✜c'mon dance, ms. DIRECTion (original) (raw)

12. Mosaic

He has been gathering magazines for the past few weeks--everything, from the most meticulous lush gardening spreads, to the brazen bronze of the call girls, to the jaded covers of the latest gossip sex gathering. Akira has been pinching them haphazardly off the stands, not even bothering with the glossy ambiguous names, and not even answering to the raised eyebrows shot his way when he tosses down his kidnapped papers to rest upon a heap of the necessities.

It may be that Kaito has yet to notice, or it may be that the colors just blend so well in the trash of an RV, a trash so daring in its flavors. Sometimes, Akira will awaken, only to thrash blindly as, yet again, Kaito has stuffed the boy’s head into the barely romantic bottoms of his flared purple jeans. Sometimes, Akira will find himself lost in the kaleidoscope of ramen cups, cups falling like the colors of the rainbow.

When Akira forgets to take his foot of the gas pedal, it is better. Kaito likes it better that way.

Once, the boy wakes to bright, screaming yellow, only to later learn, when some comprehension enters his brain at the dreaded hour of ten am, that it is a yield sign. Rolling over, he slams into two blazing red stop octagons, and then, to his fascinated exasperation, a desperate collection of scratched speed limits.

His mouth goes through a series of trials before it settles on a, "What."

Kaito does not even glance up from the newspaper. "I removed the fucking obstacles last night."

Akira sighs. Kaito has now not only proclaimed himself to be the law, but he has also begun to recreate the highway as a god so that it suited his laws the best.

At the end of the month, Akira finishes cutting out his puzzle, the purples and greens and mustards and ketchups. He leaves the mosaic up at the wheel when it is Kaito's turn to abuse the pedal, and it reads Boss, you are the cause of global warming.

They play these games.

► :: DX !!!