Title: My Maudlin Musings

Author: Keir

Rating: T

The Gist of Things: Masamune's mind drifts in contemplation on his past and his love of shoujo manga.

A/N: Went over and over and over this story till my eyes bled. Thinking of a title held up my posting it, and I just gave up in the end. Sad, isn't it? This story contains spoilers or some parts may seem awkward/leave you with questions if you haven't seen the OVA. Obviously there are still some pieces of Masamune's past that haven't been covered yet for the watcher/reader, so I took some liberties in filling in those knowledge gaps.

Anyway, please read and enjoy!

Masamune Takano lay on his back. The wood floor of his apartment was cool through his thin dress shirt. A manga lay open across his chest. He drew in a puff from his cigarette then stretched out his arm to snub it in the ashtray resting at the edge of the coffee table. He should get up and make some dinner but he was too lazy yet. They had reached the end of the "cycle" again successfully, though just barely. He just wanted to lounge around selfishly. It would probably be food from the corner convenience store that filled his stomach again tonight.

If he strained his ears in the vast silence of his apartment, he could hear his neighbour banging pots or pans around in his kitchen through the shared wall. Perhaps he could get up, go next door, and knock firmly but politely. Then he would be obligingly admitted by that green-eyed beauty, who might huff and sigh and threaten, but nothing more. Masamune would bring over a cake or maybe a six pack of beer, some sort of peace offering to share in exchange for a meal. Ritsu might welcome him and invite him to sit and share the dinner he had made with his own skilled hands. They might talk about work and share stories and laugh, and then just maybe Masamune would steal a kiss.

And just maybe that kiss would lead to other more fun and pleasurable things, and maybe they would forget all about the imaginary cake or beer.

Such domestic thoughts would surely be the death of his sanity, Masamune thought. He sat up with a groan, the forgotten manga slipping from his chest to his lap and then flopping to the floor. He stared down at the cover; a wide-eyed blond girl smiled up at him, her arms wrapped around the neck of a boy who gazed up at her with an adoring smile, their fingers laced together. He supposed other people might consider such things as shoujo manga frivolous and cliché, but that was what he loved about them. There was something comforting about picking up a light-hearted story and being immersed in the idea of pure-hearted love, no matter how unrealistic it might be.

There was a time when he had been told they were a waste of time. What was it that Takafumi* had said to him almost two years ago? He tried to recall it.

The other man had come over to his apartment in the dead of night, unwanted and unannounced, and Masamune had been secretly grateful though he would never admit it. He had been a mess once again, had fallen asleep on his couch surrounded by empty beer cans and piles of manga. His friend from his university days had leaned over him and plucked his latest read from his limp hands. The black-haired man had set a hand to his hip as he silently read a couple pages, then looked back down at his hungover friend. He had raised a dubious brow and said, "You're still sitting around wasting your time on this lovey-dovey crap?"

Masamune had sat up, though it had made the bile rise in his throat and his head pound. One of his feet had accidentally kicked a can as he set them on the floor; it had gone spinning under the coffee table. He had cradled his pounding head in his hands. "It's not crap," he had growled. "What the fuck are you doing here? Unless you brought me food, get out!"

Takafumi had snorted and tossed the book on the floor. "Get your sorry ass up, get presentable and maybe I'll treat you to a meal." Masamune had rubbed his stubbly jaw and finally began feeling some embarrassment for himself and his neglected personal health. His friend had sighed and, in a rare moment of tenderness, run his fingers through the brunette's hair. "If you're going to sit around moping over this girly shit, then at least come put your skills to use and work at Marukawa with me instead of that no-name piece of crap magazine you work for now."

His friend had reached down to filch the cigarette Masamune had just lit straight from his lips. Takafumi had taken a slow drag and exhaled it in a sigh. "Marukawa has a problem. The head editor of the "Emerald" doesn't know his dick from his ass and he's running the monthly into the ground. Word is the president is looking to replace him. With my recommendation you'd have no trouble getting the position, then you could stop being useless and drunk. This lifestyle doesn't suit you." He had crushed a beer can beneath his polished shoe with a resounding crack to drive home his point.

Masamune had refused the idea at first, of course. He had promised himself that he would never let another person make decisions for him or have sway over his life again, but then one morning he had looked with bleary eyes into the mirror and realized the he was wasting his talent as Takafumi had pointed out. He had cleaned himself up and gone in with guns blazing to a meeting with the president of Marukawa Publishing. He had landed the position as the editor-in-chief of the "Emerald" without Takafumi's help.

He had excelled—thrived, even—on the fast pace and the pressure. In only a year he had managed to turn "Emerald" from facing obliteration by the financial department to one of the most profitable branches of the company. Any other man might have felt euphoria at such a triumph, and yet...still there seemed to be a hole inside himself that he couldn't quite fill.

Then, just as he was finally settling into his new role in life and learning to at least shelve the pain of the past, Ritsu Onodera had abruptly returned to him. His heart ached at the thought of that honest stare from green eyes, eyes as green as a spring forest in bloom.

He reached down and picked up the fallen manga, smoothed out the crinkled pages apologetically. He was more than aware that a grown man collecting shoujo manga was a bit beyond ridiculous, and not even under the pretense of work, but there it was. They recalled to him a time of innocence. His mind traveled back in time a decade earlier, to his high school years.

Had he really been so young once? The memory of it seemed like a vague dream. It was a time he would have rather forgotten and yet was forced to recall. His parents' fighting had reached its peak in those years and they had been so wrapped up in their quarrels that they had neglected their only son. He had told himself back then that he was old enough to not need to monopolize his parents' time with his silly needs, but it never quite soothed the wound.

That was when he began going to the school library after classes let out instead of going home. Every book presented a new possibility, a new world for him to dive into that wasn't his own. For the most part he chose only the superficial books: fantasy stories and mysteries and the occasional magazine designed for the cute factor. He read articles about baby animals and anthologies of fairy tales, series of teen romances and heroic accounts of human selflessness.

And the occasional shoujo manga. They were a guilty pleasure. It annoyed him, really. Not only was he a high school student, but he was also a man, intrigued by stories meant to capture the hearts of girls. It was embarrassing, but there it was. They were few and far between, those manga, but he enjoyed them nonetheless. In this way he surrounded himself with love and warmth.

His favourite place in the library was in the back corner at a table in front of a row of large windows. Others avoided it if they could because the light from the setting sun bothered their studies, but he found it warm and relaxing.

He would wander through the shelves aimlessly until something caught his eye, then he would settle down to read for hours at a time until the library closed. Some days he didn't even read, just drifted off into his dreams. There was no shouting or angry accusations to keep him awake in his safe haven.

He also had an extensive checkout list, far more books than he was allowed, really, but the librarians made an exception for him because he was always polite and responsible, not to mention that he was in the top three for highest grades in his class. Now and again they would tease his serious younger self, saying they only extended the privilege to him and one other student, so he should feel very grateful.

In this way his high school years had passed, one after the other. And then, one fateful day, he was reaching for a particular favourite book when his hand bumped into a smaller one, skin brushing skin. He had been surprised; he hadn't even realized someone had been standing next to him. The other boy was short, blushing and stammering, his face turned away.

The stranger had called his name: "Saga-senpai." He had vaguely remembered the other boy as someone else who frequented the library.

"Why do you know my name?" he had asked, not really thinking if it had been rude or not. He had been wracking his brain, trying to remember if he should know this boy from somewhere for him to be so familiar with his name.

"I...I love you, Saga-senpai!"

Masamune had been amused by the sudden love confession. It wasn't the first time he had heard such a thing, but it was the first from another man. As the other boy had tried to explain himself in a painfully shy manner, Masamune had thought to himself, why not?

"It's fine. I'll go out with you," he had agreed, not really thinking of the consequences. In fact, he had invited the other boy—who had introduced himself as Ritsu Oda—over to his house with a careless attitude. It didn't matter to him either way if he said yes or no. In his mind he was doing the other boy a favour by humouring him.

But Masamune had the tables turned on him by that same unassuming boy. He had been shocked and a little embarrassed that a person he knew nothing about in turn knew such secret things about him as the time he had saved a stray kitten. He didn't want anyone else to know about his vulnerabilities. How embarrassing, surely, to have someone see straight into the heart of him.

Oda had even had the audacity to claim he loved him at first sight. Masamune had scoffed about the idea to cover his uneasiness. To him, love was a myth. Beautiful, but a myth. He was more than aware that he was a jaded dreamer, but at least he wasn't completely naïve.

And yet...

Oda had been so earnest in his feelings. There was not a doubt in the timid boy's mind that he was not in love. And when Masamune thought about it, Oda was the first person to show that he selflessly cared about him and his well-being. The other boy wanted to pay attention to him. It had suffused his lanky teenage body with warmth, filled him with a feeling he could not explain.

Masamune had not meant to kiss Oda, but it had happened. The other boy had been stiff and awkward but also pleasant. He could have drowned himself in such pure feelings forever. He had not meant to go all the way with the boy he was technically dating but had only just met, but that had happened too, and it had been wonderful. He could not resist such fervent, passionate emotions; Oda seemed to make his feelings double, triple, quadruple, and before he knew it, he was in love. Masamune was sure that with such uncertainty and sweetness the boy had been a virgin, and so they had taken it from each other.

That was when "Oda" became "Ritsu" to him.

Every day spent together, no matter how much he might resist or struggle, he fell more and more in love. Every moment was filled with thoughts of his little lover, who was so shy although Masamune didn't know why; he had expressed his love enough that his boyfriend should have had some confidence in their relationship.

His boyfriend.

But the happiness did not last, and just as suddenly as it had begun, it had ended. One day Ritsu struck him and then disappeared without a word. He didn't like to dwell on that part.

Masamune stood and stretched his long limbs, trying to ease the ache in his back from falling asleep on the floor. He dropped the manga onto the coffee table and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee and reheat it in the microwave.

It wasn't until he had entered college at Teito University that he had gravitated toward shoujo manga again. He had found the first one abandoned by some careless student in the university library. Masamune still had that book in his collection, the binding coming loose and the pages nearly falling out. The library had been about to close when he had spotted it on the edge of a table. He had taken it, drawn to the bright colours, careless of the feelings of the owner who might come searching for it later. He had taken it home and read it, then read it again. He had gone out that night and bought the rest of the series, causing quite a stir at the bookstore as a tall, handsome young man purchasing an armload of manga aimed at girls.

No matter the series, they always reminded him of his precious first and only love. Over and over he dreamed of a miraculous reunion and reconciliation like to that which unfurled time and again on the pages. He had tried to have other relationships but they never worked out. His heart had already been given away.

Perhaps that was why he had chosen shoujo manga, or it had chosen him. In those books were contained all of his fears and sadness, and also his hopes and dreams. Though the stories illustrated on the pages could be bittersweet, they always had happy endings filled with love. He mocked himself over such fantasies, but in his heart he hoped that his story would have the same happy ending some day.

The knock on his front door startled him out of his maudlin musings. He headed to answer it, coffee cup in hand and a fresh cigarette between his lips. He surmised it was Takafumi come to barge in uninvited once again. The other man had a knack for that lately.

Masamune opened the door and stared down into bright green eyes—they were the greenest eyes he had ever seen; how could he forget them? He didn't even bother to cover up his surprise.

"I—" the shorter man began, looked away to take a breath, then looked back to stare directly up into his neighbour's eyes. "I made too much food for just myself," Ritsu said stiffly. "You're welcome to come over and share." The set of his lips was petulant, as if he were daring Masamune to try any sort of "hanky panky" on him in the hallway.

The head editor for Marukawa Publishing's "Emerald" magazine smiled in delight. "I'd love to."

Ritsu nodded as if he had expected that answer all along, body tense. He turned to head back to his own apartment, then paused. He looked over his shoulder with earnest eyes, seemed about to say something, but instead blushed and lowered his gaze. "Please refrain from smoking in my home!" he blurted out then hurried to his own door.

The taller man smirked as he discarded his unlit cigarette over his shoulder and shut his front door. He followed the younger man on bare feet, domestic thoughts clouding his mind into blissful fuzziness. He could already smell the delicious home-cooked meal on the air. He wondered if Ritsu had prepared it while wearing some sort of cute apron or if he had fretted about whether or not to invite his boss over for dinner tonight.

Masamune smiled to himself; he hadn't lost hope. If it was one thing that shoujo manga had taught him in all these years, it was that there was always hope. He would win Ritsu's heart again, no matter how long it took.

And he would definitely steal at least one kiss tonight.

213 days till Ritsu Onodera falls in love.

*Takafumi is Yokozawa's first name. Only mentioning this in a note because it hasn't been brought up yet in the anime or said yet in the manga (to my recollection).