Work Text:
Isagani thinks there’s something wrong with his laptop. Right now, he sits with his legs crossed, device on his lap and it’s so fucking bright that it almost completely overpowers his surroundings, coloring his peripheral vision near black.
For some reason, he can’t adjust the brightness, manually or otherwise. He settles with it (because he doesn’t really have any other choice) and hovers his hands over the keyboard. He clicks one random key, and then another, and another. Until…
jdkwalpwsdt
Isagani thinks there’s something wrong with him. Is he losing brain cells? The university is in suspension for a whole week, and he thought that now would be the perfect time to reconnect with his creativity. The document isn’t the only thing that’s blank; his mind is, too.
Writer’s block.
A weight shifts beside him, then a grunt. A musky scent fills his nose, but also something fresh like mint. Isagani completely forgot Zoro was there beside him.
“What the heck are you doing now?” It’s more of an expression than a question, so Isagani doesn’t bother answering. “Why do you have so many tabs open?”
An online dictionary here, his Facebook account there. A random Youtube video, three more tabs about medieval history, and finally, his blank document.
“I am writing.” Isagani replies. Maybe if he said it like it was already happening, ideas would come to him. Quote whoever psychiatrist that said that.
(He isn’t quite sure if anyone ever said it at all. He vaguely remembers his dad, who isn’t a psychiatrist, say it a few times when Isagani was 8.)
“Writing what?” Zoro says, reaching over to turn the laptop towards him. He snatches it eventually and puts it on his own lap. He squints, looks closely, as if he’ll find a good ass plot if he stared long enough.
“Writing. I’m not done.” Isagani tries to retrieve his laptop, but Zoro pushes his hands away. Isagani is secretly glad; he can feel a headache coming on and the familiar taste of dehydration on the roof of his mouth.
“I don’t think you’ll be done anytime soon.” Zoro closes (slams) the laptop shut (Isagani nearly smacks him.) “You called me here to watch.”
“Watch me write,” Isagani chuckles as Zoro swats his legs away to look for the remote control underneath thick sheets.
“Right. I want a different movie.”
“Wanted.”
“Again?” Zoro grumbles.
“What? James McAvoy is—“
“Hot. Yeah, you said that last week and the week before that.”
“He is,” Isagani furrows his eyebrows, like a child telling the truth but being told off for seemingly lying.
“Shut up.” Zoro sets the remote control on the nightstand next to him and roughly pulls the blankets on top both of them. Isagani doesn’t even know what movie he chose and he spaces out through the Netflix intro and the majority of the starting credits. He sees subtitles, reads them, but doesn’t register what they mean.
“Yeah, I’m definitely going dumb.” He thinks out loud. Zoro glances at him but says nothing. Only wraps a thick arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, until they’re flush together. “I need to start working, I made a deadline for myself.”
“Uh-huh,” Zoro absentmindedly acknowledges him in a whatever-you-say way. Isagani rolls his eyes. He needs productivity, not relaxation. The feeling of guilt curls around his mind, but Zoro’s hand threads its way behind his head, lightly scratching at his scalp, before his callused fingers end at the shell of Isagani’s ear, tracing.
Oh. Isagani pauses, processes the sensation. Eventually, he lets his head drop to Zoro’s shoulder and Zoro makes a faint satisfied sound in the back of his throat.
Well. Maybe a little guilty pleasure wasn’t so bad after all.