home

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:350px; border-right:50px solid #ac8bcc;][style=float:left; border:8px solid #ac8bcc; margin:3px; opacity:0.8;][/style][style=text-align:justify; padding:5px; color:#000; font-family:arial; font-size:11px;]He'd been at the school a few days early, due to the fact that his father had brought him when he'd come to the school. He'd been given his room early, and had settled in - or at least, as settled as one could be in a strange place you'd rather not be at. He had clothes hung up in the closet, his book were on the desk, and he had his all important teddy bear on his lap. He had no other possessions - not for the lack of his father trying - because he didn't need them. He had more than he'd ever had in his life, and even now he didn't know what to do. He didn't have any skills - he didn't know how to paint or play instruments or anything like that. He could barely write his own name, much less anything remotely creative. He didn't need books - there was a library full of them, and besides he could barely read anyways. All he needed was his teddy bear. It was the single possession he had before he'd been taken away from everything he'd known. He'd gotten it after his brother's death, something to silence his cries for his brother, because for God's sake didn't the kid know that people were trying to work and sleep? He had intended to die, to go with his brother, but only his brother had made it to the end. Now he was alone, he had no one to talk to, to cry with. His world was shaken, broken, and he didn't know what to do. The bear turned into his brother, in a way; wherever he could take it, the bear went. It was his security blanket. He couldn't take it to class, he knew, but he could have its company when he was in his room, and maybe he could take it elsewhere. But, not until he knew it was safe. He didn't want to lose the bear. Someone might steal it, or he could get separated from it, or something worse. The bear was safe in his room, and he would be in the room often wouldn't he? At least there was that. Hopefully it would be safe, anyways. He was supposed to be getting a roommate. What if they were mean? What if they stole the bear, or hurt him, or did other bad things? The prospect of sharing this room with another student terrified him; he didn't want to be alone with anyone, especially people he didn't know. Until recently, being in a closed room with a stranger led to one thing, and one thing only - and Naoya didn't want that, even though he knew he deserved it. They would be coming any day, they'd said, and that had been two days ago. He didn't know how many more days would pass before he met this person, this stranger, but he was tense with worrying about it, with wondering about it. He didn't want it to happen. He never wanted that day to come. And then, the door opened, making him jump with surprise and cling to the teddy in his lap, his eyes flying to the door as he sat frozen, wondering what had opened the door. words, 547 tags, marco/laika notes, i hope it's okay! [/style][style=margin-top:2px; font-family:georgia; font-size:25px; color:#ac8bcc; text-transform:lowercase; text-shadow:-1px 0 #333, 0 1px #333, 1px 0 #333, 0 -1px #333; text-align:center;]this is not a home[/style]

[style=font-size:10px; font-family:ms gothic;]made by RIVER! of BV, CTL and OTE[/style]

[marco]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=width,350,true][STYLE=float: left; width: 100px; height: 100px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 5px;][/style][STYLE=width: 350px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px]Marco had never had much affinity for numbers. Math had both bored and confused him—whatever was taught in classes went right over his head most of the time. He had probably never been as thankful or excited about a number as much as right now, as he stood staring down the number, 101, labeled in big, clear letters on the door to what was supposedly his new dorm. Numbers were familiar. Numbers were universal. Numbers were something he could understand (he decided formulas and equations were an entirely different matter). Japanese was difficult—it was confusing enough without having to adjust to an entirely new set of characters, and three different ones at that. He’d spent the summer working on his Japanese, but now he almost entirely regretted not spending more time practicing and studying. More often than not he’d ended up outside, having more interest in enjoying the familiar Italian countryside with friends that he wouldn’t be seeing for a while than preparing for an experience that had barely felt real at the time. But now that he was here, now that it felt entirely too real, he found himself completely and utterly lost in a city where everyone spoke in gibberish and the street signs might as well have been written in hieroglyphs. Marco had a new sort of thankfulness that he knew Italian, that he could read and write and speak and understand it, something that he’d taken for granted back home. Not that his fluency in Italian wasn’t doing him any good here in Japan. He’d been all too thrilled about returning to Japan, his excitement mounting with each day that passed. He wanted to explore the rest of Hokkaido, eat in every restaurant, try on clothes at every boutique, browse every store he passed—or, that had been his plan before he’d arrived. Now Marco was tired, mostly. Airplane rides had a way of tiring you out no matter how much you slept, and leaving you feeling sticky and gross and generally irritable. First, he wanted a shower, a change of clothes, a nap and a hot meal. He was still in a fairly good mood despite the fact, and he smile at the prospect of meeting his new roommate. Last time he’d been in Japan it had been too short and business filled a trip to really make any friends, but here was his first opportunity. Ideally, he wanted a roommate who knew at least some Italian, but that seemed unlikely—all he could really hope for was that they’d be nice and willing to help the country boy navigate the foreign school and unfamiliar city. Marco had already managed to ask for directions and find his way to his dorms, so at the very least he could probably manage very basic communication. He was certain Japanese would come much more easily if he learned it practically—it was sink or swim from here. Marco made sure to smile as he reached for the doorknob—he was never really conscious of it, but his expression when he was thinking or daydreaming defaulted to a rather bratty one, and that certainly wasn’t the impression he wanted to make. One hand on the doorknob, and the other pulling his suitcase behind him, the blonde boy took a deep breath before pushing open the door and stepping inside. He froze just as the other boy had, Marco’s eager gaze locking with a much more wide-eyed one. The blonde looked over his roommate, a casual scrutiny, brows furrowing at the other boy’s terror—he seemed to have startled him, badly. “Scusa,” Marco didn’t even notice he’d spoken in Italian at first, but when he did, he tilted his head with a slight frown, searching his mind for the correct Japanese phrase. “I…uh.. sorry.” He tore his eyes from the other boy for a moment to look over the room, before looking back at his new roommate with a smile. The purple haired boy still hadn’t spoken, so Marco took it upon himself to start off introductions—perhaps the only Japanese he really knew. “Hi, I’m Marco. Nice to meet you.” It was phrasebook Japanese, but so far it seemed to be understandable enough for most people he’d spoken with. [/style][STYLE=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 90%; background-color: #000; color: #dedede]tags: nao! words: 712 notes: idk italian... also wow this was long sorry[/style]

[STYLE=font: normal 11px helvetica]made by bubbles of btn[/style]

[brighty]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:350px; border-right:50px solid #ac8bcc;][style=float:left; border:8px solid #ac8bcc; margin:3px; opacity:0.8;][/style][style=text-align:justify; padding:5px; color:#000; font-family:arial; font-size:11px;]Naoya had hoped that maybe his father would be with him when he met his roommate. If not him, maybe a teacher or someboy who could speak. Even if he wanted to talk, he couldn't. Not right now, in any case. Maybe some day. It would make things easier, but he just couldn't. People didn't get it, they thought it was weird, but he just couldn't. Now he was going to be stuck in a room with a person who would expect him to talk and be friends, and Naoya couldn't do that because he didn't deserve friends and he wasn't good. Then his roommate would begin to hate him and want to get a new room, but Naoya wasn't sure if people could do that, and that would make his roommate even madder. Then Naoya would get hurt and Naoya didn't want to get hurt. And then the door opened, revealing a blonde... person. They didn't look much like a boy - no, they looked more like a girl. But girls weren't allowed in the school, right? It was a boy's school. So the blonde had to be a boy, no matter what he looked like. Right? They wouldn't put a girl in a room with a boy anyways, right? That was somewhere in some rules, he'd heard that from one of his old families. That was bad. He didn't know what the difference between putting a boy and a girl in a room together and putting two boys in a room together was, but apparantly it was a big thing. The person was smiling, but Naoya was sure they wouldn't be smiling for long - no one liked Naoya. He didn't give smiles and he didn't get smiles because he wasn't good enough. The blonde said something, a word he wasn't familiar with. He didn't know if it was the same language or a different one, but it wasn't a word he had ever heard. Various languages was a slightly abstract concept for the boy, as he'd never heard other languages spoken or mentioned around him often. He didn't understand why everyone spoke different languages when one was just fine. Multiple languages was just confusing and hard to communicate with. Then again, Naoya wasn't one to judge, as he didn't speak at all. The blonde looked him over. Naoya wondered what he was thinking. He'd been looked over many times - mostly right before someone purchased time with him. Was that the same thoughts the blonde was having? Would he be harmed in the same way as before? He would be stuck in this room with the blonde a lot, and he couldn't tell. No one would believe him if he told. He was nothing, but this other person was probably an important person, someone worth something. Who would believe Naoya against that? No one. Then, the blonde spoke again, this time a word he knew. He apologized. Why would he apologize? He had no reason to apologize - if anyone should apologize, it was him. He was the one sharing a room with the boy - he didn't even deserve a room like this, with a nice bed to himself and his teddy. This person deserved a better roommate than himself. So, Naoya shook his head a little - no, don't apologize to me. If Naoya smiled, he would then - something reassuring so that the person knew he wasn't being mean or anything. But, Naoya's mind didn't work that way; he didn't smile, he'd never smiled before, and he didn't expect that to change any time soon. Instead, his face was blank as he shook his head, then bowed slightly at the waist from where he was sitting - I'm sorry that you have to be here. Then the person introduced himself - his name was Marco and he thought it was nice to meet him. How wrong was he. Naoya was bad, and Marco would soon see that, sharing his room like he was. He was weird, he was bad, he would bother the person. He couldn't speak, he had nightmares, he wasn't a good person. The only thing good about him was that he was good at making people happy - that was his job before and he'd had a value, a meaning, then. But Naoya had been told repeatedly he wouldn't have to do that job anymore, so that wasn't an option was it? He hoped not - as much as he was valuable at it, he didn't want to do it. It hurt and people said it was bad. Now he didn't know what to do. Naoya, however, didn't know what to do. This person introduced himself, but he didn't have a way to introduce himself aloud. Still clinging to his teddybear, he carefully levered himself from his bed and moved quietly to his desk. There was a notepad laying out on the desk, and he carefully scribbled a few characters on the page. "My name is Naoya Uchida." That was all. No pleasantries. He wasn't someone people wanted to meet - excepting the one reason - and definitely not to socialize with. The only reason someone would want to talk to him was out of duty - Daisuke did to teach him his lessons, to submit, and his father because he was his father, and he was supposed to because that's what the people who'd taken him from Daisuke expected. Besides, who would want to talk to a freak like him? words, 920 tags, marco/laika notes, i got kind of rambly. sorry. [/style][style=margin-top:2px; font-family:georgia; font-size:25px; color:#ac8bcc; text-transform:lowercase; text-shadow:-1px 0 #333, 0 1px #333, 1px 0 #333, 0 -1px #333; text-align:center;]this is not a home[/style]

[style=font-size:10px; font-family:ms gothic;]made by RIVER! of BV, CTL and OTE[/style]

[marco]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=width,350,true][STYLE=float: left; width: 100px; height: 100px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 5px;][/style][STYLE=width: 350px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px]When his roommate shook his head, Marco took that to mean something along the lines of ‘no, it’s fine’. The blonde stood there for a few seconds, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to bow back—he wasn’t quite used to Japanese customs yet—before settling on a small nod in acknowledgement. His smile faltered slightly when the other boy didn’t seem to return any of his enthusiasm. Marco supposed it would be understandable if he were disappointed about his new roommate. He was foreign, he didn’t understand Japanese, and he often came off as solemn or arrogant, not to mention he was androgynous to a point which made some people uncomfortable. But Marco was confident enough not to be too bothered by it. He didn’t let the thought discourage him—he hoped that once he adjusted to Japan, once he picked up more of the language, everything would come easier. It was a bit difficult to befriend anyone when you could barely keep up your end of the conversation, after all. The other boy stood up, and Marco tilted his head slightly out of curiosity, watching as he made his way over to the desk. It hadn’t occurred to him that the other boy hadn’t spoken as much as a word to him yet, not until he watched him appear to be writing something down. As he waited for his roommate to finish, he took another look around the room. He left his suitcase in the middle of the room where he stood as he bounded over to the door, realizing he’d left it ajar, leaning against it until he felt it click shut. Marco stood for a few more seconds with his back against the door, hands clasped in front of him patiently until the other boy seemed to have finished. He went over to the desk too, right beside the smaller boy. He bit his lip when his dark red eyes fell on the page and were met with a dreaded set of Japanese characters. Marco had learned a few so far, but nothing near enough to understand what was written, and he chewed his lip as he stared down at the page. He smiled sheepishly as he turned to his roommate, giving a small shake of his head. ”I don’t speak Japanese.” Marco knew this phrase very well—he used it frequently in response to pretty much anything anyone said to him lately. He supposed speak wouldn’t be exactly the right word to use in this situation, but he didn’t know how to say read, and he figured that it got the point across even so. “You…don’t speak?” He asked, pointing to his own mouth for emphasis—he wasn’t sure how close he’d gotten to what he meant, so it never hurt to be sure. Marco couldn’t help but feel a bit dejected by his roommate’s silence. He’d hoped to have a roommate who he could practice his Japanese with—his spoken Japanese, at any rate. But he tried not to seem it, certain that they’d find some way past their communication blockade, if only out of necessity. Marco had quickly come to realize during his stay that Japanese people were a lot more reserved than he was used to, but his roommate seemed something else entirely. He was small and silent, and he still hadn’t so much as smiled or spoken a word about him; there was clearly something strange about him, but Marco didn’t have the capabilities to find out what it was. Though, perhaps he could chalk it up to nerves—they were both first years in a new school, and they were both probably anxious about starting at a new school. Perhaps the other simply didn’t handle that sort of stress as well? [/style][STYLE=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 90%; background-color: #000; color: #dedede]tags: nao! words: 633 notes: marco doesn't get it[/style]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:350px; border-right:50px solid #ac8bcc;][style=float:left; border:8px solid #ac8bcc; margin:3px; opacity:0.8;][/style][style=text-align:justify; padding:5px; color:#000; font-family:arial; font-size:11px;]He could feel the blonde's eyes on him as he made his way to his desk. Not surprising - most people would speak, where he needed to write. He was weird, he was different, he was wrong. Sudden movement made him jerk his hand up and away from the paper, turning to look at his new room mate. He'd moved at the door quickly, startling the smaller boy, and closed it with a click. With his vehemence to get the door shut between them and the world, Naoya only could think the worst - even though it was such an innocent action. The blonde turned back towards him, and he hastily went back to writing as if he hadn't just been staring. He was more tense than before, and he wasn't sure if he could do this - stay in a closed room with this stranger. When he put the pen down, Marco walked over to him - and with each step nearer, Naoya tightened his grip on the teddy bear as he carefully didn't look at the blonde. Marco stopped right next to him, and Naoya couldn't help but flinch away from the blonde, taking a step or two away from him as he looked down at the characters. It was all he could do to keep himself from trembling and shaking. He didn't know what to expect from this person, and he was so frightened of what he might do. He'd just darted across the room to close the door, and now he was very close to him - Naoya didn't know what to expect. He wasn't easy to predict - and being unpredictable was terrifying. The blonde, after consideration, looked over at him and shook his head, saying he didn't speak Japanese. But, didn't he just say that in Japanese? How in the world could he lie effectively if the truth came out with the telling? He said he couldn't speak Japanese, and yet he said it in Japanese, and now Naoya was confused. Were they speaking something else, and he wrote in Japanese? Did he know two languages and not even realize it? He thought it was Japanese, but now he didn't know - what if he wasn't? What if he wrote down something in Japanese, and someone who spoke real Japanese read it and said something? Then Naoya wouldn't understand. He didn't know what to do. But the male seemed confused by his written words. Maybe he meant to say he couldn't read and just got the words mixed up. Maybe. Probably not. Naoya was probably wrong, as always, and the male meant exactly what he said - which didn't make any sense because to mean it would be a lie, as he spoke Japanese to Naoya. The child was very much confused - why was the blonde lying to him? Not that he should be surprised - Naoya didn't deserve the truth - but he hadn't expected the blonde to understand that so quickly, wen so many people he'd known for longer still had a hard time grasping it. Then he lifted his hand up and pointed to his own mouth, asking Naoya about his speech. Slowly, hesitantly, the boy nodded - yes, I can't speak. The blonde didn't appear to be happy about that, which frightened Naoya even more. The boy ducked his head down, hunching his shoulders as if expecting some sort of physical response - which, he did. He expected to get hurt in some fashion by the larger male. When people were displeased with him, they hurt him - that was how it worked. The blonde seemed to easily understand that he was bad and didn't deserve good things - such as the truth - and thus Naoya expected that he would know that Naoya was supposed to be punished for displeasing others. words, 647 tags, marco/laika notes, poor, confused, frightened naoya. [/style][style=margin-top:2px; font-family:georgia; font-size:25px; color:#ac8bcc; text-transform:lowercase; text-shadow:-1px 0 #333, 0 1px #333, 1px 0 #333, 0 -1px #333; text-align:center;]this is not a home[/style]

[style=font-size:10px; font-family:ms gothic;]made by RIVER! of BV, CTL and OTE[/style]

[marco]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=width,350,true][STYLE=float: left; width: 100px; height: 100px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 5px;][/style][STYLE=width: 350px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px]Marco could tell, language barrier notwithstanding, that his roommate didn’t seem to like him very much so far. He hadn’t taken much notice of the teddy bear the other boy had been holding onto for dear life until now, and he glanced up from the words when he saw the violet haired boy visible tensing. The way that he stepped away, avoiding eye contact when he’d approached made the dislike fairly obvious, and Marco turned to examine his roommate with a raised eyebrow, unsure about exactly what he’d done wrong. His Japanese was poor, but he was fairly certain that the phrases he’d used were polite enough. Of course he hadn’t given as much as a thought to the fact that the other boy would be scared of him. Marco was the taller of the two, and he looked older, but was also the more delicately feminine, more likely to be mistaken for a girl than to intimidate anyone. Sometimes he came off as bratty or aloof, but never did he think he’d ever scare or intimidate anyone, unintentionally or otherwise. There was no other way to explain his roommate’s actions other than writing it off to dislike. At the same time, he refused to remain in bad standing with this other boy, as strange as he was and as much as he didn’t seem to like Marco. If they were roommates, they had to - at the very least - get along, and as important as first impressions were, the Italian boy was still pressing for some sort of friendship further down the line. This strange, small boy would realize later on that Marco wasn’t bratty or stupid or rude or whatever he seemed to think of him, he was sure of it. The boy seemed extremely shy, so Marco assumed he was probably just very nervous. Though, he hadn’t done anything to give off such a bad impression, had he? The blonde had no way of knowing or understanding any of the strange logic behind the other boy’s actions. Where he came from, everyone was nice and loving and caring. His upbringing and values left him sweet and naïve, and he couldn’t begin to consider the completely opposite way in which the other boy saw the world. He was optimistic that they would become friends sooner or later. They were roommates and would have to spend plenty of time together, so it would be only natural that they should warm up to each other. Marco could already tell there was something different about his new roommate, but didn’t want to jump to negative conclusions and think too badly of the other boy’s peculiarities; even if the opposite did seem true. Marco was only further confused by the boy’s reaction. The nod was clear enough, an answer to the question he’d asked. But the accompanied motion was unexpected, though now the smaller boy’s fear was getting across, with the way he flinched, shrunk away and tensed as if expecting Marco to lunge at him any second. Tilting his head, Marco simply stared, unsure of what he’d done to garner such a reaction and of what he should do next. Obviously he wasn’t going to hit the other boy – he didn’t know why his roommate seemed to think he would have any reason to – he wasn’t particularly inclined towards violence anyways. “Sorry…?” He tried for lack of anything better to do or say, speaking slowly and with a good amount of uncertainty in his tone. Perhaps he could have come out with a more sincere apology if he understood what he should be apologizing for. But there wasn’t much else he could say between a complete lack of understanding of the situation and a severely limited Japanese vocabulary. He raised his hands with the palms open in a sort of motion of surrender, hoping it would make it clear that he hadn’t meant to do whatever he’d done to scare the other boy so much.[/style][STYLE=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font: normal 11px arial; line-height: 90%; background-color: #000; color: #dedede]tags: nao! words: 665 notes: djfsl i'm so sorry about the wait, school is ending soon and has me in a sort of death grip for the moment[/style]

[STYLE=font: normal 11px helvetica]made by bubbles of btn[/style]

[brighty]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:350px; border-right:50px solid #ac8bcc;][style=float:left; border:8px solid #ac8bcc; margin:3px; opacity:0.8;][/style][style=text-align:justify; padding:5px; color:#000; font-family:arial; font-size:11px;]Naoya didn't mean to appear like he didn't like Marco, because that wasn't necessarily it. No, he didn't like the thought of Marco being his roommate - but only because he didn't want any roommate. Staying in close quarters with another male was aboslutely petrifying, and Naoya wasn't sure if he was going to survive this school. Even in his first life he'd never been this scared, this terrified. Yes, he'd been afraid, but he didn't have to be afraid every second of the day - he was left alone at times, and while he dreaded the return of people, he wasn't as terrified. Now, he had a roommate who was bigger than him - not that it was particularly hard to be bigger, as he was about as big as an eleven year old - who he would have to share the room with until the end of the year. Yes, the male looked feminine, but his father had carefully explained that he would be sharing a room with a boy, irregardless to his psychological trauma. He didn't want this, but he didn't blame Marco for it. No. He blamed himself for being afraid. But he couldn't help being afraid - though he was trying his hardest to not be afraid, honest. Marco was being nice and here Naoya was, being terrified. Though, being nice really meant nothing - one could appear nice but be very mean. He learned that the hard way too. Even if he was told that he wouldn't have to do anything like he had before, he was still terrified. Did his roommate know that? Did this Marco know of his past? Did they tell him? Surely they didn't, or he wouldn't be so nice. He'd be mean, because that's what people did when people were weird and did bad things. His father didn't seem to understand that, but soon enough he would. If Naoya knew what Marco was thinking, that Marco mistakenly believed that Naoya thought the blonde to be any number of bad things, he would have felt bad. Well, worse than he already felt - currently he just felt terror. He just wanted to curl up somewhere alone, but he couldn't do that anymore because he had Marco now. There was no privacy for him anymore. Not that he'd ever truly known what privacy was until recently - there was no privacy in that place he had grown up in. Only until he had been removed from that place had he known the word and what it meant; that he could have time alone from other people. He could retreat to a room and close the door, and be left alone. Until now, he'd been allowed to have a room by himself; this was the first time in years he had shared a room with someone else, and it was the first time in two years he minded it. Before, he had his brother and it wasn't so bad, but this Marco wasn't his brother. He didn't know Marco. He didn't want to know Marco. The blonde apologized, though Naoya had no idea why he would do such a thing. There was no reason for Marco to apologize to Naoya - it was all Naoya's fault, not the blonde's. Naoya shook his head slightly - no, don't be sorry - and bowed - forgive me, please. Naoya didn't really know why he needed to be sorry - but if the blonde felt apologetic, then there was definitely something wrong. It wasn't Marcon's fault that Naoya was scared. No, it was Naoya's fault. He shouldn't be so scared, he should know better - it wasn't Marco's fault at all. That Marco felt apologetic only showed how bad Naoya was - that Naoya was sloughing off his own feelings onto another, that was rude. Marco shouldn't feel apologetic. It wasn't his fault he had to share his room with Naoya. He didn't pick the weird one as his roommate; no one would have, given the choice. Naoya didn't mean to be weird, to be bad - it just happened. So he was sorry. words, 694 tags, marco/laika notes, poor, confused, frightened naoya. [/style][style=margin-top:2px; font-family:georgia; font-size:25px; color:#ac8bcc; text-transform:lowercase; text-shadow:-1px 0 #333, 0 1px #333, 1px 0 #333, 0 -1px #333; text-align:center;]this is not a home[/style]

[style=font-size:10px; font-family:ms gothic;]made by RIVER! of BV, CTL and OTE[/style]