A/N: Wow, it's been quite a while since I wrote fanfiction! This was initially going to be a one shot, but now it's going to be a full fledged story. I had this idea a while ago, and had written the first part at that time and I just happened to gain the motivation to finish the first chapter! Enjoy!
Paparazzi
Chapter I: Oh, Monroe
He bustles into his condo like a ghost amidst the waking hours of the morning. His dull jade eyes are half hidden by the folds of his eyelids and are perfectly framed by the shadows under them.
As the sun rises, the eerie orange glow streams through the glass panes and spreads across his face. It reveals his oily frazzled blue hair and the 5 o clock shadow that he's been sporting for that entire week. His appearance is of normalcy to anyone who joins this lonesome, tireless business he is trapped in.
With a quiet thud and a click, his door is shut and locked.
He lazily tries to walk over to his desk only to find himself staggering because of the jolting ache swelling across his left leg. As he staggers to sit down in his swivel chair he promptly pulls the strap from his neck and lays his professional D-SLR camera down onto his marble desk. He half-heartedly detaches the lenses and the additional flash equipment remembering that he forgot to do so in Dearka's van.
He briskly pulls up his left pant leg and groans, "Damn," after witnessing the sight of a large irksome purple bruise on his shin. He pulls down his pant leg recalling the incident that happened in the early morning where the longsome night was still present.
It was so senseless, the familiar meager shoving and kicking he was caught in, these violent actions stemming from the desire to make a living off of destroying someone else's privacy. He recalls the middle aged man who undoubtedly and relentlessly kicked him for being in the way of his shot of Lacus Clyne (the young pop star who recently announced her engagement to the prestigious actor, Kira Yamato). Well, he couldn't necessarily blame the middle aged man for his actions, perhaps he had a family back at home to feed, unlike himself.
With a flick of his computer mouse his wide computer screen is brought to life. The screen is lit up so brightly that it causes his exhausted eyes to squint but as they adjust to the sudden brightness his eyes soften at the sight of an image, amongst many, left open on the screen.
There she was...an angel in disguise, an angel who has had her wings ripped off of her back the moment she threw herself into the hellfire of Hollywood.
She had been comfortably sitting on his leather couch with her bare legs narrowly sprawled across the length of it. An oversized red shirt was perched atop of her small torso while her arms reached out towards the camera. She was caught in the middle of laughter, her mouth ajar with her teeth fully exposed by her gleeful smile. Her piercing gold eyes twinkled like burning ashes as they looked above the camera with joyous amusement.
As he stares at the image, he allows his lips to evolve into a smile he rarely shows. One glance at her euphoria causes his stomach to swirl in temporary bliss, only to be replaced by an aching sense of sadness.
"Athrun..." she sang from the couch, her voice had a touch of impatience but some sort of playfulness in it. "Don't tell me you're whipping out your camera again."
He laughed, while he diligently cleansed the lenses. He then walked over to the couch right behind her, with a smile still bracing his face. "You are beautiful, Cagalli. But that's probably something you've heard before." He bent over and gently placed a kiss on her forehead, unaware of the shameful blush creeping on her cheeks.
"You really think so?" she asked, her voice was enveloped with a sense of far off insecurity.
Her unusual vulnerability amused him. "I tell you everyday of the week. You're a lot more than picture perfect."
She rolled her eyes, and began to fiddle with the ends of her short blonde hair. She scrutinized the tips of her hair, fanning it slowly in front of her face, as if in search of split ends that needed trimming.
"Hey, I'm being honest, you-"
"-I think I'm going to start growing my hair out."
"Huh?" The sudden comment surprised him so much that he put a halt to cleansing his lenses. "I thought you said long hair makes you feel like you're getting swaddled by cobwebs."
Cagalli got up and hastily pulled on a pair of black chinos. "I dunno, I kind of wanna try something new y'know? I'm tired of the same crap." Her fingers rapidly buttoned up her collared dress shirt. She stopped and glanced at the opposite direction from Athrun.
"Changes are good," she muttered to herself quietly and then continued on with her buttoning.
Athrun only shrugged in response, unaware that her statement was only for herself. "Changes could be bad though."
"Changes can be bad. Especially when you don't know when the fuck we're going to get kicked out of this apartment." She had tried to sound passive, but Athrun could hear the anger brewing in her voice.
Frowning, he asked, "What are you trying to say?"
"Athrun," sounding breathless she replied, "Do you have any clients...?"
"O-of course I do!" With trembling hands he placed his precious camera onto the coffee table, and then he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his jeans. "...What makes you think I don't Cagalli?"
The question steadily clung into the air. The tension between them was rising so quickly as if it were a high wave of water ready to crash down any moment. This seemed to be a question of faith, of her faith in him. But neither of them realized it.
She paused as though she was looking for the right words but she failed. Instead a yell came out, "Because I know when you're lying, Athrun!"
Athrun felt an acidic burning in his throat.
His jaw clenched.
He edged closer to her, a solemn grimace etched his face. "Do you even know how hard it is to find clients these days, Cagalli? There are so many photographers around in this city. I'm trying my best to start up a business here."
"Then be practical for once!" Cagalli was already putting on her high heels, making her way to the door while at the same time avoiding his eyes.
"Practical? You're the one who convinced me that I had a fucking chance with photography!"
"Just-just shut up Athrun. I'm going to be late for work."
"Okay, go to your workplace, hopefully your customers give you a huge tip for having such a practical job."
"Goddammit Athrun! Fuck off." She opened the door and stepped out. "Atleast I have a stable income. What about you?"
He ignored her. "Have a good night at work."
She shot a glare at him.
And that's when he noticed something different... a change.
Her eyelashes were thick. Each individual lash looked like spider legs while her lids contained an ashy brown shadow that lightly shimmered like smashed up crystals. Her lips... they were tainted with the colour of mauve pink. Due to this, her eyes looked brighter and her lips looked puckered despite the twist of resentment in her features.
"Are you wearing makeup?"
She stopped and stared at him, taking notice of the initial look of disbelief on his face.
Cagalli responded by shutting the door on him.
The knocking of knuckles against aluminum blends in with the ringing of a doorbell. At times the rhythm is in unison while other times it focuses on one sound, as though it were a broken pendulum swinging and remaining on one side of sound and then the other.
Knock, knock, knock. The bone joints of that fist hit harder, gradually becoming even more demanding of attention. It reminded him of relentless drumming that could easily be ignored if one were able to feign sleep.
"Athrun... I don't know what to say."
Ding dong, ding dong. Its noise is a relief, because the sound never heightens unlike the banging on the door.
"Just leave. Please."
If anything, the noise is being tossed around between his brief moments of consciousness and his longer moments of drowsy sleep.
"Open the door Athrun! C'mon open up!"
He tries to peer open his eyes but Athrun's eyelids feel as though they have been sewn shut. The heaviness of his lids takes on a weight on his sight. Maybe the noise would disappear if he kept his eyes closed.
"Wake the fuck up man!"
Rapid loud thuds and the annoying ringing erupt in fury together, like a sandstorm carrying the remnants of a broken house. The mixture of sound becomes ear-splitting.
"Agh...coming...don't break my door..." he groans, his own voice is muffled on the sleeve of his shirt. Wiping his eyes, he feels the crustiness of what kept his eyelids kissing.
Opening them, his hazy gaze falls upon the pitch black screen of the computer.
He groggily stands up from his chair, wiping his eyes even further. A pain crawls up his spine.
"Shit," he mumbles to himself, catching the putrid scent of his breath. He thinks to himself that he should have dragged himself to bed, he didn't realize how exhausted he was the night prior but his backache is his consequence.
"Dearka," he calls out, noticing how raspy his voice is. "Wait a couple more minutes, I gotta brush my teeth and shower."
"Oh hell no! I've been tryna bust open your door for the last fifteen minutes."
"Wait a bit."
"No damn way!"
Sighing, with much reluctance he approaches the door and unlocks it. Opening it, he sees Dearka's scowl emerge into a cocky grin.
"What do you want, Elsman?"
Dearka puts up his hands in surrender and waves them a bit, the cocky smile is still plastered on his lips. "I come baring good news."
"What is it...?"
"Your favourite celebrity's back in town."