Title: Art
Author: CanaanAlshea
Summary: Kurama Drank, Alot, Sometimes, When He Was Doing Artwork
POV: HIEI
"...I don't expect you to understand," he sighed, rolling his eyes and turning gold eyes to the bottle in his hand. He swirled the liquid thoughtfully, not giving me a second glance for the moment; whether out of shame or refusal was unknown to me.
I breathed out heavily through my nostirls, kicking a wine bottle out of my way as I pushed the front door aside, slamming it shut as was per usual on nights like this. There were three wine bottles that I could see, two clear ones that very well could have been vodka.
"...What set it off?" I asked softly, not willing to argue. I threw the empties in the recycling bin, a familiar blue that would be filled by the end of the week. He snorted, tossed one effortlessly in before I could close the lid.
"Just my own stupidity," he hiccuped, "My own stupid refusal to accept that I cannot change the past...no matter how many times it comes back to haunt me."
I looked over his shoulder, brushing long, white hair off his collar. I knew by now to look for hints. Because, if I didn't know after a year, there was no point in asking.
He had painted a masterpiece, a depressing piece of his soul set out on a blank canvas. He had painted a white fox, normal looking but for the arrow sticking out of its side, red drowning it beneath the golden headstone.
"...It's shit," he sighed, but signed his name regardless, a scribble of K... and J... (Kurama Jaganshi, his official name) and I nodded, subtly snatching the wine glass away from the canvas. "It's beautiful," I said softly, "A brilliant splash of color against a dark background."
My fox snorted, chugging directly from the bottle and making a low growl. He wanted to vomit, refusing to show human weakeness.
"Well, the idiots who ordered a 'unique piece' will certainly be getting their money's worth." He moved the canvas to the windowsill where it could dry interrupted, signed the one that had dried, a large, white rose with the name of someone's passed on circled in the middle of the blossom.
This is what he did, while I did paperwork for Mukuro. He painted pain and signed a human name he'd never gotten used to.
He snorted, splashing a white canvas with blood, his own, and manipulating it quickly to form a dragon.
"Fox," I whispered, "Who's that one for?"
"Myself," he sighed, lighting a cigarette, "Our living room needs a new piece, don't you think?" I looked up at the blank wall.
"Sure," I kissed his hand, tasting acetone, "Sure fox..."
END