Title: Empty glass
Author: Mika
Beta: thethirdstone
Band: Guy's Family, Sadie
Pairing: Kight x Mizuki
Rating: PG15
Genre: Angst
Chapters: One shot
Warning: None
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Summary: Mizuki walks over and tries to calm down his breathing before he reaches the other.
Notes: It's fucking freezing here (cries). I'm shivering and goose bumps are forming on my arms. Damn, I hate it! It's supposed to be freaking summer (screams)! ... As for this story... I'm really liking this pairing, hahaha. Comments are love.
The streets hidden by jet black darkness the night brings are lit up by thousands of neon lights that blink up above, casting scary shadows on the streets. There are no stars twinkling in the sky and the temperature has dropped remarkably.
He runs on impulse, his long legs stretch in the movement and his breath is heavy, his chest heaving, but he won't stop for anything now. His hair is fluttering and his coat whirls around his body, in the rush. Sweat drops form on his heated skin and trail down from his forehead to his cheeks and travel down to his chin. The guitarist sees the sign of a small club focusing into view. Some meters away he slows down, but he doesn't stop. He just cuts the corner and runs down the stairs that lead inside the club. As he opens the door, he looks around bewildered until he sees a couch where a blonde man is sitting, chatting soundly with some girl. Mizuki walks over and tries to calm down his breathing before he reaches the other. He pulls down the sleeve of his jacket and wipes off his face with it.
"I'm sorry, Kight. But practice went on for much longer, there was a sudden..." Both Mizuki's throat felt dry. His lips felt dry, so he quickly darted out his tongue to lick over them as he spoke. Guilt had settled like a lump in the bottom of his gut.
"No, no. It's okay. We've already been on stage, you know. They loved us." But the words are cold. The voice is monotone. But Kight's dark orbs stare into the other man's bright eyes and they are glistening of rage. "I sang your song. Everyone seemed to love that one especially. Even I cried. It felt very real." But no sadness was evident in his voice. His elbows are placed on his skinny thighs as he leans forward and places his head in his hands.
"Kight... I'm really so--" He is the one filled with sadness. And watching the other try to play it off like this was nothing, just makes his heart crack open. Breathing is hard and he can't move. He's frozen to his spot like a dog waiting for the next command.
"Quite frankly I just want to get high right now and not think.." Smoothly he lets go of the face cradled in his hands and reaches out for the bag on the table. He shakes it a little, so the other will see what it is. The hideous green coloured weed makes Mizuki's eye twitch in disgust.
"You know I can't watch...." He speaks with a weak voice, feeling he is being broken down as well. He looks up from the table where his eyes had settled and stared at Kight with prying eyes.
"Then call the cops or just get the fuck out!" He screams. The vocalist is beyond annoyed at the moment, his eyes look up at his lover but he can't think of him like that now. Not at this moment.
He's hesistant but without any more words for the other man, he steps outside. He keeps looking over his shoulder, his face contorted into something similar to a beaten down puppy. Just as he reaches the exit of the club, he gives one last glance at the other, watching him taking a drag, sucking it deeply into his lungs before he exhales the smoke. He leans back into the couch and Mizuki leaves.
Hours tick past and become uneasy. Mizuki wandered the streets for some time by now, yet still ends up at the door of his lover. He stares at the light brown of the door, the colour of the wood now darkened due to the lack of light. He wants to reach out for the handle, but he has no courage to do it and with a shaky finger, he press the doorbell. When he gets no answer, he presses it again, getting more restless, he press it once more, until he constantly keeps pressing his finger down on it like a maniac.
Inside the shitty apartment, one man lives his life. On the counter in the kitchen, a narrow surface is stuffed with dirty bowls and glasses, built up in height. Clothes are scattered all around the place and each light has been turned off. There is no heater on and the night's cold has seeped in, little by little. It's got thin walls, but it's cheap and it has a roof.
Seeing how the doorbell won't get him anywhere, the tall man starts banging feverly on the door, he cries out with his distressed, and shrieky voice. But the other man whose name he is calling out into the night, won't hear him. He can't hear him. He has crawled up in the corner of his balcony earlier and now he lies on the cold, hard, concrete. He's got a glass of red liquour in his hand and is filling it up, his head leaned back against the wall. His body slouched, covered by worn out jeans and a faded shirt. His naked feet are frozen by the cold but there are no sobs, no sounds, no thoughts. There's nothing at all. Only tears sliding down in the knowledge of that everything is over.
Not many may know, but even as a man, Kight is just as fragile as the girl living next door planning to kill herself.