sometimes haikus don't make sense
fandom: hey! say! jump
pair: inoo kei x arioka daiki
rating: g
summary: Daiki catches Inoo reading poetry.
wordcount: 273
note: for heyshameera. haikus are easy / but sometimes they don't make sense / refrigerator.
“Why do you even study this?”
Inoo looks up from his anthology. “Hmm?”
“This,” Daiki says, plucking the book from his hands and flipping through it, even as Inoo protests feebly, I didn’t check what page that was on. “This poetry thing.”
Inoo leans back in his seat, resigned to watching the other boy thumb his way through Basho. “It’s not studying,” he says slowly, calm after half an afternoon of haiku. “It’s like meeting a friend.”
“That makes even less sense,” Daiki murmurs, squinting at the words on the page. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”
Inoo chuckles, low and bubbling like a brook. “Oh this exhaustion / Will Daiki ever realize / that I am insane?”
Daiki frowns at him, although it comes out more like a pout; and when he replies he counts the syllables off systematically on his fingers, “That was really lame / I still don’t understand you / and your poetry.”
Inoo grins back, threading his fingers together in the absence of his book. “It’s hard to explain,” he starts, trying to put the words together. “It’s like - sometimes I read something and it reminds me of someone I know. The way they talk, or move, or sing or dance. Poetry just…captures that. That singular moment.” He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Daiki is watching him and he feels it, the quiet gaze, like a poem waiting to be written.
“Haikus,” he says suddenly. “Haikus remind me of you.”
Daiki looks at him, expectant. “Why?”
“They’re short and sweet,” Inoo quips. Daiki turns red, sputtering, and Inoo laughs, the sound brighter than bells.
pair: inoo kei x arioka daiki
rating: g
summary: Daiki catches Inoo reading poetry.
wordcount: 273
note: for heyshameera. haikus are easy / but sometimes they don't make sense / refrigerator.
“Why do you even study this?”
Inoo looks up from his anthology. “Hmm?”
“This,” Daiki says, plucking the book from his hands and flipping through it, even as Inoo protests feebly, I didn’t check what page that was on. “This poetry thing.”
Inoo leans back in his seat, resigned to watching the other boy thumb his way through Basho. “It’s not studying,” he says slowly, calm after half an afternoon of haiku. “It’s like meeting a friend.”
“That makes even less sense,” Daiki murmurs, squinting at the words on the page. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”
Inoo chuckles, low and bubbling like a brook. “Oh this exhaustion / Will Daiki ever realize / that I am insane?”
Daiki frowns at him, although it comes out more like a pout; and when he replies he counts the syllables off systematically on his fingers, “That was really lame / I still don’t understand you / and your poetry.”
Inoo grins back, threading his fingers together in the absence of his book. “It’s hard to explain,” he starts, trying to put the words together. “It’s like - sometimes I read something and it reminds me of someone I know. The way they talk, or move, or sing or dance. Poetry just…captures that. That singular moment.” He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Daiki is watching him and he feels it, the quiet gaze, like a poem waiting to be written.
“Haikus,” he says suddenly. “Haikus remind me of you.”
Daiki looks at him, expectant. “Why?”
“They’re short and sweet,” Inoo quips. Daiki turns red, sputtering, and Inoo laughs, the sound brighter than bells.