ink & graphite - z.m.
  • Reads 10,546
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  • Parts 2
  • Time 9m
  • Reads 10,546
  • Votes 442
  • Parts 2
  • Time 9m
Ongoing, First published Apr 29, 2014
❝He drew in ink and she drew in graphite.❞

"Oh fuck," he muttered as he traced his fingers carefully over the rough lines which were drawn with dark graphite on the snow white paper.

And in the other end of London you could hear a girl mutter the same thing but instead she traced her index finger over more delicate sketches in nothing but black ink.

-x-

story idea by indiehaz


All Rights Reserved 2014 
© arietem
All Rights Reserved
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The train station was relatively quiet, save for the occasional chime announcing an approaching train and the soft murmurs of people waiting on the platform. Tsukishima Kei adjusted the earmuffs around his ears, his breath visible in the cold winter air. He sat on the bench, peeling open the wrapper of his snack with little thought, his golden eyes half-lidded in boredom. This was just another ordinary evening-nothing special. That was until he saw her. A female student rushed past him, her dark raven hair swaying behind her like silk caught in the wind. The dim station lights reflected in her eyes, making them gleam as she hurried along. The soft fabric of her scarf fluttered as she moved, her posture tense, as if she were trying to catch something-or perhaps avoid something. For just a second, everything else seemed to slow. The noise of the station, the cold biting at his fingertips, even the warmth of the snack in his hand-it all faded into the background. Tsukishima didn't believe in that ridiculous "slow-motion" effect people always talked about. That kind of thing only happened in movies, right? But now, as his sharp gaze followed her, he couldn't deny that it felt real. Clicking his tongue softly, he averted his eyes, annoyed at himself for even thinking about it. "Tch. How stupid," he muttered under his breath. He took a bite of his snack, pretending as if nothing had happened. But somehow, his fingers gripped the wrapper a little tighter, and he found himself unconsciously glancing back in her direction. Just who was she?
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"Wait!" She yanked at her arm, but he just tightened his grip and stepped closer to her. "You...? You're the girl from last night?" Even though she had already acted guilty, she still attempted to maintain a straight and innocent face. "What girl? What are you talking about?" He paused for a second, his eyes roaming her face with such intensity that she squirmed and blushed under his piercing gaze. "You're lying," he decided with narrowed eyes. She finally ripped her arm from his grasp and growled, "What's it matter to you, anyway?" He didn't seem to have an answer for that, and his hand immediately sought out the back of his neck in sheepish unease. "I...Look I didn't mean to scare you away last night," he finally settled on. He dropped his raised arm, and shoved both of his hands deep in his jean pockets. She couldn't help but notice that a slight tinge of red covered his high cheekbones. Beverly crossed her arms, and replied, "You didn't." "Well then why'd you run?" **** Sometimes he can't sleep. Sometimes she paints the town. On the one night that Beverly Banks and Landon Ford bump into each other, they realize that they don't always have to wander the 2 AM streets alone. Sometimes they like to have company. Sometimes they hold hands under the glow of flickering lampposts. Sometimes they cling to each other. Sometimes their love is so vibrant, even the walls color. Three-shot.