"Miracle, miracle-" The dim witted college student repeats in a mumble, writing something half thought with his green, mechanical pencil. The led breaks in his hurry to write which seems to put the last straw on the camel's back, his work now neglected. This assignment only seemed to make him hate his literature professor, Hiroki Kamijou, even more than he already did.
The day was normal and good, a day where Misaki felt a cliché skip in his step and a whistle on his lips. Everything was going absolutely peaches and cream on this lovely spring afternoon, the scent of graduation is faint. That is, until he arrived in his literature class where Mr. Kamijou told all of his students with an already irritated sip of his coffee to "please, sit down and shut up" which was where everything fell apart.
All thirty-two students were completing a novel today. A boring romance to be exact and not one of those overly dramatic modern ones. It was derived from the Shakespeare years, probably made from the inspirative vibe that the play-write gave off to his listeners. And because half of Misaki's class refused to behave, the entire afternoon lot was punished with the duty of writing a love poem good enough to be in the book whilst completing the essay that was supposed to be assigned after the test for the novel was done(which was scheduled two days from now).
When most of the misbehaved groaned and moaned about it and how they do not possess such talent to write so much as a haiku, their ever so caring teacher rolled his eyes as he replied, "Find other poems or something to inspire you. Besides, you all are young enough to have someone you like to make a good example, so I expect them to be decent by tomorrow if you care about your grade in my class. Now, get out." The last part was said right as the bell rang loudly. He's told them that literature isn't easy.
This left the student's desk littered with the open novel, crumpled up pieces of paper, eraser crumbs, and a new blank sheet of lined paper. He was starting to get frustrated, so he declared that it was time for a quick break. The brunette stretched and spun a little in his chair, but that didn't serve him enough, so he left his bedroom that's used as an office more than anything.
Work today is cancelled, and the world seems to show it by spontaneously pouring. It's the only sound besides for the quietly ticking clock and the tired footsteps down the stairs to the kitchen and back with some soda and chips. The brunette doesn't like the silence at all, even though he knows his author is at work in his office and not lurking downstairs. He'd bring him some ice water; it's too late in the evening for coffee, he's probably smoking, and Akihiko's deadline isn't due for another two weeks so, there would be no health depleting 'all-nighters'. Misaki would do that quickly and then get back to work on the stupid poem that he'll probably half-ass his way through. The essay was done, mostly because he worked on it ahead of time to not be stuck with five pages with no double spacing to be waiting for him later.
Misaki's sighs, feeling hopeless about the poem until it dawns upon him right outside of Akihiko's lair: inspiration. Just like what the Kamijou Devil said when answering the collective complaint, to even begin to write a poem for the person who knew not, one needed to be inspired, have a good idea, and jot down their feelings. In this case, those feelings are love.
"Inspiration, huh?" Misaki shakes his head. "Like he of all people would be a good example!"
Already smelling the cigarette smoke, he knocks thrice on the door with a call of "Usagi-San!" It's silent for a couple minutes, so he rasps his knuckles again. He only gets through half a knock before the door is yanked opened unforgivingly with a dark-circled glared from Akihiko. The prim and proper author's hair is a little messy, his pink tie sloppily undone, the pale shirt untucked with the collar opened. He looks downright tired, like he'd fall asleep instantly if you gave him a pillow, and damn pissed about it.
At the mere sight of his lover, he growls low in his throat and licks his lips, almost like he's starved. Misaki opened his mouth to say something, only to be yanked harshly into the room and slammed into the door as it closed shut. He's taken over by a kiss so hard and hot enough to turn his knees into jelly as his mind blanks out. He can barely breathe in between, but he doesn't seem to care as his body slowly stops putting up a fight against him. The glass brought is thankfully not broken, but the water and ice are spilled all over the floor, as well as his soda can and bag of chips. He doesn't even remember going downstairs as his neck is being kissed and a cold hand creeping up his shirt-
"St-Stop! Usagi-san!" Misaki finally returns to his body, using both hands to shove the older man away from him. Akihiko knows he's serious; depends on his voice. It's either synonymous for more or it really means to just stop.
The author listens, halting his wrongdoing immediately. He looks at Misaki with a questioning glare; it's been nearly two weeks and they've been much too long.
"I have a paper due tomorrow, and I need to finish it. We..." The brunette looks to the floor. "...can do this later."
"Promise?" The raspy, deep voice asks. He's not easily trusting and will get what he wants. Eventually.
Misaki nods. "Yes." His face suddenly flares with a frown. "Besides, I have to molest you next time!"
The young man moves to leave(ignoring the smile on his lover's face), only to have his striped sock soak up some ice cold water. It shocks him, sending a shiver down his spine as he quickly lifts his foot to take off his sock.
"Dammit, Usagi-san! Look at the mess you made!" Misaki exclaims, picking up the empty glass, can, and bag before going to get a towel. "You could have broken the glass! Glasses are not cheap, you know."
His agitated forehead is kissed as he picks up the last item and is told, "I love you." Which in turn silences his nagging and makes his chest swell a little. He becomes irrationally angry all over again, replying with "D-Don't think you're excused just by saying that!"
When he finally returns to his already lonely desk, pencil in hand, notebook at the ready to be tattooed with lead, novel opened to the part about the miracle of finding a soulmate, he finally has a good idea to write down, his brain replaying the recent events as if to help him out. His author turned out to be a great source of inspiration as much as he hated to admit it. He's the one that's going to get him that A- or A+(if he's lucky). A silent thanks is necessary:
Heavens above do not believe in loneliness,
Good or bad do they reach out,
And sow the seeds of a miracle,
To bring all the happiness,
To those filled with doubt,
When the world becomes unbearable,
With a soulmate are you happy,
Are you an idiot,
Are you upset,
Are you caring,
Are you energetic,
Are you forever complete
The brunette breathes out, closing his notebook, and putting it, along with his pencil, in his school bag for tomorrow. It feels good to be finished and confident in the completed work(not as confident with the essay, but confident enough). Pajamas are quickly changed in and covers are tucked in for a well deserved night of rest. The author joins him a little later after finishing up a couple of chapters, still smelling like smoke and soap.
Needless to say, the Kamijou Devil lived up to his name by showing his best friend the poem. Only because he never knew that his student could be so bright and that he should know who he's dealing with...