This started out as a one shot but as i really got into the story I couldn't manage to stop, so I've turned this into a several short chapters fic.
It's still just one day in the life of Tatsuha, yay for Tatsuha!
Thanks to my wonderful bright new shiny beta Emma who did an amazing job editing this little story!
A round of applause and a lifetime supply of cyber strawberry pocky for you, Emma! Thanks for everything!
As usual, I hereby declare that I own nothing!
Tatsuha LOVED Mondays.
This Monday morning, however, he was in a bad mood. He grumbled for the fifth time that day. It was only 6 am, but his bad mood had nothing to do with waking up early; he hated being sent to run his father's errands like a common helper. He was possibly the most mature teen in Japan thanks to his responsibilities as a Buddhist monk. He had worked his butt off to make up for the 'daughter' and the 'writer' in the family who decided to have nothing to do with temple duties. He at least expected some consideration for all the extra work he was putting in.
Another grumble. Like that would ever happen.
As he walked past the neighbourhood's post office, the clerk inside suddenly called his name.
"Uesugi-san! Uesugi-san!" The man came running out holding a neatly wrapped brown paper package. "Such a coincidence, we just received this addressed to you. I recognised your name although the address is all blotchy. It would save me the trip if you'd take it with you now that you're here!"
Tatsuha suddenly remembered: he had commanded this months ago and spent a small fortune on it. It had arrived earlier than expected. He couldn't have had it delivered to his house, otherwise his father would have gone berserk and torched it. That's why he'd had it addressed to the nearest post office instead, with clear instructions to contact him and to not have it sent to the temple. Stupid clerk was going to deliver it himself. The man probably had a crush on him.
The dark haired monk flashed him an award-winning smile and took the package off his hands.
"Thank you, Yamada-san," he responded with a wink.
"Anytime, Uesugi-san!" the man cooed. "Have a nice week!"
Tatsuha smirked. Yeah, he wants me, he thought.
This was a nice turn of events. Suddenly his bad mood lifted and he looked forward to returning home and unwrapping this baby.
Several hours later Tatsuha was walking back into the temple. As he took off his shoes he prayed to all the pagan gods he could think of that his father wasn't anywhere near the entrance. He tip-toed up the stairs, ninja style, and when he finally entered his room he slid the door shut behind him.
He sat on the windowsill and summoned his improvised tin-foil ashtray and cigarettes from a camouflaged pouch hanging from the tree branch closest to the house. As he inhaled the nicotine he so dearly craved, he gingerly placed the package on his lap, licking his lips in anticipation.
"I can't wait to read this one," he mumbled, cigarette dangling from his lips and fingers running up and down the paper wrapper. He undid the cord with one hand and tore off the paper with the other. A beautiful hard-cover limited edition of Yuki Eiri's new novel stared back at him teasingly.
"Pink." The dark haired monk read the title out loud. "Aww, how sentimental," he mocked, and rolled his eyes. The cover was completely white and the title was printed in a darker shade of cream. It looked quite nice.
Cigarettes, porn and his brother's novels were three forbidden things in the Uesugi household. Three things he thoroughly enjoyed. As for his brother's books, he wouldn't be caught dead reading them but he had to admit, Aniki was a pretty damn good writer. Tatsuha had tried writing before, back in the days when he desperately tried to imitate everything his brother did, but that only resulted in bad yaoi fan fiction that nobody ever clicked on.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, he flipped the book open to the first page.
He raised an eyebrow at what first caught his eye. "A dedication? Well, that's a first."
''For my biggest fan.''
Tatsuha snickered. Of all possible things he could write, he went for that? Aniki had tiny balls when it came to this. Like anybody would wonder who 'his biggest fan' was. He might as well have written 'For Shindou Shuichi of BAD LUCK, the pink haired idiot better known as my one and only'. Bunch of sappy dorks.
"I'm sure Shuichi will die over it, though," he said out loud, certain nobody could hear him.
He glanced at his wristwatch and smiled. Mondays were always slow. They were lucky if only a handful of people showed up in the morning. His eyes twinkled. It was already one pm. He had the whole afternoon to dig into the novel in the sanctuary of his bedroom without interruptions. This was painting to be a great day after all. He braced himself and began reading, knowing that his brother's novels usually tended to turn him into a sappy dork himself.