[ ichiro makes a decidedly uncool pleased noise in response to that last bit--he likes to think he's mad cool and badass and one of the youngest, toughest rappers their city's ever seen, but samatoki does definitely tend to turn him into a puppy. it's not his fault; from that first day, he thought samatoki was one of the coolest people he's ever met, and as he got to know him more, it just got worse.
they're not all that different. they both love music, their siblings, have a similar flow that makes them deadly with hypnosis mics in their hands. back when they first met, ichiro spent his time getting knocked down by wave after wave from mr. hardcore himself, but he refused to give up. even if it was one of the first time he's ever gotten his ass kicked in his life, ichiro kept coming back for more, wiping the blood from his mouth and spitting back until he could barely move. samatoki had looked at him with something like approval, and it was over. he was hooked.
so, it's mutual. ichiro's happy too, but he's honest with his emotions, more free, young and wild and reckless as he is. dating samatoki (if you can call it that; ichiro does, secretly, but he likes the taste of "partners" more than he likes "boyfriend", a nigh inseparable pair changing this world together) is careening off of a cliff at top speed, but god, at least he's enjoying every moment of the ride.
the tug closer is nice, too. samatoki's pretty warm for a guy who's cold all the time, and ichiro tucks in to him, nose rubbing against his collarbone because it's there, a space made just for him, a space he worked hard to earn as his own. ] Kay.
[ he settles there, eyes closed. it seems like ichiro's fallen asleep again, but, he changes his mind; ichiro shifts to press one hand against samatoki's chest, letting it rest there, and pushes himself up the small distance to press a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth. even close mouthed and sweet, it tastes a little like cigarette smoke. a little like his second home.
ichiro holds it for just a second, the contact brief, then drops back down into the pillows. (and maybe he'll be gruff at him for going for something childish like a goodnight kiss, but ichiro's pretty sure he could give samatoki a hundred goodnight kisses and it wouldn't be nearly enough for either of them.)
he sounds content, now, pleased, and shuts those mismatched, stop and go eyes. ] ....'night, Samatoki-san.
( samatoki doesn't know when it all became so easy. to stay like this, with all of his walls broken down, just so he can be swept away by ichiro's infectious energy. it's not like anyone is around to judge him while he tries to be more honest, lying here surrounded by comfortable darkness and a puppy in his arms, but then again he was never the kind of person to act that way to begin with. this is all new territory to him, one that grew easier with time before he even realized it — days turned to months to a year, all in a blink of an eye.
this is where their differences start. while ichiro adapts to anything thrown his way naturally, samatoki is practically an immovable mountain in the middle of the road, unable to change his course nine times out of ten. it's really only thanks to ichiro nowadays that he's starting to learn, and once he got started on something, ichiro would see it through until the end — but it's mutual because samatoki doesn't mind.
samatoki wants to change for him, to be a better person than who he currently is. if that's what it meant to be in love, an emotion still so unknown and raw, as long as ichiro is by his side, he doesn't think he minds it so much. at least there's no denial even if he never admits anything out loud.
but he kisses him back regardless, another chaste kiss and yet it'a just as sincere as the last. samatoki can smell sunshine on him, a bright, warm scent that he can also taste on his lips. it tastes sweet, it tastes happy — little things that remind him that life isn't as unfair as he once thought. when he finally breaks away, he pulls ichiro closer, allowing him to rest his head underneath his chin. the way they are curled into each other is something he could get used to for the rest of his life.
sleep comes to the both of them as easily as they've always matched their rhythms. the only times samatoki stirs is to adjust his grip around ichiro, reeling him back in if he shuffled even just a tiny bit away from him. there might have been a tug-of-war with the blankets, as usual, but no signs of bad dreams and restless sleep.
he wakes up hours later, when the sun starts spilling through the window. ichiro is still sound asleep, but he knows he'll get an earful if he doesn't wake him up now. )
Oi... ( quietly, at first. ) It's morning. Your brothers are gonna be late if you don't wake up now.
[ in ichiro's dreams, his life is a little different. he lives in a world with his parents still alive, sometimes, collecting a test he got an A on, piled onto the couch to watch a ghibli movie, holding a toddler jiro's hand and a baby saburo in his arms. it's family dinners and school nights and ichiro, aching desperately to make his parents proud, to carry on the yamada name. he walks jiro to kindergarten, to first grade, to second, swears to his parents he'll protect them.
but the dreams always fade. they turn to ichiro in front of the courthouse, still holding their hands, chin held up high as he still holds his brothers hands, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, social workers, foster care, the orphanage itself. even in dreams, it turns to bitterness, anger, frustrated at a system that had failed his siblings, furious at a man who pretended to be his father, even angry at how easily his brothers accepted it. (they didn't know better, they don't know better, they'll never know, i have to help them out and bring them home--over and over, his mantra, in reality in dreams) ichiro's so angry sometimes he can't keep it in, lashes out at whoever he can fight, anyone who steps in his way.
and then, samatoki happened. someone who saw ichiro past a firecracker pissant delinquent (someone that wasn't a loan shark, saying come work for us, ichiro doing jobs that sat badly in his gut to try and survive) and recognized his potential. suddenly, ichiro found the family he'd desperately been craving, in this person, someone he wanted to be. samatoki took care of his blood and took care of his problems: he was cool, effortless, and had a laugh that boomed off the walls of his apartment when ichiro said something particularly clever, or when nemu taught ichiro to cook for the first time and he managed to burn something as easy as a pan of vegetables.
in this apartment, he'd found love, something ichiro thought he'd never find again. he bonded with nemu and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders, and every day he spent with samatoki made him feel lighter, his age, seventeen pretending to be in his twenties, cool enough for an ear piercing but not cool enough to smoke cigarettes.
in samatoki's bed, he sleeps like a baby, held in someone's arms in a way he hasn't been since his parents died. he soaks up the affection, the attention, every inch of it, and returns it back. (and maybe he's a yakuza, but maybe his parents would be proud, because ichiro's sunshine smile has returned to his face, lately, the same gap toothed one in the last family picture he has in his wallet.) it means he's not so ready when the sunlight breaks in through the window, because six am comes and goes, and ichiro grunts, a soft, slightly annoyed noise as samatoki's voice rumbles against his ear.
he does move. to his credit, he rolls over as if he was going to get up, turning to face samatoki and blinking his eyes half open to look at him, squinting. he looks utterly bleary, his hair sticking up in thirty different directions, and he seems to be making his decision, before he drops down and presses his face into his chest, instead, trying to block out the sunlight and inhale the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke instead. ]
Five more minutes. [ it's not like his brothers want him to wake them, anyway. that guy will do it. (just thinking that makes ichiro wake a little more, thinking about how little he wants the head of the orphanage to step any more into a role that should be his.) ]
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no subject
they're not all that different. they both love music, their siblings, have a similar flow that makes them deadly with hypnosis mics in their hands. back when they first met, ichiro spent his time getting knocked down by wave after wave from mr. hardcore himself, but he refused to give up. even if it was one of the first time he's ever gotten his ass kicked in his life, ichiro kept coming back for more, wiping the blood from his mouth and spitting back until he could barely move. samatoki had looked at him with something like approval, and it was over. he was hooked.
so, it's mutual. ichiro's happy too, but he's honest with his emotions, more free, young and wild and reckless as he is. dating samatoki (if you can call it that; ichiro does, secretly, but he likes the taste of "partners" more than he likes "boyfriend", a nigh inseparable pair changing this world together) is careening off of a cliff at top speed, but god, at least he's enjoying every moment of the ride.
the tug closer is nice, too. samatoki's pretty warm for a guy who's cold all the time, and ichiro tucks in to him, nose rubbing against his collarbone because it's there, a space made just for him, a space he worked hard to earn as his own. ] Kay.
[ he settles there, eyes closed. it seems like ichiro's fallen asleep again, but, he changes his mind; ichiro shifts to press one hand against samatoki's chest, letting it rest there, and pushes himself up the small distance to press a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth. even close mouthed and sweet, it tastes a little like cigarette smoke. a little like his second home.
ichiro holds it for just a second, the contact brief, then drops back down into the pillows. (and maybe he'll be gruff at him for going for something childish like a goodnight kiss, but ichiro's pretty sure he could give samatoki a hundred goodnight kisses and it wouldn't be nearly enough for either of them.)
he sounds content, now, pleased, and shuts those mismatched, stop and go eyes. ] ....'night, Samatoki-san.
no subject
this is where their differences start. while ichiro adapts to anything thrown his way naturally, samatoki is practically an immovable mountain in the middle of the road, unable to change his course nine times out of ten. it's really only thanks to ichiro nowadays that he's starting to learn, and once he got started on something, ichiro would see it through until the end — but it's mutual because samatoki doesn't mind.
samatoki wants to change for him, to be a better person than who he currently is. if that's what it meant to be in love, an emotion still so unknown and raw, as long as ichiro is by his side, he doesn't think he minds it so much. at least there's no denial even if he never admits anything out loud.
but he kisses him back regardless, another chaste kiss and yet it'a just as sincere as the last. samatoki can smell sunshine on him, a bright, warm scent that he can also taste on his lips. it tastes sweet, it tastes happy — little things that remind him that life isn't as unfair as he once thought. when he finally breaks away, he pulls ichiro closer, allowing him to rest his head underneath his chin. the way they are curled into each other is something he could get used to for the rest of his life.
sleep comes to the both of them as easily as they've always matched their rhythms. the only times samatoki stirs is to adjust his grip around ichiro, reeling him back in if he shuffled even just a tiny bit away from him. there might have been a tug-of-war with the blankets, as usual, but no signs of bad dreams and restless sleep.
he wakes up hours later, when the sun starts spilling through the window. ichiro is still sound asleep, but he knows he'll get an earful if he doesn't wake him up now. )
Oi... ( quietly, at first. ) It's morning. Your brothers are gonna be late if you don't wake up now.
no subject
but the dreams always fade. they turn to ichiro in front of the courthouse, still holding their hands, chin held up high as he still holds his brothers hands, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, social workers, foster care, the orphanage itself. even in dreams, it turns to bitterness, anger, frustrated at a system that had failed his siblings, furious at a man who pretended to be his father, even angry at how easily his brothers accepted it. (they didn't know better, they don't know better, they'll never know, i have to help them out and bring them home--over and over, his mantra, in reality in dreams) ichiro's so angry sometimes he can't keep it in, lashes out at whoever he can fight, anyone who steps in his way.
and then, samatoki happened. someone who saw ichiro past a firecracker pissant delinquent (someone that wasn't a loan shark, saying come work for us, ichiro doing jobs that sat badly in his gut to try and survive) and recognized his potential. suddenly, ichiro found the family he'd desperately been craving, in this person, someone he wanted to be. samatoki took care of his blood and took care of his problems: he was cool, effortless, and had a laugh that boomed off the walls of his apartment when ichiro said something particularly clever, or when nemu taught ichiro to cook for the first time and he managed to burn something as easy as a pan of vegetables.
in this apartment, he'd found love, something ichiro thought he'd never find again. he bonded with nemu and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders, and every day he spent with samatoki made him feel lighter, his age, seventeen pretending to be in his twenties, cool enough for an ear piercing but not cool enough to smoke cigarettes.
in samatoki's bed, he sleeps like a baby, held in someone's arms in a way he hasn't been since his parents died. he soaks up the affection, the attention, every inch of it, and returns it back. (and maybe he's a yakuza, but maybe his parents would be proud, because ichiro's sunshine smile has returned to his face, lately, the same gap toothed one in the last family picture he has in his wallet.) it means he's not so ready when the sunlight breaks in through the window, because six am comes and goes, and ichiro grunts, a soft, slightly annoyed noise as samatoki's voice rumbles against his ear.
he does move. to his credit, he rolls over as if he was going to get up, turning to face samatoki and blinking his eyes half open to look at him, squinting. he looks utterly bleary, his hair sticking up in thirty different directions, and he seems to be making his decision, before he drops down and presses his face into his chest, instead, trying to block out the sunlight and inhale the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke instead. ]
Five more minutes. [ it's not like his brothers want him to wake them, anyway. that guy will do it. (just thinking that makes ichiro wake a little more, thinking about how little he wants the head of the orphanage to step any more into a role that should be his.) ]