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tampered2008-02-14 03:43 pm
fuckingqb.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-02-14 03:43 pm
LOG; Complete
When; February 14th, 2008
Rating; PG (language)
Characters; Anezaki Mamori [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fuckingmanager], Hiruma Yoichi [fuckingqb]
Summary; There's a bit of tension in the apartment after a rather unexpected exchange of words resulted in Mamori being more than a little irritated at Yoichi.
Log;
Under these circumstances Hiruma was not a loud typer. When he was tense, when there was too much adrenaline making his blood pump too fast, he would find himself hitting the keys on his laptop harder than he should. It was a characteristic under those certain conditions he couldn't help and didn't bother trying. But when he was calm, when he was not forced to think as fast as he was able (and faster still on some occasions), when he could let himself relax marginally, he was a fairly soft typist.
Right now, the strokes of his typing were heard very distinctly, not because he was tense; he was, but not in the same way that he was on the football field. This was a different kind of tension, borne under a heavy, almost itchy silence.
Hiruma's shoulder twitched and he glanced over the top of his laptop screen at the woman in the kitchen. His gaze didn't linger, going back to his work despite the almost impatient prickling in his fingertips.
Rating; PG (language)
Characters; Anezaki Mamori [
fuckingmanager], Hiruma Yoichi [fuckingqb]Summary; There's a bit of tension in the apartment after a rather unexpected exchange of words resulted in Mamori being more than a little irritated at Yoichi.
Log;
Under these circumstances Hiruma was not a loud typer. When he was tense, when there was too much adrenaline making his blood pump too fast, he would find himself hitting the keys on his laptop harder than he should. It was a characteristic under those certain conditions he couldn't help and didn't bother trying. But when he was calm, when he was not forced to think as fast as he was able (and faster still on some occasions), when he could let himself relax marginally, he was a fairly soft typist.
Right now, the strokes of his typing were heard very distinctly, not because he was tense; he was, but not in the same way that he was on the football field. This was a different kind of tension, borne under a heavy, almost itchy silence.
Hiruma's shoulder twitched and he glanced over the top of his laptop screen at the woman in the kitchen. His gaze didn't linger, going back to his work despite the almost impatient prickling in his fingertips.