Oshitari stared down at the little puddle of fabric on the floor of the locker room. It was a soft blue with small sheep parading across it. He picked it up gingerly because it was silk, and his suspicions were confirmed. Underpants.
"Jirou --" Wait, everyone was gone.
Wait. Where was Jirou going without his boxers?! "Atobe?"
Atobe was gone too, or at least wasn't replying. Hmmm. Oshitari furrowed his genius's brow and thought for a moment, finger pointed at the side of his brow.
His conclusion was that they were having sex together in Kantoku's office. Oshitari raced to the door and peeked in -- but saw nothing but emptiness and a few stray papers.
Damn.
~
"Is it safe to come out?" Jirou asked Atobe from their compromising position under the desk.
"Nn, he's gone. Next time, remember all of your clothing!"
LIfe was beautiful. There was the sea, the sky, the wind. Ojii to walk serenely in front of him, the pack of his brothers to surround him. They had a lovely playground, all the sand to build castles with that they could want, and -- of course -- tennis.
Which was why it jarred Itsuki tremendously when one day, Saeki began to eye up Aoi, and Aoi took to giggling nervously around him. What were they up to? It was ridiculous. It cut into their fun. Then, Kurobane and Davide began the same deal, except with them it was thrust and parry, the darts of words whirling around Itsuki's head in a befuddling swarm...
Itsuki's lone, sad "why" was so often lost in the noise.
Which was why he was building sand castles by himself, nowadays, alone with his buckets, sand slipping through his fingers.
Shiraishi stared at the word in the book. It caught in his head, rattled around there, then was swiftly catalogued like the rest of his knowledge into a drawer marked "foreign terms."
After history, Shiraishi packed his books and found that the word was still there. It had moved from the "foreign term" part of his mind into the "recurring thought" part, stuck beside the morning's mental image of Chitose showering on the beach and Zaizen brushing sand out of Kenya's hair.
Biblos. It meant book, but more than book. All-encompassing godly knowledge; precise and definitive terminology, comprehensive and perfect understanding.
When he woke up the next morning with the word still rattling in his head, Shiraishi sighed.
"Found my lower back tattoo," he texted to Chitose.
Day one-hundred and sixteen of observing my test subject in his natural environment. He tends toward more relaxed behavior in the locker room than outside of his habitat, such as on outings with myself to the wider world outside of school. For example, he has no compunction against emitting bodily functions without so much as an excuse me, and he sits with a slump to his back that seems nothing less than insolent. I told him that he needed to sit up straight if he wished to more closely resemble my own behavior, but he merely laughed. You should slump more, he said.
I can't fault such reasoning. We should both begin to meld toward the same behavior if we are to adequately enact Niou's plan for our matches.
I am still vastly amused, however. I told Niou that golf needed no such dissembling.
Then he said that that's why golf was for pussies.
Notes for tomorrow: -- Remember to put super-glue into Niou's shoes.
Ohtori looked at himself in the mirror a little shyly, still not sure what to do with the locks of hair that brushed below his nose. He knew that Hiyoshi had a similar issue, but seemed to handle it just fine.
It made him feel a bit like Yamapi, if the actor had lighter-colored hair.
Did it suit his face? Ohtori put down the strange contraption slowly, leaning in, considering. Now he kind of looked like everyone else (except for the silver tone to his locks). Was it okay?
-- Would he like it?
Nervously biting his lip, Ohtori packed his school bag. Knowing his hair, it would be back to normal after practice, with all the humidity. It didn't matter, though. He was meeting Ohtori in five minutes to walk to school.
Down to the front door, opening it up, standing on the front stoop to wait.
Comments 19
Reply
"Jirou --" Wait, everyone was gone.
Wait. Where was Jirou going without his boxers?! "Atobe?"
Atobe was gone too, or at least wasn't replying. Hmmm. Oshitari furrowed his genius's brow and thought for a moment, finger pointed at the side of his brow.
His conclusion was that they were having sex together in Kantoku's office. Oshitari raced to the door and peeked in -- but saw nothing but emptiness and a few stray papers.
Damn.
~
"Is it safe to come out?" Jirou asked Atobe from their compromising position under the desk.
"Nn, he's gone. Next time, remember all of your clothing!"
Reply
<3
Reply
'Why Everyone at Rokkaku Needs to Get Laid.... except him'
Reply
Which was why it jarred Itsuki tremendously when one day, Saeki began to eye up Aoi, and Aoi took to giggling nervously around him. What were they up to? It was ridiculous. It cut into their fun. Then, Kurobane and Davide began the same deal, except with them it was thrust and parry, the darts of words whirling around Itsuki's head in a befuddling swarm...
Itsuki's lone, sad "why" was so often lost in the noise.
Which was why he was building sand castles by himself, nowadays, alone with his buckets, sand slipping through his fingers.
Reply
Reply
Shiraishi stared at the word in the book. It caught in his head, rattled around there, then was swiftly catalogued like the rest of his knowledge into a drawer marked "foreign terms."
After history, Shiraishi packed his books and found that the word was still there. It had moved from the "foreign term" part of his mind into the "recurring thought" part, stuck beside the morning's mental image of Chitose showering on the beach and Zaizen brushing sand out of Kenya's hair.
Biblos. It meant book, but more than book. All-encompassing godly knowledge; precise and definitive terminology, comprehensive and perfect understanding.
When he woke up the next morning with the word still rattling in his head, Shiraishi sighed.
"Found my lower back tattoo," he texted to Chitose.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Dear diary,
Day one-hundred and sixteen of observing my test subject in his natural environment. He tends toward more relaxed behavior in the locker room than outside of his habitat, such as on outings with myself to the wider world outside of school. For example, he has no compunction against emitting bodily functions without so much as an excuse me, and he sits with a slump to his back that seems nothing less than insolent. I told him that he needed to sit up straight if he wished to more closely resemble my own behavior, but he merely laughed. You should slump more, he said.
I can't fault such reasoning. We should both begin to meld toward the same behavior if we are to adequately enact Niou's plan for our matches.
I am still vastly amused, however. I told Niou that golf needed no such dissembling.
Then he said that that's why golf was for pussies.
Notes for tomorrow:
-- Remember to put super-glue into Niou's shoes.
Yours sincerely,
Me.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Ohtori looked at himself in the mirror a little shyly, still not sure what to do with the locks of hair that brushed below his nose. He knew that Hiyoshi had a similar issue, but seemed to handle it just fine.
It made him feel a bit like Yamapi, if the actor had lighter-colored hair.
Did it suit his face? Ohtori put down the strange contraption slowly, leaning in, considering. Now he kind of looked like everyone else (except for the silver tone to his locks). Was it okay?
-- Would he like it?
Nervously biting his lip, Ohtori packed his school bag. Knowing his hair, it would be back to normal after practice, with all the humidity. It didn't matter, though. He was meeting Ohtori in five minutes to walk to school.
Down to the front door, opening it up, standing on the front stoop to wait.
~
"Ohhh..." He stopped and stared.
Ohtori grinned and decided he'd go for it.
Reply
I hope your greatness will never stop. ♥
Thanks.
Reply
Leave a comment