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Dawn had broken over the Cypton headquarters, filling the room with a muted blue light. Shadows criss-crossed over a small network of mess in the room, a mess that would signal the occupancy of any average teenager-snack wrappings, photographs thumbtacked to a corkboard, a small pile of dirty clothes which was beginning to take over the far corner of the room. There were a few unusual things-a set of headphones which glowed a soft yellow, a scribbled note which read ‘ALL HAIL THE RAT KING’ in proud letters (a momento from his counterpart, Rin), and a fairly high collection of CDs, most of them featuring himself.
Len’s attention, however, was currently focused on his computer screen, the afterburn emphasising his defeated and tired expression. Answering fainmail was a prerequisite to his PA, and sometimes it was downright fun. But other times, you got messages like this one.
A note from someone with the username lenslussy69, stating “Len give me ur spit.”
He sighed.
What the literal fuck was that even supposed to mean? Spit? Like, all the saliva he had? How was he supposed to eat. But, of course, he was (unfortunately) familliar with the connentation. His best choice would be to ignore it, but instead, he found himself typing out a perfectly reasonable response.
“Just think literally once before u speak”
Send. Fair enough.
Len leaned back in his chair, the spine of which creaked as he did so. He’d jokingly posted a ‘rate my setup’ thing with his busted looking chair and monitor, and had quickly been spammed by Miku who deemed his vibes rancid. Truth be told, he would probably do well to invest in a new chair soon, but his free time was becoming increasingly limited. Their producer had, for some reason, gotten hit with inspiration lately. That was good, because he got to sing and spend time with Rin and the others, but less so when you actually wanted free time to play Minecraft in peace.
And speaking off, a glance at his clock informed him that they had about an hour to be up and ready to go for the next recording session. Getting Rin up seemed to have become his task personally, not that he resented it. It was just something he did, the same way that tying his hair back for him was something she did.
Rin’s room was considerably more organized than his was, if not significantly girlier. How someone could fit that many stuffed things on their bed was an anomaly he couldn’t entirely understand, but he’d long since stopped questioning it. Presently, as he peeked in the doorway, the top of Rin’s head was the only visible aspect of her. The rest was buried inder blankets.
“Hey. Loser.”
His voice was casual, and of course he was met with no response. He picked up a small stuffed cat from the floor and tossed it at her head. It bounced off in a satisfying sort of way.
“C’mon, thots don’t get sleeping rights.”
That, at least, elicited a response, as Rin lifted her head just enough to shot him a dirty glare.
“Someday,” she replied, her voice still muddy with sleep, “I will die, and then you will realize.”
He wasn’t going to bother making sense of that one. Len approached to sit down at the edge of her bed. “If you want to have even a small shot of getting your hair together, you’ve gotta get up now.”
That prompted Rin to sit up and, as Len had alluded to, her bangs were nothing short of a mess. Apparently the trait of having bangs which defied the laws of gravity was shared between the two of them, though Rin negated that by use of extensive hairclips. “If you think I’m going out in public looking like you, think again.” Rin said thought a yawn.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
She lightly shoved his shoulder in response. “You know exactly what it means. Dragon ball Z lookin’ ass.”
It was potentially difficult to believe, upon first glance, that the two of them shared anything more than a general animosity. The jokes between them were constant, as were the shallow insults. But this was also the person, Len remembered, who had appeared genuinely distraught during a platform interview when asked if she’d ever consider breaking up their duo entirely. ‘I get weird when I don’t see him at breakfast, even,’ she’d said. ‘We’re...You know, a team.’
And that, of course, was that.