1 - 20 of 23 Works by ditzbang
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“I have always interpreted my lifelong interest in lists as a similar expression: the relief of asserting some superficial order over the unmanageable. The reduction of the infinite to the singular column, the imposition of linearity.”
— Melissa Febos, The Dry SeasonYuma watches him now, this stranger in a fading Tokyo University tee shirt who shares his walls and his bathroom.
It’s not that Jo looks uncomfortable. It’s just, he looks alone in a way the others don’t.
And maybe, Yuma thinks, that’s on him to fix.
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Jo slowly wakes because of it. Or maybe not the cold, not entirely. Its opposite. The small circle of heat and weight near his arm.
Yuma, turned in sleep to his side. Close. His forehead presses lightly against Jo’s shoulder.
He’s asleep on me. He’s here. I could hold him.
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The collected correspondence of Nakakita Yuma and Asakura Jo — a one-sided conversation, until it isn’t.
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MEMO
TO: All HYBE LABELS JAPAN Artists and Staff
All staff and artists must provide:
•Passwords for all social media accounts
•Access to personal device message historiesYou have one new message. First message: today at 12:43 PM.
BEEP.
[Taki] "Uhhh... Harua, hey. It's me. I'm, uh. Okay, so they asked for passwords and, um. I don't think I can text you anymore? They are cracking down, I guess. And I don’t want them to re— Uh.
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Yuma played a prank on Jo. Jo retaliated and came out on top.
Or did he?
Today didn’t mark a single midday victory over Yuma.
Today marked the first day of a war.
Jo was delighted.
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The business card was light blue, framed by white borders with small pale orange jellyfish at the corners, all of them hand-drawn. Professional-looking yet friendly. Jo liked the colours.
Nakakita Yuma
Professional Companion
Just like a real friend, but available when you need one -
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Jo smelled like soap. Not the fancy herbal soaps with French names and woody undertones; it smelled like a plain white soap, a soap the colour of clean cotton, of summer clouds, of a blank canvas.
It was this smell, the clean smell of a foggy meadow at early summer’s sunrise, that greeted Yuma when he stumbled into his room at 2 a.m.
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Two souls destined to reunite across lifetimes had their cycle shattered during Japan’s Meiji period, when Western fae abducted Yuma to unravel the mystery of their love. Jo’s ultimate sacrifice freed Yuma but left him marked with forbidden Fairy Sight. Now, in modern Kamakura, the fae’s presence looms, and the pair faces their first chance in centuries to reclaim their bond — or risk losing it forever.
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Yuma felt three things at once: amusement, empathy, and absolute horror. Oh, surely not innocent Jo reading about himself on the internet. Did Jo even know about the ratings system? Did he find something explicit?
Jojo, reading these things alone, unprotected, without Yuma nearby to…
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Childish prey wasn't enough anymore.
Hunt down.
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Yuma's voice trailed off. "I hate feeling weak like this."
"You're not weak," Jo said softly. "You're one of the strongest people I know. But even strong people need to rest sometimes." His voice grew gentler still. "Let me be your quiet place now, like you've always been mine."
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Impressionism (noun)
(in art) A theory or style of painting characterised by concentration on the immediate visual impression produced by a scene and by the use of small strokes to simulate actual reflected light.
(in literature) A literary style characterised by the use of details and mental associations to evoke subjective and sensory impressions rather than the re-creation of objective reality.
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Jo and Yuma have been inseparable since childhood, sharing everything — except their most guarded secrets. As strange, magical occurrences draw Jo into a world he’s hidden from everyone, Yuma begins to realise his feelings for Jo run deeper than just friendship. Together, they must navigate a landscape of magic, fear, and trust, discovering whether their bond can withstand the truth.
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Yuma hadn't meant to start noticing things about Jo. It just happened, the way autumn sneaks up on summer — gradually, then all at once. The noticing wasn't the problem. The problem was that once Yuma started, he couldn't seem to stop.
Oh, he was in trouble.
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This wasn’t their baby. She wasn’t even theirs-adjacent. She was a foundling.
And they were werewolves.
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Series
- Part 4 of Telepathy - A JoMa series
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Nicholas was away on a schedule. EJ's mind caught briefly on this fact before sliding away, like fingers grazing a railing while walking down the stairs. The dorm hummed with its usual evening energy, though sometimes EJ found his gaze drifting to empty spaces, not quite sure what he was looking for.
Series
- Part 1 of Strange Love - A NicoJoo series
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Talk later.
What did that even mean? They hadn't really talked — not properly — since that night at the river. Oh, they'd exchanged words. Pass the salt. Your turn for the shower. Good morning. But nothing real. Nothing about how natural it had felt when their lips met, or how Jo's hand had trembled slightly when he'd touched Yuma's face afterwards, fingers ghosting across his cheek.
Series
- Part 3 of Telepathy - A JoMa series
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I’ve been thinking.
I heard. You think a lot for somebody who doesn’t talk much.
Shh. Listen. Or, well, hear.
Taki’s face broke into a wide grin. Impossible to avoid it. So what’s on your m— our mind?Series
- Part 1 of Telepathy - A JoMa series
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Jo nodded. “I think,” he said, “it would burden you too much if I came to you every time. I did that a lot when we first moved into the dorm. I’d sit on Fuma’s bed and listen to you talk. You have a lot of notebooks.” He chuckled. “I noticed them right away.”
“They’re lyrics. Or, at least, rhymes for lyrics. It’s like a diary. I record my thoughts by making rhy-”
Jo looked over at Yuma, whose voice had trailed off. Something in Jo’s expression arrested him.
Series
- Part 2 of Telepathy - A JoMa series