[KRW;prose] in the year between (3)
Hidari Shoutarou, Phillip
On Monday, Shoutarou bought a ream of blank paper and a pack of cheap markers. On Tuesday, he bought two. On Wednesday, it went up to five and the cashier was beginning to look at him a little funny.
"Arts and crafts," Shoutarou said, tipping his hat. "Paper mache is a killer."
"Paper accounts for 35% of landfill waste," Phillip told him matter of factly after Shoutarou escaped from the stationery store and the shop assistant's suspicion that he's running some sort of illicit paper drive in the office or something. Which didn't stop him from taking the bag and cheerfully tearing into its contents.
"This is the sort of thanks I get," Shoutarou replied, but it's begun to be said with a sort of fond exasperation. The mountains of paper being generated with each subject search had started to become a familiar sight, though finding the space to store them all was becoming a problem. Shoutarou was fairly certain that he never saw Phillip going back to any of his completed research, but then again, he didn't want to throw any of it away in the event Phillip wanted something.
Still, it really was getting a bit crowded despite the extra space afforded by the rather convenient empty warehouse situated in the same building. They managed to fit the tank Phillip had suggested they swipe when they were frantically escaping; Shoutarou was still adamant that they ditch the huge thing, there's absolutely no way they could use it without getting it traced back to them.
"It'll be useful," Phillip had said, but all Shoutarou could see was that it made for a mildly interesting showpiece that would be buried very quickly under all of that paper.
One day, two weeks later, Phillip got his attention with that strange sort of lilt in his voice that Shoutarou was beginning to associate with 'Things I Should Have Asked Phillip About Earlier'. "Shoutarou, do you know of this wonderful invention called the whiteboard?"
"I...suppose so," Shoutarou said slowly and rather warily, wondering where this revelation was going to go.
Phillip's eyes gleamed. "It's erasable!" he announced, like it was the greatest thing he had discovered since...well, the previous subject he was researching on. "You don't have to buy me paper anymore, you can buy me this thing called the whiteboard."
"Don't you need to record your information?" Shoutarou asked suspiciously, brows furrowing. The amount of boxes full of paper was a silent and sore testimony, somehow already migrating into the office. Phillip cocked his head, a quizzical expression on his face.
"It's already in the Library," he replied. "I don't why you like keeping my research, it's not like you read them."
"I was keeping them for you!"
"Oh." There was a pregnant pause while Shoutarou waited for Phillip to say something like, "Oh, I didn't think of that, thank you, Shoutarou." Except of course, this was Phillip he was talking about. "I don't really need them, you can throw them away."
Shoutarou buried his face in his hands in response. It was better than screaming.
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Phillip kind of reminded him of a cat, Shoutarou thought, what with his propensity for ignoring you in favour of his own whims, curling up in a corner when sufficiently relaxed, and, oh yeah, occasionally becoming a completely vicious hellbeast. Of course, with cats, that usually happened when Shoutarou was trying to get them out of a tree.
"It's fine for you," Shoutarou muttered, trying not to wince as the impact from Phillip kicking the dopant rattled clear up his spine. "I'm the one who's going to feel this in the morning."
In response, Phillip kicked it in the face again.
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"What's your problem with them, anyway? Dopants." Shoutarou usually tried not to ask Phillip irrelevant questions, since it only lead to more trouble than it was worth, but considering the fact that he was stuck slapping medicated plasters over his aching shoulder, and he still got up on time to make breakfast, he figured he was entitled.
Phillip looked up from his book, head tilted, like he was surprised that Shoutarou didn't already know.
"They shouldn't exist," he said, matter of fact, his voice low and harsh. He was still smiling, that slightly confused half-smile, which made it even worse somehow.
"Well," Shoutarou said, looking away, oddly uncomfortable. "Neither should sushi pizza, and yet."
"Sushi?" Phillip said, wide-eyed, all earlier venom gone. "Pizza?"
"Ah, crap."
On Monday, Shoutarou bought a ream of blank paper and a pack of cheap markers. On Tuesday, he bought two. On Wednesday, it went up to five and the cashier was beginning to look at him a little funny.
"Arts and crafts," Shoutarou said, tipping his hat. "Paper mache is a killer."
"Paper accounts for 35% of landfill waste," Phillip told him matter of factly after Shoutarou escaped from the stationery store and the shop assistant's suspicion that he's running some sort of illicit paper drive in the office or something. Which didn't stop him from taking the bag and cheerfully tearing into its contents.
"This is the sort of thanks I get," Shoutarou replied, but it's begun to be said with a sort of fond exasperation. The mountains of paper being generated with each subject search had started to become a familiar sight, though finding the space to store them all was becoming a problem. Shoutarou was fairly certain that he never saw Phillip going back to any of his completed research, but then again, he didn't want to throw any of it away in the event Phillip wanted something.
Still, it really was getting a bit crowded despite the extra space afforded by the rather convenient empty warehouse situated in the same building. They managed to fit the tank Phillip had suggested they swipe when they were frantically escaping; Shoutarou was still adamant that they ditch the huge thing, there's absolutely no way they could use it without getting it traced back to them.
"It'll be useful," Phillip had said, but all Shoutarou could see was that it made for a mildly interesting showpiece that would be buried very quickly under all of that paper.
One day, two weeks later, Phillip got his attention with that strange sort of lilt in his voice that Shoutarou was beginning to associate with 'Things I Should Have Asked Phillip About Earlier'. "Shoutarou, do you know of this wonderful invention called the whiteboard?"
"I...suppose so," Shoutarou said slowly and rather warily, wondering where this revelation was going to go.
Phillip's eyes gleamed. "It's erasable!" he announced, like it was the greatest thing he had discovered since...well, the previous subject he was researching on. "You don't have to buy me paper anymore, you can buy me this thing called the whiteboard."
"Don't you need to record your information?" Shoutarou asked suspiciously, brows furrowing. The amount of boxes full of paper was a silent and sore testimony, somehow already migrating into the office. Phillip cocked his head, a quizzical expression on his face.
"It's already in the Library," he replied. "I don't why you like keeping my research, it's not like you read them."
"I was keeping them for you!"
"Oh." There was a pregnant pause while Shoutarou waited for Phillip to say something like, "Oh, I didn't think of that, thank you, Shoutarou." Except of course, this was Phillip he was talking about. "I don't really need them, you can throw them away."
Shoutarou buried his face in his hands in response. It was better than screaming.
------------------------------------
Phillip kind of reminded him of a cat, Shoutarou thought, what with his propensity for ignoring you in favour of his own whims, curling up in a corner when sufficiently relaxed, and, oh yeah, occasionally becoming a completely vicious hellbeast. Of course, with cats, that usually happened when Shoutarou was trying to get them out of a tree.
"It's fine for you," Shoutarou muttered, trying not to wince as the impact from Phillip kicking the dopant rattled clear up his spine. "I'm the one who's going to feel this in the morning."
In response, Phillip kicked it in the face again.
------------------------------------
"What's your problem with them, anyway? Dopants." Shoutarou usually tried not to ask Phillip irrelevant questions, since it only lead to more trouble than it was worth, but considering the fact that he was stuck slapping medicated plasters over his aching shoulder, and he still got up on time to make breakfast, he figured he was entitled.
Phillip looked up from his book, head tilted, like he was surprised that Shoutarou didn't already know.
"They shouldn't exist," he said, matter of fact, his voice low and harsh. He was still smiling, that slightly confused half-smile, which made it even worse somehow.
"Well," Shoutarou said, looking away, oddly uncomfortable. "Neither should sushi pizza, and yet."
"Sushi?" Phillip said, wide-eyed, all earlier venom gone. "Pizza?"
"Ah, crap."