Title: Yellow Canvas
Author: moipaintsasmile
Disclaimer: Yellow Canvas is based on characters that belong to Bisco Hatori and other production affiliates that have right to ownership. No money is being made nor is copyright infringement intended.
Note/s: Edited, unbeta-ed, a vague attempt to a one-sentence per focusing on a particular theme.
Yellow Canvas
Brightness
Those eyes—those vivid aubergine eyes shimmering under the bright lights of the Eiffel overhead—blond hair, pale skin, red chapped lips curved into a big smile, that disposition of sunshine and despite the cold weather, despite the oversized mittens and ear mufflers and stuffed clothing, she was melting, blown away by the warmth of his person.
Guts
"It's because you don't have spine," Kyouya said nonchalantly, while pecking the keyboard away with his fingers; Yumi fell back on the cushion, stared at the ceiling and watched as dark clouds descended and poured heavy rain on Kyouya's window, sheeting the whole city with its grey dullness.
Cool
Yumi remembered the first time she wet Kyouya's shirt with her tears, remembered it with so much clarity because it was the first among many other shirts she's ruined and cost her hundreds for dry-cleaning, and she remembered the smell—the heavy scent of spicy cologne and unimaginable warmth—and she wondered why Kyouya was appointed the Cool Type of the host club.
Innocence
There was a faint buzz in the air, that stinging sound on her ear, she couldn't hear a thing but she was seeing—Haruhi and Tamaki, there on the tarmac—the loud roar of the plane overhead along with that irritating drone died down as a strange knotting feeling on her chest kept her from breathing, and Kyouya allowed another shirt to go to the washer but next time, she's paying it double.
Nonexistence
If Kyouya ever got tired of her, he never said anything—it seemed like an unspoken treaty between him and her—and how he will cover up for Tamaki's failure to reciprocate her feelings.
Hint
"You know, whenever I see Tamaki and Haruhi together I always feel like I'm being dumped over and over again—have you ever felt that way before, Kyouya," she asked and when he replied with a silent, "Maybe," she wondered what it meant but she never took offense when Kyouya refused to explain.
Possession
"When you're going back to Japan, promise you're going to miss me and write letters, okay?"
Parting
"Goodbye, Yumi."
Vision
"Kyouya, do you know that see-you-laters have promises—when people say good-bye, it's like saying, "Sorry but I can't see you again," but when people say see-you-later, there's hope that somewhere, sometime, you're going to see each other again; even if it's five or seven years, in the end you're still going to meet—isn't that nice?"
Welcoming
Since then, Kyouya unconsciously made a habit of bidding people "See you later," rather than goodbye.
Tears
He could still remember how many times she came to him crying—like a child, a fragile child who never deserved so much hurt but was experiencing so just because she was falling for the wrong guy—and he almost wanted to break Tamaki's nose.
Strength
No matter how he tried, he couldn't bring himself to ask why—why Tamaki, of all people; why she refused to give up; why she was too headstrong—and maybe she was not as weak as he thought she was, after all—since when has ignorance ever been a weakness—it keeps you stronger and bolder and she was plunging in the wrong direction.
Precedence
"Kyouya, do you remember the day you told me I don't have spine—" Kyouya had a bad feeling about this— "I think I'm growing one out."
Temptation
He tried not to sound at least a bit offended—his shoulders sagged, his eyebrows wrinkled and he said blatantly that it was stupid—and when he walked out of her art studio, he walked with a heavy heart and he didn't know why—and he knew, he knew he failed.
Idiot King
"Tamaki's not the idiot, Kyouya," Fuyumi said, "You are," and he knew she was right and in reverence, he waited for her to leave before he punched the wall and it hurt—but the pain was not coming from the sting on his knuckles.
Oddity
The lights were out and Kyouya smelled popcorn, salt and root beer—he stepped inside his room and heard a hearty laugh and an annoying voice speaking in rapid English; the only source of light was the faint flicker of the television and in front of it was a bob of red hair tied on a loose bun, "Welcome home, Kyouya, I'm watching Shrek Third," and he smiled.
Lecture
"Kyouya, I know what you're doing; you're suppressing—you know, it's not very healthy if you keep on holding back your feelings," Fuyumi was having a tirade in his room—he was trying not to make it one-sided and his "It keeps me from getting hurt," was answered by an acerbic tone of, "But you're more hurt—what, you're a masochist now?"
Attempt
Her dreamy "I think I like someone, Tamaki—would you like to know who it is—he's got blond hair like sunflowers blooming in the middle of winter, bright purple eyes and he's got a disposition of sunshine—and everything seem to melt around him—even I do," came back with a curious, "Ooh, who is that?"
Inaccuracy
Kyouya thought it was always just about profit, margins and the stock market—it has always been like that even after Tamaki came in, and even after Haruhi changed the host club's future with a stupid mistake—but why, he thought to himself was he getting emotions involved; emotions were a dangerous territory.
Uncertainty
And when Fuyumi told him, "You don't have spine, Kyouya," he had a strange sense of déjà vu.
Uncovering
It was half-open but not in its fullest—so he lay on his bed, considering his options and maybe, maybe he could give it a try; but no, it was not as easy as that because doing so would jeopardize a fragile heart—and it was half-closed again.
Fall
He tried to remain unattached by keeping aloof, tried gallantly to keep his feelings at bay, tried desperately to keep up with the facts—no strings attached—but whenever he'd hear that gentle voice calling his name, see that delicately round face weeping silently, that soft smile, he couldn't help but admit that he was captivated by this girl almost, he wished, permanently.
Song
"Play more beautiful music for me, Tamaki—play that piano again for me."
Façade
Kyouya had gotten so good at hiding his feelings that sometimes, he was already fooling himself.
Flame
"Kyouya, have you ever wondered how similar I am to the moth drawn to the flame—closer and closer the flame is rushing forth to catch me on fire and I'm too drawn in to its beauty I'm about to melt—do you think my wings are already on fire?"
Discovery
He almost wanted to laugh derisively at how much they were alike.
Wish
When he said, "Yumi, I'd play you a song so you can wish on it, okay," she nodded and smiled and please, please, please make Tamaki stay with me forever.
Rivalry
Kyouya always felt he was battling something—someone—he could never win over. He was trying his best efforts to keep up with the race, to keep up with the competition—but he was throwing blows to someone he knew he would lose against from the very beginning.
Opposition
"I wish you could be a little more honest to your feelings, Yumi."
Restraint
"Kyouya, I'm gonna tell Tamaki—I need to tell him," she said and he grabbed her arm, turned her around and hissed, "I like you."
Rupture
He closed his eyes when she backed away and—oh, please, don't— "Kyouya, please don't fall in love with me, please; you'll just end up hurting yourself."
Self-preservation
Kyouya stumbled out of his shower in lethargy, steaming and faint and befuddled; he tried to flush her out of his system, to wash away everything about her but he can't—can't—and dammit, he can't do anything about it.
Wonder
And while he stood there, waiting for things to settle in, he deliberately asked himself why he was doing this in the first place—didn't he promise not to get involved, promised not to get too attached, promised not to let himself fall, fall, and get hurt—didn't he once say that emotions were a dangerous territory?
Want
"Tamaki, I need to tell you something."
Truth
"Yumi, I've known all along—and I want you to be a little more honest to yourself," and she closed her eyes while letting it settle in, "I get it now."
Metaphor
She fell and skidded painfully on the cobblestone—a dark patch of purple caught her knee and it began to hurt, a pointed rock broke skin and she bled—and she began to cry, but he was there, just right there throwing a dark-colored shirt he liked so much and she wiped her nose with it (and the warmth and the spicy cologne), "You need to pay for dry cleaning."
Opportunity
"I don't want this," Yumi was lying, "We're not the healthiest choice for each other, Kyouya—if we're going to end up together, we're just going to hurt each other's feelings in the end—and I don't trust myself enough to keep up with you."
Disclosure
"But you're already hurting each other and you haven't even started yet."
Realization
There was a dream she had always tried to forget; a fork lay on the road, one leading to Tamaki and the other leading to Kyouya and she chose the path that led to Tamaki and Yumi was running, sprinting in a huff but she would later find out that the road was endless and she was running after someone who was far beyond her grasp—and she would go back to try the path leading to Kyouya and she would feel afloat.
Breakage
She was caving in, "I hate you, Kyouya for changing what has already been established," but she knew, she knew she was lying to herself.
Question
Wasn't everything all about merit, margin and the stock market—nothing else mattered and it was roughly just taking advantage of everyone else so why, why has he become much of a stranger to himself; he was looking for the Kyouya who would do all it would take for self-gratification and self-worth—Kyouya pondered idly when Kyouya's lost his ego.
Shards
"I'm leaving and I suppose it's better off this way—I'm sorry, Kyouya—I'm really sorry for causing you so much pain."
Reason
When Tamaki said, "You're a coward, Kyouya," he wanted to heel in his knuckles on his best friend's face; only self-restraint made him pull back, and perhaps because Tamaki was right—what the hell was he doing?
Survival
He sat there alone, watching the tracks for a moment, waiting for a miracle to happen, for anything—he wondered why he'd listened to that idiot in the first place—sought for a reason why he'd come here but maybe he could wait, and then see what would happen.
Breakthrough
And there she was, looking far ahead, looking like that same fragile girl on the tarmac, waiting for a nonexistent train to appear, "I knew you'd be here."
Farewell
Their farewells would not be of see-you-laters but of good-byes; Kyouya took her arm, spun her around and enveloped his arms around her shoulders—closing his eyes to relish the sweet scent of chamomile shampoo—he didn't want to let this go.
Sleep
His chest was warm, hard but comfortable enough, "I don't want to let you go," and she closed her eyes, wondering if this was really what she wanted and if she was finally being true to herself.
Awakening
Yumi woke up, searched his face and touched it, "This is real."
Hope
Kyouya was back at his old art room, a paintbrush on the other hand, an easel on the other—inhaling the fresh scent of dust old woodand amid the darkness of the room, amid the cobwebs and the grey dullness, a streak of yellow, a drop of sunshine imprinted the canvas.