner—! Oh! I think Hatano’s doing a really important experiment at lab eleven.”

He raised both eyebrows meaningfully at Sakuma. “Maybe you can make something explode again.”

Sakuma tried not to grin too widely. “That was one time and it was accident! But yeah we should go check up on him.”

Miyoshi was already standing up, hands smoothing down the non-existent creases in his clothes.

“Yes. Maybe we could even offer him some help.”

[dessertarianism]

sophistication

Character/Pairings: Sakuma, Miyoshi

Summary: “Are you serious?” 

Miyoshi carefully unwrapped the candy. “I told you I’m quitting smoking, didn’t I? It’s bad for the skin.” 

-

Sakuma was nocturnal because of his chosen career.

The working hours of a detective in homicide were not for the faint-hearted. There were days when he got home at two in the morning only to set his alarm at six am sharp. And that was the best case scenario. The worst case scenario was passing out on top of case files at his desk and wearing the same suit for three days straight.

But Miyoshi was different. He was nocturnal entirely by choice and he seemed to thrive on it.

So theirs was a friendship built on midnight meetups at bars filled with smoke and eating stale popcorn at empty cinemas during the last screening.

Which was why Sakuma found it a little disconcerting to stand by Miyoshi’s side in front of a fashionable restaurant during the lunch rush.

Sunlight seemed to agree with Miyoshi. His hair shone reddish brown under it and his skin seemed to glow. (Clearly, the small fortune he was spending on skin care was yielding great returns.) Sakuma, on the other hand, knew that it only made his pallor more pronounced.

He shifted from one foot to another.

Miyoshi, on the other hand, seemed content to watch the passing traffic in utter stillness. He was the picture of understated elegance in his dark fitted pants and crisp white shirt. The tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose were nothing but an affectation but it suited him nonetheless.

The effect was rather ruined when he pulled out a lollipop from his pocket.

“Are you serious?”

Miyoshi carefully unwrapped the candy. “I told you I’m quitting smoking, didn’t I? It’s bad for the skin.” He popped the candy into his mouth before eyeing Sakuma speculatively.

He glared back defiantly as Miyoshi raked his gazed over him.

Miyoshi slowly pulled the lollipop from his mouth. “You should also consider quitting Sakuma-san. Your skin’s looking a bit rough. And please do something about the bags under your eyes.”

He took a step closer towards Sakuma, and in one smooth movement raised his hand to his face and swiped a thumb lightly under one of the aforementioned shadows under his eyes.

“Your concern is noted,” Sakuma said with a huff.

“Still making no headway in the case? You seem to be sleeping badly these days. Well, much worse than you usually do anyway.”

“It just doesn’t make sense. The ex-wife has a solid alibi but I don’t know…” Sakuma worried his bottom lip. He knew Miyoshi was going to tease him about this but he couldn’t think of a better way to explain it.  “Some guys at the department think she didn’t do it but I feel like something doesn’t add up.”

“You feel? But you don’t have any evidence against her, right?” Miyoshi asked archly.

Sakuma sighed. “Yes, that’s right.”

“You can’t accuse someone base on intuition alone. Try to be a little more logical here, Sakuma-san. Surely you’ve developed some theories about this case. This time tell me what you think.”

“Sure. But can we do it somewhere else?”

Miyoshi gasped, lips forming an O. “Sakuma-san, are you trying to proposition me in broad daylight?”  

“Now that’s a leap of logic.” Sakuma said dryly as he grabbed Miyoshi by his upper arm and lead him towards the entrance of the restaurant. “I just want to be sitting down when you prove all my ideas wrong.”

“Or we could save some time and I could just tell you right now: you’re wrong.”

Sakuma frowned heavily as Miyoshi asked the waitress for a table for two. 

“You never know, I could be right,” he grumbled. 

“You just admitted yourself that you’re wrong.”

They were still arguing when the waitress led them to a booth. 

“But it’s different when I’m hearing it from someone else. Especially when it’s coming from you.”

A menu was placed in front of them but they paid it no heed. Miyoshi rested his elbows on the edge of the table and steepled his fingers.  “Fine then. If I don’t find any holes in your theory, I’ll pay for lunch. But if you’re wrong then you’re paying.”

Sakuma raised his chin. 

“You’re on.” 

Miyoshi smirked. “I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu then.”

[dessertarianism]

leave a message after the beep

Characters/Pairings: Sakuma, Miyoshi

Summary: 4 Times Miyoshi Called Sakuma (+ 1 Time Sakuma Called Miyoshi)

-

1.

The shrill ringing of his mobile forced Sakuma awake. He shot upright and barely caught himself from falling off his bed.

He groped for his phone and immediately accepted the call. “This is Sakuma. Has there been any development? Did they find any new—?!“

“—Good morning, Sakuma-san.”

Sakuma paused. Then uttered with extreme feeling, “Fuck. You. Miyoshi.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it. Anyway I called you to ask which route you’d suggest for an early morning jog—”

Sakuma ended the call abruptly then plopped down face first into his pillow.

-

2.

Sakuma was in the middle of typing out a text message to one of the junior detectives when his cell phone started ringing.

The words flashed at his screen: Incoming call. Miyoshi.

The temptation to decline the call was overwhelming. But experience has taught him that it was better for everyone involved to simply indulge Miyoshi and his whims instead of ignoring him.

“What do you want,” he asked, struggling to keep his tone even.

“What did you have for lunch?”

“Huh?!”

Miyoshi sighed on the other line. “I’m asking you what you had for lunch to give me some idea. Hatano cancelled on me so now I don’t know what to eat.”

“Chicken nanban bento from Family Mart. And just go eat where you were planning to eat lunch in the first place.”

Miyoshi didn’t answer immediately.

Sakuma could almost see him wrinkling his nose in disapproval.

“A convenient store lunch box. How predictable. As a grown man you do know you should eat better right? And I don’t want to eat at Joel Robuchon again. I feel like I eat nothing but French cuisine when I’m with Hatano.”

“Eat something Japanese then. You’re Japanese, aren’t you?”

“Mostly Japanese to be exact. And now that you mention it teppanyaki sounds good. Hmm, but maybe not beef. Crab and lobster teppanyaki would be nice.”

“I hate you,” Sakuma said flatly, before pressing the end call button with a vengeance.

-

3.

Sakuma had carelessly left his cell phone at his desk when he went out to interview a suspect.

When he got back, he had five missed calls and one unread text message from Miyoshi.

the nyt crossword misspelled amenhotep :(

-

4.

Sakuma was reviewing a presentation when the landline at his desk rang.

He had a briefing to give in a few hours time and he still hadn’t gone over all of the slides. He didn’t bother taking his eyes off of his laptop screen; sheer muscle memory allowed him to press the speaker phone button correctly.

“Sakuma here—”

“—Do you think I should change my eye cream? I don’t think my current one—”

Someone had left the volume on high, so Miyoshi’s voice reverberated in the tiny room Sakuma shared with Odagiri and Tazaki.

Sakuma couldn’t have grabbed the handset fast enough.

“Why are you calling me here?!” Sakuma hissed.

Miyoshi huffed impatiently. “I told you, I need your opinion on—”

“—I didn’t mean that! And stop calling me on the landline!”

“Why? Is Tazaki there? Odagiri?”

Thankfully no.

“No. Both of them went home already,” Sakuma answered shortly.

He could hear Miyoshi chuckle on the other end.

“They left you to do all the work again, huh?”

“Shut up,” Sakuma muttered. “And why don’t you try getting some proper sleep instead of wasting your money on eye creams?! It’s three am! You should be sleeping!”

Sakuma hung up before Miyoshi could point out the hypocrisy in his statement.

-

5.

Miyoshi answered on the third ring. “Is this about the murder along the old river?”

Sakuma sputtered. “How did you—?! No! It’s not about that!”

He winced at the denial. He was calling because of the murder along the old river.

Miyoshi seemed to know it too because he had adopted a faux hurt tone. “No one ever calls me to say hello.”

Sakuma refused to give him the satisfaction. “I’m going to drop by your lab later. I expect you to treat me to ramen.”

He could just ask Miyoshi his opinion about the murder over dinner.

[dessertarianism]

conflict management

Characters/Pairings: Sawamura Eijun, Okumura Koushuu

Summary: Sawamura snorted. “Fine, Okumura! You shouldn’t squabble with people over petty stuff you know!”

-

“Be prepared to lose, Koushuu!”

Koushuu went rigid. “What did you call me?” he asked, tone arctic.

Sawamura frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Koushuu! Isn’t that your name?! The guy who’s always with you calls you that, right?”

Koushu’s lip curled. Slowly, so that even a simpleton like Sawamura could understand, he gritted out, “It’s Okumura. Koushuu is my first name.”

Sawamura narrowed his eyes at him and tilted his head at an angle. “So what…?”

“So you should call me Okumura! Don’t use my first name!”

Sawamura snorted. “Fine, Okumura! You shouldn’t squabble with people over petty stuff you know!”

Koushuu’s eye twitched. He didn’t want to hear this from the very same person who went on about the nuances of the shapes of rice heaps. He certainly didn’t want to hear this from the very same person who thought settling their differences could be done through arm wrestling.

“Whatever. Let’s just start.”

“Yeah! Prepare to lose!”

Sawamura set his left elbow on the table, flexing his fingers in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner.

Koushuu stared at him with incredulous disdain.

“Are you seriously going to use your left arm?”

“Why?! What’s wrong with my left—?!” Sawamura then gasped in outrage, realization dawning on him. “Are you discriminating against lefties?! Is that what this is about?!”

Koushuu could feel the beginning of a headache developing in his right temple. “Are you seriously going to use your pitching arm in something like this?”

Sawamura blinked and looked at his left hand. “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

He chewed on his lower lip and muttered to himself. “That was close. I should’ve thought of that!”

Koushuu usually had better self control than this but Sawamura made him irrational. He couldn’t help biting out, “You would’ve if you actually did any thinking.”

Sawamura squawked at him. “W-WHAT?! Now you’ve done it! I won’t go easy on you!”

Koushuu set his right elbow on the table, using his other hand to push back his fringe.

“Please don’t Sawamura-senpai. Because I won’t be going easy on you.”

[dessertarianism]

expiration date

Characters/Pairings: Miyuki Kazuya, Sawamura Eijun

Summary: One of their cows is named Raskolnikov. [Gin no Saji AU]

1.

This isn’t the first time Kazuya has heard the words, “We’re going to Koushien.” There are countless books and movies about the subject containing the same iteration, each only slightly different in execution.

But this is the first time he’s heard it said unironically in real life. It’s almost nauseating in its earnestness.

And of course it has to come from Sawamura Eijun.

-

2.

Kazuya has long stopped playing baseball but he will always have an interest in the game. So he knows that their baseball club is above average at best.

They’ll win a few rounds but Koushien will remain as a dream.

Sawamura doesn’t seem to think so though.

Kazuya hates that kind of baseless optimism. But he finds out, after watching game after game, that what really annoys him is the team’s increasing dependence on Sawamura.

Sure, Sawamura’s an idiot who only has stamina and boundless energy to recommend him but even Kazuya could see how each and every game chips away at him slowly.

-

3.

It ends with a one run difference.

Kazuya expects hysterics and tears and snot.

When it ends, Sawamura’s lips are quivering and his eyes are bright with tears.

He is frighteningly quiet.

The tears remain unshed.

-

4.

Kazuya hears the news from Kuramochi about Sawamura dropping out of school to find work.

Things click in to place: Sawamura’s desperation, the weeks of absences after their loss, the empty desk in their dorm room which used to contain piles of shoujo manga.

He feels helpless at first. (There’s really nothing he can do about Sawamuras’ debt or the unselfishly selfish decision to stop school.)

But the overwhelming urge to wring Sawamura’s neck and shout at him wins out in the end.

He knows it’s shameless but he begs Kuramochi to take him to the Sawamuras’ ranch.

-

5.

Kazuya stands right next to Sawamura as they watch the the cows being led to the livestock transport truck.

Sawamura mutters each of the cows names in an increasingly tight voice.

He’s outright bawling by the time he says goodbye to the last cow, which is named Raskolnikov of all things.

Kazuya stares straight ahead. He watches the truck get smaller and smaller, until it’s completely gone from sight.

Sawamura doesn’t stop crying for a long time.

-

6.

Sawamura’s eyes are red-rimmed when they sit together in silence drinking fresh milk. It’s the last batch of milk from the cows that Sawamura’s family has lovingly cared for for years.

It’s the most delicious milk Kazuya has ever had.

[dessertarianism]

the grass never grows

Characters/Pairings: Yukimura Tooru, one sided Yukki/Mattsun

Summary: Somewhere around middle school, Yukki has stopped thinking of himself as ‘Tooru.’ Yukki is what Mattsun calls him, so Yukki he becomes.

-

Somewhere around middle school, Yukki has stopped thinking of himself as ‘Tooru.’

Yukki is what Mattsun calls him, so Yukki he becomes.

-

Yukki drafts his first manga in the hospital while his foots is in a cast. Because he lives up to the cliche, it is, of course, a sports manga.

Art imitates life, so his protagonist is seriously injured during his third year in middle school.

Art imitates life but only up to this point. Yukki’s protagonist recovers within a prodigious amount of time and is eventually made a member of the Japanese national team.

Yukki, meanwhile, is left with scars that snake around his calf and the bittersweet memories of when he used to be able to run freely.

-

It’s a classic story. One he has read over and over again, illustrated in black and white and screentones. Mattsun is a stereotypical shounen protagonist: cheerful, charismatic, and someone who never gives up.

So when Mattsun befriends him, Yukki immediately thinks of his himself as one of those secondary characters being collected by the hero arc after arc to round up his group.

Except there’s only Yukki.

Mattsun can hold a conversation with probably anybody in class but during lunch there’s only the two of them, tables arranged to face one another, knees bumping, while they steal food from each other’s bento.

-

Mattsun is a striker. His play is aggressive and he attacks relentlessly. Yukki would’ve like to be able to run beside him but by his second year he’s assigned as the goalkeeper out of need and not because of his abilities.

There are advantages to the position though.

Watching Mattsun’s back is an important job, one which he considers as his life’s worth.

-

The first manga Yukki submits to an actual editor is a psychological thriller about students trapped in a school building while a killer is on the loose.

His manuscript is returned to him with comments saying that it’s not what they’re looking for, that it’s too bleak and that his art needs improvement.

Yukki reads the criticisms in harsh red ink once. He runs through them again before thrashing it.

-

Mattsun doesn’t realize it but he and Yukki have their first argument during their first year in middle school. It’s over something petty and childish so Yukki bites down on his bottom lip and he only nods or shakes his head to the enthusiastic questions directed at him.

He’s trying his best to sulk but Mattsun doesn’t even notice.

By the end of the day, he decided it’s no use getting angry with Mattsun at all.

-

Yukki tries to write a shounen manga. They praise his art but the characters and plot apparently fall flat.

He traces the face of his hero. It’s mere ink on paper but the character he created reminds him so much of Mattsun.

Actually, every hero he creates reminds him so much Mattsun.

Maybe he should try writing female protagonists instead.

-

Yukki’s world crashes around him at fifteen.

His parents’ divorce devastates him even though he’s been expecting it for some time.

But it’s nothing compared to the thought of being separated from Mattsun.

-

Yukki knows, better than anyone, how desperately he clings to Mattsun.

It’s a fact he accepts, one he knows as truth.

But it surprises him to know that Mattsun clings to him just as tightly.

He’ll never forget the desperation in Mattsun’s voice, when he falls to his knees to beg Yukki to stay.

-

Yukki hits the jackpot with erotic manga.

It’s an amalgamation, a careful study of the hundreds of titles he’s consumed over the years, calculated and designed with all the popular tropes to appeal to readers.

He chooses the penname Kotori Piyoko. It’s a fun, flirty name, at odds with his personality, appearance and outlook.

-

Their reunion isn’t ideal. For one thing, Yukki is running away from his editor and his leg is starting to fail him. For another, the Mattsun that stands before him is practically a stranger, defeat clinging about him along with the smell of cigarette smoke and heavy perfume.

But it’s still his Mattsun and something warm settles over his chest. It overwhelms him as it rises up his throat and he tries his best not to cry.

-

Looking at Yukki at first glance, one wouldn’t have guessed that he played sports. His mother scolded him repeatedly about his bad posture and he could never ignore the dark circles under his eyes when he looked into a mirror, the consequence of staying up late reading manga.

But football was freedom. He liked the smell of grass and he liked the feel of the ground under his feet as he ran as fast he could.

-

He’s twenty three when he starts to feel a constant pain in his lower back. He also finds himself massaging his wrist often and he can’t even remember a time when he didn’t have a stiff neck.

Yukki is usually indifferent but he’s body is rebelling loudly against the twelve or more hours he spends everyday hunched over his table.

His doctor recommends light exercise, to take brisk walks and to join a gym and get a personal trainer.

Yukki frowns and nods his head, promising his doctor to take his suggestions into consideration.

It’s a blatant lie. He doesn’t have the time to exercise.

But then Midori happened and Yukki found himself playing survival games weekly with with Mattsun.

A gun in his hands and the sweet, sweet recoil accompanied by ricocheting bullets and Mattsun’s laughter makes him forget temporarily about the chapters he’s churning out weekly like a robot.

-

Yukki wants to write a shoujo manga.

He wants to do floral backgrounds and bubbles and write about two characters falling in love. It would be sweet, innocent, something to make one’s toes curl in pleasure.

But he has no experience in love and every attempt feels like wistful thinking.

-

Yukki opens his door one day to find Mattsun grinning at him wearing a white military uniform for one of his games.

And there is a quiet revelation.

It’s a silent gasp, a sigh, like curtains being pulled back from a dark room.

And oh, he remembers. He was so happy and excited, about meeting Mattsun again that he forgot about his problem.

Yukki allows himself to straighten Mattsun’s tie then he forces himself to take a step back. He lays on the compliments thick, repeatedly telling Mattsun he looks good wearing a military uniform. And he takes another step back when all he really wants to do is run his hands over the lapels of Mattsun’s jacket and kiss him senseless.

-

He’s always loved Mattsun one way or another. So it doesn’t really matter how he loves him.

-

Falling in love with your best friend is also a cliche.

He doesn’t even bother making a manga out of this storyline because no one would want to read about a weak-willed hero and his unrequited love.

-

Mattsun attracts all sorts of people. Yukki is completely unsurprised when he finds out he that his table is usually booked days in advance in the host club. People tended to take second, third looks whether Mattsun is dressed in his work clothes, shirt crisp and tie impeccable or if he’s wearing shorts and an old t-shirt.

It’s unfortunate but Mattsun also tends to attract the worst kind of people.

-

Yukki has never loathed anyone before Midori. He will be the first to admit that he’s temper is kind of short (an understatement, as Mattsun would attest) but he forgets easily.

But loathing someone with every fiber of your being required too much energy, and he has barely enough to divide between his work and survival games.

Midori is the sole exception. Because of him, Yukki fully understood how anger could turn one’s vision red and how the promise of revenge could turn the blood running in his veins ice cold.

-

Yukki also learns how to feel inadequate.

It was bad when he used to watch Mattsun happily trail after Midori.

It was even worse when Mattsun barely cracked a smile after ending his partnership with Midori.

He has always knows his weaknesses and accepted them but some truths are harder to swallow than others.

-

Yukki drafts a gory horror manga. His editor looks at the first page of the manuscript and immediately says, “No. Absolutely not.”

-

Tachibana reminds Yukki so much of Mattsun.

They have the same characteristics of a shounen protagonist. If he’s honest Tachibana fits the mold more so than Mattsun. A strong sense of justice, the painful earnestness, and the occasional declarations about the power of friendship read like a high-selling title on Shounen Jump.

So Yukki tries to hate him a little. (He fails though because Tachibana is kind as he is strong.) Because Tachibana is whole and healthy and he can do what Yukki can’t.

-

“Maybe I should write a shounen manga,” Yukki mutters, cutting off his editor. “I have a lot of inspiration right now.”

Because his editor knows him so well by now, he simply shrugs and says, “Sure, show it to me when you think we have something we can work with.”

Yukki never does get around to drafting a shounen manga.

-

Yukki learns to love playing survival games eventually.

He can’t be an attacker but the role of sniper fits him to a tee.

He grows to love the position just like he grew to love playing as goalkeeper. He likes protecting Mattsun’s back.

-

Aside from his parents, Haruki is the only one who calls him Tooru nowadays.

(Well his editor uses his full name when he’s pissed but that’s not really the point.)

He finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of nice in a way.

-

Yukki admits to himself what he could never admit to Mattsun.

He would’ve never made it as a professional football player.

He doesn’t have Mattsun’s reflexes, Haruki’s dedication and knowledge, or Tachibana’s sheer physicality. And since he’s already started being honest, he knows he could never win against Midori.

So Yukki chose his profession because it’s the one thing he’s truly good at, which is to put pencil to paper and escape for a few moments.

-

Yukki knows that his series is past its prime. His title is still selling well but he has always been brutally honest with himself. He can’t do any better than what he’s already done.

So he whines a lot to his editor.

His editor is a nice man with two kids and a loving wife who has a tendency to nag him. He also has more patience in his pinky finger than what Yukki has in his whole body.

“Then write something else,” he says before redirecting back their discussion to the new volume cover.

-

Sometimes Mattsun knocks on his door at 3 am in the morning to sit at his table and drink beer while Yukki works.

“They’re good kids,” Mattsun blurts out.

Yukki doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“I meant Hotaru and Haru-Haruki. They’re good kids. And we’re… we’re a good team.”

Yukki hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think Haru-Haruki counts as a kid though.”

Mattsun groans. “That’s not the point Yukki—”

“—And we’re not a good team. We’re the best.”

-

Yukki simply tries to write.

It’s reminiscent of the first story he ever drafted when he stuck in the hospital.

It’s about a protagonist who’s aiming to be a professional football player but he’s involved in a traffic accident in his second year of middle school and he has to give up on his dreams.

Years later, his protagonist ends up as a mangaka who moves in a shoebox apartment where dust motes dance in the air and the shelves are lined with books with bent spines.

The peaceful life of his protagonist is interrupted by his annoying, loud neighbors who drag him away from his work to play violent survival games.

It will never sell, Yukki tells himself. It’s horribly self indulgent and embarrassingly truthful. There’s barely any excitement and there isn’t even much of a plot. But Yukki submits it to his editor, shaking hands hidden by the sleeves of his cardigan that went past the tips of his fingers.

His editor is utterly quiet when he reads it. He reaches the last page, then he goes back to the first one to read it again.

When he finishes, he smiles at Yukki.

-

Yukki is getting ahead of himself but he would like to use the penname ‘Tooru.’

[dessertarianism]

lesson number one

Characters/Pairings: Miyuki, Sawamura

Summary: “You shouldn’t get attached, y’know.” [Gin no Saji AU]

-

Kazuya’s never had a pet and he’s never shown an interest in animals. But watching the runt in a litter of eight getting pushed around by its siblings raised his protective instincts. He skimmed his finger lightly over one of the piglet’s ears and he tried very hard not to smile when it twitched its snout at him.

“I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t do well in my fights,” Kazuya murmured.

“You shouldn’t get attached, y’know.”

Kazuya fought down a blush at being caught. He looked up from his crouch to see Sawamura leaning over him. “They’re going to be raised for meat. You’re just making it harder for yourself.”

“I’m not getting attached,” Kazuya replied a little too defensively.

Sawamura snorted and shook his head. He straightened his posture and put both hands on his hips.

“Don’t treat them as pets! Listen to me, Miyuki Kazuya! I am being nice to you and sharing wisdom that could be useful to a city boy like you!”

Kazuya stood up and rolled his eyes Sawamura. “Like I said, no one’s getting attached around here.”

Sawamura was persistent though. “Lies! I can see right through you!” He clapped a heavy hand on Kazuya’s shoulder. “Because I know exactly how you feel! When I was six I got attached to one of my grandpa’s chicken. I even named him Ichiro! I cried a lot when I had to behead Ichiro but I learned a lot from that experience!”

Kazuya tried not to shudder at the combination of Sawamura’s awful naming sense and the thought of a airhead like him beheading a chicken.

He tried to pry Sawamura’s hand from his shoulder.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Sawa—”

“—But this is really unexpected! Who knew that a cold-hearted city boy who wears glasses could have a soft spot for cute, little piglets!”

To no avail.

“What does wearing glasses have anything to do with it?!”

Even worse, Sawamura threw an arm around his neck as they walked out of the pig pen.

“Don’t worry! Let Sawamura-senpai teach you all about the heartbreak of getting attached to livestock!”

[dessertarianism]

breathe in a world

Characters/Pairings: Asada Hirofumi, Sawamura Eijun

Summary: Hirofumi stares at the batter head on and he takes a deep breath.

-

Every team has their own quirks and Hirofumi quickly finds out that animal nicknames is one of Seidou’s.

He knows logically that it’s just Sawamura’s way of welcoming him but when he throws an arm over Hirofumi’s shoulders and dubs him “Giraffe!” he’s suddenly reminded of that time during elementary school when he would bend his knees and slouch his shoulders, desperately trying not to be a head taller than the crowd.

He forces an uneasy smile and his shoulders only loosen when Sawamura’s ordered by Kuramochi to play a video game.

Hirofumi retreats to his bed with a book clasped tightly in both hands to act as a shield.

-

“Good job, today!” Sawamura says a little too cheerfully and a little too loudly for someone who just ran twenty laps around the field.

The hand he slaps against his back feels heavy with expectation.

Hirofumi can’t say anything in reply because he’s breathing too hard.

-

They don’t have a good beginning.

For one thing, Sawamura greets him by the door with fake blood running down his face, fully intending to scare the living daylights out of him.

-

It’s not that Sawamura’s quieter on the field.

He regularly shouts ridiculous things to the fielders and his cheers can be heard all the way to the back of the bleachers.

If Hirofumi had to pick a word it would probably be focused.

When Sawamura’s standing on the mound, he focuses all his boundless energy, all his concentration towards pitching.

In the times before his windup, just after he’s been given the signal, Sawamura takes a deep, deep breath as he stares down the batter.

Hirofumi sometimes catches himself breathing along with him.

-

Aside from quirks, baseball teams have their own traditions.

And one of Seidou’s is the annual game between the first years, and the second years and third years.

Hirofumi wants to puke. Or maybe run back to his dorm and lock himself in. Either of those two options would do but then the coach is calling his name and he’s taking one shaky step after the other.

He’s a wreck when he reaches the mound.

His fingers are cold when he’s handed the ball and he just knows he’s going to do poorly when he hears a familiar voice call out his name.

“Asada! You better pitch well today or Mochi-senpai’s gonna wrestle you to the ground!”

Hirofumi turns his head so fast to the side he almost gets whiplash.

The first string had free practice scheduled today but Sawamura was right there at the bullpen shouting ridiculous things at him.

“Show them what the tallest land animal in the world can do!”

Hirofumi can’t help it. His shoulders are shaking as he laughs. He hopes no one noticed that he surreptitiously wiped at his eyes when he buried his face in his hand.

-

Hirofumi stares at the batter head on and he takes a deep breath.

He closes his eyes, briefly thinking of the number eighteen, then he raises his leg for a full windup.

[dessertarianism]

simulation

Characters/Pairings: Okumura Koushuu, Seto Takuma

Summary: Seto notices Koushuu staring. “You could go say hello.”

-

Koushuu doesn’t mean to stare. He’s steadily going through (read: dying) his second bowl of rice when a commotion breaks over the first string’s table.

In the middle of it is Sawamura Eijun as per usual. He looks mightily distressed while pointing an accusing finger at Miyuki and calling him a host of unsavory things.

Koushuu frowns at the scene, chopsticks forgotten in his hand.

He wouldn’t have noticed that he’s staring if Seto didn’t elbow him rather painfully.

“You could go say hello.”

Seto, who had just finished his third bowl, damn him, grinned widely, the corners of his eye crinkling in amusement.

“Sawamura-senpai seems like a nice enough guy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you introduced yourself.”

Koushuu stares at him blankly before redirecting his gaze to his tray.

His bowl was still half-full.

“I mean Yui’s rooming with Furuya-senpai and they’ve probably already practiced together. So you should make a move on Sawamura-senpai soon.”

Koushuu snorts at Seto’s choice of words.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

Koushuu almost forgives Seto when he surreptitiously helps himself to a mouthful of rice from his bowl.

Seto chews carefully, face carefully blank when he says, “Oh. Or did you want me to mean it like that…?”

Or maybe the forgiveness could wait a little longer.

Koushuu jostles Seto’s side with his elbow in return.

“Okay! Okay! I was just kidding! But I’m serious about introducing yourself to Sawamura-senpai. I think he’d be thrilled if you went up to him and said something like,” at this Seto cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes, trying (and failing) to imitate Koushuu, “‘You’re the reason why I came here senpai, so please let me catch for you.’”

Koushuu chooses to ignore him in favour of finishing his rice.

Sawamura seems like an excitable person who flushes visibly at the barest hint of praise. Thrilled probably won’t cover his reaction in the unlikely event that Koushuu ever said anything like that to him.

[dessertarianism]

reckoning to be reckoned (2/2)

Characters/Pairings: Kaizuka Inaho, Slaine Troyard

Summary: Inaho woke up with a throbbing pain at his side. [AU]

-

Inaho woke up with a throbbing pain at his side.

“You’re awake.”

He turned his head and blinked.

Count Troyard was sitting by his bedside. The white monotony of the infirmary was interrupted by the plush wing armchair some poor lackey had to drag all the way to medical just for the count to sit in.

His coat was folded over the arm of the chair and he wasn’t wearing his gloves. In his hands he held a rather battered copy of Gray’s Anatomy.

“Good morning,” Inaho greeted, for lack of anything to say.

“It’s already afternoon,” Count Troyard pointed out. “Good afternoon would be more accurate.”

“Oh. Good afternoon then.”

“Good afternoon. I came here to inquire about your health since the doctor mentioned you might be waking up soon.”

“I’m alive. I remember Yagarai-sensei mentioning that the bullet passed through cleanly,” acknowledged Inaho before moving on to more pertinent matters. “That’s an old edition. The latest edition is available in the database.”

Count Troyard marked his page with a bookmark before putting the tome down. “Yes, I know,” he said slowly. “I was just reading this to past the time.”

Inaho dug his elbows against the mattress and tried to sit up. Count Troyard graciously averted his eyes while he struggled.

The count busied himself with the full tea service that someone had arranged on the bedside table. “Would you like some tea? But I guess you’d prefer water instead…?”

“Water, first. Tea, later,” Inaho said curtly, once had had managed to sit upright. “I forgot to ask though, are you satisfied?”

Count Troyard leaned back on his seat and handed him a glass of water. He had even remembered to include a straw. “The folly of most people is that they’re never satisfied.”

Inaho accepted the glass. “I was referring to the duel.”

“The same could also apply to the duel.”

Inaho sipped his water. When he finished he had to ask the count, “I’m just curious.”

“Yes?”

“Trillram is a vassal under your protection”

“Yes.”

“And as his lord, you do have the right to fight duels in his honor.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“But you don’t really like him don’t you?”

Count Troyard peered at Inaho from under his eyelashes. “Is it that obvious?” he asked softly.

Inaho found himself choosing his words carefully. “No. You’ve been nothing but courteous to both Vers and UFE soldiers. But I’ve heard… rumors.”

“You’re right. I don’t like him,” Count Troyard admitted. “But I was curious so I fought the duel in his stead. Would you like some tea now?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Inaho said outloud, almost as an after thought. “And yes I’d like some tea.”

Count Troyard smiled at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you’re the cat in this scenario I’m afraid. Milk? Sugar?”

Inaho shook his head. “But I have nine lives so it doesn’t really matter. No, thank you. They water down the tea so much it tastes like nothing.”

Count Troyard frowned and took an experimental sip.

The annals of history would remember this as the first thing they agreed on.

-

1 | 2

[dessertarianism]

reckoning to be reckoned (1/2)

Characters/Pairings: Kaizuka Inaho, Slaine Troyard

Summary: The ink had barely dried on the peace treaty when the joint military exercises between the Vers Empire and the UFE was launched (aka Slaine challenges Inaho to a duel and Inaho accepts). [AU]

-

i.

The ink had barely dried on the peace treaty when the joint military exercises between the Vers Empire and the UFE was launched.

The press release contained improbably optimistic phrases such as “developing mutually beneficial relationships” and “assisting on settling differences peacefully.”

When Inaho heard the news, the new Empress of Vers immediately came to mind.

Not once had he been driven to obscenities in his two years of active military service, but he thought Lieutenant Marito’s heartfelt “Bullshit!” summed up the whole thing rather succinctly.

He had expressed the said sentiment to Captain Magbaredge—in a more respectful tone of course—and all she could do was share a pained look with him before downing a shot of whiskey.

Tensions were still high and now they were forced to eat and sleep in the same barracks with the people who were trying their very hardest to kill them six months ago. In the hierarchy of bad ideas Inaho considered this one to rank somewhere at the very top.

In fact, he was mentally listing the worst case scenarios (yes, the plural form was necessary) that could possibly emerge from this situation when he bumped into Baron Trillram.

Inaho looked up from his tablet and blinked. “Oh, sorry.”

His alert for emails then decided to chime at that exact moment; the subject line was tagged high priority. Inaho frowned and muttered absentmindedly, “Please excuse me, I need to answer this.”

He then proceeded to head towards Captain Magbaredge’s office in haste.

He didn’t have the opportunity to see Baron Trillram’s face slowly turning red in anger.

-

ii.

Inaho was eating lunch with Calm, Inko, Nina and Rayet when Slaine Troyard approached their table.

Nina let out an involuntary gasp while Calm and Inko looked wide-eyed. The force of Rayet’s glare could’ve stopped a man dead in his tracks but Count Troyard didn’t seem to notice.

“Kaizuka Inaho.” The count said Inaho’s name carefully, slowly, as if it were the first time he was saying it out loud. “I challenge you to a duel. Pistols at dawn. Please name your second.”

Then Count Troyard unbuttoned the ivory white glove by his right wrist, pulled at each finger, before leaning forward and setting down his glove in front of Inaho.

Calm sputtered in righteous indignation on his behalf. “What?! What for?!”

Inko joined in. “Y-yeah! Inaho didn’t do anything to you!” She paused for a second before whipping her head towards Inaho. “You didn’t do anything, right?”

Inaho shook his head. “No, I didn’t.” He looked up to meet Count Troyard’s gaze and tilted his head. “Not anything that I’m aware of anyway. But I have passing knowledge on the Versian tradition of duelling and from what I’ve read duels can be demanded from offences whether real or imagined. The slight in this case must be imagined.”

Count Troyard smiled a painfully polite smile. “It’s very much real I’m afraid. I have it on good authority that you bumped into Baron Trillram in the corridor earlier this morning. And he was greatly troubled by this series of events.”

Inaho had a moment of perfect clarity in that instant. He knew then that the count had full knowledge of the irony in his words.

“I accept,” Inaho said to the shock and dismay of his friends. “Inko will be my second.”

Count Saazbaum dipped his chin in acknowledgment before walking away.

The whole cafeteria had fallen silent but Inaho didn’t notice. His full attention was on the glove right next to his tray.

Nina leaned over the table and grabbed his forearm, fingers digging into his sleeve. “Are you sure about this?”

Inaho briefly met her eyes and lightly pressed a hand on top of hers. “It will be fine. If I remember correctly it is de rigueur to delope in duels nowadays. The number of fatalities have steadily declined over the years.”

Inko was unusually silent but Inaho could feel her gaze boring into him.

“He’s going try and kill you,” Rayet said flatly.

“I won’t let him,” Inaho assured.

Calm was livid. “That doesn’t make it any better! What were you thinking agreeing to that?! Also I can’t believe you chose Inko over me as your second, whatever the hell that means! I thought I was your best friend!”

Inaho had started cautiously poking the glove with his index finger when he clarified, “Technically, I didn’t choose Inko over you. I chose Inko over Rayet and Nina.”

“What?!”

“You’re my fourth choice because after me, you’re the worst shot out of us.”

-

iii.

Inaho didn’t use to be such a bad shot. Even without machines and computers to aid him in calculating the bullet trajectory and other relevant factors, he more often than not managed to hit what he was aiming for.

But the lost of an eye tended to wreck havoc on one’s depth perception.

Nowadays, he considered himself lucky if he managed to go through a day without bumping against the edge of a table or a low stool.

-

iv.

Everyone knew of Inaho’s duel with Count Troyard by the end of lunch. The Martians regarded him with heightened hostility but the more curious thing was the looks of pity that some gave him. Inaho personally preferred this to the numerous pats to his back and the needless advice he got from his fellow UFE soldiers.

But as expected no one came to put a stop to it.

Inaho thought it was partly because duelling was a cornerstone of the Versian Knights’ code of honor. But the rational part of him acknowledged that blood had to be drawn, sooner or later. And apparently, sooner was tomorrow at dawn and the blood had to be his or Count Troyard’s. Or maybe even both.

So it wasn’t really a surprise when Lieutenant Marito dragged him to an empty firing range after dinner. The surprise was when he handed him a pistol that looked like it should belong to a museum.

Inaho was no expert, but the ornate engraving told him it was an authentic Vers duelling pistol.

The gun felt heavy and foreign in his hand. “Deloping is considered as—”

Marito cut him off. “—I know. But it’s better to be prepared. Don’t do it for yourself. Do it for your sister. You know how lucky you are that she isn’t here right now?”

Inaho had no answer to that. Instead, he asked, “Where did you get this?”

There’s something sharp and bitter in Marito’s smile when he said, “Spoils of war.”

By the time Inaho left the firing range, the smell of gun powder clung so tightly to his hair and clothes that not even a shower could get rid of the scent.

-

v.

Marito invited him for a drink afterwards.

Inaho politely declined.

“I meant tea you know,” Marito said ruefully.

Inaho was equally rueful. “I know, but I have an early morning appointment tomorrow.”

-

vi.

Inaho was half expecting an audience. But when he he and Inko arrived at the appointed place, there was only Count Troyard, his second, who he knew to be called Sir Harklight and—

“Yagarai-sensei. Good morning.”

“G-good morning sensei,” Inko also greeted. If she was shivering because of the cold or because of her nerves, Inaho couldn’t quite tell.

Yagarai shifted on his feet and frowned deeply. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before nodding his head sharply.

“Good morning. Kaizuka, Amifumi. Now that you’re here I believe I should wait a few a feet away and make sure that my back is turned.”

“Yes,” Inaho nodded, “So you can have deniability of the events.”

Yagarai pressed his lips together. The gaze he levelled Inaho was one of extreme disappointment and exasperation.

Inaho had a feeling that even if his sister weren’t here she’d still get a full account of what happened from Yagarai anyway.

-

vii.

Harklight approached Inaho and Inko with a heavy leather case in his arms which he promptly opened. “Count Troyard has graciously allowed you make the choice.”

A matched pair of pistols with silver filigree handles stared back at Inaho. He chose one without a thought. Traditionally, duelling pistols came in identical pairs to put both duellists on equal footing.

Rayet would’ve scolded him for his perceived carelessness but Inaho didn’t think Count Troyard would tamper with one of the guns to put him at a disadvantage.

The lost of an eye was a challenge in itself after all.

Inko was as still as a statue beside him. “Are you sure about this?”

Inaho tested the grip of his chosen pistol. “I’m sure.”

-

viii.

When Count Troyard approached Inaho, he bade him “good morning.”

Inaho frowned, mulling over his potential faux pas.  He wasn’t quite sure how duels started but he was pretty sure it didn’t start with polite greetings.

“Good morning,” Count Troyard returned smoothly.

Or maybe they did?

Count Troyard smoothed back the hair from his forehead with a hand. Inaho noticed that he was wearing gloves again. But before he could go off tangent and list the reason why gloves—white gloves especially—were impractical, Count Troyard motioned with his head. “Ten paces as agreed. Ready?”

“Ready.”

-

ix.

“Ten.”

The literature Inaho had read impressed that Versian duels were an exercise in bravery. He would like to disagree though. Inaho felt oddly calm with his back against Count Troyard’s and his feet moving mechanically in accordance with Harklight’s countdown.

“Nine.”

Inaho could almost hear him heart beat slowly, almost lethargically. He credited his unusual cool to the process of stress inoculation. Baring the altercation with Count Troyard, he had been shot at in two separate occasions during the war. All things considered, the feeling of absolute helplessness, of holding nothing but air in his hand, was far scarier.  

“Eight.”

He knew he should focus at the situation at hand but he couldn’t stop thinking about Count Troyard’s gloves.

“Seven.”

Which had Inaho idly wondering if Count Troyard would aim for his right eye to keep things neat and tidy.

“Six.”

But this was very different from then, he supposed. This time they both had their feet on the ground.

“Five.”

Except Inaho had both of his eyes back then. Except Count Troyard wasn’t a count and he didn’t wear gloves back then.

“Four.”

A lifetime ago, Yuki-nee had told him to trust his gut and make the call. Inaho had always known, but this is probably the first time that he has consciously acknowledged that he’s going to delope.

“Three.”

The were no formal rules on how to delope but he had read that the common practice was to fire to the ground or to the air.

“Two.”

Look him in the eye, aim no higher, Marito had advised. Aim for his side. A near-miss is ideal. And Inaho decided to do just that.

“One.”

When he turned around to face Count Troyard, Inaho felt like this was the first time he could see him clearly since the incident at Count Saazbaum’s landing castle.

He slowly raised his arm.

-

x.

There are some things you learn about a man when he’s on the other side of the barrel and staring you down at point blank range.

Back then, Inaho learned that Count Troyard was very determined.

Today he was still very determined.

A single gun shot resounded.

-

1 | 2

[dessertarianism]

a change of life

Characters/Pairings: Kominato Haruichi, Sawamura Eijun

Summary: "Amazing, Harucchi! Amazing! A haircut makes so much difference, huh?! Maybe I should get a haircut too!" [Drabble]

- Eijun tugs at Haruichi's bangs and he watches in rapt fascination as the strands bounce before falling back neatly into place.

There was a time when Haruichi would've blushed under such ministrations but he's long accepted that Eijun has no concept of personal space.

"Amazing, Harucchi! Amazing! A haircut makes so much difference, huh?! Maybe I should get a haircut too!"

Eijun makes another move to touch Haruichi's hair, but the latter manages to catch his wrist in mid-motion.

Haruichi slowly, deliberately shakes his head.

His voice is curiously flat when he says, "So that's how it is."

He's peering at Eijun through his lashes when he delivers a stunning blow. "I would've gotten a haircut sooner if I knew this was the way to get your attention."

Eijun's eyes widen comically and he starts to stutter.

“W-w-what are you talking about?! Have I been neglecting our friendship?! I didn’t mean to! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!”

It takes every inch of Haruichi’s willpower to keep his expression blank when Eijun stands up to bow at his waist to emphasize the sincerity of his apology.