#and i can still enjoy it so so muh which shows how much it SLAPS.

[caruliaa]

jump up superstar btw. if you even care.

[lookwrittenthings]

The Best Laid Plans

The 26th and final chapter of...The Best Laid Plans. (Ha)

Sandcastles are broken, and realizations are made.

On Archive!

      They go back to the beach, as promised. The chill from the previous night’s rain lingers in the parking lot and Nezumi feels his skin prickle in spite of the sunshine.

       Hey, Shion, he thinks of saying. Remember when I kissed your neck and then ran into the storm? You lost your umbrella.

 Luckily, Nezumi’s never been one to reminiscence.

       “It’s a nice day,” Shion says, his hand brushing Nezumi’s. Instinct screams at Nezumi to flinch away, but he finds himself pressing their palms together. Shion smiles and tangles their fingers.

 There’s no thunder. Nothing breaks. Shion’s palm is steady and warm and they keep walking.

       A wooden pier Nezumi has no memory of creaks under their feet. This portion of the beach houses a wall of sloping sand dunes and beach grasses, so Nezumi can only assume that the pier was placed for easier footing.

       Behind this wall, a child screams. It is not the sort of scream that signifies pain, but the kind of scream that means the child is either currently playing with group of messy children, or slapping something very enthusiastically—probably both.

       “I like that sound,” Shion announces, struggling to adjust the bag hanging over his shoulder with his free hand.

       Nezumi helps him out. “You like listening to children attempting to break the sound barrier?”

       “People,” Shion replies. “I like the sound of people.”

       Wow. Nezumi thinks, before making a noncommittal noise. Can’t say he’s ever liked that sound much. He tries to see if he can spot the ocean through the sand dunes—nothing yet.  

       “Actually,” Shion starts again, in a tone of voice that makes Nezumi suddenly very nervous about what he’s about to say, “I don’t like the sound of people. I like the sounds of people living. Does that make sense?”

       This guy. Nezumi’s tempted to make some half-hearted joke about Shion over-analyzing life, and continue walking—but.

       The sounds of people living. Nezumi knows another sound. It is less of a sound and more the exact antithesis of a sound. It’s the oppressive incorrect-ness of a room that should contain two people, but now only has one. It’s dust on a bookshelf; The silence of the perfectly still.

       Nezumi listens to the child shriek again— picking out the sound through the semi-distant chatter of families. There is something about it that’s…

       “Yeah,” Nezumi announces. “It makes sense.”

       Shion squeezes his hand. Nezumi wonders how he knows this not-sound too.

       The wet sand makes a gritty smushing noise under their shoes as they sink and wobble off the pier and over the last few dunes to finally catch a glimpse of the beach proper.

       Mismatched beach towels cover what Nezumi assumes to be sand at disgustingly unplanned angles. He can’t shake the image of a sticky toddler discovering Band-Aids for the first time and slapping all of them on at once in a clusterfuck of Psychedelic-Dinosaur-Star-Wars-Barney.

       The only areas of the beach that aren’t completely covered by towels are a rectangle sectioned off for beach volleyball operated by a mess of teenagers, and a small sand strip near the water where children are attempting to build sandcastles.

       “Chaotic” is the first word that comes to mind. “Hell” is the second. Nezumi finds the latter to be far more accurate.

       “I miss the rain,” Shion mumbles as he plods his way past the teens playing the loudest, touchiest game of beach volleyball in existence.

       “What, you mean you don’t want to play with them?” Nezumi says, snaking an arm around his shoulder. “Could be romantic.”

       It’s a co-ed game— loose and rule-less— clearly meant to be social and flirty rather than an actual competition. The scene’s cheesy enough to be right out of an 80’s horror flick, and Nezumi attempts to tally which of the teenagers would make it to the ending credits.

       “Hit it real high for me, Appa!” a red-haired woman teases, elbowing a man who appears to be her boyfriend.

       “What, s’it’s not muh turn yet baby!” He announces, or at least Nezumi thinks he announces. There appears to be a buttered roll sticking out of his mouth, like he just took a break to snack in the middle of the game. He tilts his head back and eats it with such pelican-like aplomb Nezumi grimly labels him the first victim.

       “I’ll pass,” Shion says, but his mouth is open, watching the young man swallow the roll. He looks a little like someone witnessing a city burning: fascinated, horrified, and unable to look away. His mother would be proud of his bread-sensitivity.

       “Appa”, done with this disturbing display, takes several steps back. Nezumi notes how slowly he slips into position; he’s serving, but it’s less of a serve and more of a series of model-like poses that feature his ass most prominently.

       The red-haired woman whoops.

       “Whatever happened to enjoying the sounds of living people?” Nezumi teases at Shion’s scowl. His cheek is right there, and so Nezumi pats it lightly, relishing the annoyed huff he gets in response.

       “I still like them,” Shion defends, pushing Nezumi’s arm off. He’s looking straight ahead in a valiant effort to avoid watching Appa shake his above-average derrière. Nezumi joins him. After a second. Or three. A burning city indeed.

       Shion elbows him, continuing: “I’ve simply decided I prefer the sounds of people from a distance.”

       “You and me both—” Nezumi agrees, before the beach ball slams into his face.

       It’s not the first time Nezumi’s been hit in the face, but it always elicits the same reaction. Something heavier than rage but equally familiar sparks in his gut, and before Nezumi’s aware of his actions he’s caught the beach ball and kicked it with his whole vengeance-seeking soul.

       The distance is impressive, honestly. The ball flies in a satisfying arc before hitting the ground, steamrolling over a towel and slamming into a beachcomber who kicks it away in a similar, though less elegant, arc. The process repeats in a way that would seem cosmically driven if it weren’t so bitchily variant. The ball shows no sign of stopping in its journey to the other side of the beach.

       The red-haired woman seems to find this as hilarious as Appa finds it offensive.

       Shion’s already in pursuit— probably going to throw it back, the damned peacemaker.

       “You should be more careful ‘Appa’!” Shion shouts over his shoulder, and the red-haired woman bursts into a new wave of laughter. Maybe not that much of a peacemaker.

       Nezumi finds himself laughing as well; right before the beach ball heads toward its final resting place: a lame sandcastle made by a couple of mousy kids. It crashes, rather enthusiastically, into the pile of sand likely intended to be the center tower undoubtedly murdering hundreds of the sandcastle’s imaginary sand-residents. Regret.

       “Our castle!” the younger boy despairs, dropping a seashell he was sucking on. Nezumi finds himself almost tripping over some stranger’s discarded flip-flops in his rush to assess the calamity.

       Shion’s already way ahead of him, kneeling by the kids and attempting to fix up the sandcastle with the air of a surgeon who knows the wound is lethal. The older girl bats his hands away.

       “Don’t worry about it,” she says, digging her hands into the sand and effectively destroying the rest of the tower and Shion’s “repair”. She looks at the little boy across from her, and then speaks in a voice an octave too high to be natural: “We can make the whole thing a moat now, Rico! That’s the best part.”

       “I dunno,” Rico says, despondent. He pokes lightly at a shell on the ground, seeming to question if his heartbreak would look less real if he were to have a quick taste of this one too. “I liked the castle.”

       The girl casually chucks the shell he’s eying over her shoulder, where it lands, rather perfectly on top of a confused sunbather. “Moats have alligators, Rico!”

       “Is that true?”

       “It is,” announces Shion, swiftly stepping in as a knowledgeable adult, beach ball in hand.

       This seems to convince Rico, and he promptly joins the young girl in aggressively clawing at the sand. Nezumi finds himself smiling a little until he recognizes the look in the girl’s eyes.

       You’re welcome for preventing that scene, her eyes say, now go away.

       Smart girl, Nezumi thinks, lightly tugging Shion’s arm so they’re weaving through the towels, back to the redhead and Appa.

       “It’s amazing how quickly they recalibrated,” Shion says.

       “When you’re young, adapting is easy. Your life is in a constant state of flux anyway, so what’s a few destroyed sandcastles?”

       Shion smiles. “And if you’re old?”

       “Then adaptation takes more work. You need to provide the flux, upset the system you’ve created for yourself.” Nezumi lectures, stepping around an entire picnic complete with disgusting looking tuna sandwiches. He offers a hand to Shion from the other side.

       “We’re supposed to—thanks,” Shion says, accepting his hand. His grip tightens as Nezumi lifts it above their heads, guiding him around some atrocious potato salad. “We’re supposed to break some sandcastles, you mean?”

       “Depends on how much you have to adapt,” Nezumi grins, not releasing Shion’s hand after he’s cleared the obstacle. Shion adjusts the beach ball on his hip and opens his mouth to counter—

       “Hey sweetie!” shouts the red-haired woman, and Shion immediately turns to face the volleyball rectangle. He then turns back to Nezumi as if he wasn’t addressed.

       “I think she’s calling you,” Nezumi drawls.

       Shion scowls. “I don’t think I should respond to ‘sweetie.’”

       “I guess we’ve got a free beach ball then.”

       Shion hesitates. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, releasing Nezumi’s hand like a precious cat he was considering adopting, before bumbling off to go have words with the beach ball couple.

       He’s wearing the wrong shoes, Nezumi realizes. Nezumi’s travelling boots block the familiar itch of the sand allowing him to move forward effortlessly, but Shion’s shoes slip and sink along the sand replacing his usual confidently-cautious stride with an endearing waddle.

       He’d hate that, Nezumi thinks, loving every second of it.

       Shion returns the beach ball, but seems to have accidentally struck up a conversation with the red-haired woman. Typical.  She’s leaning forward, showing off her tits—that is to say—some sort of scar on her chest. Nezumi hopes that’s less typical.

       Shion shakes his head politely, but he’s smiling. He makes some sort of gesture to his hair, and she laughs. They exchange a few more words Nezumi can’t make out before Shion turns. He stretches his arm out and points at what Nezumi realizes is him. Startled by the certain warmth of Shion’s gaze, Nezumi nods in his direction. Shion grins and dives back into the conversation.

       It’s strange, being acknowledged. Embarrassed for some implacable reason, Nezumi sticks his hands in his pockets and makes eye-contact with Appa who is ingurgitating another buttered roll. Mistake.

       When he turns back around Shion’s frowning at the woman and crossing his arms. Nezumi’s walking over before he can stop himself as “discovering unique ways to get socked in the face by a stranger” seems to be Shion’s raison d'etre.

       “It's a waste, you know,” she says, punching him on the shoulder.

       Shion pats her arm once, curt. “Thank you for your opinion.”

       “I didn’t meant to take the wind out of your sails, sweetie, I just think that man—“

       Shion, Nezumi thinks. Exactly how you get into this discussion?

       Shion has a way of cutting through the meat of an issue and moving straight to the gristle— gristle, apparently, meaning Nezumi.

       “Am I interrupting something?”

       “Nezumi!” Shion says. He looks excited to be spoken to like usual, but Nezumi can’t read the emotion in his eyes. “No, you’re not interrupting anything.”

       Shion takes his hand, and Nezumi allows himself to be pulled into his clumsy stride.

       “Just think about it, sweetie!” the red-haired woman calls after them.

       Shion walks faster, waving over his shoulder with his free hand. In the distance Nezumi hears a stuffed-mouth sound resembling “farewell” that can only be from fucking Appa. Seriously, why?

       Shion’s destination is, oddly enough, off the beach proper. The less-crowded rows of sand dunes and beach grasses are far from pretty, but they’re quieter at least.

       Quieter, that is, until Shion attempts to climb one of the dunes.

       “What are you doing?” Nezumi asks his grunting companion.

       “I’m exploring,” Shion replies, trying valiantly to stay upright where he’s wobbling on the side of the dune. He’s chucked his bag somewhere near the dune’s base and it’s already covered in a fine layer of sand. Nezumi hopes there’s nothing important in there.

       “Those are brave words for a duckling.”

       Shion doesn’t reply, and Nezumi reluctantly offers his arm. Shion accepts it eagerly, balancing his weight between the shifting sand and Nezumi. He resembles a ballsy toddler, but he’s certainly climbing better.

       The dune isn’t that tall, 4 or 5 feet high at the most, but the sand is loose and establishing footing is difficult. Nezumi follows along, not bothering to feel disturbed by how easily he melts into the role of human balance bar.

       Shion arrives at the top of the dune, rooting his grandpa shoes in the beach grass. At the last second, Nezumi’s boots sink into the sand, but Shion grabs his arm with both of his hands and pulls him up to join him.

       “We did it,” Shion declares with all the enthusiasm of the man who first climbed Everest.

       Nezumi snorts. “Yeah, well. It was touch-and-go for a bit.”

       Shion fails to acknowledge Nezumi’s sarcasm and sits down. He tangles his fingers in the grass that stabilized him and dangles his legs off the side of the dune. Sand waterfalls down as Shion shifts and Nezumi certain he’ll slide off, but somehow the dune bears his weight just fine.

       After a moment, Nezumi joins him.

       The waves crash into the shore, and a child shrieks again. Nezumi can see the red-haired woman playing volleyball and jeering at Appa, and Rico and his sister building their moat. They’re far enough away to seem small and unimportant. Nezumi allows himself a deep breath—

       Shion sighs, loudly. His eyes are shut. Nezumi fights the urge to laugh or correct him.

       “Exhausted from all that “exploration”, Your Grace?”

       Shion’s eyes open just enough to glare sideways at Nezumi. “Sweetie, Duckling, and now Your Grace. Those are all names that I’ve been called today.”

       “And?”

       Shion sighs again, eyes opening fully. “Why are you that man?”

       Nezumi blinks. “That’s your problem?”

       “Yes!” Shion asserts, clearly agitated. He kicks his legs, and the sand shifts threateningly. Nezumi catches his arm to keep him from tumbling off, and then laughs at him.

       Shion tugs his arm away. “It isn’t funny,” he grumbles, rooting his fingers in the grass again.

       “Of course not,” replies Nezumi, still laughing. “Maybe she felt my travel experience? Or sex appeal.”

       “That isn’t fair. I’ve travelled a sizable amount now.”

       Nezumi slowly raises an eyebrow, unapologetically lunging for the low-hanging fruit: “Ah, but your—“

       “—My sex appeal is more than adequate,” Shion interrupts, dripping with confidence. Nezumi coughs, and Shion glares pointedly. “You kissed me yesterday. If you find it inadequate, you’re the one that should be concerned about your taste.”

       Touché, Nezumi admits, internally. “Maybe you should have told her that. She would have admired your conquest.”

       “You’re not my conquest, but—”

       But. Nezumi raises a hand. “You are aware that everything you say before a ‘but’ is bullshit, right?”

       “Are you arguing that you are my conquest?” Shion raises his eyebrows.

       Nezumi tries not to think about that one. “Merely concerned about your syntax, per usual.”

       Light pop music comes from the beach; someone’s hooked up a speaker. Nezumi listens for a few moments, trying to make out the words, before picking up the conversation again.

       “So I’m not your conquest, we’ve established. What were you going to say?”

       Shion’s forehead wrinkles, his eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t seem particularly stressed. Just irritated.

       “What?” Nezumi asks.

       “That woman told me to be careful. She saw the way you kicked the beach ball and said you seemed dangerous.”

       “Dangerous,” Nezumi repeats, stiff.

        “I’m fascinated by it actually.”

       Nezumi brushes some sand off his pants, trying to ignore the tangling in his chest Shion’s thoughtful expression seems to encourage.

       “S’not healthy to be fascinated by danger—you should get that looked at. ”

       Shion shakes his head. “Not the danger. The fact that that’s how we looked to her. Isn’t that interesting? I’m so familiar with looking at us as a collection of complications that I forgot that to someone just looking in we might appear—uh”

       “Simple?” Nezumi offers.

       “Simple,” Shion confirms. “I wonder if she had the ability to look at all our interactions on this trip so far she would still think that you were the dangerous one. I wonder what she’d see.”

       “Thinking of investing in a biker jacket, Shion?” Nezumi teases.

       “Listen to me,” Shion holds up a hand. “Take me seriously for a second. I’m realizing something— or no, I’ve realized something. I’m complicated. I never thought of myself as complicated before.”

       Nezumi blinks. “What?”

       “I’m dangerous enough to get expelled, I’m aggressive enough to intimidate someone—I made you cry Nezumi and I don’t know what I was in order to make that happen. I’m full of so many things— things I haven’t even discovered yet. Isn’t that interesting and scary? It scares me a little.”

       Nezumi finds himself nodding— an uncomfortable jerk of his head. He’s not entirely sure why Shion bothers to share all of this information, why sharing the thoughts that keep most people up at night come out so naturally and honestly in his voice. It’s ridiculous, really.

       “But.” Shion hesitates, tugging his bangs. What did they just say about that particular conjunction? Nezumi finds himself shifting closer, because Shion is so ridiculous Nezumi has no option but to become an idiot to match him.

       “Everything I’m feeling now at this moment, I wouldn’t be feeling it if I weren’t so complicated— if I weren’t dangerous, or aggressive. If I weren’t different from how I thought I was when I started this trip.”

       Nezumi lets his hand rest on his lap, fighting the urge to catch Shion’s hand and pull it away from his hair. “And that makes everything okay?”

       “I don’t know,” Shion stands up straighter, hand on his chin. “I think it just makes everything mine— everything I’ve done out here, that is. I’m not acting because of school rules, or hospital regulations. For what feels like the first time in my life, I’m making my own decisions, I’m making my own successes and regrets, and I’ve found something.”

       “What’s that?”

       “Myself.” he says, and then seems embarrassed by the grandness of his statement. “Not all of myself, not even close, but some. Little pieces of myself, scattered around the country. I love sunsets, and I want to see the stars. I’ve gotten into a fight at a convenience store and I can stay up all night looking for a stranger’s dog; I’ve finally been to a Waffle House, and chased you in the rain, terrified. I’ve kissed you, and I’ve wanted you to kiss me.

       “And that’s why I’m happy. I’m happy to be complicated. Because I’m making my own decisions and I don’t know at all what’s going to happen next, but I want to see it. For the first time in my life: I can’t wait.”

       The pop music changes into an almost inaudible ukulele beach song. Nezumi finds his mouth dry. Shion’s released his bangs, and the wind brushes his white hair against his face.

       Ridiculous…Ridiculous and… Nezumi hesitates a fraction of a second before pushing Shion’s bangs aside, out of his eyes.

       “…You’ve really gotten a lot out of travelling,” Nezumi mumbles.

       Shion nods. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

       “Travelling does that. It gives perspective or meaning.” Nezumi lowers his hand, hoping Shion’s satisfied with the basic reply. He finds he’s unable to look Shion’s face even though he’s cleared his hair away. He finds he doesn’t want to see the bravery there. He doesn’t want to match the steady heat of Shion’s gaze.

       He wants to write him off as ridiculous because if he doesn’t—

       Shion takes Nezumi’s hand; he doesn’t notice his thoughts, or he’s pretending not to.

       Nezumi can’t write him off. He never has been able to.

       “Traveling’s amazing.” Shion smiles. “No wonder you know so much, Nezumi.”

       Nezumi opens his mouth. He closes it. For a moment, the background noise of the beach seems too loud for him to speak. The calm beach song doesn’t feel calming any more. It’s overwhelming. All of it is.

       “Nezumi?”

       “I don’t—” Nezumi starts, carefully releasing Shion’s hand.

       “What?”

       Nezumi shakes his head, feeling his eyelids close. Everything feels so pointless. Why bother sharing? Shion’s had his realization—why dampen it with his own?

       Shion’s hand covers his again. “Look at me?”

       Nezumi opens his eyes and makes himself meet his gaze. Unrelenting. He exhales.

       “You can keep talking if you want,” Shion says.

       If you want.

       He could stop, he could write all this off right now, and Shion would let him. Shion would smooth over the conversation and they’d talk about something stupid. Words bubble up in Nezumi’s throat, obviously having not received the message that the conversation could be over.

       “I don’t think I’ve found anything like you have, when travelling,” he admits. “I think I’ve told you that before, I don’t know. I’ve told you a lot of things I can’t remember.”

       Shion squeezes his hand, and Nezumi finds he still has more to say. More words in him. It’s the same broken hydrant feeling he had in the car only now it’s worse, because now Nezumi’s completely in control. He could plug it up and run away but he doesn’t want to; that’s the scariest part of all of it.

       Nezumi makes himself look at Shion. Shion deserves that. “As a kid, I wanted so badly to find something to explain, or—to make sense of everything that’s happened. I haven’t. Nothing could, because none of it made sense in the first place.

        “The truth is, Shion. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I travel and look at sunsets and climb up cliffs and mountains and stop at hundreds of thousands of gas stations begging the world for answers I know I’m never going to get.”

       Shion’s grip tightens. Nezumi shakes his head.

       “I’m not like you. I don’t effortlessly learn things just by…being around people. I haven’t found anything, while travelling, and I don’t know what the point of it is if I haven’t found anything.”

       Shion’s stare is physically painful. Nezumi looks out at the beach for a moment: the tide’s come in and the little girl and Rico are standing in the moat they made. He still hasn’t found the laughing child but he hears them shriek again. For a moment, Nezumi lets himself wonder what they’ve discovered, what everyone but him seems to have discovered.

        “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” Nezumi admits for the second time in his life, and feels something in him finally break. “In the gas station you said travelling was to accept that there are no answers. How is it that you suddenly have these facts now? What changed?”

       Shion’s answer is simple: “They aren’t facts,” his voice is carefully measured, “They might change tomorrow.”

       The fluttering in Nezumi’s heart stills, replaced with some sort of amorphous emotion he never knew existed: somewhere between falling off a cliff and being caught on a mattress.

       “What?” he manages to say, after a few tries.

       Shion nods like a patient guru. “I might not mean any of this tomorrow. I might mean something completely different. My mind might change and I might regret but I don’t regret now. I don’t think the life of an adult is free from flux, Nezumi. I think everyone is breaking sandcastles, constantly, without meaning to.”

       “That’s just indecisive,” Nezumi replies, quickly.

       “It’s my resolve.” Shion counters, and Nezumi finds himself breathless. “I know I can change. I know. I think that I will change. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

       Nezumi’s brain struggles around the idea, grappling for some sort of hold. He finds himself arguing— arguing makes sense. “There are certain changes that no one should experience—“

       “If you feel like you’ve changed once, I think you can change back too. I think you can keep changing, until you’re okay again.”

       Nezumi’s abruptly aware of the stupid ukulele song playing around them, and finds himself, completely, utterly at a loss.

       Shion’s quiet for a long moment, before putting a hand on Nezumi’s shoulder. He doesn’t startle, or tense. Nezumi holds himself together expertly.

       “Nezumi, can I offer my opinion?” Shion asks.

       “Has that ever stopped you?”

       Shion squeezes his shoulder. Nezumi still doesn’t move. “I don’t want to…hurt you. I just want to tell you something I’ve observed.”

       “I’m not made of glass, go ahead,” Nezumi grouches. Shion raises an eyebrow and he pats Shion’s hand once as apology.

       “Nezumi, it isn’t about being made of glass. It’s about— “

       “Shion, it’s fine,” Nezumi interrupts, gently removing Shion’s hand from his shoulder.

       Shion doesn’t reply. Nezumi takes his hand, presses their palms together and looks into Shion’s concerned eyes. He can handle this. “Go ahead, I mean it.”

       Shion tangles their fingers.

       “I think you want to follow the rules you’ve set. Even when you travel and talk about travel as a fluid, motion-driven thing, you still expect to make sense of each moment, and to give it a definite and clear goal. You give advice about adding flux to your life with confidence—but…I think you’re more afraid of changing than anyone.”

       “No,” announces Nezumi reflexively.

       After all that— Fuck. Fuck.

       Shion nods. “Okay.”

       Nezumi didn’t realize his other hand was gripping the beach grass until he pulls some out.  Guilt swirls in his stomach as he looks at it. A breeze comes and blows it out of his hand, and clarity hits him, sharp and jagged.

       Shion’s exactly right. How much has Nezumi changed, really? He’s still the same terrified kid he’s always been. He’s the same 16 year-old, punching and breaking and running away. He’s an idiot. He’s always been a—

       “I wish I had words to describe how brilliant I think you are,” Shion says, soft.

       Nezumi startles, looking at him.

       “Where did this come from?”

       “You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. You see a problem, and you know how to fix it. It’s incredible, and effortless. You say the right thing so often because you’ve got such a strong sense of what you believe.”

       I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, Nezumi wants to say.

       “And for all the times you say you don’t know why you want to travel, if it hasn’t given you answers, I think—I think it’s because you love it.

       “You love travelling. You love so deeply, I think. You love travelling like you love books, sarcasm and semantics,” Shion hesitates. “Like you love your family.”

       Nezumi’s eyes burn, his grip on Shion’s hand tightens.

       “I think you love travelling, Nezumi, just because you love to travel, and for no other reason. I don’t think it’s so complicated. I don’t think, in this case, that it has to be complicated at all.”

       Nezumi swallows. Shion looks at him, unwavering, relentless, and hopelessly kind.

       “Oh,” he articulates.

       And just like that, Nezumi feels strangely weightless. Lost, but not uncomfortably so, exposed, but with permission. He’s okay. As always, Shion somehow makes him feel okay.

       Shion raises their connected hands and gently kisses the back of Nezumi’s palm. Nezumi doesn’t cry, he breathes, and the beach music plays at the right volume; the child shrieks in the distance and Nezumi secretly hopes they found something nice.

       After a bit, Shion rests his head on Nezumi’s shoulder and starts playing with his fingers.

       “I really don’t know what I’m doing either,” Shion confides, somewhat offhandedly. He has to raise his head in order to look at Nezumi properly. “But I’m glad I’m here.”

       Nezumi kisses him. The action seems to catch them both off guard, but frankly, in Nezumi’s head, there was really no other option. He cups his cheek and pushes Shion’s hair back and presses their lips together, and it’s warm and wet and perfect. Shion grips Nezumi’s shirt, tugging him closer.

       It’s a quick kiss, at first. When they break away, Shion is smiling bright enough to make Nezumi’s soul shake, and his forehead is pressed reassuringly against Nezumi’s. He untangles their fingers and patiently traces Nezumi’s cheek with his thumb.

       “Nezumi,” Shion whispers, fond.

       Nezumi just looks at him, quietly. He reaches up, allowing himself to feel the smooth skin of Shion’s cheek, and Shion leans into his hand easily. It’s not a challenge, or a risk. It’s just Shion, and he’s the most amazing person Nezumi’s ever known.

       Nezumi turns his head, kissing under Shion’s chin, working his way to his ear, and back down the slope of his throat. Shion breathes in satisfyingly as he licks playfully at the side of his neck.

       “Did this before, didn’t I?” He murmurs, and feels Shion’s hand tangle in his hair.

       “In the rain,” Shion agrees, cluing in after a moment. “I thought it was romantic then, even though you—“

       “—ran away.” Nezumi finishes. “Like an idiot.”

       Shion opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but it comes out more as a fantastic-sounding “nmm” when Nezumi gives up on keeping this high school level and starts trailing enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses over his jugular. Shion smells like clean air and sunlight and he straightens up so quickly at Nezumi’s simple touches, like he can’t quite believe he’s here—how the hell did Nezumi ever run from this?

       “No,” Shion says, and Nezumi thinks for a moment he’s talking about the kissing and moves to pull away, but Shion’s grip on his hair is surprisingly committed. His eyes flick to Shion’s, and Nezumi almost immediately feels his face heat up at those fucking eyes.

       “It’s okay,” Shion says, not for the first time, and then he’s leading Nezumi into another kiss.

       It’s definitely a step up from their admittedly trashy, yet somehow satisfying makeout session in the car. Nezumi rests his hand on Shion’s back and hip, rooting him down carefully to the top of the dune, hoping their balance holds out, and Shion—well, Shion’s always been good at this but now he seems…distracted.

       One moment he’s running his fingers through Nezumi’s hair, like he’s trying to detangle it, the next he’s trying to memorize the feeling Nezumi’s arm, or feel up his leg.  It’s flattering how indecisive he’s being, but it’s a little concerning.

       Nezumi breaks the kiss. “Shion,” he whispers, kissing the corners of his mouth. “You know, if you pick a specific area, you might find you like it there.”

       Shion’s face is already flushed, but his eyes are stubborn. To Nezumi’s great amusement he shakes his head. “I want to touch all of you.”

       They’ll work on it—is what Nezumi thinks, before Shion unapologetically goes for his neck. And then it’s Nezumi’s turn to get distracted, because Shion’s heartbeat is up against his own, and his tongue and teeth are getting involved and—shit— Nezumi might to have to deal with some marks later.

       Never mind they don’t need to work anything at all. Maybe they’re already fucking there.

       Nezumi can’t hide the sound he makes, when Shion starts trailing his fingers down his back and stops his attack to make deliberate, sincere, eye contact. He’s asking for permission— Nezumi realizes over the pounding in his ears. His heart squeezes as he presses his scars a little closer to Shion’s hand, thrown by how desperately he wants to continue.

       Shion kisses him properly again—all passion and gracelessness, and Nezumi stops thinking all together, focusing only on Shion’s breath and the gentle rhythmic push and pull of their bodies and the feeling of Shion rubbing circles on his back. Sand falls around them uncertainly, but they only grip each other tighter. Nezumi allows himself to finally, finally, relax.

       He used to be certain that the best kisses were the aggressive kind with swelling quaking emotion, but kissing Shion on the beach feels like falling in love with Shion: soft, unrelenting, and curious. Nezumi’s certain he used to be wrong.

      After attempting to make the particularly ill-conceived dream of getting Shion into Nezumi’s lap a reality, they slip right off the sand dune. Nezumi falls backward, practically somersaulting, and barely manages to catch himself a foot or so up the dune. Shion unfortunately, does not possess such reflexes and falls swiftly on top of him tumbling them down the rest of the way and covering them in a lovely layer of sand.

       “Ow,” Shion grunts.

       “Ow,” Nezumi repeats.

       “That didn’t work,” Shion says, awkwardly untangling himself from where he landed on Nezumi’s legs.  His face is bright red and he’s still breathing just this side of too hard, hair mussed, with sand in his cardigan he’s sloppily pushing off.

       Damn. Nice. Nezumi thinks intelligently, before remembering to check if his leg is broken. It isn’t. He moves so his burning cheek rests on Shion’s discarded bag instead of the sand. Something flat and hard in there broke his fall, but was bent in the process. Nezumi’s dreads checking the damage. He breathes in and out, trying to clear his head. “Tell me, just how many brain cells have I lost if I’m managing to consistently get into these situations, with you?”

       Shion shrugs. “We were able to maintain our balance for a surprisingly long amount of time.”

       “That didn’t answer my question,” Nezumi grumbles, finally sitting up. He reaches into Shion’s bag. “I might have broke whatever was in here—“

       Nezumi begins to apologize but finds his voice trailing off.

       In his hands, is a very bent copy of Timon of Athens.

       “Oh,” Shion says, quickly taking it. “I’m glad I finished it, the cover’s all bent now.”

       “You brought it to the beach?” Nezumi stands up, incredulous. “After finishing it?”

       Shion frowns, “It wasn’t terrible.”

       Nezumi stares at him. Shion waffles.

       “It was…Well…”

       Nezumi shakes his head. “Don’t.”

       “It wasn’t his best work.”

       …

       Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

       “It was bad,” Shion admits, finally. “It was…pretty bad.”

       Nezumi grins, swiping the book from Shion’s hand. “Come on.”

       He takes off toward the beach. Most of the towels are gone. The sun’s mostly left the sky, and the families have gone home. The beach looks like a beach again, sand, water, and the few stragglers who are unwilling to admit the ocean’s too cold to swim in now.

       Nezumi kicks off his boots, and motions for Shion to do the same. Shion looks at him confused for a moment, but quickly follows his lead.

       “Let it be said,” Nezumi starts, holding Timon of Athens in the air and taking a step into the frigid water. “I do not abide the destruction of books. Any books. But this Shion, is not a book— it is a play. And, well, accidents happen.”

       Shion blinks. “You’re going to throw it in the sea?”

       “Shion, is that even a question at this point?” Nezumi says, holding Timon out over the water. “I suppose I could just drop it.”

       “Wait!” Shion protests, and Nezumi does.

       “Can I help?” Shion asks, entirely unexpected. He grabs the other end of the book and smiles at Nezumi.

       Nezumi really needs to stop being surprised every time Shion does something entirely strange but, there you have it.

       “Count of three, then. Ready? One…” Nezumi swings their arms once.

       “Two…” Shion grins, swinging again, a little higher.

       “Three!”  they announce together, letting go.

[theanontrain]

Good morning anons!  Welcome to hell!

As per standard regulation at this point, this will be our new heading, following the unfollowing crisis!  Some of you still wrapped up in your blankets may not understand what I am talking about in the slightest.  Well, I’m glad you asked! 

Remember when we said the Splatoon community here isn’t all that bad? 

...

lol no it’s actually much worse

You see, a lot of you may be aware of a certain somebody who was slandered recently for his characters and reblogging and liking extremely suggestive to explicit material of his characters.  That certain somebody was called out for being, ahem, a pedophile and a menace to the Splatoon community.  I’m not naming names, mostly because naming names is fucking stupid considering even having a nanometer-long midriff on a squid that just turned eighteen is considered pecking material and that I don’t want to draw attention to this blog anymore than it needs to, but I will put it out there. 

People have reacted in different ways.  Some people decided to criticize him.  Others decided they didn’t care and continued to enjoy his content free of that controversial bull.  Others wanted to defend him. 

You see these three?  All three of these options are fine.  Criticism should help someone recover from their mistakes.  Staying in the gray areas should allow people to enjoy what they want.  Defense should ensure that people realize that perhaps they went overboard and can result in negotiations and prevent harassment or a string of pointless flame wars.

*Should* being the key word here.   

In reality the criticism is overblown and used as an excuse to slander people nonstop even if they admit to their wrongdoings, staying in the gray areas is impossible because apparently you have to either be with them or against them, and no one knows what different ways of thinking and getting to know someone actually means. 

So, you might be thinking, what?  I’m glad you feel the same.  You see, in actuality, no one knows that they should negotiate and be understanding.  They would rather blow things out of proportion and slander otherwise innocent people because “muh drama, youtube drama wasn’t enough, let’s create a divide in the fandom because we have to feel morally superior”, like come on.  The only reason people continue to do this is because forgiveness and rationality is a foreign concept to them.

We’re all Splatoon fans. 

I’m beating around the bush here.  Point is, even if these people “advocate” for peace, and justice, and whatever other reason for their alienating behavior, in reality they have achieved the polar opposite.  I don’t know if anyone has realized this, but it’s gotten to the point if you are not on the side of “All That is Holy” you’re automatically a sheep that follows the herd of juicy squid sin.  That’s all you are.  You aren’t someone who happens to follow someone who had controversy slapped on them.  You’re someone who is an enemy to the “good” Splatoon fandom. 

What the hell?  Last I checked it shouldn’t matter who you follow or what you like.  I can respect people’s desires not to have their posts liked or their stuff reblogged, but when it’s out of a desire to keep the Splatoon fandom “clean”...  I need to rant about it. 

Because one, it’s Splatoon, the whole point of the game is to make a mess and have fun, not everyone’s going to be perfectly clean, but that doesn’t mean indulge in filth either.  (unless you’re the anontrain).  And two, I just want to be able to like and reblog posts without being told not to because I happen to follow someone.  Is that too much to ask?! 

But no.  I may be blowing things out of proportion, which is hypocritical, but seeing as they can do it all they want to spite someone, I think I’m “justified”, in a very loose sense, to complain about this nonsense.  Now listen, I see what you’re doing, and I understand you’re trying your best to keep it clean.  But face it, everyone makes mistakes, some bigger than others.  The sooner we move on and learn from it, the sooner we can go back to shooting each other with paint.

That goes for the other side too.  Move on from your mistakes and they will too.  Like a fire, once it runs out of fuel to burn, it dies out.  Continue trying to be the best people you can be and move on and hopefully they will too.  

It’s just this “Either you are with us, or you are against us” mentality that I hate.  If the person you single out is proven to be an asshole of his or her own merits, then go ahead and hate them. 

At this point, you might be asking, this is a rant biased towards one side!  Not a question, but yes, I might be a little biased, even in the gray area.  Why? 

Because the “GOOD” side openly showed how quickly they are to shun the neutrals for even liking someone of the other side!  What the hell?!  

They’re making it harder and harder to stay neutral because they will mistake a neutral for someone of the other side as easy as a snap of a finger.  Who knows, if this keeps up, maybe the good side will take lessons from the “GOOD” side and start bringing in neutrals who like the other side’s posts.  

Am I overreacting?  Maybe.  But if this actually starts to grow into something bigger, there will be no hope for the Splatoon fandom of tumblr.  People will be calling each other out left and right.  Blogs will be deleted and friendships ruined over something otherwise so stupid and trivial as a few bloody posts.  All the people who don’t want to pick any side will be caught in the middle.  It will be the Great Turf War of the fandom.  

Worst of all, we’ll have to bear the front of it, because everyone is too conceited to accept other people’s mistakes!  Our asks will go ignored, we may be persecuted or targeted for speaking our mind, who knows? 

Sorry.  Had to get this off my chest.  Any anons still remaining on the train, take caution on what posts you like or what blogs you ask and what you ask.  In fact, take precautions, and if you see anything remotely related to Splatoon, best to avoid it on this site.