The Book Of IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:Vale, and ZOOL Oneshots

IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:Vale, and ŹOOĻ (No Relationship)

Down a little path that nearly no one uses is a small building. Not even a building, really, just four walled rooms and a roof covered in ivy and honeysuckle vines. Despite its quiet surroundings, the inside is anything but.

It is the very definition of energy.

In the first room, which is surely the largest room, there are five people. Boys, really. All doing their own things, and even if they were silent, the energy around them certainly wouldn’t be.

On a black leather loveseat there is a pair of boys, certainly twins - they look so much alike it’s impossible that they’re not. Both have a book in their hands, completely engrossed in their reading. Their shoulders touch, pressed together as both twins tangle unseen below a blanket.

In the same room but off to the side, three people sit at a table pushed against the wall. In no way are these three blood-related, but nonetheless they have much to converse about. Spread out on the table are half-finished music sheets and the accompanying half-written lyrics, as well as pencils and pens and erasers and white-out. Many of the papers have words or parts crossed out or erased and written over or whited out. The three converse and laugh quietly, discussing the papers laid out. Occasionally hands will reach out to write something new or go over something old.

In this room there is no one else but these five, but there is evidence of others. In one corner there are half-finished works of paint and pencil, crumpled balls of paper and tubes of paper and pencils and paint everywhere. Pushed against two of the walls - not the one with the three’s table, of course - are floor-to-ceiling shelves. Mostly they are filled with books, but there are also small framed photos and treasured knickknacks. In a wide circle around the room are various couches and loveseats and armchairs, including the loveseat the twins have taken, evenly spaced apart. Haphazardly scattered all over the seats are pillows and cushions and blankets and sweaters and hoodies. This is a lived-in, loved space.

In the second room there are five people as well. It is a kitchen, with two sinks and a stove and an oven and two microwaves. There is a large table, but definitely not large enough to accommodate everyone. There is a counter and stools, and if everyone squished together, perhaps they’d all fit. There is also a pantry and a refrigerator and baskets of fruit and utensils and stacks of bowls and plates and cups. All over the walls are framed photos, each very different and unique and filled with love.

At the counter is a boy baking. His practiced movements are enough to call him an expert, if not a professional. He is wearing an apron over his clothes with his hair clipped back with hair clips. He stops mixing and pours the batter in the bowl into a circular tray. Standing on his toes, he pushes it into the oven and takes out another tray, this time with contents fully done. He sets it to cool, chatting with his companions.

Another boy at the counter holds a bag full of frosting. Although him and the baking boy look nothing alike, they are brothers. Despite being substantially shorter, the boy baking is the elder. The one at the counter looks over his shoulder, making sure no one is watching him before resuming decorating. It is his personal mission to make sure the baked goods are as adorable as possible, but he is the type who hides it rather than admits it. As it is, the colourful array of decorative and edible garnishes spread out around him are enough to give him away.

Their third companion towers over them both - he’s just very naturally tall. The apron he’s wearing, though, matches the one the boy baking is wearing, and his hair is also pinned back with hair clips, giving him a homely looks. However, most girls and women would faint at the sight of him. He stands at the stove, humming and stirring the contents of a large pot. He happily chats with the boy baking about any topic that comes to mind. It’s quite a sight, the tallest and the shortest talking together. However, the both of them have one thing in common: they are elder brothers. However, the cooking boy’s brothers are far off.

The last two people in the kitchen are hiding in the pantry. The first, the taller boy, is currently blissfully eating a jar of pudding. There are more unopened jars in a pile next to him, and even more empty jars surrounding him. He was lucky to have snagged all the pudding from the fridge before anyone noticed. He’s too busy with his pudding to notice the boy next to him glaring through a crack in the door.

The boy glaring has his sights set on the baked goods fresh out of the oven. He’s already raided the pantry of all its sweets and snacks and desperately wants the ones on the counter. He had been stealing them, but, unfortunately for him, the boy decorating quickly noticed the rapid disappearances of baked goods, and had decided to keep a watchful and diligent eye out. If the boy would have gone out and asked, perhaps he would have been given one.

The third room was, by far, the loudest. The last six people were there, either cheering or yelling or having a moment of intense concentration. There was a television on the wall, a player-versus-player game displayed on the screen. Currently three people had game controllers, shouting random insults and compliments at each other as avatars attacked and defended one another.

The other two people were enthusiastically cheering on the three playing. Between plays there were high-fives and fist-bumps and triumphant grins. Sometimes there would be a delighted screech as something appeared on the screen. No one, whether playing or not, was going to go down without a fight.

Except one person, who was as far as he could get from the television and screaming. He was snoring loudly with an arm thrown over his face, shoes kicked off and stomach exposed by his hiked-up shirt. Someone had kindly put a pillow underneath his head and a blanket over him and taken off his glasses. No one was really paying attention to him, though.

The last room was, quite out of human need, a bathroom. Although it was unoccupied right now, there were packages, toothbrushes, and plastic cups. On a standing shelf in the shower there are bottles of body wash, shampoo, hair conditioner, and a bar of soap. Tucked in a cabinet are sprays, lotions, combs, brushes, soaps, towels, and make-up. It is obviously a well-used bathroom.

Down a little path that nearly no one uses is a small building. Not even a building, really, just four walled rooms and a roof covered in trailing ivy and honeysuckle vines. Despite its quiet surroundings, the inside is anything but.

Here, time does not really seem to work. Nothing of our world seems to, within these limits.

But that’s fine, because no one really seems to care.