Tragic Shape
Fic: Tragic Shape
Author: ScruffyBunny
Pairing: Kradam, a teeny bit of Krallison
Rating: PG
Summary: "Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it comes to tragic shape, you could write a book." Not really a tragedy.
Disclaimer: Didn't happen. Don't own. Sad face on both counts.
Allison watches. She knows it’s a little bit creepy, but there’s no harm in looking, right? The observed is fast asleep under the Californian sun, passed out in the middle of working on a song. It happens to be his favorite spot to work, and with the pleasant weather and view of the pool, she can hardly blame him. But the pleasant weather and the view of the pool prove to be a bit too soothing, as evidenced by his steady breathing. She internally coos at the way that he’s hugging his notebook to his chest as he snoozes.
“I see you.” She jumps at the suddenness of the voice in her ear. She looks up at Adam, feigning innocence. She can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to buy it, but she tries anyway.
“I’m just sitting by the window,” she points out flatly. But he is a child of the stage, and he can spot acting from a mile away. He follows her gaze out the window and nods.
“Yeah, just looking out the window where, it just so happens, he’s fallen asleep in a lounge chair. No, that’s totally believable,” he says sarcastically, resting his chin on her shoulder. She shrugs him off.
“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re imagining things.”
“You’re imagining things,” he corrects with a mischievous wiggle of the eyebrows. The double entendre isn’t lost on her, earning him a soft punch to the shoulder. He sighs theatrically and shakes his head.
“You’re in tragic shape.” Her response is perfunctory and elementary, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at the comment as it tumbles out of her mouth.
“Am not.” He lets out an amused sort of man-giggle and nudges her.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it comes to tragic shape, you could write a book.” She frowns and raises an eyebrow. She isn’t sure that there’s a right way to take that comment. He seems to work out her confusion and drops a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m just saying. You do know that it’s a virtual impossibility, right?” There is a pink tinge to her cheek, and she bites back the urge to bust out a child hood classic. You’d know, wouldn’t you? She feels that that would be inappropriate, and she’s supposed to be professional here. But he keeps running his trap, and that makes it more difficult to maintain “professional.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” he asks teasingly, playfully poking her in the arm. A physical reinforcement of the verbal nudge. She doesn’t acknowledge either of them, but the silence is just as damning as if she’d jumped up on the table and declared it. He gives a self-satisfied smirk, smugness laced with victory. She takes a long sip from the piping hot coffee mug in her hands. A very long sip. She knows exactly how to respond to this, but the timing isn’t quite right. She takes another sip.
The smirk turns into a grin. The grin tugs at the corners of his mouth until he’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“You love him!” he declares, a sly tease to his tone. And that’s when she knows it’s time.
“Not as much as you do.” The reaction is well worth her efforts. Smile to horror-stricken stare in less than a second. She shrugs and gently sets the mug down in front of her. “It’s perfectly alright if I carry a torch for him. I’m a teenage girl. Hormones ablaze. But you…” She smiles brightly, choosing her words carefully.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it come to tragic shape, you could write a book.” He doesn’t know whether to be indignant or laugh at the ironic jab. But the thing is that she’s more than right. What she feels is just a little crush; they both know that. They also both know that what he feels is something a bit more complicated, a bit more deep, a bit more… Adam sighs. He is in tragic shape, but he’s not about to admit it.
The oblivious object of their conversation stirs lightly in his sleep, wriggling in pool chair until he’s found a more comfortable position. The fabric of his white t-shirt gets caught in the vinyl slats of the chair, so as he wriggles the shirt stays put, revealing a generous view of his back. The observers stare for a moment, collectively sigh, and then look at each other.
“Hey!” They spin towards the source of the newest voice, freezing in place like criminals in a spot light. Matt is perplexed but rolls with it, sticking his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the window. “Whatcha guys looking at?” Allison and Adam fumble for an explanation, but Matt comes to his own conclusions.
“Shame on the both of you,” he says grimly, shaking his head to punctuate the statement. For an unreal moment in time, it seems that they’ve been caught red-handed, but then Matt continues in typical, loveable Giraud fashion. “I cannot believe that you two would even think of pranking poor, little Kris! Not when he’s chosen to fall asleep conveniently close to the pool on a chair that’s oh-so-easy to flip over and…” The mischief lights up in his eyes, and he’s off, probably to recruit Danny in this latest hair-brained scheme of his.
“We should warn him,” Allison comments. Adam considers this, but a grin is cracking across his serious façade.
“Should,” he repeats, scratching at the back of his head. “But you’ve got to hand it to Matt. Kris should know better than to fall asleep conveniently close to the pool on a chair that’s oh-so-easy to flip over.” Allison concedes the point.
“We can at least move his notebook so that it doesn’t get ruined,” she suggests. That, Adam can agree to. They rush out to rescue the notebook just as Matt returns with Danny and Anoop.
Author: ScruffyBunny
Pairing: Kradam, a teeny bit of Krallison
Rating: PG
Summary: "Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it comes to tragic shape, you could write a book." Not really a tragedy.
Disclaimer: Didn't happen. Don't own. Sad face on both counts.
Allison watches. She knows it’s a little bit creepy, but there’s no harm in looking, right? The observed is fast asleep under the Californian sun, passed out in the middle of working on a song. It happens to be his favorite spot to work, and with the pleasant weather and view of the pool, she can hardly blame him. But the pleasant weather and the view of the pool prove to be a bit too soothing, as evidenced by his steady breathing. She internally coos at the way that he’s hugging his notebook to his chest as he snoozes.
“I see you.” She jumps at the suddenness of the voice in her ear. She looks up at Adam, feigning innocence. She can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to buy it, but she tries anyway.
“I’m just sitting by the window,” she points out flatly. But he is a child of the stage, and he can spot acting from a mile away. He follows her gaze out the window and nods.
“Yeah, just looking out the window where, it just so happens, he’s fallen asleep in a lounge chair. No, that’s totally believable,” he says sarcastically, resting his chin on her shoulder. She shrugs him off.
“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re imagining things.”
“You’re imagining things,” he corrects with a mischievous wiggle of the eyebrows. The double entendre isn’t lost on her, earning him a soft punch to the shoulder. He sighs theatrically and shakes his head.
“You’re in tragic shape.” Her response is perfunctory and elementary, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at the comment as it tumbles out of her mouth.
“Am not.” He lets out an amused sort of man-giggle and nudges her.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it comes to tragic shape, you could write a book.” She frowns and raises an eyebrow. She isn’t sure that there’s a right way to take that comment. He seems to work out her confusion and drops a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m just saying. You do know that it’s a virtual impossibility, right?” There is a pink tinge to her cheek, and she bites back the urge to bust out a child hood classic. You’d know, wouldn’t you? She feels that that would be inappropriate, and she’s supposed to be professional here. But he keeps running his trap, and that makes it more difficult to maintain “professional.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” he asks teasingly, playfully poking her in the arm. A physical reinforcement of the verbal nudge. She doesn’t acknowledge either of them, but the silence is just as damning as if she’d jumped up on the table and declared it. He gives a self-satisfied smirk, smugness laced with victory. She takes a long sip from the piping hot coffee mug in her hands. A very long sip. She knows exactly how to respond to this, but the timing isn’t quite right. She takes another sip.
The smirk turns into a grin. The grin tugs at the corners of his mouth until he’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“You love him!” he declares, a sly tease to his tone. And that’s when she knows it’s time.
“Not as much as you do.” The reaction is well worth her efforts. Smile to horror-stricken stare in less than a second. She shrugs and gently sets the mug down in front of her. “It’s perfectly alright if I carry a torch for him. I’m a teenage girl. Hormones ablaze. But you…” She smiles brightly, choosing her words carefully.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but when it come to tragic shape, you could write a book.” He doesn’t know whether to be indignant or laugh at the ironic jab. But the thing is that she’s more than right. What she feels is just a little crush; they both know that. They also both know that what he feels is something a bit more complicated, a bit more deep, a bit more… Adam sighs. He is in tragic shape, but he’s not about to admit it.
The oblivious object of their conversation stirs lightly in his sleep, wriggling in pool chair until he’s found a more comfortable position. The fabric of his white t-shirt gets caught in the vinyl slats of the chair, so as he wriggles the shirt stays put, revealing a generous view of his back. The observers stare for a moment, collectively sigh, and then look at each other.
“Hey!” They spin towards the source of the newest voice, freezing in place like criminals in a spot light. Matt is perplexed but rolls with it, sticking his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the window. “Whatcha guys looking at?” Allison and Adam fumble for an explanation, but Matt comes to his own conclusions.
“Shame on the both of you,” he says grimly, shaking his head to punctuate the statement. For an unreal moment in time, it seems that they’ve been caught red-handed, but then Matt continues in typical, loveable Giraud fashion. “I cannot believe that you two would even think of pranking poor, little Kris! Not when he’s chosen to fall asleep conveniently close to the pool on a chair that’s oh-so-easy to flip over and…” The mischief lights up in his eyes, and he’s off, probably to recruit Danny in this latest hair-brained scheme of his.
“We should warn him,” Allison comments. Adam considers this, but a grin is cracking across his serious façade.
“Should,” he repeats, scratching at the back of his head. “But you’ve got to hand it to Matt. Kris should know better than to fall asleep conveniently close to the pool on a chair that’s oh-so-easy to flip over.” Allison concedes the point.
“We can at least move his notebook so that it doesn’t get ruined,” she suggests. That, Adam can agree to. They rush out to rescue the notebook just as Matt returns with Danny and Anoop.