(no subject)
Title: KISS
Author: medieval128
Rating: G
Wordcount: 437
Author's note: For those who are not familiar, KISS = keep it simple, stupid. Written for meganebucks.
Summary: Hearts are not as complicated as Atobe makes them out to be.
Atobe is a boy of many talents. It is unfortunate, however, that no amount of skill in playing political mind games or swinging rackets can make up for his disastrous paper-folding.
“It was your idea. The least you can do is help.” As he sends another piece of coloured paper spiralling into the waste basket, Atobe glares across the room at Oshitari.
Oshitari looks up slowly from his magazine, spread open across his thighs, as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
This is probably true, for he does not take English Literature with Atobe and was not assigned the project that Atobe thinks might give The Way We Were, Pretty Woman, or even Ghost a run for their money in terms of both ridiculousness and worthlessness.
“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be,” Oshitari says. His head rests against the wall of Atobe’s room. His hair fans in stark contrast against the white alabaster.
“There isn’t a simple way out,” Atobe retorts crossly. The determination that had silvered his eyes two hours previous has dulled into blind irritation. It isn’t Oshitari’s fault that Atobe has now scored an eighteen in number of unsuccessful attempts at origami, but this does not void Oshitari from falling victim to Atobe’s wrath.
Oshitari hoists himself up from the floor and saunters over to Atobe. His hips sway like a pendulum metronome, measuring the distance that stretches between them. After he closes every inch, his hands brush past Atobe’s bicep and then forearm on their way to take the crumbled piece of red construction paper from between Atobe’s fingers.
“Making hearts isn’t rocket science,” Oshitari says, smoothing the paper flat. He picks up some scissors and begins to cut in careful and deliberate strokes. The paper rustles like leaves in autumn as it rotates in his hands. “See, something like - ” he finishes the final cut and pushes the excess paper aside with Atobe's still-blank poster board - “this would do.” He lays his finished project in Atobe’s hand.
Atobe studies it. It isn’t perfectly symmetrical, no, but it is recognizable as a heart. “That’s...” he says, scrunching his nose. He searches for the right words.
“Hearts can be very simple,” says Oshitari, hooking his chin on Atobe’s shoulder and studying his paper art from behind Atobe’s left ear. “They’re creatures with singular beats. Nothing more, really.”
The heart in Atobe’s hand becomes increasingly heavy. Atobe’s fingers curve a little around it. Against his back, the press of Oshitari’s chest is close enough that Atobe can feel every move of the drummer behind iron bars. It is as Oshitari says.
Author: medieval128
Rating: G
Wordcount: 437
Author's note: For those who are not familiar, KISS = keep it simple, stupid. Written for meganebucks.
Summary: Hearts are not as complicated as Atobe makes them out to be.
Atobe is a boy of many talents. It is unfortunate, however, that no amount of skill in playing political mind games or swinging rackets can make up for his disastrous paper-folding.
“It was your idea. The least you can do is help.” As he sends another piece of coloured paper spiralling into the waste basket, Atobe glares across the room at Oshitari.
Oshitari looks up slowly from his magazine, spread open across his thighs, as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
This is probably true, for he does not take English Literature with Atobe and was not assigned the project that Atobe thinks might give The Way We Were, Pretty Woman, or even Ghost a run for their money in terms of both ridiculousness and worthlessness.
“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be,” Oshitari says. His head rests against the wall of Atobe’s room. His hair fans in stark contrast against the white alabaster.
“There isn’t a simple way out,” Atobe retorts crossly. The determination that had silvered his eyes two hours previous has dulled into blind irritation. It isn’t Oshitari’s fault that Atobe has now scored an eighteen in number of unsuccessful attempts at origami, but this does not void Oshitari from falling victim to Atobe’s wrath.
Oshitari hoists himself up from the floor and saunters over to Atobe. His hips sway like a pendulum metronome, measuring the distance that stretches between them. After he closes every inch, his hands brush past Atobe’s bicep and then forearm on their way to take the crumbled piece of red construction paper from between Atobe’s fingers.
“Making hearts isn’t rocket science,” Oshitari says, smoothing the paper flat. He picks up some scissors and begins to cut in careful and deliberate strokes. The paper rustles like leaves in autumn as it rotates in his hands. “See, something like - ” he finishes the final cut and pushes the excess paper aside with Atobe's still-blank poster board - “this would do.” He lays his finished project in Atobe’s hand.
Atobe studies it. It isn’t perfectly symmetrical, no, but it is recognizable as a heart. “That’s...” he says, scrunching his nose. He searches for the right words.
“Hearts can be very simple,” says Oshitari, hooking his chin on Atobe’s shoulder and studying his paper art from behind Atobe’s left ear. “They’re creatures with singular beats. Nothing more, really.”
The heart in Atobe’s hand becomes increasingly heavy. Atobe’s fingers curve a little around it. Against his back, the press of Oshitari’s chest is close enough that Atobe can feel every move of the drummer behind iron bars. It is as Oshitari says.