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the train on platform 4
26 February 2011 @ 06:16 pm
The clock didn't differentiate between 12:59 and 01:00 except with the barest of ticks that slid easily into the next second, and the next, when the man sitting at the opposite wall stared at it clutching a rucksack and an umbrella that was still slick-wet and dripping onto the tiled floor. He was perched on the edge of a dust-ridden bench constructed hastily on a production line, his head bowed and hands clasped together as though in prayer. One of the clear plastic films protecting the gold ornaments inlaid along the sides of the legs had been left on accidentally. The ornament remained shiny, clean, new underneath the covering; all the other ornaments were brushed over with rust and grime, and sticky fingerprint marks left by children.

He was a young man, mid-twenties or so but looked rather younger, if somewhat somber. His clothes were well put together in a fashionable sort of way, with additional straps, buckles and sashes tied along the sleeves and down the trunk, all of which gleamed new or barely worn. He had the rapid blink of a person accustomed to a long fringe that covered the face and a hardness around his mouth that increased with each tick-tick of the clock.

At last, the front door to the apartment flew open with a ceremonial bang and out romped another man of similar age, who looked surprised to find his friend still waiting out on the landing.

"Ueda," said the second man. "I'd thought you were going to go ahead."

"You must have been mistaken," said the first man, Ueda, who brushed his hair out of his eyes with a habitual swipe and stood up, the leather of his boots creaking. "Shall we get going?"

"You really shouldn't have waited all this time," gushed his friend, bouncing alongside him and taking two for every one of his friend'steps. His thin, decorative jacket swung, draped over his arm. "I'd thought we were going to meet at the studio -- or at least, you should've said something. Told me to hurry up or something. Sorry I took such a long time, by the way." He brushed the button for the elevator repeatedly, and then rocked back onto his heels with his hands jammed deep into his pockets.

"It's all right," said Ueda.
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the train on platform 4
05 February 2011 @ 11:07 pm
TITLE: Outside and Inside
FANDOM: The World Ends With You
PAIRING: Sakuraba Neku/Kiryu Yoshiya
SUMMARY: Outside wait the Noise but the real game is inside.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, not mine, don't sue, etc.
NOTES: Ever since I've started playing The World Ends With You, I've been assaulted with such inclinations. This is so wrong.

Joshua's waist was so thin that Neku could almost encircle them with his hands, with fingernails pressing deep into the soft flesh and digging crescent shapes into the otherwise flawless skin. Joshua was pale in a way only the sickly or hermit-like became, and having that unhealthy pallor at fifteen could only mean a life without grass or trees or the outdoors. Everything about him screamed artificial, from the too-light, too-grey hair to the flimsy polyester shirt left discarded near the doorway of an abandoned telecommunications store. His eyes burned bright in the semi-darkness and only slivers of his skin glowed under the shards of moonlight that slipped between cracks in the otherwise boarded up windows.

Neku kissed him, hard, furiously, and they both fell onto the dusty wooden floor, knees scraping against grit and grime, and hands grappling with buttons, zippers, flesh.

"The Noise," Joshua gasped as he felt lips brush against his neck. "Any moment now--"

"Any moment now," Neku echoed, his voice thick with want, "you're going to stop worrying and let me fuck you into the ground."

Joshua stared at him, took a short breath, and nodded. "Now, I think."

Neku wrenched away the rest of his clothes and pinned him by the wrists. They might as well have been made of chalk, so thin, so brittle. He unpacked a ferocious smile and pounced. Joshua moaned.


Brazenly skirting near the windows and peering in through the cracks, the Noise waited.
the train on platform 4
There was a buzz in the air when KAT-TUN walked into the conference room at Johnny's headquarters and saw fellow singers News and Kanjani8 already gathered around the horseshoe shaped tables. Up the front was an overhead projector that had seen better days and down the back, a line of television producers and Johnny's executives shuffled about murmuring amongst themselves and throwing nervous glances at the band members. KAT-TUN was late, of course it was. As the most senior band it was permitted this indulgence; and as the band with the most terrifying fuck-off faces, no one dared to reprimand them.

"Morning," they called one after the other and settled into their designated seats, looking sullen like school children at presentation night.

"Good morning, Johnnys!" a producer bounced to the front. It was the mastermind behind the vast majority of their location shoot shows and he was carrying a thick stack of stapled papers that he flung at them, flapping his hand around to get them to pass it around.

KAT-TUN took theirs wordlessly and immediately buried their heads into the fineprint, with Nakamaru pulling out a highlighter from his shirt pocket and slashing great yellow streaks across the page. News calmly took one stapled booklet and passed the pile onto the next member. Yamashita laced his fingers together on the table and stared up at the producer with the kind of single-minded intensity usually given only to cameras. Half of Kanjani8 waited for Murakami to dole out the papers while the other half snatched theirs off him, and started flipping through the papers and chortling madly. Nishikido, in some mix-up, ended up with two copies but hadn't yet noticed.

"We've got a terrific venture for all of you. It will take up two months of filming and is expected to turn into huge profits for everyone involved. It will also be the perfect platform for you to promote your new single," he looked at News, "your new album," KAT-TUN nodded, "and get you more exposure!" he glanced quickly at Kanjani8 and was hurriedly pushed aside by a Johnnys executive.

"Now," said the executive, forehead beginning to glisten, "at Johnnys, you know that we promote a health competition between the bands. This makes it exciting for the fans who are happiest when cheering for their favourite bands, especially against adversity. This is why we've decided to hold a contest between you all. In short, a two-month race to be broadcasted in real-time."

The room roared to life.

Ueda was accidentally hit on the face with a stray water bottle and then the party really began.
the train on platform 4
29 January 2011 @ 03:13 pm
TITLE: What Everyone Does
PAIRING: Yokoyama You/Taguchi Junnosuke
SUMMARY: Taguchi is a great host, Yokoyama is a terrible guest but somehow the houseparty turns out all right.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, not mine, don't sue, etc.
NOTES: My first published JE fanfic so please tell me what you think! This is unbeta'd -- if you'd like to be my beta reader, please PM me. I hope you enjoy it ♥ Comments and especially concrit greatly appreciated.

Taguchi Junnosuke made a surprisingly good host. He drifted among clusters of friends with new snippets of scandalous gossip to share, ensured the food trays were constantly crammed with enough food for a diplomatic convention, carefully avoided blasting his own songs from the surround-sound stereo system and when the champagne flowed by the crateful, his jokes set the room alight with laughter.Collapse )
the train on platform 4
28 January 2011 @ 10:27 pm
Only in the too-bright world of his dreams does he see grass. It has been so long since he has felt it too but his brain helpfully guesses the sensation for him; it's slightly damp, cold, and crushes easily under bare feet. In the dream he walks, head tall, shoulder straight and arms hanging loosely by his side. A steadfast gaze of determination has set into his eyes and gleams with purpose. After traversing mountains and moors or hours, days, centuries, he comes across a shopping arcade with high-domed stained-glass ceilings and shop windows glinting silver.

The checkered floor of the arcade is dizzying as he races through it, his heart straining high in his throat.


He wakes into gloomy darkness, the whir of a floor fan and the whining rumble of traffic on the street below. His body is covered in thick layers of sweat and his mouth is dry. His eyelids feel heavy and with his body still tense and scared, he drifts back into an uneasy sleep. The sun rises just as he begins another dream.


The second time he wakes, it is night-time again and there is someone sitting on the edge of his bed. They watch him lazily, amused, and wait patiently for recognition. It is clear from the way they lounge against the wall with both feet propped up on the bed that they've been waiting for a long time and are content to wait even more.
the train on platform 4
28 January 2011 @ 08:26 pm
Wer nicht liebt Wein, Weib und Gesang / Der bleibt ein Narr sein Lebelang

("He who loves not wine, women and song / Remains a fool his whole life long")
the train on platform 4
28 January 2011 @ 12:15 am
It's Christmas again and the living room is hot, sticky from the fireplace that took an hour to light. He's sweating in the heat and had stripped down to a t-shirt and shorts a long time ago, sitting cross-legged on the couch with his entire body tense and hunched forward to hear the television. The program is in a language he's not familiar with but it's 3am and the rest of the channels display only the testing card.
the train on platform 4
25 January 2011 @ 11:16 pm
The passing of time doesn't suit him and neither does the slow burn of temptation.
the train on platform 4
25 January 2011 @ 02:25 pm
Hugo sits by the windowsill of his Parisian apartment, cigarette snug between his fingers and smoke curling languidly across his lips. He waits the entire afternoon, watching through heavy eyes the surging thrum of activity below that swells as business closes for the day and people scurry to and fro. There is a tenderness inherent in his fascination, the feel of the ancient surveying modernity with a heart open and hopeful. White paint crinkles and falls away with every swing of the rusty window, like powder snow dotting his clothes. He exhales, slowly, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement that blankets the city. It's a comfort, he thinks, the familiarity pulsing deep in his desire for the future and raging furiously against his nostalgia for home.
the train on platform 4
24 January 2011 @ 07:59 pm
TITLE: Sweets, the Other Currency
SUMMARY: Taguchi is bad at remembering choreography. Kamenashi hates it when people don't remember choreography. Koki is good at stealing sweets.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, not mine, don't sue, etc.

Kamenashi became the bitch from hell whenever someone made a mistake during dance rehearsalCollapse )