Fisheye

shot 00


It had been an inoffensive enough day for early autumn. The sun had waxed and waned in between wispy grey clouds all day, providing a lazy sort of warmth for passerby to soak in as they bustled along. Presently, in an innocuous, empty cul de sac, two young men were stationed in front of a plain house. One of the young men was scowling so prominently that his face seemed liable to be permanently affixed as such, while the other held a compact camera just below his line of sight.

"Mr. Kagami, a little to the left. Please."

"Don't be so fucking formal," Kagami snapped back, but his tone was devoid of any true malevolence. "Kuroko, can we take a break? We've been at this shit for hours."

"Thirty minutes," Kuroko corrected mildly, and Kagami bared his teeth at him in a distinctly feral manner. "That's not a good look for you, Mr. Kagami."

"Shut up. And for the hundredth time, it's just Kagami, damn it!"

With a faint trace of a smile, Kuroko lowered the camera, and Kagami immediately dropped his pose to stretched languidly. He was a lean, sun-kissed young man, with a perpetually ravenous look to his amber eyes, and his long, athletic legs always looked ready to sprint around a mile and back at any moment. Kagami exuded wildness, like a poorly-fettered tiger prone to lash out at the slightest attempt of restraint. In comparison, the slender, porcelain Kuroko was a docile, sleepy house cat - the two were a fascinating juxtaposition to behold.

"What is it?" Kagami grumbled awkwardly when the photographer's dead gaze had been fixed on his form for longer than a casual glance would entail. "Is there something on my face, or what?"

"No." Kuroko let his eyes drop to his camera as the taller man stooped his shoulders to scrutinize the smaller man's face. "It isn't anything in particular." To an onlooker, Kagami entirely dwarfed Kuroko, whose small stature did not help to negate his almost ghostly presence.

"You're always too pensive," Kagami said with a growl, and the photographer gave a shrug of his skinny shoulders.

"Thinking isn't a bad thing, you know."

"That sounds like a shitty, roundabout way of insulting me."

Kuroko did not reply, a teasing quirk lifting the corners of his lips, and Kagami stalked out of the vacant asphalt street to sit on the curb. He propped his elbows on his knees as he absently flexed his long fingers, yawning widely as he did so. "Why a street shot?" he asked, watching grey wisps lazily float across the yellowing sky. "We could've green screened at Riko's studio or something if you didn't need me long - "

The photographer interrupted Kagami's mid-sentence without batting an eyelash. "Because this is a fitting environment for you," he said easily, fiddling with his lens.

"Fitting," Kagami repeated flatly as he gave Kuroko the hairy eyeball. "Are you tryin' to say something here?"

"Yes." He was unabashed. "Mr. Kagami fits right in with a street. Streets see many things. They've watched many people go in and away from it. Perhaps they've been paved again after wear and tear. And despite that, the street stays the same, with all its old bends and turns."

The redhead gave Kuroko a furtive, heated glance before averting his eyes, but the two angry red spots on his cheekbones gave him away. Kuroko was usually a quiet person with a decidely melancholic air - but whenever he became talkative on a whim, he had a way of talking in an oddly sentimental manner that always made Kagami feel bashful.

"You're freaking weird," he grumbled instead, not meeting the photographer's probing eyes.

A sudden flash had Kagami jerking his head up to see Kuroko armed with a vague, almost smile that just ghosted over his lips. He observed the resulting picture with an unspoken satisfaction before looking up to gaze at Kagami.

"So I have been told."


There was something about wheeling a bike along a silent sidewalk that inspired a feeling of isolation from the rest of the world. Kuroko, however, felt far more meditative than detached, his mind a crystal clear pool. It was almost a storybook setting, with the sun's rays caressing his back as he trudged along under a dying sky, the birds chirping their warbling farewells to the fading light as a flurry of tawny leaves cascaded from the arms of slumbering trees.

Kagami had run off hastily to one of his many part-time jobs, and he had left the petite photographer on the ditched street with an excess of reluctance. It had left Kuroko time to complete his other tasks for the day in solemn peace. With a surprising amount of deftness, he mounted his bicycle and took off at a steady pace. As he pedaled from the fringe of the city into the inner parts of Seiren, the landscape gradually converged from sparse suburban homes to tightly stacked rows of apartments and strip malls. The streets hummed with the remnants of rush hour, cars whizzing past him periodically as he continued pedaling with an admirable sort of determination.

By the time he pulled in front of a quaint studio, barely alight with a cheap florescent sign that flickered Seirin Snaps weakly in the dusk of the evening, he was panting for breath. With a mild stagger in his step, he entered through the doorway, a light jingle accompanying his quiet footfalls. "Good evening, Riko."

"Kuroko?" A woman with a boyish frame emerged from one of the back rooms, an armful of folders and papers balanced precariously on her forearm. Her face was unorthodoxly striking, with sharp, inquisitive eyes and far softer cheekbones. She had a discomfiting aura that straddled the line between casual and formal, with a starkly white bandanna tied snugly around a slender wrist, skinny jeans and a crisp, white pop collar shirt. Riko Aida was perfectly summated in her fashion - a mix of strict professionalism and easy casualness.

"You've got goods?" she asked lightly, but her expression was expectant.

"Yes," was his quiet reply, and she set the papers down on a desk in a majestic heap. She held out a hand expectantly, and he forked over his camera. She thumbed through the pictures with an intimidating intensity before she finally allowed a smile to grace her lips.

"Your backgrounds are as fitting as ever," Riko observed, "Kagamoron looks right at home." She reached out a deceptively slender hand to heartily clasp Kuroko's shoulder. "This is why I know I can trust you with - "

"Riko!" A spectacled, frazzled man rushed out of his cramped office, his face a portrait of raw excitement as he raked trembling fingers through his dark hair. The woman in question let out a strangled cry, a mix of indignation and girlish surprise, before she quickly regained her composure. "I have great news - "

"Mr. Hyuuga - " she seethed, her voice rising with every syllable.

"Ma'am," he hastily interrupted the inevitable tirade, "we've actually gotten word back from the Kaijou Company! A-About your proposition!"

Riko blinked owlishly before roughly grabbing hold of Hyuuga's earlobe. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she demanded, giving it a hard yank. "What was the verdict?"

"Approval. Ouch."

Without a pause in her step, she swiveled around like a mechanical doll, releasing Hyuuga's abused ear to smile at Kuroko - much like a feline would bare its teeth at a sumptuous mouse. "Kuroko, I believe have a job for you."

"Job?" Kuroko usually just volunteered at Seirin Snaps to garner personal experience, but a few extra coins to pocket were never anying to sniff at. Riko smirked knowingly as she noted a spark leap in Kuroko's tranquil gaze - her vigor was practically contagious.

"Yes. I've arranged for you to be able to attend a photoshoot with some A-list Kaijou models for an entire hour. But by God, make sure you pay attention to any slips of info they might be blabbing about."

"Riko - " Hyuuga tried.

"You know I love hot stories even more than juicy photos, right Kuroko?" she cooed, and he couldn't help suppressing a small shiver. "I'll be counting on you."

"Riko," Hyuuga finally cut in, "they want him over by 10 o'clock tomorrow morning." He gave Kuroko a grimace. "You're not going to be the only non-Kaijou photographer there, unfortunately."

"Competition, hmm? That makes me excited! A chance of garnering close snapshots of Kise Ryōta to the highest bidding magazines – or tabloids!" Her face was dreamy as she sighed contentedly, "our name recognition would skyrocket!"

She abruptly donned a serious expression, fixing Kuroko with a meaningful stare. "You've really have to do your best during this shoot. Stand out with your phenomenal photo-shooting style!"

Kuroko gave her a dutiful nod. "Yes."

Seirin Snaps hadn't been a successful photography studio since her father's time in the family business several, several years ago, but from the way she went about running the tiny place, one would think Seirin was the end-all-be-all. The diligence with which Riko kept the small business aloft was nothing short of igniting, and perhaps it was for that reason that the directionless young man kept coming by the studio even when the pay was infrequent and minimal.

"There will be a lot of models there as well other than Kise," she continued, "so feel free to focus on them a little, too. However, the star of the shoot is undoubtedly him. Make sure you get some decent shots."

"I will do my best," he replied with a bow of his head.

"Be here at nine o' clock sharp tomorrow, or there'll be hell to pay," she added with grim aplomb, but her smile was playful. "Have a good night, Kuroko."


Kuroko's apartment was an indiscernible blend of both tidy and unruly. His dusty textbooks, a vestige of two semesters past, were neatly arranged on a shelf, but discarded photos lay strewn about his work desk. He gingerly stepped through the polaroid sea to make his way to the small kitchen, where his tidied dishes and plates were stacked away smartly. As he opened the fridge, however, the strange, dark concoctions entrapped within a myriad of countless plastic containers sharply contrasted with the otherwise clean kitchen.

As his stomach grumbled, he reached for a stored dish that looked like fat tentacles. He couldn't quite remember where he had nabbed the food from - all mattered at the moment was that it was more or less edible.

After adequately heating his mystery food, he settled on his work chair and turned to his dormant laptop. Searching Kise Ryōta instantly brought up video after video, and after a moment's deliberation, he clicked on a particularly popular interview. The model's face was a portrait of perfection – a blindingly bright, sultry smile that crinkled golden eyes and brought out high cheekbones. His voice was like fresh honey, dripping with a magnanimous amount of excited eagerness that couldn't possibly fit into one human being.

"Mr. Ryōta - "

"Please. Call me Kise. Everyone should." The words rolled off his tongue like drops of sugar.

"O-Okay, Kise. What drove you to become a model?"

"Oh, that's a good question. I - " there was a falter, ever so slight, in the model's voice, that was unperceivable to the average watcher, " - I just got the luck of the draw, I suppose! I wasn't really looking to be a model, but here I am!"

"I see. Do you have any advice do you have for those interested in your line of work?"

"You should be positive," Kise replied easily, "and look good; always put your best foot forward. Even then, though, scouting is kind of like roulette, you know? Beauty's in the eye of the beholders!"

"Interesting." Kuroko slurped up a tentacle as his eyes remained trained on Kise's every facial contortion. Each inflection was carefully documented away in his head, and every twitch of the lips or flutter of long lashes did not go unnoticed. "Kise Ryōta. A Miracle model." He paused in eating to glance at his camera. "Exhausting."

"Kise, what beauty tips do you swear by?"

"Well, a model can never share all their secrets, but I suppose I can afford to spare you a few tips!" Kise turned away from the interviewer, his eyelids lowered coquettishly as he gazed at the camera. His eyes were smoldering gold coins, and his smile was lazy, but something stirred under his easy expressions. It was hunger, barely masked by practice smiles and skin-deep glory.

For as long as Kuroko still stirred, Kise Ryōta was his textbook. And the more he watched, the more potent he found the web of silky charisma that Kise wove so naturally. People stared at him the way dying men looked at water, like he was a piece of aromatic, succulent meat. Worshipping his body and face with slow-sweeping gazes and quiet murmurs addled with unabashed lust. His flawless skin, his full, quirking mouth, his baritone hum with a soft edge of gravel.

This golden boy was Kuroko's target.

He wondered to himself, as his head grew too heavy to prop up and his lids gradually fluttered shut of their own accord, if it was possible to see through the radiance of a star.


I've decided to rewrite this fic. I'll be posting updates to A03 first, but I'll also update the fic here.

Feedback is always appreciated!