[Tag] Miyuki Kazuya is Bad at Feelings
I BENT OVER BACKWARDS TRYING TO KEEP THE "Miyuki learns to apologize" SCENE IN BUT IT GOT CUT AND I'M FOREVER MAD ABOUT IT
The night before playing Teitou High, Miyuki knocks on Nori’s door.
The relief pitcher opens up. Nori’s hair is still wet from the baths, and he’s already in his pajamas. Upon recognizing Miyuki, his expression shifts to one of confusion, and he tilts his head.
“What’s up?” he asks.
Miyuki scratches the back of his neck. “I need… advice.”
Nori looks at him.
“How do you apologize to someone?”
Nori blinks — and then understanding crosses his face, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“Are you serious?”
Miyuki’s cheeks burn, but he persists anyway. “Yes.”
“You know, for someone who tries not to have a personal life, you sure have the weirdest one out of everyone on this team,” Nori tells him.
Miyuki frowns. “This is the first time I’m talking to you about this?”
“I’m a keeper of many, many secrets,” Nori explains. He sighs and leans against his doorframe, his expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Akira, or Eijun?”
“Eijun,” Miyuki replies, and then the question fully registers in his brain, and he stiffens. “Wait, do I need to apologize to Akira, too?”
“Did you do something to him?” Nori asks, genuinely curious.
“No,” Miyuki says, and then he hesitates, replaying every moment of sarcastic banter he’s shared with his roommate. Akira would say something if that offended him, right? And Akira fires right back — with a lot more vitriol than Miyuki uses — so it’s not like he’s innocent in all this, either.
“I don’t think I did anything to him,” Miyuki decides. “Besides, uh. Besides… hurting Eijun…”
“Okay, good,” Nori says. “Luckily for you, apologizing to Eijun is easy. Just apologize.”
Miyuki waits for an explanation, but it doesn’t come.
Nori yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Is that all you needed?”
“Hey,” Miyuki says. “What does that mean?”
Nori stares at him, pitiful.
Miyuki crosses his arms, defensive.
After a short moment, Nori sighs and steps aside. “My roommates are out, so you can come on in,” he says. “God. What is it about me that screams ‘tell me your secrets?’”
“You can say ‘no,’” Miyuki tells him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to —”
“No, I’m too invested now. I have to see how this ends.”
Miyuki slips out of his shoes and steps into Nori’s room. Nori kicks a swivel chair in his direction, and then pulls out another chair and drops into it.
“Okay,” Nori says, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Take a seat. I feel like this is gonna take twice as long as it needs to.”
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Kings & Sirs: Part 1/2
Summary: Cats had never been part of the plan. But then again, who knew what the plan was anyway?
Rating: G
Tags: Post-canon, Multiple POV, Domestic Fluff, Cats
Link: my AO3
Chapter 1: Sir
The cat did not like to be wet. Not in the least. What cat would?
The cat thought of this. Crouched beneath the leaning awning, ears flattened and forehead slick with sticking droplets, it thought of this fact, new it as surely as it knew that birds were flighty and delectable. It knew this as it knew that the giant, metallic beasts that roared down the blackened paths were fast, and cruel, and crushed little kittens that were too slow and too stupid to know when it was time to flee.
The cat knew this. It had seen this, seen the brothers and sisters as they scrambled and failed to duck away from the hulking predators, failed to scavenge a morsel or two from the secret hordes buried in dark corners of buildings and down shadowed alleyways. The cat knew this as surely as it did that water came from the sky, that it was wet, and that the cat did not like to be wet.
Unfortunately, the wet hadn't a care for what the cat liked.
The awning the cat crouched beneath wasn't big enough. It was too sloping, punctured with too many holes, and hung too high overhead to properly block the diagonal cascade of the water plummeting from above. Even huddled on its haunches, neck tucked and knees pinned close to its body, the cat could not escape the wet.
The wet was cold. It was seeping. It fell heavier then lighter then heavier again. It sprayed in a vicious wave as the hulking beasts on the black path careened too close, sweeping the puddles from the gutters and washing him with a wet that did not need to be washing the cat. It did not need nor want it. It did not.
But the awning was high. The water fell, cold and wet. The beasts on the black path continued to swerve past, and to run… to move away and seek better shelter was…
As the splatter of another wave swept over it, the cat couldn't withhold a protest. A feeble complaint warbled from its maw, quivering its jaw, and all but begged for the cold and the wet to stop. Why was the sky falling with water? Why did such atrocities arise when the cat had nothing but a pathetic awning for cover? It was not fair. It was not.
Food would be nice. A little jumping bird maybe. There was never enough food and satiation could never be reached. The cat's belly mumbled complaints but there was nothing that could be done. The cat could surely not move out into the wet. It was far too… wet.
"Well fuck, aren't you pathetic?"
The cat twitched. Blinking, twitching, with whiskers quivering, the cat squinted up at the human that appeared from behind the sheet of torrential rain. Humans were tall and this one was no exception. They passed with their long legs and their clopping feet, never glancing down below to the creatures that wove and wound below, ducking from view. The cat was satisfied with this; not the wet nor the cold but the humans and their predatory eyes turned elsewhere.
Except that this one wasn't. It wasn't turned elsewhere at all but instead fastened hooded eyes upon the cat.
Fur nearly white covered only its head. White skin peeked through what wasn't covered by the black fur coating its limbs and trunk. Its front paws were hidden, tucked against its belly in the folds of its belly-fur in the way that humans did, but that it had hidden its claws was no comfort. The cat knew that humans didn't often look down but that they sometimes struck with a kick of a foot nonetheless. Sometimes spat with a bark like a dog, cursing and chasing away.
This human didn't bark. It grumbled in a low growl that set the cat's fur on end, ruffling its neck in a prickly mane. Away, the cat silently ordered the human. Don't touch. Don't hurt.
"Here again?" the human growled.
The cat tucked its neck further.
"That's a poor excuse for a shelter you've got there. Of all the places you could have chosen you pick the one that is practically useless. What stupidity struck that tiny head of yours?"
The cat mewed. Go away, it demanded, right alongside a pleading don't hurt me, and warning I am small, but I will bite.
"Truly pathetic," the human said. Then it exhaled, a plume of white swirled from its mouth. Its lips pursed. It shifted in place, leaning to one side and staring at the cat without blinking. The cat stared back, wouldn't risk looking away because humans –
Humans kicked. They barked. They often passed without incident, but humans were dangerous and unpredictable. It served to be wary of the humans.
Except that wariness could not save the cat when humans reached with fast, darting paws.
The cat mewed as it was snatched up from the ground. It flexed its claws, stabbed and kicked and mewed again, but the human held fast. It rose, straightened, and before the cat could scramble free it was engulfed into the warm folds of the human's dark fur.
Dark fur. Warm fur. Dry fur, without a hint of the wet.
The cat froze. Its claws were flexed but it ceased kicking. Eyes wide and staring, it blinked into the darkness of the human's close contact. Thump, thump, thump went the heartbeat in the human's chest so close, the beat like a drum so loud it quivered the cats ears. Too loud, even. Far louder than the cat's mother. Too… loud?
It didn't serve to trust humans and the cat wouldn't trust this one any more than any other. But for a brief second, with the escape from the cold and the wet, the encompassing warm and the dry, it paused. It didn't struggle as the human rocked into motion, even if a primal part of the cat demanded to be free. For just that moment, the cat would allow it. Just this once.
***
"Andrew," Neil said, setting the bag of groceries onto the kitchen bench.
Andrew didn't reply but Neil felt him glance up from the television. Not that Neil returned his gaze. His attention was reserved for the intruder in their kitchen. "There's a cat."
"Mm," was all Andrew replied.
"A cat in our kitchen."
"That's very observant of you."
Shuffling forward a step, Neil eyed the tiny creature where it wolfed down a bowl of what appeared to be more fish than could feasibly fit in its belly. A tiny creature, fur spiked with remnants of wetness, its ears were slightly flattened along its head and eyes flickering in quick darts up towards Neil. But it didn't slow in its chewing.
A tiny, bedraggled, and rake thin cat. A cat in their apartment. A cat whose presence could only have one possible explanation.
Neil turned from the kitchen and made for the living room. He planted himself directly before Andrew, blocking his view of the television. Not that Andrew seemed to care; he appeared quite capable of seeing through Neil at each and every attempt at blocking he made.
"Why have you brought a cat into the house?" he asked.
Andrew didn't raise his head from where it rested atop his hand, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair. "It was a pathetic lost cause. Practically drowning outside."
"So you decided to bring it inside?"
"I've been known to invest in lost causes."
Neil let the pointed comment pass without acknowledgement, shooting a glance towards the kitchen once more. The cat's short tail poked out from behind the counter, the only part of it visible, and it was as thin and scraggly as the rest of it. "We're not keeping a cat," Neil said.
"I never said we were," Andrew replied, blinking lazily at the television through the barrier of Neil's body.
"Put it back where you got it from."
"It was outside."
"So?"
"It's been outside for three days straight."
"You're attempting to make a point that doesn't hold any weight."
Finally, Andrew's gaze rose to meet Neil's. "It's raining like the Great Flood out there. Haven't you heard Renee's retellings? Noah's ark hasn't got the space for every animal so I'm simply doing my part."
Neil stared down at him. Sarcasm laced Andrew's bored tone so thickly that there was no way he could be anything but joking, anything but pulling a prank of sorts with the taunting amusement that Neil still sometimes couldn't quite identify. He would have assumed as much too if not for the evidence of the truth currently crouched and gorging itself on fish barely a room away.
Slowly, Neil drew his gaze towards the flicking cat's tail. He didn't care for animals. They weren't repulsive but there was no particular draw in their furry faces and soft paws. He hadn't been able to quite understand the appeal when Matt gushed adoringly about his adopted mutt, nor when Allison wandered around her house with her flat with her own cat draped over her shoulders.
He'd always considered Andrew to be of a similar mind. There was no appeal and, more than that, they were an additional hassle that wasn't needed. Especially not with a career as a professional athlete and regular travel to accommodate. It wasn't worth it, and Neil would never have anticipated Andrew would falter at such a particular interest.
Pathetic. Bedraggled. Rangy and in dire need of help despite its wariness and sidelong glare. Neil didn't understand the appeal and no more wanted a cat than he had minutes before, but with a brief moment of thought he considered it might not have been so unexpected that Andrew would tuck the creature under his wing.
Folding his arms, Neil turned back to Andrew. "You're really going to keep a cat?"
"I never said that," Andrew said, though the sharpness of his gaze as he met Neil's eyes bespoke more than the nonchalant façade he postured with.
"You didn't need to," Neil muttered, mostly to himself. "When have you ever asked for anyone's permission?"
"Precisely," Andrew drawled in reply, and it was a simple word that said as much as Neil needed to hear.
He didn't want a cat. He certainly didn't need one. Something as trivial as a pet had never been on Neil's bucket list of desires and it certainly hadn't been added upon the unexpected appearance of Andrew's cat. But, as he stepped into the kitchen and around the creature grumbling with delighted noises as it stuffed its face, Neil couldn't bring himself to care. Only…
"I'm not looking after it," Neil said as he began unpacking the groceries. "If you're keeping it, you're the one taking care of it."
"Did I at any stage suggest I needed your help?" Andrew replied.
Neil snorted. It was as much of an admission as he was likely to get from Andrew. Shaking his head, Neil shot the squat little cat a glance. "You're one lucky bastard that he's taken a liking to you."
The cat didn't reply, but Neil didn't expect it to. People had a habit of never appreciating what they had beneath the protective weight of Andrew's protection. Maybe it was only a cat, but Neil found himself reminded of that fact in an entirely unexpected fashion.
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Automaton (KamiMiyo/Miyokami) ch 1
Automaton - Alitheia
Fandom/Relationships: Joker Game/KamiMiyo-MiyoKami
Tags: Canon Universe. Friendship/Love. Light angst. Non-chronological.
Summary: —but spies were not machines.
(Kaminaga recounted the past and dreamed of the days to come; of a world in which Miyoshi hadn’t ceased to exist.)
Chapters: one | two | three | four
Link: AO3
A/N: Did a fanfic with this kind of writing style before, I thought it'd be fun to try it with KamiMiyo too (and in English ;w;). Portraying both Kaminaga and Miyoshi is so hard—I have so many ideas for them, which I'd probably never be able to write lol—but the nature and complexity of their relationships was the thing that made me love this pairing instantly. Hopefully, though, I won't mess up so much and this fanfic comes out in the way I see them in my head, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (´・ω・`)
Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.
i. under the morning light
One of the reminiscences that could never be washed away from Kaminaga's memories was of a spy named Miyoshi, as he sat beside the window at the agency’s small library on the fourth floor, with a book on his lap, basked under the morning sun. It was a modest scenery, neither a special occasion nor a point of culmination, but there was just something in its simplicity that made the moment lingered. Perhaps because it was their first chance to talk with only the two of them present, or maybe because it was the first time he realized how flawless the contour of Miyoshi’s face was—from his pretty eyes to his salient chin—carved by shadows and golden rays.
Kaminaga had pretty much picked up on everyone’s quirks since the early of their trainee days. It was a little harder with the number of people who started at first, but later as the days went and they finally dwindled to eight men, the more chance they got to interact, the more each of their personalities became prominent. But it had never occurred to him, the Miyoshi who liked reading books—not that Kaminaga thought he didn’t fit the smart image—he just didn’t see that narcissistic Miyoshi would also need to hide himself away sometimes.
“Sorry,” he remembered it was he who first attempted for any sort of conversation, during the first few weeks of their training, “did I disturb you?”
“As long as you won’t start screaming or something of the like,” chestnut-colored eyes glanced, “then I’m not bothered.”
“I’m just going to open the window and smoke, if that’s alright with you?”
“Be my guest.”
Miyoshi titled his torso a bit to the side so he could easily open the windowpane, followed by a slight shake of the head and a thin smile when refusing the cigarette Kaminaga offered him. They eventually just sat there, falling into a sweet silence of the early winter. Kaminaga leaned on his chair, eyes parking somewhere between the bookshelves behind Miyoshi’s back, as his ears searched for proof of lives, even if it was just a faint sound of breaths or tiny chirp of birds outside.
He wasn’t thinking about anything particular when without a warning, Miyoshi closed his hardback book with a dull thud, blowing off dust particles that looked akin to light snow. He left it on his thighs, while his gaze shifted outside; still as a statue, as if was contemplating, or trying to find inspiration in the windows of other buildings. Bending forward to tap the cigarette on the ashtray on the small table separating them, Kaminaga peeked at his book—The Odyssey, carved in silver letters on a sky blue cover.
Positioning his back to be as comfortable as the wooden chair allowed him to, he puffed trails of smoke.
“I never thought you’re a fan of Homer.”
“I’m not,” their eyes met for a brief second, before Miyoshi returned his gaze to his book, tapping his fingers on the binding, “was just looking for something to keep me busy last night.”
“You could always come to cafeteria like usual, you know,” Kaminaga said, “we played cards until past midnight.”
The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards, and the only thing that crossed Kaminaga’s mind was how Miyoshi was always able to make his lips curved in a way that look so effortless and natural, “Sometimes you just need the time to be alone.”
“Well, if you say so, I guess I could understand.” He chuckled a bit. “So, did you find something interesting about Odysseus?”
“Not particularly, except maybe for the fact that he probably slept with pretty much every woman he met,” Miyoshi looked at him, still smiling, “somehow that sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s just pretend you weren’t looking at me when you said that.”
“I’m still looking at you, though.”
Kaminaga laughed. “May I ask what are you trying to imply here?”
“Other than things that have been depicted in some ancient Greek epic poems actually still could be found in today’s society, no,” Miyoshi replied, “I’m not trying to imply anything.”
Only a couple of weeks ago, this man and all of his sickeningly sweet, disparaging innuendos had irked him to no end. But now when he’d realized that Miyoshi might simply be a cynic to the core, and that by throwing sarcastic remarks was his way of trying to keep the conversation going, he instead found himself grinning, genuinely amused at how bizarre his personality was. For the same reason he also didn’t reply. Kaminaga hated losing, but for this one time, he’d let Miyoshi feel satisfied. Consider it as him being genial. And he could be wrong, but Miyoshi did seem a bit younger than him, so consider it as Kaminaga being a courteous big brother as well.
So then he resorted to just enjoy his cigarette, while the smoke danced above his head before it dissipated in the morning wind. There were, after all, some moments that were meant to be savored, just like this one.
Kaminaga might not look like it, but he actually fancied reading. So far the only trainee he met most often in the library was Jitsui, though their relationship was just that of a polite conversation with occasional comments or recommendations about books that both of them had read. Miyoshi’s presence might be a good change of pace; listening to other people was indeed Kaminaga’s natural interest. Miyoshi would almost certainly be a great partner for conversations, though sometimes he made Kaminaga want to throw him the ashtray.
“Actually,” Miyoshi said, suddenly, “there was something that kind of caught my attention more than Odysseus and his adventures.”
“Oh?”
Miyoshi set the book in his hands, letting the papers turned swiftly under his fingers, as if trying to find a certain page. Kaminaga didn’t want to admit that he was already curious. But he didn’t stop until the back cover was reached, and the man returned it to his lap instead. “I just thought there was something quite amusing.”
“And that something is?” When his interlocutor only smiled, he quickly added, “Don’t make it as if you want to say it then leave me hanging.”
“Am I catching your interest, Kaminaga?”
“Perhaps.” He puffed his cigarette, looking as absent-minded as possible. Though Kaminaga was a good actor—that was part of his job as a spy, actually—he knew there was no use of pretending in front of people who were also always faking.
“Automaton.”
“Pardon?”
“You asked what’s amusing, my answer is, automaton; King Alcinous’ gold and silver dogs,” Miyoshi said, “that, if you’re familiar with some Greek myth or Homer’s works.”
And of course he did. Kaminaga had read The Odyssey—hell, he even read The Iliad before that—and his memory was excellent, so he knew exactly what was being talked about. “The dogs that guard his palace?” he asked. “What’s funny about them?”
Miyoshi placed the book on the table, almost making Kaminaga think that he wanted to show something, but the book cover was closed. “Define automaton?”
“The Homer’s one? A statue out of metal, having the ability to move by themselves because they were given life by the gods or something.”
“Precisely,” Miyoshi sighed, “and that also sounds strangely familiar, isn’t it?”
Kaminaga raised an eyebrow, this time not catching what Miyoshi meant. He hoped his expression was enough to make the other spy elaborate further, but the man only maintained the curve on his lips, as if it was the only thing that he was supposed to do in the world. He then rose from his seat, dusted invisible dust off his waistcoat, and took the suit jacket from the back of the chair. Without any word, he walked toward the door.
“Wait,” Kaminaga called him right when his hand was on the doorknob, “where are you going?”
“I meant to catch some sleep, if you don’t mind,” stopping briefly, he said, “I was up all night, you see.”
“Well yes, but I still don’t get what you mean.”
He stared at Kaminaga for a few long seconds, face unreadable. Miyoshi then shrugged. “Yet.”
The door closed. Kaminaga was left alone in the room, with old books and tales about automatons.
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