A Lingering Touch (Junjou Romantica)

[7]

Hiroki moved his mug of tea away from his laptop before he spilled it. Countless nights spent on his assignments had him learn not to leave beverages in close proximity to his computer. He counted the number of times on one hand. Every single time he stopped typing he saved the document; this saved him hours of stress in typing everything over again. He had enough trouble buying a new laptop or trying to get the one he ruined fixed up before his homework was due.

The outline of his novel came out well. He thought about changing the ending when he started the actual writing process. Once he got an idea, he wrote it out before he forgot the initial points and flow, he desired for the story. Whenever he tried writing stories as a teenager, he lost his direction after he started. Unlike Akihiko who managed to write stories out of his ass after a little bit of research. Yet, he always managed to turn in his work late. Good thing he had Aikawa edging him on without budging to his whims.

Hiroki considered himself he got into the same company. Marukawa had a high rating due to their amazing mangaka and authors who pushed out stories every so often. They didn't trick their authors into low pay cuts. Hiroki looked through his contract over his pay. Aikawa assured him everything was in top order. Akihiko lasted long enough with them, and his only complaint was the deadlines.

Once he resumed typing, he took fifteen minutes intervals in between his typing so his hands wouldn't cramp up. His last instance of constant typing was through making assignments for his classes. After bouts of tendinitis, he slowed himself down. He didn't want to wear a brace over continuous amounts of moving his fingers in the same manner.

Stretched out his hands, he read what he wrote so far. He was satisfied. A nice fantasy story with a dash of drama and action. He knew Aikawa would whine over the lack of BL but he might venture into that area in a different novel to appease her. Besides, he already had a story in mind, but the characters didn't come to him. Forcing it out did nothing for his inspiration so he would wait it out.

A shiver went through his body as the wind blew inside from the open window. The weather grew colder which each passing day. Winter around the corner. This meant hot delicious drinks, warm sweaters, but also an abundance of snow. Something Hiroki enjoyed as a child but not as an adult. Memories of his cousins piling snow onto him resurfaced into his mind. He grimaced.

Nowaki phased through the wall and searched the whole room. When Hiroki gave his permission to let him enter his home, he took opportunities checking up on him. Half the time, Hiroki's attention remained on his computer. This time, Hiroki's hands rubbed his shoulders while calming music filled the room.

A mischievous grin formed on Nowaki's face as he got closer to him. He loved making Hiroki a little jumpy, the man reacted in such a funny matter. These joking times made up for his lonely times in the last few years. Almost no one ever saw him unless they were young children who still believed in the imaginary.

Nowaki lowered himself next to Hiroki's ear and exclaimed. "Hiroki-san!"

Hiroki jolted up from his spot on the floor. "Fuck! Nowaki!" Nowaki laughed as he floated next to him. "Do you have to scare me each time you come to see me? Shit.." He closed his laptop and placed his glasses on top of it. "Are you having fun trying to scare me or something?"

Nowaki pouted. "No...I wanted to get your attention. The last few times you were so focused on your laptop."

Hiroki rubbed his eyes. "I am still trying to build the foundations of my story. This is turning out longer than I expected. So, these writing sprees are really helping me flesh everything out."

"I noticed that people keep their attention on them all the time. Just like you. They either type at a fast rate or are staring at it like the television." Nowaki chuckled while he watched Hiroki rolling his shoulders. "Many people are so protective over the smallest little scratch."