Black // Kis-My-Ft2
Black
Fujigaya, Kitayama, Yokoo, Tamamori
PG, 258 words, Jrocker AU
He doesn't truly have synesthesia, but Taisuke has always considered himself a connoisseur of romantic phenomena (like the northern lights and first snowfalls and music), so he lingers by the keyboard after practice one day and casually let's slip that he sees rainbows whenever Wataru plays a glissando. Wataru is gratifyingly impressed, and Yuta bounces over immediately to ask eager questions, but Hiromitsu continues packing up his stuff methodically as though he hasn't heard.
This irritates Taisuke, goads him on to talk more, bigger.
"Your cymbals sound sort of orangey-gold," Taisuke says loudly to Yuta. "A minor chords are gray-tinged, and C sharp is kind of inky, but that low B flat is very, very black. Three 'very's, if I'm playing it on my bass." He points to the various keys as he talks, leaning over the front of the keyboard and purposely turning his back to Hiromitsu.
The man is arrogant and sanctimonious and an asshole, and Taisuke hates to be ignored.
And if he's secretly watching Hiromitsu through the little wall mirror behind Wataru's back, well, it won't hurt anybody as long as they don't notice.
Hiromitsu zips up his bags (Yuta asks excitedly what color that sound is) and is almost out the door - Taisuke can almost breathe a sigh of relief - when he turns and meets Taisuke's eye through the goddamned mirror. "Yuta," Hiromitsu says in a voice of unbearable sweetness, "When Taisuke lies, you'll find there's a sort of sickly, burnt, poop brown kind of color to his voice. Ne, Taisuke?"
Fujigaya, Kitayama, Yokoo, Tamamori
PG, 258 words, Jrocker AU
He doesn't truly have synesthesia, but Taisuke has always considered himself a connoisseur of romantic phenomena (like the northern lights and first snowfalls and music), so he lingers by the keyboard after practice one day and casually let's slip that he sees rainbows whenever Wataru plays a glissando. Wataru is gratifyingly impressed, and Yuta bounces over immediately to ask eager questions, but Hiromitsu continues packing up his stuff methodically as though he hasn't heard.
This irritates Taisuke, goads him on to talk more, bigger.
"Your cymbals sound sort of orangey-gold," Taisuke says loudly to Yuta. "A minor chords are gray-tinged, and C sharp is kind of inky, but that low B flat is very, very black. Three 'very's, if I'm playing it on my bass." He points to the various keys as he talks, leaning over the front of the keyboard and purposely turning his back to Hiromitsu.
The man is arrogant and sanctimonious and an asshole, and Taisuke hates to be ignored.
And if he's secretly watching Hiromitsu through the little wall mirror behind Wataru's back, well, it won't hurt anybody as long as they don't notice.
Hiromitsu zips up his bags (Yuta asks excitedly what color that sound is) and is almost out the door - Taisuke can almost breathe a sigh of relief - when he turns and meets Taisuke's eye through the goddamned mirror. "Yuta," Hiromitsu says in a voice of unbearable sweetness, "When Taisuke lies, you'll find there's a sort of sickly, burnt, poop brown kind of color to his voice. Ne, Taisuke?"