Title: What Will Rage Do?
Summary: Oh Rage, Rage, what will you do? You're caught in some sort of love triangle...boo hoo.
Disclaimer: I don't own DDR...Konami does...
Warning: none
Author's Note:
What Will Rage Do?
The couch was a mottled grey pattern not unlike that of a gentleman's evening sports coat with a stain here and there hinting at frequent usage. Once a uniform grey tweed, it was now smooth and the pattern was virtually unnoticeable underhand the arms were over stuffed, the left one slashed near the joining of the back, a bit of stuffing escaping like the single out of place hair in an immaculate head of hair. The back was dimpled with cloth covered buttons that were loose, but easily held against the material by the weight of a warm back or a tender pillow. The couch sagged in two places, right next to in as two young men sat upon it not speaking, staring straight ahead into the oblivion of a stark white room. There was a single door, wooden with a brass handle and a single window, thinly framed with a cracked pane, revealing a stark blue sky.
One youth spoke, his hair gelled into upward tilting spikes of defiance yet hinting at a classy sophistication.
"Rage…" he began, moving his pinkie away from the grouping of his face down palm. He wore a thin black tie under a smooth, sleek vest that melted into fitted long black pants.
"I have to talk to you…"
The other man continued to watch the door with a calm expression. It wasn't as if he was expecting something, no. His face was the mask of one an interesting television program or perhaps an iguana in a terrarium. He made no movements to indicate he'd heard the young man next to him or even that he acknowledged his presence, he simply continued to stare.
"This isn't about…dancing damn it! Look at me!" the other youth cried, his almond shaped eyes growing distressed. He looked away, then back, impulsively slapping his hand down on top of the one next to him.
Rage lifted an eyebrow and turned his head slightly to regard the hand. On top of his own tanned one, it was a pale and distant cream. He looked up into brown eyes and frowned a bit, his thin mustache following the line of his lips, giving it a more severe look.
"Rage!" Akira began again, searching cinnamon eyes, fingers yearning to runt through sienna colored hair, "Damn it Rage I'm –"
Just then, the door swung open and a tall, blond haired, blue eyed youth burst in, a desperate look on his face. He looked out of breath and when he spotted Rage on the couch he spoke, flame leather jacket jostling with his movements.
"I can't stay quiet any longer, no matter what J.C. wants! I love you Rage!"
"Rage took his hand away from Akira's and walked over to the window, his arms crossed, still silent.
What would Rage do?
つづく