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writetomyheart2014-11-05 08:46 am
defiancebyfire.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2014-11-05 08:46 am
[Team Four] The Rewind
how did i end up writing more words (and faster) for this than my NaNo daily quota.
anyway. this is a Sniper!AU backstory, sort of. there is a lack of creativity in titles, sorry. companion to this and this. a shaken is a ninja/throwing star.
"Let's arrange a date."
It's the last thing he hears before there's a slam and the door opens. Yuto's breath stills.
"I thought I told you not to listen in on my phone calls, brat." Kazuya stares at him from the corridor, hand closing his flip phone.
Wide-eyed, Yuto blinks, caught in the act.
"Well?"
He unfreezes, scrunching his face up cutely. "You were too loud. Who was that, niichan?"
Kazuya's lips form into a thin line. "That was nobody. And stop calling me that, I'm not your brother."
"Tcht," Yuto harrumphs, button-nose red from the cold that's been plaguing him for the last week. He sags against the wall, eyes halfway closed. "Unfair. I can keep secrets, too."
"You're nine years old, what are you talking about. Come on, off to bed with you, it's late." Kazuya hauls the sick kid up on his shoulder like the boy's a sack of rice, carrying him to the pile of tattered blankets he's made into a substitute bed.
As soon as he hits he sack, Yuto sniffles, curling into a fetal position, shying away from the light outside reflected in the glass windows.
Basin of water and towel in hand, Kazuya kneels by the bed and starts to wipe gently at the child's forehead. Yuto's still running a slight fever, and he didn't eat much today. Hopefully the weather tonight will be cold, so they won't have to switch the fan on; he'll get paid on Saturday, but it's only five days away, and he has an additional mouth to feed, clothe and house. Plus, medicine, he chides himself, if the darned fever doesn't go away soon. Suddenly, the whole 'noble act' of picking up a stray from the street to atone for some of his sins that he had half a month ago isn't a very appealing project anymore. Where will he find cash if the boy needs to be confined?
"Nnn, Niichan," Yuto moans in his sleep, eyes squeezed tight like he's in pain.
"I know, I know. Tomorrow, you can go out if you're feeling better." Kazuya tries to get up and return the basin to the sink. Yuto yawns, tugging on his free hand. "Yuto, I won't be a minute."
"Will you tell me a story, Niichan? No guns or blood or gross things this time."
Kazuya smiles at that. "I will in a bit. Now let go."
Yuto complies, settling into a more comfortable position. When Kazuya comes back after cleaning their small shared space and himself up, Yuto's already snoring lightly. He's probably fell asleep while waiting for Kazuya because he's on his side, facing the door.
That night, Kazuya uses his softest voice to whisper fairy tales about lands far away, with happy and healthy people and grand parties that neither of them have ever seen or taken part of.
//
Today's practice target is a row of cans, hanging from strings on a clothesline. Of course Kazuya won't let him shoot with real bullets, but at least Yuto gets to use a gun. He's been well for two weeks now, but the trip to the doctor was an experience he never wanted to relive again.
"Why wax, niichan?" Yuto inspects the cylinder closely. It's about as thick as his pinky, an inch and a half long and light in his hands.
Kazuya methodically reloads the rifle. It's a simple, long-nosed weapon, capable of housing five bullets in one loading. This one's got to be his favorite, even though Yuto learned the hard way that the other has a selection of artillery hidden in the nooks and crannies of the their small safe house.
He takes the wax bullets from Yuto, loading them onto a much lighter gun. "Wax bullets don't weigh much, see. Only used for short range target practice, so you don't end up hurting anyone else."
Or yourself, Kazuya adds in his head, silently wishing that finesse and grace could be taught as well. Yuto was as clumsy as a hyperactive puppy, and he'd never learn even just the basics properly if he can't master subtlety. When Kazuya was his age could take apart and reassemble a gun in under a minute with a blindfold on, without alerting anybody else. It made for good survival skills, to be honest.
After overcoming the initial threshold of absorbing factual knowledge, Yuto learns quick, as they will both come to know after three hours of lessons everyday, when his arms are about to give up from being in the same position for so long ('I said steady!' 'But it's heavy, Niichan!') and his ears are almost damaged from the noise of gunshots. In order for his small body to be able to take that much stress, Yuto trains and trains and trains until he's shooting with one gun on each hand and not being knocked back by the recoil.
Kazuya doesn't barrage him with 'Shoot, god damn it!' comments now, but he still never lets him out of the house for anything else either. As consolation, Yuto gets to clean all the ammunition they have, provided he knows which floorboards are hollow and what cabinets have a second hidden compartment.
//
They bump into each other in the hallway, Yuto just done with his bath, only wearing his gray sweatpants on, a small towel on his dripping hair.
"Niichan was on the phone? Who?" He looks at the device in Kazuya's hand. Yuto had stopped listening in on phone calls soon after the first few instances, especially when one time, he was so quiet in snooping around that Kazuya almost shot him in the head when he appeared from behind the door.
"Our time's almost up, pack your things," Kazuya answers, face hard as steel. When Yuto looks confused, he adds, "Remember that time you were sick and we had to take you to the hospital?"
"Yes? Niichan's friend owned that hospital, right?" Because Yuto was too young to understand that Kazuya had had no money then, or that they lived off on cash Kazuya earned from killing people. That had been a year and a half ago.
Now that he knows better, there's a tug of war between the guilt of being alive while others die by Kazuya's hands, and the gratitude of being picked up from the streets to be taught how to defend himself and survive. He owes Kazuya his life, no matter how wrong they might have been living.
"His family owned the hospital, but whatever. Good, you remember." Kazuya bundles Yuto up, black shirt and down jacket over a streamlined bulletproof vest, securing a Laramie on the gun holster. "We're going on a little trip to see that niichan, okay?"
"With a revolver? That doesn't sound like a visit to a friend."
"It's not for him, dummy." Kazuya doesn't look at him in the face, busy attaching a pair of throwing knives to Yuto's ankle straps. "Now what do I always tell you?"
Yuto takes a deep breath, shaking off the nerves. "Never provoke an attack unless inevitable. Never shoot unless you're positive you can hit it in one shot. Don't undress in front of strangers. Always be on guard, and never reveal who you are." He's been practicing their little mantra since the day Kazuya took him in, all spikes and barbed wires back then, with only a little concern compared to how meticulous and protective he's acting towards Yuto now.
"You've learned well, for a cheeky brat," Kazuya ruffles his hair, smiling a little. He takes out a backpack and fills it with a week's worth of clothing--all Yuto has, actually. "Here, take this. I'll try to come back for you."
You're leaving me?, Yuto wants to complain, but he had always been told whiners were uncool, and Kazuya looks really proud of him now. "When we see each other again, I'll be taller than Niichan, I promise."
"I'm not--" Kazuya starts to lecture, but then thinks better of it. If he's going to be honest, it had felt good, having someone to look out for. Which also made it a big liability, like right now. "Put your shoes on, we're late."
//
People walk on to and from their boring homes and boring jobs and boring lives on the streets, not minding them in the least. It's early spring, and the park looks beautiful, all greens and multicolored flowers a sight to behold.
"That's him," Kazuya points to the lone guy sitting on a bench across the big fountain. He's got bleached hair and is engrossed in finishing the book in his hand, wearing a gaudy yellow Hawaiian print shirt, cream cargo pants and flip flops. "Familiar?"
Yuto only nods, something thick stuck in his throat. Sounding like a frog in front of Kazuya would be so weird, so he closes his fist tighter around the jack-knife in his pocket instead.
"Right, here, give this to him," Kazuya exhales, placing a note in Yuto's jacket pocket and then fixing his scarf. "Be nice to him. But don't let your guard down. And no matter what: Don't go looking for me unless the two-week mark has passed."
Yuto forces his mouth to work. "And after?"
"You'll know where to go. I'll leave a message." He reaches out to touch Yuto's small face in his hand, stopping short just centimeters away to place it on his shoulder instead. "Now go."
Little gravel pieces crunch under the weight of his boots as he walks toward the man without sparing a glance in Kazuya's direction. Adrenaline rushes through his body, a strange buzz filling his head and drowning out all the other sounds; he doesn't even hear Kazuya start up his motorbike. If he focuses, he can pinpoint the cold of the shaken between his socks and the lining of his shoes.
The man doesn't even notice Yuto approaching, eyes skimming the pages of the book intently. He has to fight not to run back to the park entrance, because one of the things he was explicitly told not to do was make a scene.
Yuto clears his throat.
Finally, the man looks up, seeing Yuto. His eyes are a beautiful shade of brown, chocolate and much darker than his hair.
"Yes?"
He bows down, careful about the bag slung over his shoulder. "My name is Yuto. My Nii--" he pauses and has to swallow. "Kazuya-san sent me to find you. Yamashita Tomohisa-san, I'll be under your care."
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dusk037 is up.
anyway. this is a Sniper!AU backstory, sort of. there is a lack of creativity in titles, sorry. companion to this and this. a shaken is a ninja/throwing star.
"Let's arrange a date."
It's the last thing he hears before there's a slam and the door opens. Yuto's breath stills.
"I thought I told you not to listen in on my phone calls, brat." Kazuya stares at him from the corridor, hand closing his flip phone.
Wide-eyed, Yuto blinks, caught in the act.
"Well?"
He unfreezes, scrunching his face up cutely. "You were too loud. Who was that, niichan?"
Kazuya's lips form into a thin line. "That was nobody. And stop calling me that, I'm not your brother."
"Tcht," Yuto harrumphs, button-nose red from the cold that's been plaguing him for the last week. He sags against the wall, eyes halfway closed. "Unfair. I can keep secrets, too."
"You're nine years old, what are you talking about. Come on, off to bed with you, it's late." Kazuya hauls the sick kid up on his shoulder like the boy's a sack of rice, carrying him to the pile of tattered blankets he's made into a substitute bed.
As soon as he hits he sack, Yuto sniffles, curling into a fetal position, shying away from the light outside reflected in the glass windows.
Basin of water and towel in hand, Kazuya kneels by the bed and starts to wipe gently at the child's forehead. Yuto's still running a slight fever, and he didn't eat much today. Hopefully the weather tonight will be cold, so they won't have to switch the fan on; he'll get paid on Saturday, but it's only five days away, and he has an additional mouth to feed, clothe and house. Plus, medicine, he chides himself, if the darned fever doesn't go away soon. Suddenly, the whole 'noble act' of picking up a stray from the street to atone for some of his sins that he had half a month ago isn't a very appealing project anymore. Where will he find cash if the boy needs to be confined?
"Nnn, Niichan," Yuto moans in his sleep, eyes squeezed tight like he's in pain.
"I know, I know. Tomorrow, you can go out if you're feeling better." Kazuya tries to get up and return the basin to the sink. Yuto yawns, tugging on his free hand. "Yuto, I won't be a minute."
"Will you tell me a story, Niichan? No guns or blood or gross things this time."
Kazuya smiles at that. "I will in a bit. Now let go."
Yuto complies, settling into a more comfortable position. When Kazuya comes back after cleaning their small shared space and himself up, Yuto's already snoring lightly. He's probably fell asleep while waiting for Kazuya because he's on his side, facing the door.
That night, Kazuya uses his softest voice to whisper fairy tales about lands far away, with happy and healthy people and grand parties that neither of them have ever seen or taken part of.
//
Today's practice target is a row of cans, hanging from strings on a clothesline. Of course Kazuya won't let him shoot with real bullets, but at least Yuto gets to use a gun. He's been well for two weeks now, but the trip to the doctor was an experience he never wanted to relive again.
"Why wax, niichan?" Yuto inspects the cylinder closely. It's about as thick as his pinky, an inch and a half long and light in his hands.
Kazuya methodically reloads the rifle. It's a simple, long-nosed weapon, capable of housing five bullets in one loading. This one's got to be his favorite, even though Yuto learned the hard way that the other has a selection of artillery hidden in the nooks and crannies of the their small safe house.
He takes the wax bullets from Yuto, loading them onto a much lighter gun. "Wax bullets don't weigh much, see. Only used for short range target practice, so you don't end up hurting anyone else."
Or yourself, Kazuya adds in his head, silently wishing that finesse and grace could be taught as well. Yuto was as clumsy as a hyperactive puppy, and he'd never learn even just the basics properly if he can't master subtlety. When Kazuya was his age could take apart and reassemble a gun in under a minute with a blindfold on, without alerting anybody else. It made for good survival skills, to be honest.
After overcoming the initial threshold of absorbing factual knowledge, Yuto learns quick, as they will both come to know after three hours of lessons everyday, when his arms are about to give up from being in the same position for so long ('I said steady!' 'But it's heavy, Niichan!') and his ears are almost damaged from the noise of gunshots. In order for his small body to be able to take that much stress, Yuto trains and trains and trains until he's shooting with one gun on each hand and not being knocked back by the recoil.
Kazuya doesn't barrage him with 'Shoot, god damn it!' comments now, but he still never lets him out of the house for anything else either. As consolation, Yuto gets to clean all the ammunition they have, provided he knows which floorboards are hollow and what cabinets have a second hidden compartment.
//
They bump into each other in the hallway, Yuto just done with his bath, only wearing his gray sweatpants on, a small towel on his dripping hair.
"Niichan was on the phone? Who?" He looks at the device in Kazuya's hand. Yuto had stopped listening in on phone calls soon after the first few instances, especially when one time, he was so quiet in snooping around that Kazuya almost shot him in the head when he appeared from behind the door.
"Our time's almost up, pack your things," Kazuya answers, face hard as steel. When Yuto looks confused, he adds, "Remember that time you were sick and we had to take you to the hospital?"
"Yes? Niichan's friend owned that hospital, right?" Because Yuto was too young to understand that Kazuya had had no money then, or that they lived off on cash Kazuya earned from killing people. That had been a year and a half ago.
Now that he knows better, there's a tug of war between the guilt of being alive while others die by Kazuya's hands, and the gratitude of being picked up from the streets to be taught how to defend himself and survive. He owes Kazuya his life, no matter how wrong they might have been living.
"His family owned the hospital, but whatever. Good, you remember." Kazuya bundles Yuto up, black shirt and down jacket over a streamlined bulletproof vest, securing a Laramie on the gun holster. "We're going on a little trip to see that niichan, okay?"
"With a revolver? That doesn't sound like a visit to a friend."
"It's not for him, dummy." Kazuya doesn't look at him in the face, busy attaching a pair of throwing knives to Yuto's ankle straps. "Now what do I always tell you?"
Yuto takes a deep breath, shaking off the nerves. "Never provoke an attack unless inevitable. Never shoot unless you're positive you can hit it in one shot. Don't undress in front of strangers. Always be on guard, and never reveal who you are." He's been practicing their little mantra since the day Kazuya took him in, all spikes and barbed wires back then, with only a little concern compared to how meticulous and protective he's acting towards Yuto now.
"You've learned well, for a cheeky brat," Kazuya ruffles his hair, smiling a little. He takes out a backpack and fills it with a week's worth of clothing--all Yuto has, actually. "Here, take this. I'll try to come back for you."
You're leaving me?, Yuto wants to complain, but he had always been told whiners were uncool, and Kazuya looks really proud of him now. "When we see each other again, I'll be taller than Niichan, I promise."
"I'm not--" Kazuya starts to lecture, but then thinks better of it. If he's going to be honest, it had felt good, having someone to look out for. Which also made it a big liability, like right now. "Put your shoes on, we're late."
//
People walk on to and from their boring homes and boring jobs and boring lives on the streets, not minding them in the least. It's early spring, and the park looks beautiful, all greens and multicolored flowers a sight to behold.
"That's him," Kazuya points to the lone guy sitting on a bench across the big fountain. He's got bleached hair and is engrossed in finishing the book in his hand, wearing a gaudy yellow Hawaiian print shirt, cream cargo pants and flip flops. "Familiar?"
Yuto only nods, something thick stuck in his throat. Sounding like a frog in front of Kazuya would be so weird, so he closes his fist tighter around the jack-knife in his pocket instead.
"Right, here, give this to him," Kazuya exhales, placing a note in Yuto's jacket pocket and then fixing his scarf. "Be nice to him. But don't let your guard down. And no matter what: Don't go looking for me unless the two-week mark has passed."
Yuto forces his mouth to work. "And after?"
"You'll know where to go. I'll leave a message." He reaches out to touch Yuto's small face in his hand, stopping short just centimeters away to place it on his shoulder instead. "Now go."
Little gravel pieces crunch under the weight of his boots as he walks toward the man without sparing a glance in Kazuya's direction. Adrenaline rushes through his body, a strange buzz filling his head and drowning out all the other sounds; he doesn't even hear Kazuya start up his motorbike. If he focuses, he can pinpoint the cold of the shaken between his socks and the lining of his shoes.
The man doesn't even notice Yuto approaching, eyes skimming the pages of the book intently. He has to fight not to run back to the park entrance, because one of the things he was explicitly told not to do was make a scene.
Yuto clears his throat.
Finally, the man looks up, seeing Yuto. His eyes are a beautiful shade of brown, chocolate and much darker than his hair.
"Yes?"
He bows down, careful about the bag slung over his shoulder. "My name is Yuto. My Nii--" he pauses and has to swallow. "Kazuya-san sent me to find you. Yamashita Tomohisa-san, I'll be under your care."
dusk037 is up.
no subject
dsfjkalhdskjf
"Tcht," Yuto harrumphs, button-nose red from the cold that's been plaguing him for the last week. He sags against the wall, eyes halfway closed. "Unfair. I can keep secrets, too."
UHUUU THIS IS SUCH AN ADORABLE IMAGE I JUST. TINY YUTO, I'M SORRY YOU'RE SICK BUT YOU'RE THE CUTEST AND i just want to cuddle you and sing you lullabies forever.
and Kame's all "lol boy you're nine water you talking about." i love the way you write kame here, mostly corners and hard edges due to the life he leads, yet still soft when it comes to yuto and his wellbeing.
yuto calls him niichan even though kame says to stop it dsjklhfkdajlhka cutest cutest cutest cutest cutest
KAME YOU DON'T TELL STORIES ABOUT GUNS AND BLOOD TO A NINE YEAR OLD OHMYGOSH
Yuto learned the hard way that the other has a selection of artillery hidden in the nooks and crannies of the their small safe house.
oh my god.
and then he starts shooting with a gun in each hand ksjflhakjsdf
especially when one time, he was so quiet in snooping around that Kazuya almost shot him in the head when he appeared from behind the door.
OH MY GOD.
"I'LL TRY TO COME BACK FOR YOU."
YUTO WANTS TO COMPLAIN BUT HE HOLDS IT IN BECAUSE KAZUYA NIICHAN LOOKS REALLY PROUD OF HIM RIGHT NOW.
"When we see each other again, I'll be taller than Niichan, I promise."
NIKKA. NIKKA. NIKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA /curls up on goodbye world
wearing a gaudy yellow Hawaiian print shirt, cream cargo pants and flip flops.
despite my whines i snorted at this description xDDD best.
don't go looking for me until after the two week mark has passed fjlkhskdjahfjkhdsf
He reaches out to touch Yuto's small face in his hand, stopping short just centimeters away to place it on his shoulder instead. "Now go."
;____________; tears everywhere
oh god i am so sorry for this quote explosion in your comments. ;_; i love this au so much, you guys are all awesome ♥
i can't believe it took me x years to reply to this u_u
he is a small adorable (and sickly) button. how did he grow up to be gun-wielding and mister pillar of strength ngh
yuto has learned ALL ABOUT ISSUES from this particular niichan >.> kame doesn't know any nice bedtime stories
shit's unapologetic about it, toothe ones he makes up are always so terribly written yuto just kind of--gave up....dilapidated warehouses capable of storing so many firearms bc kame knows how to hide them well. u_u
yuto is like Hawkeye (at least Jeremy Renner Hawkeye) except, MORE WEAPONS!!!
niichan complex, really, he has ittttt. also it's sad that the next time they meet it's so rushed and yamada's like "yuto we can't take too long" so yuto just brushes his hand on the gravestone and-- "see, told you i'd have a growth spurt. now i'm so tall i stick out even when i try my best to hide. i don't know which parts to cut off so i can blend in perfectly with the crowd, like you do, and you aren't here to teach me anything anymore D: D: D:" and they have to go now because ON THE RUN >.<
silly yamapi. if we can, always have it, with large fries and soda please.
<3