[Fu Ba] love poem

"Alas, the age of cultural death."

Akiyama let out a long sigh on the seat next to Fushimi.

Fushimi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Munakata has been very busy recently, and the authors who are waiting to deliver their manuscripts are all sitting in the coffee shop downstairs chatting.Other publishing houses probably wouldn't have such a grand event. Only the editor-in-chief of S agency, who must personally review every first draft, can create such a brutal scene.

In order to create momentum for the United Publishing House, everyone has been working hard to create recently.But with the taste of Munakata, can crude works be accepted?

Every day, pleasant reprimands and elegant insults came from the editor-in-chief's office.

But Zongxiang is very greedy, the market and character, both hands must be hard.He requires that the works should not only meet the best-selling standards, but also be stylish.

proceed if you can!Will be poor!

The eccentricity towards Awashima is simply outraged. Why do writers like them have to be rejected again and again?

"Awashima's appearance is a reflection of quality. And the photography also expresses the essence of her words very accurately. Why is it not enough?" Munakata plausibly said.

I can only hate my parents for not giving me a pair of big breasts.

"Nowadays readers are too difficult to serve, obviously their tastes are terribly superficial, and they like to pursue popular works. It is easy to say that it is easy to create elegant works, and it is also easy to cater to readers, but it is more difficult to blend together than sex change."

Daoming Si, who was also waiting, also lamented.

"You can't say that." Busch came over with coffee.

"When I talk about writing with my father at home, I especially like to see my mother's expression of admiration. As a housewife, she naturally doesn't understand literary theory, but that kind of instinctive admiration is really cute. Good works will definitely guide readers Improving aesthetics, isn’t this the meaning of our writing?”

...You just held a cultural forum in a coffee shop in such a grand manner?

Fushimi didn't even want to sit with them.He moved the chair out two inches.

However, the writers had no intention of letting him go.

"Hey, I'm really envious of Fushimi-san. I can pass the review almost every time. The salary is almost as good as Assistant Awashima."

"Can it be the same? Fushimi's writing skills are solid."

- Chattering, have you considered my mood? !

Fushimi couldn't listen anymore, and because everyone was in a bad mood and walked away, he could only bear the humiliation and gulp down his coffee.

Fushimi's recent plan is very simple. He picked up the photography that had been put aside for several years in the past, and planned to produce a set of photography collections.Munakata read his first draft and nodded in approval.

Albums don't take a lot of brainpower, just a lot of back and forth.

Fushimi felt that what his colleagues said was reasonable, but he didn't think Munakata did anything wrong.

Munari is right that only masterpieces can satisfy the eagerness of readers.

As Akiyama said, this is an age of cultural death.There are only a handful of people who can truly understand the author like panning for gold in sand.But he no longer cares about whether he can gain understanding, and this kind of mentality coincides with the state of mind of many famous scholars to a certain extent.Later generations called it "sentiment", or "pride".

Zongxiang saw the signs in his heart and did not stop him, allowing him to grow freely.

He doesn't write just for readers now.Like a crazy composer and singer, he chanted endlessly for a certain existence in his heart.It is not so much an outpouring of true feelings as it is a complete vent.

He often stays in a daze for a long time at the shooting place, because he has been to this place before.In the past, two people walked together, but now they are alone.

The old scene remains the same, and the old love is hard to come back.

He sometimes resented such an erotic self.

It was like being tortured.

However, the opened heart lock cannot be closed.

It's almost like suffering from a terminal illness for which there is no cure.

The cold snap intensified and many people caught colds.Fushimi is no exception.

He was not very good at taking care of himself, and he was born sick. In the past, Hatta reminded him to wear more clothes. Later, Awashima and Munakata also nagged him to pay attention to health.

Everyone is busy now, and Fushimi, regardless of the severe cold, often drives to other cities to take pictures, taking advantage of the late night to take night scenes in the suburbs.In the early morning, I rushed back to write the manuscript.He has no free time, and his free time is filled with inspiration. He writes both planned and unplanned things.Inspiration flooded his life like a torrent bursting its banks.

So really fell ill.

trouble.Headache.Fushimi could only call the agency to ask for leave.

Munakata was so busy with the merging company that he had no time to bother him.

"Do you want someone to bring you some medicine?" Awashima called him.

"I'll buy it myself."

As a result, Hatta went to S Agency to find Fushimi, and learned about Fushimi's sick leave at home.

Originally, he had calculated that today would be Fushimi's delivery date, but the visit he had finally made up his mind to came to nothing.Hatta hesitated for a while, and decided to visit.

Speaking of visiting, he couldn't control his unicorn arm at all.I made bacon fried rice and carried it in an insulated box, and bought snacks and flowers.

Standing in front of Fushimi's house, Hatta felt inexplicably ashamed. It felt like visiting a nursing home, with a chicken in his left hand and a duck in his right, and a bouquet of flowers on his back.

He knocked on the door for a long time, but no one answered.

...Luckily Awashima gave him a spare key. Club S is really scary, all members' apartments have to store spare keys in the club.What does this mean, to prevent members from writing sudden death and failing to deliver the manuscript?

Thinking of cooperating with such a publishing house in the future, Hatta was terrified.

He was a little taken aback the moment he opened the door.

Because the layout of the room is too familiar, it is exactly the same as their previous university dormitory.He didn't have to look around at all, he habitually walked forward and turned right.In addition to the kitchen and bathroom, the one-bedroom room is a large living room.

The arrangement of the bed and low table is also the same as in the past.

There was a buzzing sound in my head, and I couldn't tell what rolled down from my eyes.

He didn't think about it for long, because Fushimi was already passed out on the floor, looking like he wanted to lie back on the bed, but couldn't get up.

The quilt was ripped off by him.

The things in Hatta's hand fell to the ground with a clatter.

It was already dusk when Fushimi woke up, and the bedside TV was playing the boring daily news in a low voice.He lay flat on the bed, with the quilt covering his neck and tucking it tightly.

Hatta was sitting beside him, flipping through the manuscripts on the low table by the desk lamp.He didn't turn on the overhead light, probably because he was afraid of waking up Fushimi.

The porridge was steaming hot on the table.Probably couldn't fit it down, and there was still a bunch of flowers crowded on the ground next to it.

In the twilight of the sunset, the figure from the back was somewhat hazy and unreal.

is his poet.

He has dreamed of such a scene many times, and has doubts about whether he has ascended to heaven.

He appeared in front of Hatta again with this useless image.Annoyed, unhappy, all kinds of hypocritical anger burned on his head, with the willful anger unique to patients.He really wanted to lift the quilt and yell at him, but Hatta looked back at him.

He withered in an instant, and his heart was completely overwhelmed by raging waves of happiness.

"You're awake."

Hatta turned around and put his hand on his forehead.

"It seems that the fever has subsided after taking the medicine."

Fushimi has sharp ears and can hear clearly.How did Hatta drug himself? !But he is not in the mood to ask about this right now, because Hatta is still holding his manuscript in the other hand.

"Tsk... what are you looking at?"

His latest manuscript is only that one.

"Are you continuing Love Hunter? Monkey?"

Hatta's eyes were bright, and his hand was still on his forehead, Fushimi was embarrassed by him.

"Don't look blindly, I didn't allow you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"...The outline is very complicated, even if you tell me, what do you know?" Fushimi said hypocritically.

"Then tell me until I understand."

As if they had never been separated, Hatta turned around with a smile, and put his face on the edge of the bed.

The poet said that women are made of water, but Fushimi thought Hatta was probably made of flames.

No matter how much humble hard ice and snow there is in his heart, as long as Hatta smiles, it can melt into a thousand miles of spring.

Fushimi felt like a hundred rabbits were bumping into his heart.

No, no, it should be [-] elephants kicking wildly.Almost kicked to the point of insanity.

He was sick and stupid, but also bold, he actually picked up Hatta's hand and put it to his mouth.It's just that my body is very weak, my strength is not enough, and my hands are trembling.

His hand was holding Hatta's hand, just one centimeter above his lips.He hesitated to kiss it.The atmosphere is great.

But Hatta let go of his fist and gently pressed his mouth.

"Are you hungry? Your breath is cold."

Hatta withdrew his hand, got up and went to the kitchen.

"I'll make you some medicine first, and then eat."

Hatta has failed... Fushimi thought dully.If he had held Hatta's hand like this in the past, Hatta would have blushed and turned into a big tomato.Now he was able to change the subject as if nothing had happened.

I really want to kill myself.

No, it was killing Hatta.

The touch of the palm on his lips was so clear, and the lingering warmth was still there.He couldn't help licking his lips.

The fever probably hasn't subsided yet, and my face is hot.

Hatta came back with the medicine.Feed Fushimi's mouth spoonful by spoonful.

"I can drink it myself."

"You're going to spill it on the quilt! Open your mouth."

Fushimi opened his mouth to take the medicine timidly.

The TV blares adverts, "Spend Christmas with your loved one and give her raw chocolates in the snow."

Both of them refrained from laughing, although they didn't know where the point of the laugh was.

"Bitter?"

"Sweet." Fushimi rolled his eyes.

"It's so awkward..." Hatta was not convinced, he tasted the soup in his hand angrily, it was really sweet.

The current potion is so high-end, Hatta is amazed.

After taking the medicine, I ate porridge again.Hatta's fried rice was forgotten in the kitchen, because he felt that Fushimi was so weak that he might not be able to eat greasy food, so he went downstairs to buy meat floss to cook porridge.

Fushimi ate to his heart's content.

It doesn't matter what you eat, the key is that Hatta is feeding.

It would have been better not to use a spoon...he was dreaming.

How long has it been since they lived their daily lives so tenderly.It's like time being folded in half and going back to college time.

I wish I could live in this moment forever.

"I've read all your books, and they're very well written. They're different from the past."

Fushimi said as Hatta wiped his mouth.Hatta followed his gaze and saw a row of his new works on the bookshelf.

There was a blushing.

Fushimi felt that what he said was inappropriate, and added, "It's not that your writing was not good in the past, your style has changed."

Hatta said he could understand.

"I read yours too."

He whispered, and added, "All."

Fushimi was stomped on the heart by an elephant again.

"Tsk...can you understand?"

"Don't look down on people, of course you can!"

What can... You must not understand.

Fushimi glanced at his little poet angrily and with a smile.The last sunset slowly falls from the floor-to-ceiling windows, just like the afterglow of their meeting that year.Brilliant and brilliant, it dyes the heart like love.

tbc.