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Update, drabblish
Went to Anime Boston. Was good con. And I actually had more fun helping to run it than I often do attending cons. Which I think has to do with the fact that usually, at cons, I'm hyperhyperhyper and then I crash hard and silently miserable and get snappish, and then I hype up again, and it's all stressful. Whereas this time, there was a steady balance of "enjoyably doing useful things and meeting cool people." I hope to have time to staff next year, too. There are more details of everything that went on at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks' and weirdquark's pages, and I suggest people check them out, because fun.
And now, a ficlet, requested bykohakutenshi:
P.O.V.
Tsuzuki remembers being sixteen, if he thinks back. Sixteen felt like drowning.
Sixteen was the year, he recalls, that he realized that the scorn they all felt for him was actually palpable. When he walked out his front door, he could feel the pressure of their hatred, the eyes that jerked away from him just fast enough to sting. His attempts at friendliness just earned him blank stares, and he could never play the clown quite well enough to convince himself that they were laughing with him. He felt every awkward pause, every gawky fumble for balance as he tried to come to terms with his sudden, newly-conspicuous height. His body was too big for him, too energetic, impossible to hide.
And then there were his eyes. If his body was fickle, stumbling in a dozen directions, his eyes weren’t. They followed that person. He’d curse them, trying to make them flinch away, but they were obstinate. The rest of him might be swimming with confusion, but his eyes knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted to stay on that person, to drink in every turn of her wrist, to dwell on her smile, to wander lower to places he absolutely should not be looking, what was wrong with him...?
Tsuzuki hated his eyes, then. He’d swear at himself for their misconduct. She was the only person who smiled at him, he reminded himself, the only person who had so much kindness she could even spare some for him. He had no right to look at her that way. He wouldn’t, he swore. The fantasized images his eyes brought out in their own defense only made him more certain. It was sick. She would be horrified if she knew.
And yet... his eyes kept following her, burning her afterimage onto his retinas. And every time he looked, the question came again-- what if she turned and saw him looking like that? What if she saw the wanting in his eyes?
She’d be disgusted, he told himself. She’d look away and stammer something meant to be normal and matter-of-fact, but her faint, unhideable grimace would make clear how shaken she was. And then she’d move out. And then he’d never see her again.
Tsuzuki told this to his eyes, hundreds of times, but they kept looking. And they were not subtle, not even when he could have made them be so. Because they’d locked onto a sharp, heavy hope, one that hurt him to hold, but that he couldn’t quite seem to put down.
What if she looked back?
What if she saw him-- the real him, the one even he had trouble keeping track of-- and smiled? What if she wanted him back?
She never did catch him looking. The hope was never quite enough to be worth the risk. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to see and knew when not to look up so that she wouldn’t have to. And now her bones are buried somewhere, earth-cleaned of any trace of her, and he never will know what would have happened.
Tsuzuki sighs, long and deep. Then he turns toward the gaze he’s been feeling on him all day and smiles his deepest, most welcoming smile.
His new partner blushes like a fire-engine and glares like a basilisk. “What are you looking at?”
Tsuzuki’s smile just gets wider. “You.”
Hisoka snorts. “Idiot. You’re nuts, you know that?” He turns away, shuffling paperwork on his desk.
He’s still blushing.
“Could be,” Tsuzuki says easily. He turns back to his own desk, humming under his breath.
After all, even in Meifu, sixteen doesn’t last forever.
rushthatspeaks' and weirdquark's pages, and I suggest people check them out, because fun.And now, a ficlet, requested by
kohakutenshi:P.O.V.
Tsuzuki remembers being sixteen, if he thinks back. Sixteen felt like drowning.
Sixteen was the year, he recalls, that he realized that the scorn they all felt for him was actually palpable. When he walked out his front door, he could feel the pressure of their hatred, the eyes that jerked away from him just fast enough to sting. His attempts at friendliness just earned him blank stares, and he could never play the clown quite well enough to convince himself that they were laughing with him. He felt every awkward pause, every gawky fumble for balance as he tried to come to terms with his sudden, newly-conspicuous height. His body was too big for him, too energetic, impossible to hide.
And then there were his eyes. If his body was fickle, stumbling in a dozen directions, his eyes weren’t. They followed that person. He’d curse them, trying to make them flinch away, but they were obstinate. The rest of him might be swimming with confusion, but his eyes knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted to stay on that person, to drink in every turn of her wrist, to dwell on her smile, to wander lower to places he absolutely should not be looking, what was wrong with him...?
Tsuzuki hated his eyes, then. He’d swear at himself for their misconduct. She was the only person who smiled at him, he reminded himself, the only person who had so much kindness she could even spare some for him. He had no right to look at her that way. He wouldn’t, he swore. The fantasized images his eyes brought out in their own defense only made him more certain. It was sick. She would be horrified if she knew.
And yet... his eyes kept following her, burning her afterimage onto his retinas. And every time he looked, the question came again-- what if she turned and saw him looking like that? What if she saw the wanting in his eyes?
She’d be disgusted, he told himself. She’d look away and stammer something meant to be normal and matter-of-fact, but her faint, unhideable grimace would make clear how shaken she was. And then she’d move out. And then he’d never see her again.
Tsuzuki told this to his eyes, hundreds of times, but they kept looking. And they were not subtle, not even when he could have made them be so. Because they’d locked onto a sharp, heavy hope, one that hurt him to hold, but that he couldn’t quite seem to put down.
What if she looked back?
What if she saw him-- the real him, the one even he had trouble keeping track of-- and smiled? What if she wanted him back?
She never did catch him looking. The hope was never quite enough to be worth the risk. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to see and knew when not to look up so that she wouldn’t have to. And now her bones are buried somewhere, earth-cleaned of any trace of her, and he never will know what would have happened.
Tsuzuki sighs, long and deep. Then he turns toward the gaze he’s been feeling on him all day and smiles his deepest, most welcoming smile.
His new partner blushes like a fire-engine and glares like a basilisk. “What are you looking at?”
Tsuzuki’s smile just gets wider. “You.”
Hisoka snorts. “Idiot. You’re nuts, you know that?” He turns away, shuffling paperwork on his desk.
He’s still blushing.
“Could be,” Tsuzuki says easily. He turns back to his own desk, humming under his breath.
After all, even in Meifu, sixteen doesn’t last forever.
no subject
Tsuzuki: Wow! You didn't have to do this, Hisoka! Did you make it?
Hisoka: ...You could say that.
Tsuzuki: Wow! It looks just like Terazuma, too! And after he called you a girl again today...
Hisoka: *smirk*
Figure: *sweatdrop*
XD
no subject
Heee. Yay.