O levels! Thus, I will not be posting here for even longer...eep.
I'll post when I can but as I said two posts back, with the fanfiction Wasurenai, I have been doing a lot of writing but of nothing but Arashi fanfiction. Yes, maybe I should admit that it is taking over my life, somewhat.

And well. Prelims have already started, and I'm still as lazy assed as ever. So well. I shall be posting another short fanfiction, this time based on the Japanese drama The Quiz Show (Season 2). Just as a FYI, Sakurai Sho from Arashi plays the host, Kamiyama Satoru and Yokoyama Yu from Kanjani8 plays Honma, the creepy director of the Quiz Show.

So. Last post till next time? Maybe.

On to the fanfiction...yay? Oh. Contains slight spoilers.




Drip. Drop. Clatter. Roll. Shhhh. Clang. Bang. Drip. Pant. Gasp. Cry. Pant.

Sound. It was sound that echoed in the room when the man, dressed in black (he always dressed in black, but why?), pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. The sound of his shoes on the floor vibrated in his ears and he looked up in trepidation. And gasped. The man's eyes were narrowed, a sneer on his face as he stepped closer to the bare bed. The walls seem to close in on him as the fragile man in white tried to cower into a ball on the bed. Fingers clung to the thin fabric, eyes turned to the floor to hide the fear in them. The man in black stood by the bed, waiting; just waiting.

A head tilted up, cold eyes met frightened ones. Full lips trembled and parted, then closed again.

"Do you remember?"

A short nod. An acknowledgment of the question. An answer. A raised eyebrow replied, a head cocked to the side, lips upturned in a sadistic smirk.

"Oh?"

Another short nod, a short futile scramble off the bed (that ended in a fall and a roll on the floor; as usual), and a scuttle to grab at the black fabric on the man's legs.

"Misaki. Her name is Misaki."

The man in black's face contorts in anger, and he kicks the whimpering man away in disgust. He's heard those words before. He already knows; the information is redundant. He growls and leans down to grab at the flimsy non-existant collar of the man's shirt. Their faces nearly touch, and the man that is called Kamiyama can hear the breathing of the other. He can feel the hot breath on his face, the short inhales and exhales. The low growl that is rumbling in the man's throat. Kamiyama whimpers. His body shivers, jerks, and he turns his face away. He's afraid, his heart thumping in his chest, his fingers trembling. His toes curl and uncurl, his legs shift and he wriggles under the man's hold.

A loud cry as he's hauled up and slamed back down on the floor. Kamiyama cries out in pain. The man's hand gently strokes a line along the side of his jaw. Kamiyama tries to jerk his face away. He squeaks when he's pulled up to eye level with the other again. The man's lips brush against his, the man's eyes clouded over with an unreadable emotion. Kamiyama shudders. He squeaks and sobs when the man lets go and the hot hands pressed against his skin leave and all he feels is the cold, hard floor. He slides and hits the freezing surface of the bed's legs. There is a clang when the man's foot meets the hourglass and it hits the wall. There is a clang and the rustling of when the sand slides.

He curls his legs up to his chest, sobbing quietly. The man huffs in disgust and closes the door, slamming it as he leaves, using more force than necessary. It rings; the metallic throb when the metal latch slides close. The tap drips water again. Kamiyama uncurls himself and paces to the mirror, his footsteps soft, almost as if he didn't exist and he were walking on air. He feels like he's in a dream. Everything around him is a blur, unclear and fuzzy. He stares at his relflection in the mirror, hair unkempt, skin pale and eyes lifeless.

Is this what he had become? What he had been reduced to? His palm reaches out and rests on the mirror image. His face is blank as a memory floods back and plays vividly in his mind's eye. He hears the pitter patter of the rain falling against the rocks. He hears the rushing of water, the sharp, yet high pitched ting the sharp object makes as it clatters to the ground. He hears the squish of wet ground underneath feet, the loud swoosh when the raincoat fabric rubs. The sharp cry and holler of "Are you okay? Is everything alright?" and the panicked loud breathing as he stares down at his hands. His chest heaves, and a word rolls off his tongue over and over.

"Misaki! Misaki!"

He screams.

His hands clutch at his head and he screams again; louder this time, drowning out the other sounds in the too-small room. He screams again and again until his throat is raw and dry, and until his voice nearly leaves him and all he can do is choke out breathy moans and groans. He gasps again then crawls and tries to make his way to the bed. His fingers grip onto the sheets. He rocks against the bed, crying, sobbing, whimpering. Finally, sleep takes over; his world fades gradually to black and silence rings in his ears.

The room is quiet. Or is it?

Drip. Drop. Clatter. Roll. Shhhh. Clang. Bang. Drip. Pant. Gasp. Cry. Pant.