Special delivery Title: Special delivery Author: Sasuko Rating: PG Characters: Fujiwara and Miura Warning: Mild swearing Disclaimer: Miura Ranmaru is the result of Yagami Hiroki's Dear Boys. Fandom: Dear Boys Prompt: Table 1, prompt 6, alone He found the area around the living quarters mercifully empty, and he zeroed in on a spot in the shade of a large tree. After settling himself comfortably, he took out the rolls that he had taken from the hall, took a bite and almost gagged.
The bread was dry and stale, and tasted like the work of the worst baker in history. Miura wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Che," he scoffed, "what a lousy baker."
"That's because you took the leftovers from yesterday," a voice suddenly said.
Miura started and noticed someone standing some distance away. Squinting, he recognised the newcomer as the boy that he had nearly run over in the dining hall. Great, today really wasn't his day.
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked sarcastically, venom plain in his voice. Yet Fujiwara seemed totally unfazed by it. Instead, he walked right up to Miura and sat down next to him. Almost instantly Miura scooted a little to his left to increase the distance between them, bristling like a cat while his mind churned full of thoughts of what he would do to that insolent bastard if he dared bridge the gap.
But Fujiwara did not come any closer, and instead held out a roll.
"This," he offered, "is today's produce. And that," he pointed with the roll at the rolls in Miura's hand, "is yesterday's crap."
Miura huffed and turned his head obstinately away, and took another belligerent pull at his hard bread. He chewed diligently for a while, doing his best not to turn around even when he heard a slight rustle. Minutes passed, and still silence reigned.
Two stale rolls later when still not a word passed between them, Miura let his curiosity get the better of him and allowed his head to rotate just a fraction to his right as he peered out of his periphery vision. A little white roll lay on top of a patch of checkered blue-and-white--a handkerchief, he presumed.
Scowling fiercely he said, "I don't need your lousy bread."
Still there was no reply, and the temper incited him to turn his head angrily to the right to tell the other off.
But when he turned he found only emptiness.
He was alone. Whee! After three failed attempts, I finally got something I was half-way pleased with. So here it is, prompt 6, table 1. Whoot!