"Then you smile again
But you're looking at me as if there's something I'm supposed to say."
--Barenaked Ladies, "Blame It On Me"
Darkness coiled under the door, cobwebby fingers the same shade of black as a violent storm front. It trickled across the floor and puddled beneath the desk; it was eerily silent, and so was its master.
He had a tendency to stand very straight when he was upset; there was a muscle at the corner of his mouth that went rigid. It changed his entire expression, the way a shift in lighting changed the shapes of objects in paintings. He was perfectly composed in his anger, and while it could be frightening, it was also frustrating.
"You have been here all night," he said slowly, "and if you cause one more minor explosion, Terazuma-san is going to call security and have you physically removed from the building."
Watari felt the frustration rise and grow hot in his palms; a lack of sleep or of significant progress on his experiment had eaten at his temper, and Tatsumi's expressionless tone was pushing him to a precarious limit. He'd been up all night, and he knew he wasn't doing well--he'd been trying to make a mess of chemicals do something all night, and they had steadfastly refused to behave in a manner that produced anything remotely like good results. At one point, he could fuzzily recall, he'd slammed a hand on his desk and thought science is messing with me, the bitch.
"Just leave me alone and let me finish, okay?"
"You need to put this down and come back to it later," Tatsumi said, just as calmly as before.
He had chemicals and glass and anger; Tatsumi stood before him like a block of marble, and at that moment he forgot the sex and the stupid jokes and the feeling of long hands in his hair. A sculptor could not make anything of value, could not communicate, without driving a chisel hard into pure smoothness and splitting stone.
"Because either way it's a stupid waste of time, in your precious opinion," Watari snapped, "and you want me to cut it out and go home."
The silence that followed was slight, a sliver of time barely less than a heartbeat, but it was as distinct as a slap.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to."
"You're being childish--"
"--and you're the goddamn grownup all the time, huh?"
That muscle at the corner of Tatsumi's mouth tightened further; something went flat behind his eyes. "I am going to give you ten minutes to put away your equipment and clock out before I give Terazuma-san permission to call security."
Watari felt the comment forming, hot and barbed, on his tongue--and then the voice slashed through his thoughts like a sudden spike of shadow.
"Yutaka. Go home right now."
He felt his eyes widen and his heart thud like a slow lead machine in his chest. He'd heard Tatsumi shout, and he'd heard him scream; he had never heard this before. The tone had bubbled up from somewhere at the base of his spine, and the force behind it was like steel and stone and dark water swallowing ships.
It was like gravity, and it pulled him back to earth.
Dazed, he moved to put away his equipment. Within seven minutes he was stumbling out into the street, blinking at sunshine and nearly reeling under the force of a headache.
He wasn't sure how he got to bed. What he did remember, when he woke up in the cool black of midnight, was that he'd dreamed of breaking an entire rack of flasks and watching chemicals spread across a white floor, coming together at last in bizarre synergy so that the shattered glass at his feet shimmered the same deep blue as a summer sky.
But you're looking at me as if there's something I'm supposed to say."
--Barenaked Ladies, "Blame It On Me"
Darkness coiled under the door, cobwebby fingers the same shade of black as a violent storm front. It trickled across the floor and puddled beneath the desk; it was eerily silent, and so was its master.
He had a tendency to stand very straight when he was upset; there was a muscle at the corner of his mouth that went rigid. It changed his entire expression, the way a shift in lighting changed the shapes of objects in paintings. He was perfectly composed in his anger, and while it could be frightening, it was also frustrating.
"You have been here all night," he said slowly, "and if you cause one more minor explosion, Terazuma-san is going to call security and have you physically removed from the building."
Watari felt the frustration rise and grow hot in his palms; a lack of sleep or of significant progress on his experiment had eaten at his temper, and Tatsumi's expressionless tone was pushing him to a precarious limit. He'd been up all night, and he knew he wasn't doing well--he'd been trying to make a mess of chemicals do something all night, and they had steadfastly refused to behave in a manner that produced anything remotely like good results. At one point, he could fuzzily recall, he'd slammed a hand on his desk and thought science is messing with me, the bitch.
"Just leave me alone and let me finish, okay?"
"You need to put this down and come back to it later," Tatsumi said, just as calmly as before.
He had chemicals and glass and anger; Tatsumi stood before him like a block of marble, and at that moment he forgot the sex and the stupid jokes and the feeling of long hands in his hair. A sculptor could not make anything of value, could not communicate, without driving a chisel hard into pure smoothness and splitting stone.
"Because either way it's a stupid waste of time, in your precious opinion," Watari snapped, "and you want me to cut it out and go home."
The silence that followed was slight, a sliver of time barely less than a heartbeat, but it was as distinct as a slap.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to."
"You're being childish--"
"--and you're the goddamn grownup all the time, huh?"
That muscle at the corner of Tatsumi's mouth tightened further; something went flat behind his eyes. "I am going to give you ten minutes to put away your equipment and clock out before I give Terazuma-san permission to call security."
Watari felt the comment forming, hot and barbed, on his tongue--and then the voice slashed through his thoughts like a sudden spike of shadow.
"Yutaka. Go home right now."
He felt his eyes widen and his heart thud like a slow lead machine in his chest. He'd heard Tatsumi shout, and he'd heard him scream; he had never heard this before. The tone had bubbled up from somewhere at the base of his spine, and the force behind it was like steel and stone and dark water swallowing ships.
It was like gravity, and it pulled him back to earth.
Dazed, he moved to put away his equipment. Within seven minutes he was stumbling out into the street, blinking at sunshine and nearly reeling under the force of a headache.
He wasn't sure how he got to bed. What he did remember, when he woke up in the cool black of midnight, was that he'd dreamed of breaking an entire rack of flasks and watching chemicals spread across a white floor, coming together at last in bizarre synergy so that the shattered glass at his feet shimmered the same deep blue as a summer sky.