Kis-My-Ft2, Effort

Title: Effort [Tamamori/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: G
Summary: If he could conquer the world, Tamamori’s first act would be to make it so that Miyata didn’t have to practice so hard.
AN: I have watched Gravity PV like ten times so you get 400 words of magic AU with Miyata and Tamamori.


If he could conquer the world, Tamamori’s first act would be to make it so that Miyata didn’t have to practice so hard. He made it look effortless, made it look like his control was just as good as Fujigaya, as Tamamori or Kitayama, but Tamamori knew that Miyata made it seem that way with hours of practice.

He was at it right now, in fact, sitting at his desk while Tamamori was curled up in bed, so focused in his task that he hadn’t even noticed Tamamori waking up and rolling over to watch with half-closed eyes, blankets pulled up over his chin to hide his smile. He was opening and closing the spread of his fingertips over and over, like a flower blossoming and closing, making the handful of small metal practice cubes spread apart and draw in tight along with the motion of his fingers.

Because it wasn’t the big motions that were difficult; anyone with half a year’s training could spread his arms wide and fling practice cubes in all directions. It was the small, fine movements that showed your control, like the way Kitayama could throw a palm down flat and have a rock as heavy as him stop a centimeter above the ground, or the way Fujigaya could flick his fingers and snap fifty cubes at once out ten meters and then back to his palm like he had them all on a string.

In the beginning Tamamori hadn’t had natural talent like that; Miyata had spent countless hours coaxing him to practice, ignoring Tamamori’s whines and foot-dragging, somehow getting both of them through their early exams. But in the end it turned out that Tamamori had been a late bloomer after all, and suddenly he could send every practice cube in the dorms swirling through a figure eight almost by just thinking it, barely moving a hand at all.

If things were fair, he could have shared some of that with Miyata, and then he could have called Miyata back to bed to be a warm, sleepful weight against his back. Instead, Miyata stays up practicing and Tamamori stays up watching him, and there’s something deeply satisfying about this Miyata that only Tamamori sees, opening and closing his fingers over and over until the draw and scatter of his cubes is smooth as silk.

Tomorrow there won’t be any difference between Miyata’s practice forms and Kitayama’s or Senga’s, but Tamamori will know the difference; if he’s the only one, that suits him just fine.

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