by Eric Shun (エリック旬)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/65716.html)

“Something is wrong with me. Every time I try to sleep, all I see is him.”

Ogiwara closed his eyes, waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside. These past few months had been difficult for him. Day by day his body continued to fall apart; first the sleeplessness, then the fatigue, followed by lack of appetite and strange dreams whenever he did manage to sleep. Now he had a new ailment to add to the list: migraines.

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When ‘No’ Means Yes

by Eric Shun (エリック旬)
illustrated by peparo

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/52675.html)

They say orange is the new black.

“They” were the fashion magazines Tray flipped through. The pages scented faintly of perfume and cologne flashed past his eyes in a blur of mismatched, vivid colors, but none of it motivated him for his assignment. He threw the issue of Vogue magazine onto the floor and its covers sprawled like a dilapidated tent, the pages crushed by the weight of its spine.

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Social Disorders Can Always be Cured with a Kiss

by Eric Shun (エリック旬)
illustrated by pearljamz

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/39639.html)

“My son hasn’t left his room in months.”

Hiro nodded as he placed groceries into plastic bags, taking special care not to squish the French bread with the jars of jam.

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The Promiscuous Boy and the Monk

by Eric Shun (エリック旬)
illustrated by pearljamz

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/41486.html)

Samurai weren’t allowed to attend kabuki performances for a reason.

Officially the shogunate declared that samurai, being elite warriors as they were, should not mingle with the common folk and take on their affairs. Kabuki, of course, was considered as “one of those affairs”.

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by Eric Shun (エリック旬)
illustrated by pearljamz

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/32160.html)

One Christmas Eve (and coincidentally, on his 23rd birthday), Norton found himself in a bar a lot smaller than the ones he usually frequented after his shift. This one was the size of a tiny outdoor shed, much too small to be a bar, really. He took his seat by the bar, ordered a Seven and Seven on the rocks, watching as the bartender expertly mixed Seagram’s Seven whiskey with a can of ice-cold 7up. This was a classic bartender tending to a classic bar. There was no disco ball, no loud thumping music. The bartender was dressed in a crisp dress shirt, his black vest wrapped around him with vintage flair. Under the dim light of the suspended lamps, Norton could see he was the only customer here. The bartender discreetly focused all of his attention on Norton, eyeing his police uniform, his badge, and the pouch on his side that held his heavy gun.

Norton stifled a laugh. ‘He probably thinks I’m checking out his bar, praying I won’t cite him for safety code violations.’

Continue reading “12:24AM” »