Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing/Characters: Golden Pair
Challenge: Present Tense-n-Hair challenge
Disclaimer: I own the equivalent of nothing.
Notes: Hello, I am n00b to fandom. (Also: pointless!)
Edit: With thanks to sub_divided for pointing a variety of errors out - thanks! :D
A Shade of Red
Eiji picks at the dark red strands of his hair, and he frowns amidst a great air of slow-growing discontent as he carefully tugs his fingers along still-damp hair. He makes a whining noise in the back of his throat, something small and petty, and flings his body back in a long-limbed shambles over Oishi's bed. "Oishi," he draws the name out, in an unhappy mess of extended syllables; Oishi sets his pen down with a sigh he won't articulate, and looks up where Eiji has one hand still in his mussed hair.
"It's getting darker," Eiji pouts, plucking a hair out and holding it out to Oishi as if the strand alone is the source of all strife, misery, and Tezuka Kunimitsus.
Oishi takes the offered strand, as he is expected to, and very seriously studies the spindle-thin coloring of its length. He is aware of Eiji's hopeful look and even more aware of the math homework they should be finishing, and says, "I don't see any difference, Eiji."
Eiji shares a deeply wounded keening sound - as if struck to the very core - and succinctly rolls off the bed. He lands on his knees and palms, all random elegance, and then flops to the floor. "It's black," he moans into the carpeting. "I'm changing colors, Oishi. Like a lizard."
Oishi pats the back of Eiji's head, comforting. "There's always cosines," he suggests, half-heartedly trying to redirect Eiji's bored display of vanity to schoolwork.
Eiji flails his hand pathetically. "I hate cosines," he says, voice muffled. Somehow, the tilt of his shoulders conveys the pout he is making into the carpet. Oishi smiles, resigned, and sets the strand of hair in the fold of his textbook.
"I'm sure they hate you, too," Oishi says, pacifying. Eiji turns his face to glare, one eye visible and squinted.
"Oishi," he complains. He twitches his hand again, pricking at the air like a tone-deaf guitarist or a spider. "You're not helping at all." He looks at the ceiling, conveying the depth of his suffering and the general agony of having a partner-best-friend unable to understand that very suffering (mainly to the plaster). "Is it fair I have to do math on a day like today?" he asks the ceiling. "Nope nope, not fair. Oishi," he flips up onto his heels in a smooth, giddy emotion, "wanna go outside?"
"Eiji," Oishi says, gently, resting a hand on Eiji's knee before he can stand up and pressing firmly down. "Homework."
Eiji sighs and slides, boneless, into a gangly sitting position. He pokes at his own textbook and stares, blank, at the page. "Oishi," he says after a moment, smiling and scratching at his band-aid, "what language is your textbook in?"
"Japanese," Oishi responds, automatic.
Eiji makes a curious 'ah' sound and shifts. "I think mine's broken," he confides after another moment. "Or in Greek."
Oishi shifts over on his elbows to glance at Eiji's paper and then at the forlorn look on his friend's face. "It's only a shade," he says.
Eiji blinks at him and tilts his head. "What?" he asks. He wrinkles his nose a little, maybe wary that this is some bizarre mathematical term he missed.
"Of red," Oishi clarifies. "Hair." And then he moves to explain the first problem.