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writetomyheart2012-09-29 05:30 pm
miquilis.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2012-09-29 05:30 pm
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[team 1] i'm sorry, i won't
Note: New cycle! As mentioned earlier this week the posting order and teams have been changed, you can see that new posting order - here - or in the sidebar of the community. The topic of introducing extra challenges such as a theme or a mandatory word to include was also brought up in that post and looking at the comments I think most members of Team One said they were okay with it (yes?) so I’ll think of a something for us to use next round (suggestions welcome). The theme will be pretty broad and you can choose to ignore it of course.
Also, for team one — I only have one of you on my twitter so if you know the person that goes after you i’d be very grateful if you could give them a poke when you post to let them know it’s their turn otherwise don’t worry i’ll find a way to let them know. Thank you.
-
The ride back to his apartment is quiet, the roads mostly deserted, traffic thankfully sparse. Occasionally the noise of a whimper or grimace from the backseat cuts through the silence but when Kitayama glances to the rear view mirror to check Ohkura has barely moved still sprawled boneless across the seats back turned away, he almost looks asleep but then;
“I’m sorry, I won’t—”
“Don’t talk.”
A long red light refuses to turn green and Kitayama channels his anger towards it instead of Ohkura, breathes through his nose deeply trying suppress down how pissed off he is. Just wants to get home not hear the lie that he won’t do it again, he’s dragged Ohkura out of enough restaurant and bar bathrooms to know the habit won’t break. Kitayama’s knuckles turn white as he clenches at the steering wheel unable to understand why Ohkura keeps doing this to himself.
Ohkura manages to stand and walk by his own power once they reach Kitayama’s apartment complex. It’s better than most nights but then the lurch of the elevator seems to trigger something as Ohkura leans against the far wall for support and his pale skin tinges greener with each passing floor.
The apartment door is barely open before Ohkura is pushing past in a burst of unusual speed scrambling in the direction of the bathroom. Kitayama follows slowly behind but pauses first in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and clears the half eaten plate of food from the table, abandoned when called for help.
The toilet flushes as Kitayama pushes open the door but the stench of vomit hovers still and Ohkura’s just a pile of limbs on the floor by the toliet gazing forlornly upwards. Small red dots of hemorrhaged blood vessels scatter below dark sunken sad eyes and Kitayama takes pity; helps unbutton Ohkura’s shirt and works fingers under the waistband of too tight jeans to drag them down.
Standing is now impossible and Ohkura slides to the foot of the shower stilled under the hot spray, head fallen back resting along the tiles, hair plastered wet across his cheeks. Kitayama gets just as soaked coaxing a toothbrush into his mouth and decides it easiest to throw his own clothes into the laundry hamper along side the other’s.
Ohkura garbles something - last time, truly the last time - and Kitayama just laughs and asks “Think you can sleep in the bed without throwing up or should I leave you in here all night?”
“Hopefully.” Ohkura wistfully replies.
An old bucket by the side of the bed is deemed enough of a cautionary measure. It’s not as bad as last time but Ohkura’s skin in worryingly clammy yet cold to the touch as Kitayama slips under the blankets beside him and tucks still damp ringlets of hair behind Ohkura’s ear, “Tada-kun, you really need to stop eating oysters you’re allergic.”
There’s a guilty pause before he replies “But they taste so good.”
-
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noella84
Also, for team one — I only have one of you on my twitter so if you know the person that goes after you i’d be very grateful if you could give them a poke when you post to let them know it’s their turn otherwise don’t worry i’ll find a way to let them know. Thank you.
-
The ride back to his apartment is quiet, the roads mostly deserted, traffic thankfully sparse. Occasionally the noise of a whimper or grimace from the backseat cuts through the silence but when Kitayama glances to the rear view mirror to check Ohkura has barely moved still sprawled boneless across the seats back turned away, he almost looks asleep but then;
“I’m sorry, I won’t—”
“Don’t talk.”
A long red light refuses to turn green and Kitayama channels his anger towards it instead of Ohkura, breathes through his nose deeply trying suppress down how pissed off he is. Just wants to get home not hear the lie that he won’t do it again, he’s dragged Ohkura out of enough restaurant and bar bathrooms to know the habit won’t break. Kitayama’s knuckles turn white as he clenches at the steering wheel unable to understand why Ohkura keeps doing this to himself.
Ohkura manages to stand and walk by his own power once they reach Kitayama’s apartment complex. It’s better than most nights but then the lurch of the elevator seems to trigger something as Ohkura leans against the far wall for support and his pale skin tinges greener with each passing floor.
The apartment door is barely open before Ohkura is pushing past in a burst of unusual speed scrambling in the direction of the bathroom. Kitayama follows slowly behind but pauses first in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and clears the half eaten plate of food from the table, abandoned when called for help.
The toilet flushes as Kitayama pushes open the door but the stench of vomit hovers still and Ohkura’s just a pile of limbs on the floor by the toliet gazing forlornly upwards. Small red dots of hemorrhaged blood vessels scatter below dark sunken sad eyes and Kitayama takes pity; helps unbutton Ohkura’s shirt and works fingers under the waistband of too tight jeans to drag them down.
Standing is now impossible and Ohkura slides to the foot of the shower stilled under the hot spray, head fallen back resting along the tiles, hair plastered wet across his cheeks. Kitayama gets just as soaked coaxing a toothbrush into his mouth and decides it easiest to throw his own clothes into the laundry hamper along side the other’s.
Ohkura garbles something - last time, truly the last time - and Kitayama just laughs and asks “Think you can sleep in the bed without throwing up or should I leave you in here all night?”
“Hopefully.” Ohkura wistfully replies.
An old bucket by the side of the bed is deemed enough of a cautionary measure. It’s not as bad as last time but Ohkura’s skin in worryingly clammy yet cold to the touch as Kitayama slips under the blankets beside him and tucks still damp ringlets of hair behind Ohkura’s ear, “Tada-kun, you really need to stop eating oysters you’re allergic.”
There’s a guilty pause before he replies “But they taste so good.”
-
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
noella84
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I laughed so hard at the end :')
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*comment is too long.
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clears the half eaten plate of food from the table, abandoned when called for help.
this is so poignant because we all know how much Kitayama treasures his food!
but lol oysters XD I was SO SET UP to be reading about addiction and Kitayama taking Ohkura to an AA meeting and stuff (which would also be hilarious considering the two of them, though I should not be laughing at that :x)
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My heart was about torn to shreds, but then the ending trolled me thoroughly. Mitsu's so sweet :') ...and Okura ;___; *huggles them*
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As for poking people, I don't have the last two people on twitter, but I think someone else does, we should be ok.
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