[LOG] Roses are red, cacti are green...
Characters: Yukimura Seiichi & Fuji Shuusuke
Location: Yukimura & Fuji's bedroom
Time: October 2nd, after this log.
Rating: G
Summary: Fuji and Yukimura .... uh .... snark.
Fuji sat in the middle of his bed and wondered whether there was anything more admirable than a cactus. His prize possessions sat in a neat row in pots on the radiator, drinking in the heat that had started to flow from the metal fins. He found them beautifully intriguing, dangerous to get close to yet succulently nutritious if you ever were able to bite into the trunk.
Of course no one was going to eat Fuji’s cacti. If they tried, they would find his version of Sakaki’s private tutoring produced the same sounds but with more blood.
His eyes turned to the other side of the room, where his roommate’s own botanic choices draped their leafy extents over the window ledge. Perhaps the plants reflected their owner’s desired appearance; Yukimura often seemed as delicate as a flower, his posts full of poetry and polite mannerisms. Of course, Fuji always smiled too. But for some reason, that frequently made people run.
Fuji did not believe that this flimsy exterior was the true Yukimura. Underneath the gentle smiles and occasionally breathless step was a core of iron. He wondered idly which side his enforced companion was showing now, as he had left the room earlier to meet Niou in the greenhouse. He also wondered what would happen if he chopped the heads of all Yukimura’s plants and left them in his bed. The ‘Godfather’ had been a particularly good movie.
Spending time with Niou had been nice, all things considered. The poisonous plants in the greenhouse had been a little bit draining to watch out for, but nothing he couldn't handle, he hoped. But, sidestepping one of them, Yukimura had managed to walk into a rose bush, and of course he had managed to get caught up in the thorns. It had left him in a bit of a cranky mood as he returned home, the scratches on his hands and arms stinging uncomfortably. So he wasn't in the mood to chat Fuji up, and he hoped that his roommate was out and about somewhere.
No such luck.
Yukimura only needed half a second to rearrange his tired features into a - maybe somewhat chill - smile, however, and he bowed politely at the fair haired boy. "Being busy, I see." Quite frankly, it looked like Fuji was lazing about something fierce.
There was nothing like seeing your obnoxious room-mate reappear from a rendez-vous with a good friend covered in scratches and looking irritable to cheer a man up. Fuji returned Yukimura’s smile with his own.
“I was relaxing before tomorrow’s classes,” he replied. He looked pointedly at Yukimura’s hands. “I didn’t know Niou liked it so rough.”
"Jealous?" Yukimura managed to produce a thin smile as he sat down on his bed, scratching at the red, angry skin. "Honestly though, Fuji-kun. Don't you think you're being a little too lewd about certain matters? It's hardly appropriate."
“No, I’ve never tried the scars from a lost fight.” Fuji watched Yukimura rub his skin. It looked deliciously sore. Something in that greenhouse hadn’t liked him. Fuji made a mental note to water the plants in there tomorrow.
He glanced over at the collection of supplies he used to tend his cacti. Somewhere in there was a tube of cream for botanical irritations. Perhaps he would mention it. Perhaps he would not. So many choices. He lay back on his mattress. “You must sleep well, Yukimura-kun, to be about to avoid the close proximity of certain matters. You are lucky. Not everyone is taken as far as the greenhouse.”
His fingers itched with the need to pick up one of Fuji's cacti and toss it at him. Anything to wipe that look from his face. However, Yuki did have enough presence of mind to keep from doing something that childish - and dangerous. He wondered if he could ignore Fuji completely... But he'd hate for the brown haired boy to get the final word. That was quite simply unthinkable. "Perhaps. Or maybe luck has nothing to do with it."
Fuji fought the urge to pick up one of his cacti and toss it at Yukimura. But they were his beloved plant children and he couldn’t risk bending so much as a spine. “I am sorry, I didn’t realise that was your plan,” he said. “I cannot have thought you would be quite so far behind everyone else if you were actually trying.”
There was a faint smile on Yukimura's lips, however, his eyes were pure steel as he glanced over at Fuji. He decided not to answer, because as long as his hands stung, he couldn't sharpen his wits enough to keep up with Fuji. He hated pain, especially on himself, and he was more sensitive about his hands than any other part of his body - he couldn't paint if his hands were damaged after all. Then he realized how overly dramatic he was being - they were only scratches - but still... "Do you have anything for this," he asked, holding out his hands towards the other boy.
Fuji looked at the red mess. “Yes.”.
"Well. How nice." Yukimura bit off icily. "May I have some?"
“Of course.” Mentally counting this entire conversation as a victory, Fuji leavered an elbow underneath himself and moved off the bed, going over to the small box on his desk. He produced a tube of cream and walked over to where Yukimura was sitting. Taking one of his hands, he examined the scratches. Well, something had liked him in that greenhouse. “Here. It’ll be easier this way, you won’t rub it off.” Unscrewing the top of the tube, he dabbed a small quantity onto the largest scratch and spread it carefully along its length.
This frustrated Yukimura, as he had rather done this himself - but he realized that this was definitely more efficient - because this meant he most certainly had to thank Fuji afterwards, and the thought irked him. The salve or cream or whatever it was felt cool and soothing against his sore skin, however. "Effective."
“Mmm.” Fuji concentrated on making sure to cover each of the scratches. He switched hands, noting a fairly deep on across one palm. He hesitated, then decided it needed doing. Gripping Yukimura’s wrist more firmly, he smoothed the cream on in one motion. “This might sting a little,” he warned too late.
That gash had worried Yukimura a little, what if it got infected and his hand would be useless for days? Trust Fuji to actually take notice of it. (He didn't want to be grateful, he didn't. Damn it.) He merely nodded and steeled himself. Oh yes, it did sting, and his instinct was to pull his hand away to protect it, but he managed to restrain himself. He didn't even tense up noticeably. But... This time... He really had to say it. Mortifying. "Tha--thank you."
Fuji smiled at him, eyes hidden in their usual crescents. “My pleasure. I keep the cream in that box. Help yourself if you need it.” He stepped away from the bed and returned the tube to its rightful place. “And if you hurt Niou, I’ll switch it for acid,” he added mildly, his back still turned.
"... Give me one reason why I would hurt him." Yukimura smiled back, coldly. "He's my friend."
Fuji turned to face him, his eyes now open in chips of cerulean ice. “Do you know the difference between a friend and a playtoy, Seiichi?”
"Do you?"
Fuji considered his plans for the boys already threatening to surround his brother and his reaction to Yukimura’s own comment regarding the arrival of his beloved sibling. The amount of digging he was planning made it quite plain he knew the difference.
“Of course,” he said, his face relaxing back into a smile. “Niou is a friend. You are a playtoy.”
"Funny how that works. I feel quite the same." Prudently, he tucked some long curls behind his ear, a pleasant expression on his face.
Fuji watched the gesture and almost turned away. Then realised there would be far too much wailing if Yukimura’s hand rotted and fell off. Niou, Fuji decided, would owe him for this.
“You’ve put cream in your hair.” He picked up the tube again and came back over. Of course, Yukimura had to use the hand with the biggest scratch. “Show me your palm.”
He definitely hated his absent mindedness that came out at the most inappropriate times. He bit back a few choice words and simply did as told. "Help me wash it out. I can't use my hands right now." Obviously. But he hated having stuff stuck to his hair - maybe he was a thought vain - and he didn't even have to think twice before asking for him with that.
Fuji reapplied the cream, taking some satisfaction in the fact this would once again sting. It was tempting to suggest Yukimura leave the goo in his hair until he could wash it himself and wrestle with the consequent tangles, but that might be deemed as unneighbourly behaviour.
Obviously, plotting death and burial on the other hand, was entirely acceptable.
“If you like.” Fuji left the room to return with a tub of water. It was even moderately warm. His hands hovered over the sticky mass. “A favour...”
Of course. It wouldn't be simple, of course it wouldn't. He was dealing with the devil himself after all. In sheep clothing, but a devil nonetheless. "Yes?"
“If you sleep with Niou, do it when he’s Niou. Not shape changed.”
It was possible Fuji was second guessing too much and Niou didn’t give a damn about what he looked like so long as he got his kicks. But Fuji wondered whether Niou’s view of Yukimura might be different. He was certainly showing rather more patience than was standard in a man who was known to have to change his underwear on more-than-daily basis. And if Niou later realised that Yukimura was a prissy little flower boy who he’d sooner sit on than talk to, well, no harm done and Fuji would have a spare grave spot.
Yukimura had to turn around to look at Fuji, surprise evident on his face. "If I ever were to do something like that with Niou, of course I'm going to do it when he is himself. But you don't need to worry, because that's not happening in the first place."
Not bad. Fuji gave that answer a 6 out of 10. “Good.” Gesturing for Yukimura to turn back around, he reached for the sticky lock and smoothed it down with wet hands. The blue strands clung to his skin and it was several washes before the clumps started to separate. Pulling back, Fuji took a comb from the dresser and teased the hair apart.
“It is amusing,” he said conversationally as he worked. “Possibly half this school strips you with their eyes when you walk down the corridor, but the person who has seen the most of you is likely me.” They were roommates after all. There was a limit to what privacy could be afforded.
That... Was a rather unsettling thought. Yukimura couldn't help the frown that came to his face and he was glad he had a perfectly legitimate reason not to look Fuji in the eyes. He wasn't about to give away just how much the thought disturbed him - the fact that Fuji thought that half of the school was checking him out, not the fact that Fuji was the one who had seen the most of him, for some reason - so he had to come up with a retort, and quick. "Now, don't you feel privileged?"
“Mmm. I should sell the photos.” Fuji twisted the wet hair to wring the excess water into a bucket and stood up. “Then the cactus garden will be mine.” He left the room carrying the water bowl.
Getting to his feet, quite alarmed, even though he was fairly certain Fuji merely joked - he had to be joking, right? - and he took a few steps to follow the other boy before he stopped himself. No need to act panicked, because that was probably what Fuji aimed for. "Photos, hm...?" Yes, that sounded calm enough. Hopefully.
Fuji returned, hands empty to find Yukimura standing in the middle of the room looking flat-out panicked. It was a beautiful sight. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he took a photo. The shutter noise snicked loudly.
"Fuji!" Moving quickly, Yukimura was standing in front of the other boy, reaching out to pull the phone away from him. "Stop that!"
Fuji lifted the phone out of Yukimura’s reach. “Be careful not to undo all the good work on your hands,” he said. “You would not be so ungrateful after I washed your hair.” He tucked the phone away in his pocket and gestured at the towels hanging by the door. “Would you like me to dry?”
"Erase that pic," Yukimura more or less growled, trying to still himself. "And it's fine, it'll dry on its own." Never mind that it was busy creating a puddle on the floor underneath him. Drip, drip, drip...
Fuji looked at the mess on the carpet and picked up the towel. “Why does it worry you? I have far worse.”
"Really?" It was very tempting to simply lock Fuji down with his powers, shut off his senses while he rummaged through his possessions and the phone, but that would be highly unethical, wouldn't it? And he wasn't about to fly off the handle completely, thank you very much.
Fuji was thoroughly enjoying Yukimura being this angry, but he also couldn’t help being impressed. He knew what Yukimura was considering because he would be considering it too in the same place. Of course, if he had been forced to standby while his possessions were ransacked, Yukimura would have found all the ones he had safely uploaded to his server space cast far and wide throughout the school within 24 hours. Still... the restraint was notable.
Walking back over to his side of the room, Fuji dug in his closet and pulled out his camera bag; the one that contained his digital SLR. Purchased abroad, this one made no noise when a photo was taken. He flicked through the menus to find the pictures he still had on the card. Making a relevant one appear on the screen, he walked back to his room-mate and turned it to face him. “If you wish me to delete it, I will.” Probably.
It actually took Yukimura a few seconds to realize that he was looking at himself. (He never quite agreed with his own looks, or body, period, so he rarely looked at himself in the mirror unless it was absolutely necessary.) There was a teenager in bed, sleeping. The dim light created a sort of otherworldly quality to the picture, and Yukimura initially associated the 'model' with Snow white. Then it hit him that it was actually himself. "Please d--" He cut himself short. When it came down to it, he was an artist. He appreciated art. And Fuji was a damn good photographer, he had to give him that. "... No. Wait. Keep it."
Fuji made no comment but flicked to the next photo. This one showed Yukimura tending one of his plants, the leafy stalks weaving around their beloved owner’s wrists. Fuji had used a close focus lens so that only the stem and the hand were sharp, the rest blurred as if you looked at the person through bubbled glass.
This photo looked disturbingly sensual. But quite artistic nonetheless. I have to be grateful I'm not tending to my plants in the nude, Yukimura thought dryly. "Given the quality of the photos, you ought to pay me for modeling."
Fuji smiled but again said nothing. His eyes on Yukimura’s face, he flicked the button that would take the screen to the final photo.
Color shot up in his face. Again, the model was him. This time from behind. He was sitting in his bed, back turned to Fuji, and apparently the pic had been taken in the early morning, still orange sunlight filtering through the curtains and spilling over his naked torso. Arms stretched up as he pulled off the dark blue oversized t-shirt he prefered to sleep in. Lean body, skin glowing in the sunlight and delicate muscles playing underneath his skin. It could have been an ad for perfume or aftershave or maybe even something as simple as the silk sheets underneath him. "... Sneaky." Lame comment, but what else could he say?
Fuji flicked the camera from play-back to record and snapped a photo of Yukimura before the other teen could protest. He turned the camera back around and showed him the result. “You need to dry your hair.”
"With these hands, I can't. Just yet." Don't think he missed the fact that you took another photo, Fuji. He simply decided that it wasn't worth fussing over. For now.
“You are not photogenic enough like this.” Fuji put away his camera, removing it from Yukimura’s view and making a mental note to hide it in a different place, in case his room-mate got over his embarrassment and decided destruction was safest. He picked up the towel again and held it out, indicating that he would do the work if Yukimura dropped to a level where he could reach his hair easily.
Yukimura shrugged and walked back to the chair, taking a seat with his cheeks still flushing. His mind finally managed to catch up with him, however and, he said sweetly:
"You don't like me hanging out with Niou. I thought it was because you were jealous of me... But with those pictures... Could it be that you're jealous of Niou instead?"
A laugh was his answer as Fuji dropped the towel over the blue locks and began to rub. “You did not see the ones I put through photoshop,” he said cheerfully.
"..." He didn't want to ask. Fuji wouldn't force him to ask. He wouldn't give him that gratification. But... But... "Oh." It wasn't a question. It totally wasn't.
It was good that it was not a question since this time, Fuji had not the slightest intention of answering. He rubbed the wetness out of the hair and then shook the towel, returning it to the rail. “You make a beautiful model,” he told him as he returned to his bed. “But people who lose to rose bushes are not my type.”
"A one time thing, I assure you." Yukimura got up as well and pulled out a couple of textbooks from a bag, placing both them and himself on his own bed. "Now, I'm going to study. Niou will be coming over later, and I have to get some work done." Read between the lines - do not disturb.
That tube of cream was getting replaced by acid. Fuji picked his laptop off the desk and carried it over to his bed. Then he took out his camera once more and started uploading the photos. That done, he opened photoshop and began to work.
Location: Yukimura & Fuji's bedroom
Time: October 2nd, after this log.
Rating: G
Summary: Fuji and Yukimura .... uh .... snark.
Fuji sat in the middle of his bed and wondered whether there was anything more admirable than a cactus. His prize possessions sat in a neat row in pots on the radiator, drinking in the heat that had started to flow from the metal fins. He found them beautifully intriguing, dangerous to get close to yet succulently nutritious if you ever were able to bite into the trunk.
Of course no one was going to eat Fuji’s cacti. If they tried, they would find his version of Sakaki’s private tutoring produced the same sounds but with more blood.
His eyes turned to the other side of the room, where his roommate’s own botanic choices draped their leafy extents over the window ledge. Perhaps the plants reflected their owner’s desired appearance; Yukimura often seemed as delicate as a flower, his posts full of poetry and polite mannerisms. Of course, Fuji always smiled too. But for some reason, that frequently made people run.
Fuji did not believe that this flimsy exterior was the true Yukimura. Underneath the gentle smiles and occasionally breathless step was a core of iron. He wondered idly which side his enforced companion was showing now, as he had left the room earlier to meet Niou in the greenhouse. He also wondered what would happen if he chopped the heads of all Yukimura’s plants and left them in his bed. The ‘Godfather’ had been a particularly good movie.
Spending time with Niou had been nice, all things considered. The poisonous plants in the greenhouse had been a little bit draining to watch out for, but nothing he couldn't handle, he hoped. But, sidestepping one of them, Yukimura had managed to walk into a rose bush, and of course he had managed to get caught up in the thorns. It had left him in a bit of a cranky mood as he returned home, the scratches on his hands and arms stinging uncomfortably. So he wasn't in the mood to chat Fuji up, and he hoped that his roommate was out and about somewhere.
No such luck.
Yukimura only needed half a second to rearrange his tired features into a - maybe somewhat chill - smile, however, and he bowed politely at the fair haired boy. "Being busy, I see." Quite frankly, it looked like Fuji was lazing about something fierce.
There was nothing like seeing your obnoxious room-mate reappear from a rendez-vous with a good friend covered in scratches and looking irritable to cheer a man up. Fuji returned Yukimura’s smile with his own.
“I was relaxing before tomorrow’s classes,” he replied. He looked pointedly at Yukimura’s hands. “I didn’t know Niou liked it so rough.”
"Jealous?" Yukimura managed to produce a thin smile as he sat down on his bed, scratching at the red, angry skin. "Honestly though, Fuji-kun. Don't you think you're being a little too lewd about certain matters? It's hardly appropriate."
“No, I’ve never tried the scars from a lost fight.” Fuji watched Yukimura rub his skin. It looked deliciously sore. Something in that greenhouse hadn’t liked him. Fuji made a mental note to water the plants in there tomorrow.
He glanced over at the collection of supplies he used to tend his cacti. Somewhere in there was a tube of cream for botanical irritations. Perhaps he would mention it. Perhaps he would not. So many choices. He lay back on his mattress. “You must sleep well, Yukimura-kun, to be about to avoid the close proximity of certain matters. You are lucky. Not everyone is taken as far as the greenhouse.”
His fingers itched with the need to pick up one of Fuji's cacti and toss it at him. Anything to wipe that look from his face. However, Yuki did have enough presence of mind to keep from doing something that childish - and dangerous. He wondered if he could ignore Fuji completely... But he'd hate for the brown haired boy to get the final word. That was quite simply unthinkable. "Perhaps. Or maybe luck has nothing to do with it."
Fuji fought the urge to pick up one of his cacti and toss it at Yukimura. But they were his beloved plant children and he couldn’t risk bending so much as a spine. “I am sorry, I didn’t realise that was your plan,” he said. “I cannot have thought you would be quite so far behind everyone else if you were actually trying.”
There was a faint smile on Yukimura's lips, however, his eyes were pure steel as he glanced over at Fuji. He decided not to answer, because as long as his hands stung, he couldn't sharpen his wits enough to keep up with Fuji. He hated pain, especially on himself, and he was more sensitive about his hands than any other part of his body - he couldn't paint if his hands were damaged after all. Then he realized how overly dramatic he was being - they were only scratches - but still... "Do you have anything for this," he asked, holding out his hands towards the other boy.
Fuji looked at the red mess. “Yes.”.
"Well. How nice." Yukimura bit off icily. "May I have some?"
“Of course.” Mentally counting this entire conversation as a victory, Fuji leavered an elbow underneath himself and moved off the bed, going over to the small box on his desk. He produced a tube of cream and walked over to where Yukimura was sitting. Taking one of his hands, he examined the scratches. Well, something had liked him in that greenhouse. “Here. It’ll be easier this way, you won’t rub it off.” Unscrewing the top of the tube, he dabbed a small quantity onto the largest scratch and spread it carefully along its length.
This frustrated Yukimura, as he had rather done this himself - but he realized that this was definitely more efficient - because this meant he most certainly had to thank Fuji afterwards, and the thought irked him. The salve or cream or whatever it was felt cool and soothing against his sore skin, however. "Effective."
“Mmm.” Fuji concentrated on making sure to cover each of the scratches. He switched hands, noting a fairly deep on across one palm. He hesitated, then decided it needed doing. Gripping Yukimura’s wrist more firmly, he smoothed the cream on in one motion. “This might sting a little,” he warned too late.
That gash had worried Yukimura a little, what if it got infected and his hand would be useless for days? Trust Fuji to actually take notice of it. (He didn't want to be grateful, he didn't. Damn it.) He merely nodded and steeled himself. Oh yes, it did sting, and his instinct was to pull his hand away to protect it, but he managed to restrain himself. He didn't even tense up noticeably. But... This time... He really had to say it. Mortifying. "Tha--thank you."
Fuji smiled at him, eyes hidden in their usual crescents. “My pleasure. I keep the cream in that box. Help yourself if you need it.” He stepped away from the bed and returned the tube to its rightful place. “And if you hurt Niou, I’ll switch it for acid,” he added mildly, his back still turned.
"... Give me one reason why I would hurt him." Yukimura smiled back, coldly. "He's my friend."
Fuji turned to face him, his eyes now open in chips of cerulean ice. “Do you know the difference between a friend and a playtoy, Seiichi?”
"Do you?"
Fuji considered his plans for the boys already threatening to surround his brother and his reaction to Yukimura’s own comment regarding the arrival of his beloved sibling. The amount of digging he was planning made it quite plain he knew the difference.
“Of course,” he said, his face relaxing back into a smile. “Niou is a friend. You are a playtoy.”
"Funny how that works. I feel quite the same." Prudently, he tucked some long curls behind his ear, a pleasant expression on his face.
Fuji watched the gesture and almost turned away. Then realised there would be far too much wailing if Yukimura’s hand rotted and fell off. Niou, Fuji decided, would owe him for this.
“You’ve put cream in your hair.” He picked up the tube again and came back over. Of course, Yukimura had to use the hand with the biggest scratch. “Show me your palm.”
He definitely hated his absent mindedness that came out at the most inappropriate times. He bit back a few choice words and simply did as told. "Help me wash it out. I can't use my hands right now." Obviously. But he hated having stuff stuck to his hair - maybe he was a thought vain - and he didn't even have to think twice before asking for him with that.
Fuji reapplied the cream, taking some satisfaction in the fact this would once again sting. It was tempting to suggest Yukimura leave the goo in his hair until he could wash it himself and wrestle with the consequent tangles, but that might be deemed as unneighbourly behaviour.
Obviously, plotting death and burial on the other hand, was entirely acceptable.
“If you like.” Fuji left the room to return with a tub of water. It was even moderately warm. His hands hovered over the sticky mass. “A favour...”
Of course. It wouldn't be simple, of course it wouldn't. He was dealing with the devil himself after all. In sheep clothing, but a devil nonetheless. "Yes?"
“If you sleep with Niou, do it when he’s Niou. Not shape changed.”
It was possible Fuji was second guessing too much and Niou didn’t give a damn about what he looked like so long as he got his kicks. But Fuji wondered whether Niou’s view of Yukimura might be different. He was certainly showing rather more patience than was standard in a man who was known to have to change his underwear on more-than-daily basis. And if Niou later realised that Yukimura was a prissy little flower boy who he’d sooner sit on than talk to, well, no harm done and Fuji would have a spare grave spot.
Yukimura had to turn around to look at Fuji, surprise evident on his face. "If I ever were to do something like that with Niou, of course I'm going to do it when he is himself. But you don't need to worry, because that's not happening in the first place."
Not bad. Fuji gave that answer a 6 out of 10. “Good.” Gesturing for Yukimura to turn back around, he reached for the sticky lock and smoothed it down with wet hands. The blue strands clung to his skin and it was several washes before the clumps started to separate. Pulling back, Fuji took a comb from the dresser and teased the hair apart.
“It is amusing,” he said conversationally as he worked. “Possibly half this school strips you with their eyes when you walk down the corridor, but the person who has seen the most of you is likely me.” They were roommates after all. There was a limit to what privacy could be afforded.
That... Was a rather unsettling thought. Yukimura couldn't help the frown that came to his face and he was glad he had a perfectly legitimate reason not to look Fuji in the eyes. He wasn't about to give away just how much the thought disturbed him - the fact that Fuji thought that half of the school was checking him out, not the fact that Fuji was the one who had seen the most of him, for some reason - so he had to come up with a retort, and quick. "Now, don't you feel privileged?"
“Mmm. I should sell the photos.” Fuji twisted the wet hair to wring the excess water into a bucket and stood up. “Then the cactus garden will be mine.” He left the room carrying the water bowl.
Getting to his feet, quite alarmed, even though he was fairly certain Fuji merely joked - he had to be joking, right? - and he took a few steps to follow the other boy before he stopped himself. No need to act panicked, because that was probably what Fuji aimed for. "Photos, hm...?" Yes, that sounded calm enough. Hopefully.
Fuji returned, hands empty to find Yukimura standing in the middle of the room looking flat-out panicked. It was a beautiful sight. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he took a photo. The shutter noise snicked loudly.
"Fuji!" Moving quickly, Yukimura was standing in front of the other boy, reaching out to pull the phone away from him. "Stop that!"
Fuji lifted the phone out of Yukimura’s reach. “Be careful not to undo all the good work on your hands,” he said. “You would not be so ungrateful after I washed your hair.” He tucked the phone away in his pocket and gestured at the towels hanging by the door. “Would you like me to dry?”
"Erase that pic," Yukimura more or less growled, trying to still himself. "And it's fine, it'll dry on its own." Never mind that it was busy creating a puddle on the floor underneath him. Drip, drip, drip...
Fuji looked at the mess on the carpet and picked up the towel. “Why does it worry you? I have far worse.”
"Really?" It was very tempting to simply lock Fuji down with his powers, shut off his senses while he rummaged through his possessions and the phone, but that would be highly unethical, wouldn't it? And he wasn't about to fly off the handle completely, thank you very much.
Fuji was thoroughly enjoying Yukimura being this angry, but he also couldn’t help being impressed. He knew what Yukimura was considering because he would be considering it too in the same place. Of course, if he had been forced to standby while his possessions were ransacked, Yukimura would have found all the ones he had safely uploaded to his server space cast far and wide throughout the school within 24 hours. Still... the restraint was notable.
Walking back over to his side of the room, Fuji dug in his closet and pulled out his camera bag; the one that contained his digital SLR. Purchased abroad, this one made no noise when a photo was taken. He flicked through the menus to find the pictures he still had on the card. Making a relevant one appear on the screen, he walked back to his room-mate and turned it to face him. “If you wish me to delete it, I will.” Probably.
It actually took Yukimura a few seconds to realize that he was looking at himself. (He never quite agreed with his own looks, or body, period, so he rarely looked at himself in the mirror unless it was absolutely necessary.) There was a teenager in bed, sleeping. The dim light created a sort of otherworldly quality to the picture, and Yukimura initially associated the 'model' with Snow white. Then it hit him that it was actually himself. "Please d--" He cut himself short. When it came down to it, he was an artist. He appreciated art. And Fuji was a damn good photographer, he had to give him that. "... No. Wait. Keep it."
Fuji made no comment but flicked to the next photo. This one showed Yukimura tending one of his plants, the leafy stalks weaving around their beloved owner’s wrists. Fuji had used a close focus lens so that only the stem and the hand were sharp, the rest blurred as if you looked at the person through bubbled glass.
This photo looked disturbingly sensual. But quite artistic nonetheless. I have to be grateful I'm not tending to my plants in the nude, Yukimura thought dryly. "Given the quality of the photos, you ought to pay me for modeling."
Fuji smiled but again said nothing. His eyes on Yukimura’s face, he flicked the button that would take the screen to the final photo.
Color shot up in his face. Again, the model was him. This time from behind. He was sitting in his bed, back turned to Fuji, and apparently the pic had been taken in the early morning, still orange sunlight filtering through the curtains and spilling over his naked torso. Arms stretched up as he pulled off the dark blue oversized t-shirt he prefered to sleep in. Lean body, skin glowing in the sunlight and delicate muscles playing underneath his skin. It could have been an ad for perfume or aftershave or maybe even something as simple as the silk sheets underneath him. "... Sneaky." Lame comment, but what else could he say?
Fuji flicked the camera from play-back to record and snapped a photo of Yukimura before the other teen could protest. He turned the camera back around and showed him the result. “You need to dry your hair.”
"With these hands, I can't. Just yet." Don't think he missed the fact that you took another photo, Fuji. He simply decided that it wasn't worth fussing over. For now.
“You are not photogenic enough like this.” Fuji put away his camera, removing it from Yukimura’s view and making a mental note to hide it in a different place, in case his room-mate got over his embarrassment and decided destruction was safest. He picked up the towel again and held it out, indicating that he would do the work if Yukimura dropped to a level where he could reach his hair easily.
Yukimura shrugged and walked back to the chair, taking a seat with his cheeks still flushing. His mind finally managed to catch up with him, however and, he said sweetly:
"You don't like me hanging out with Niou. I thought it was because you were jealous of me... But with those pictures... Could it be that you're jealous of Niou instead?"
A laugh was his answer as Fuji dropped the towel over the blue locks and began to rub. “You did not see the ones I put through photoshop,” he said cheerfully.
"..." He didn't want to ask. Fuji wouldn't force him to ask. He wouldn't give him that gratification. But... But... "Oh." It wasn't a question. It totally wasn't.
It was good that it was not a question since this time, Fuji had not the slightest intention of answering. He rubbed the wetness out of the hair and then shook the towel, returning it to the rail. “You make a beautiful model,” he told him as he returned to his bed. “But people who lose to rose bushes are not my type.”
"A one time thing, I assure you." Yukimura got up as well and pulled out a couple of textbooks from a bag, placing both them and himself on his own bed. "Now, I'm going to study. Niou will be coming over later, and I have to get some work done." Read between the lines - do not disturb.
That tube of cream was getting replaced by acid. Fuji picked his laptop off the desk and carried it over to his bed. Then he took out his camera once more and started uploading the photos. That done, he opened photoshop and began to work.