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mika still gets nervous before lives, but during--and after--it's more a rush of excitement and adrenaline and relief that things have gone according to shu's planning. there's always a relaxed air of satisfaction about him afterwards, even if they don't look their best, even if mika's makeup seems to smudge the second they're not in the spotlight, his carefully-stitched outfits come askew, and he doesn't look so flawless anymore. shu always scolds, but mika can tell when it's halfhearted, when he means other things, so he doesn't let that stop him from feeling good.
he really loves being on the stage with shu again, after all.
after a live really is the best, when they get to go home, and shu always insists bath, not shower, and mika feels warm and tired. tonight, thought... tonight it's a little different. they haven't left yet, can still hear the murmur of the crowd behind the curtain, in front of the stage, because they did good. he knows they did good, because shu isn't scolding, doesn't even tell mika that he needed to do this or that better. and he looks good--his cheeks are flushed, even through the makeup, and he looks healthier than he has in a long time.
it's good. mika should be satisfied with this. he didn't mess up too bad, nothing terrible happened like he's always afraid of before they go out. it's a good night.
he's not really satisfied, though.
mika knows it's his own fault, and that shu would scold him if he knew--and would have a right to, after all--but mika's always a little bit selfish despite trying hard not to be. he pulls it in, always, doesn't hold shu's hand longer than is acceptable, or in public, but this has been something growing and building since the first time they kissed. it was just really soft, and good, and mika's never kissed anyone before so he hasn't known it can be such an all-consuming thing to think about after it's happened.
and he sort of wants to kiss shu again.
he wants to do that a lot, but it's particularly bad right now. maybe the adrenaline that comes with a release of anxiety, or something someone smarter than him would be able to explain, but all mika knows is it's making him fidget and try not to do anything weird. he doesn't want to make tonight bad, and it will probably pass after a while, like it usually does. kind of.
he really loves being on the stage with shu again, after all.
after a live really is the best, when they get to go home, and shu always insists bath, not shower, and mika feels warm and tired. tonight, thought... tonight it's a little different. they haven't left yet, can still hear the murmur of the crowd behind the curtain, in front of the stage, because they did good. he knows they did good, because shu isn't scolding, doesn't even tell mika that he needed to do this or that better. and he looks good--his cheeks are flushed, even through the makeup, and he looks healthier than he has in a long time.
it's good. mika should be satisfied with this. he didn't mess up too bad, nothing terrible happened like he's always afraid of before they go out. it's a good night.
he's not really satisfied, though.
mika knows it's his own fault, and that shu would scold him if he knew--and would have a right to, after all--but mika's always a little bit selfish despite trying hard not to be. he pulls it in, always, doesn't hold shu's hand longer than is acceptable, or in public, but this has been something growing and building since the first time they kissed. it was just really soft, and good, and mika's never kissed anyone before so he hasn't known it can be such an all-consuming thing to think about after it's happened.
and he sort of wants to kiss shu again.
he wants to do that a lot, but it's particularly bad right now. maybe the adrenaline that comes with a release of anxiety, or something someone smarter than him would be able to explain, but all mika knows is it's making him fidget and try not to do anything weird. he doesn't want to make tonight bad, and it will probably pass after a while, like it usually does. kind of.
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2017 06:59 pmAs long as he can remember, Furuya's been enamored with skating. Since he was little, learning on a frozen lake in Hokkaido with his grandpa, it's all he's cared about. And he's competitive, sure, but the reason Furuya wants to be the best is because he really, truly loves skating. It feels good, cold air on warm skin and the smooth glide across the ice. And it's quiet; he doesn't have to struggle to interact with other people. Furuya can be the best on his own.
Or so he'd thought, until he started losing competitions. It turns out that as skilled as someone can be, if they don't have the stamina to back up their routine, it doesn't matter. Furuya is nothing if not stubborn, though, so he keeps trying, ignoring the commentators who say it's a shame, if only he could get through his second half.
The thing is, what he needs, more than practice or watching videos of programmes over and over again, is a coach.
It seems like it wouldn't be all that hard, but that's where the struggle interacting with people comes in. Everyone he's tried has found him hard to work with, because Furuya is the sort of person who prefers to struggle on his own than admit a fault or give up; he's come close to injury more times than he has bothered tracking, and eventually everyone throws up their hands and tells him to do it on his own if he's so determined not to listen.
He's on his last leg, so to speak. Furuya can't keep losing competitions and hope to get anywhere professionally. He needs programmes that will help him win, but that doesn't matter if he can't skate them.
That's where Miyuki comes in.
Miyuki Kazuya is amazing. He's everything an aspiring skater would hope to be; charming and graceful and, most importantly, good. He makes everything look effortless. Furuya has watched his programmes countless times, has recorded them and played them back again and again, and he still is no closer to figuring out what it is that makes Miyuki's skating so flawless. And Miyuki knows he's good.
He retired a few years back, at the height of his career, and every subsequent person he's coached has gone from mediocre to amazing, not quite the same as Miyuki had been--still is--but they're skilled and captivating and Furuya's decided, a long time ago, that if he's going to have a coach...it has to be Miyuki.
Furuya's stubbornness is both a blessing and a curse, but he hopes in this case, it's a blessing. He's not going to take no for an answer. He has to convince Miyuki to coach him, because for Furuya, there's nobody else who can do it.
Or so he'd thought, until he started losing competitions. It turns out that as skilled as someone can be, if they don't have the stamina to back up their routine, it doesn't matter. Furuya is nothing if not stubborn, though, so he keeps trying, ignoring the commentators who say it's a shame, if only he could get through his second half.
The thing is, what he needs, more than practice or watching videos of programmes over and over again, is a coach.
It seems like it wouldn't be all that hard, but that's where the struggle interacting with people comes in. Everyone he's tried has found him hard to work with, because Furuya is the sort of person who prefers to struggle on his own than admit a fault or give up; he's come close to injury more times than he has bothered tracking, and eventually everyone throws up their hands and tells him to do it on his own if he's so determined not to listen.
He's on his last leg, so to speak. Furuya can't keep losing competitions and hope to get anywhere professionally. He needs programmes that will help him win, but that doesn't matter if he can't skate them.
That's where Miyuki comes in.
Miyuki Kazuya is amazing. He's everything an aspiring skater would hope to be; charming and graceful and, most importantly, good. He makes everything look effortless. Furuya has watched his programmes countless times, has recorded them and played them back again and again, and he still is no closer to figuring out what it is that makes Miyuki's skating so flawless. And Miyuki knows he's good.
He retired a few years back, at the height of his career, and every subsequent person he's coached has gone from mediocre to amazing, not quite the same as Miyuki had been--still is--but they're skilled and captivating and Furuya's decided, a long time ago, that if he's going to have a coach...it has to be Miyuki.
Furuya's stubbornness is both a blessing and a curse, but he hopes in this case, it's a blessing. He's not going to take no for an answer. He has to convince Miyuki to coach him, because for Furuya, there's nobody else who can do it.
(no subject)
Feb. 12th, 2015 07:09 pmIt's late, it's dark, and it's kind of chilly outside, and Furuya isn't quite sure what he's doing. Well, he is; he's lurking, probably, waiting for Miyuki to finally come out of his dorm, pass the vending machines like he does on nights his friends are over (so, every night, nearly). Furuya knows what he'll do; he'll sneak up on him, ask him to play catch, and maybe Miyuki will say yes. It depends on his mood, but Furuya doesn't mind, really. If there's a chance he'll say yes, he's going to take it. If not, he'll be there the next night. He'll be there the next night regardless, probably.
The thing is, he's not sure why he's doing this. To play catch, yes, the driving force behind almost everything, but there's something else. He wants to see Miyuki for reasons that maybe aren't baseball, reasons he can't really put a name to, which is most things that don't have to do with pitching, but this one isn't "hungry" or "tired" or "too hot". This one is just "Miyuki", and it makes sense because he's the only person who can properly catch for Furuya, but there's another thing that's been frustrating him lately, the thing that sends him standing out here at all hours of the night waiting on the off chance that Miyuki's the one sent out to get drinks.
Furuya picks idly at the clear polish on his nails, something he's taken to doing when he's thinking too hard about things he doesn't understand, like math or whatever it is he's thinking about right now. He should be thinking about pitching, and he is, but what's more important is that Miyuki hurry up and come out. He briefly considers knocking on his door, but he'd done that before, and he's not really keen on getting dragged into whatever's going on in Miyuki's dorm room again. He scuffs his shoes in the dirt, peeling off some of the shiny lacquer, and thinks about getting a drink while he's waiting. Maybe he can get something for Miyuki (he knows what he likes to drink, for some reason), to persuade him to play catch.
The thing is, he's not sure why he's doing this. To play catch, yes, the driving force behind almost everything, but there's something else. He wants to see Miyuki for reasons that maybe aren't baseball, reasons he can't really put a name to, which is most things that don't have to do with pitching, but this one isn't "hungry" or "tired" or "too hot". This one is just "Miyuki", and it makes sense because he's the only person who can properly catch for Furuya, but there's another thing that's been frustrating him lately, the thing that sends him standing out here at all hours of the night waiting on the off chance that Miyuki's the one sent out to get drinks.
Furuya picks idly at the clear polish on his nails, something he's taken to doing when he's thinking too hard about things he doesn't understand, like math or whatever it is he's thinking about right now. He should be thinking about pitching, and he is, but what's more important is that Miyuki hurry up and come out. He briefly considers knocking on his door, but he'd done that before, and he's not really keen on getting dragged into whatever's going on in Miyuki's dorm room again. He scuffs his shoes in the dirt, peeling off some of the shiny lacquer, and thinks about getting a drink while he's waiting. Maybe he can get something for Miyuki (he knows what he likes to drink, for some reason), to persuade him to play catch.
