Work Text:
A canva stood out after Ojima, along with a couple of paint brushes that were stained with certain colors, skilled fingers that swayed around the canva to create such a piece— a sweet but also an annoying buzzing to the ears played around his mind, which was Hiroaki's painful... PAINFUL statements that made Ojima swore he'd give up by now, though— he isn't one to give up so easily. Ojima's blue orbs focused on the canva and Hiroaki as he finished on the painting. After all, Hiroaki is his muse.
Time passed by quickly with the gentle strokes of Ojima's paint brushes while Hiroaki still went on and blabbling about how high he is in the fashion word or either it was about a group of fashion designers he held conflict against. Yup, this is definitely the Hiroaki Nakamigawa Ojima knows and everybody hates. There was something about Hiroaki that made the midnight blue haired guy quite… Confuzzled. How could the Ultimate illustrator put this within words? He completely stopped brushing on the canva as he stared blankly into space as Hiroaki yapped.
"I designed TONS of clothings and they don't even recognize ME?! pfft- I am important and they should know that—" The brunette cuts his own words off by the scene. "...Takeshi?" he muttered, he sighed and clicked the top of his tongue. He was not at all shocked, this isn't rare either way. Hiroaki coughed into the palm of his hand and snapped his fingers with arrogance to get the full consciousness of Ojima who was dissociating, once again.
"Takeshi! ahem— Takeshi!"
Simple but loud gestures by Hiroaki was how Ojima wakes up to reality in just a matter of seconds. Ojima flinched, "Huh? Oh, right." the blue locked hair man fixed his glasses, sighing when he grabbed a tube of paint to squeeze a bit of it. The brunette felt odd on how Ojima had been quiet for some reason, due to how concern pushed him— He spoke up again but with his god who knows... Annoying tone, a tone everybody was sick of.
"Are you finally done with the piece? you know... I've been told many- MANY times that I look like a model!" Hiroaki bluffed, his hands moving and exagerrating such movements. Showing off his pride and how loved he is by fans of his designs. You could take a glance at Ojima and notice how exhausted he is from Hiroaki's bullshit… "Nakamigawa, stop moving." he demanded, another sigh from him escaped and that turned Hiroaki to next level of being a total brat. Hiroaki changed his pose to turn to Ojima and open his crazy mouth once again. "Well maybe be FASTER, O-ji-ma. I can't be THAT ugly for you to paint me so slow, no no... I'm NEVER ugly! Even the concept of uglyness makes me... eugh..!" The brunette yelled and shook his head with complainment, he sounded more demanding than the poor lil Ojima. Before another complaint by Hiroaki could go running around Ojima's head like a fly buzzing. He, Ojima Takeshi had enough.
A sudden loud scrape squeaked and filled in the room, in just a blink of an eye— In just how a bird moves so fast… He stood there infront of the brunette, Ojima's hands that were tainted with paint were on Hiroaki's waist, holding him stern and forcefully. A few mumbles brushed off, Hiroaki was filled with surprise to the point his red shades had fell. Clattering onto the floor, a rushing tone that sounded like a middle highschool guy squirming.
"Huh-Ah–Take- TAKESHI! What are you!?—"
The Ultimate Fashion Designer was now held by the Ultimate illustrator, in just calm ease. Ojima didn't look or sounded as bothered. "Shut up, I'm changing your pose, so tilt your torso over here." The swift and hard movement to fix the fashion designer's pose just as it was before, it kinda felt... Weird, the air had already thickened due to how close they are. It's strange how close of a relationship as 'friends', they are. This whole fact just made Hiroaki slightly flushed. His body tilting and swaying to the correct pose, and how Ojima just likes it.
Hiroaki tried his best to build some confidence and pride again to actually start a conversation, despite being under the touch of his 'friend'. No, does he even consider him as a friend? "A-Ahem— So, what were you thinking about earlier?" He shuffled, catching Ojima's attention though his blue eyes did not meet up with the brunette's eyes. Ojima took some time to answer, his hand resting on Hiroaki's wrist. Eventually replied with his usual, normal tone. "...Just something." He gave in but not too much. "Well, what KIND of something?" He shot Ojima a glance and quite a quick response, Hiroaki sounded nosy as ever.
"Well, uh..." Ojima hummed for a bit and so did Hiroaki, but both of them still did not bother to look at eachother, not even containing eye contact will help. They were stuck in an awkward position, Ojima fixed Hiroaki's posture and leg position as he finally... FINALLY took the courage to speak.
"Uh, well uh... It's- it's about your—"
"G-GHRAH!— E-Eugh... HOLD ON!"
A startled shriek flew out, not surprisingly... It was Hiroaki who shrieked like a mad man.
"You got PAINT on MY clothes! THE DESIGNS I made!" he grumbled, well that's one way to stop a conversation... Ojima had thought, Ojima on the other hand found himself touching Hiroaki's waist... Once again. He couldn't help but stifle a slight smile, confusion grew louder for Hiroaki although he was too focused on making a big amount of fuss to the point he did not hear a single word Ojima was about to splutter, hell— he didn't even notice Ojima was touching his waist again unconsciously.
The Ultimate illustrator groaned out a little while hearing the Ultimate Fashion Designer whine, whine, whine.
"I could uh, toss that in the washer... Stop complaining, my hands are dirty aswell." Ojima quickly interrupts before Hiroaki could whine again, his hands were already off… Sadly.
"As you should huhuha!— wait, I am NOT complaining!?" Ojima had heard from Hiroaki, after that he could just hear the brunette fuming with arrogance. Wow, such a shocker. Ojima had sat down on his stool again, admiring the painting he had lay out of Hiroaki… And, god. He is somehow breathtaking, his eyes always dazzled with smugness, it almost made him… Head over heels and at the same time exhausted, that's what Ojima was so afraid to say. But either way, if he gave in and accidentally shutted Hiroaki with a kiss and a side of 'I love you.', Ojima would never regret it.
Ojima blinks, his gaze set back from the painting and the fashion designer, Hiroaki, who posed so confidently.
'Please, never... Ever… Cut ties with me when this ends.' Ojima could only hope for his good, dearest 'friend' to stay.