~ What really hurts is the fact that one can spend so much time trying to make a living, and yet you never really get to live. ~
-Based on an Oscar Wilde quote.
Swaying black cloth, elegantly cut, not shimmery or shiny but in a way that has a quiet sort of beauty.
The music; violins, fiddles, cornets, they play with the happiness of having merely these and nothing more.
Envy, that is the name of an ugly feeling; bittersweet and filled with silent longing.
How lucky is what the boy thought- No, perhaps he is a man already. The fact is, at any rate, that the youngling matured too early, much too early. Already knowing the harsh cruelty that fills the world to it's brim, is a sad fact indeed. For this child, is at the mere age of sixteen.
The only thing that eased such a life, of raggedness and hard work, was the boy's looks. Ebony hair with olive shimmers at the sun's touch. Creamy white-beige skin adorned his body; the pale remnants of a sun-kissed tan. His eyes, oh, his eyes were a coppery golden, entrancing and honest laced with long raven black eyelashes that fluttered slightly. These were the only things left for the most part untouched by his vindictive, unforgiving lifestyle.
The youth watched the show, a delight the wretched slums took in. Black masked dancers, adorned in nothing but the neutral color, painstakingly cut into tasteful patterns.
It was slightly mocking, in the boys mind, how the black seemed to represent the shadowy, depressed world. Maybe just this place, he didn't know, this had always been his life.
Unseeing and yet hawk-like the boy watched from a far. He could do this easily, a rather helpful gift.
Few minutes passed, and the boy stood up wanting to walk away, for he had better things to do.
"Will you not stay and watch?" A stranger merely tinged with curiosity, at the strange one who would leave from the once a year delight.
The boy merely turned his head the slightest degree.
"I, do not delight in the meager pleasure of momentary enjoyment."
He did not bat an eyelash.
Nimble hands grabbed a worn case, smiling as he left wile thanking the others.
He gave a chuckle to humor his red-haired friend at his exclamation of 'That was great, Nya! Ne, ne? Wasn't it!'
He walked out the creaking door a measly violin in hand and that is all.
He smiled at the gloomy sky for no reason at all. It was all he could remember, the smile that seemed to be painted onto his pale yet attractive face.
It didn't really matter anyway. He smiled because he could, and he closed his eyes because he wanted too. Just as his hair was brown-honey because it was, and his blue twinkling eyes were there because they wanted to.
He supposed he should be grateful, after all he was well off. Well, well off for this sort of place anyway. He was not stuck doing some job that he only did because he had too. But instead, he worked as a musician something he loved and was content with.
However, he didn't suppose one could say he was happy. Sure he was fine with this life and all but there's a difference between pleased and joyful.
It was just so drab. Ordinary and monotone doing the same over and over until really it was more a routine than a job.
"GET OUT! Leave! We do not want you here! Never come back!"
A crash and the sound of something- a body- being thrown.
This was all it took for Blue, blue, eyes to open.
Really now, have I become so susceptible? The teen thought with a frown.
Nevertheless, he looked.
On the ground was a boy. He could be no older than sixteen or so, and yet he seemed so much older.
The boy took a hand covered in a dull button up shirt. Much too big coming up to his fingers and a faded grey color, that most likely used to be white. He wiped blood, dark red, and slowly seeping from his cheek.
The boy had most likely been punched; a ring or something sharp had probably cut his skin in the process. A dirty looking old man with stubble, and grease stains adorning his face slammed the door shut, the rickety frame shaking at the action.
He sighed quietly, about to continue until he saw gold. A fierce and determined gold, raging with internal fire. Angry and resolute.
Unconsciously he walked towards the golden inferno; drawn to it.
He didn't even realize he was right behind the boy, until his hand firmed against the boy's thin shoulder.
Still, he said "Come with me." Fully conscious of what he was doing, he led the boy to small inn and told him to wait outside.
The haggard looking woman sold him two hot drinks for a measly price he could easily afford. Glad to see that the boy did not run away, he handed him a drink and led them to an empty alley.
As soon as they sat down, The Golden-eyed boy fired questions at him.
"Who the hell are you? And why did you do that?" the boy across asked, eyes narrowed.
So fiery, he mused inwardly. Morphing into his usual expression of serenity, he calmly answered.
"Well, my name's Fuji Syuusuke, pleased to meet you, and whatever do you mean by 'that'?"
The boy scowled and he chuckled inwardly. This is fun~ he thought.
"That, you smiling bastard! Normal people wouldn't give a shit about what that guy did, so what do you want!?"
"Impatient aren't we?"
"Shut up and answer the damn question."
"Well, wouldn't you say the saddest thing about life is for it to be monotone?" He asked blue eyes open now.
The boy stilled for a moment a bit shocked at the color, before frowning in confusion at the other's words.
"You must be pretty well off, eh?"
"What makes you say that?"
"…"
"Well, if you're not going to answer would you mind telling me what made that man throw you out, oh so violently?"
The boy sighed a bit, dejected.
"It happens a lot really. They threw me out because someone snitched on me, and they found out I'm an illegitimate child…He didn't have to hit me though…" The end was said with a frown that quite resembled a pout.
"Oh? I guess the pretty ones always have that sort of past."
The boy frowned at Fuji.
"Are you implying something? Try living my life. I'm not telling you a fucking sob story."
"Well, who were you're parents then, hm?"
"I don't know, idiot. Not too many do."
"Well then how do you know you're 'illegitimate'? Why don't you tell me that."
"The woman my mom left me with when she was working was always muttering about it."
"…What's a baby like you doing working?" The boy shot him a scowl.
"My stupid old man screwed up and got my mom pregnant when they were still students. Then my mom had to raise me by herself. She died working herself to death when she neglected herself, instead trying to raise enough money for me."
The boy admitted bitterly, eyes glazed a bit.
"What did I tell you? Sob story."
The boy liked Fuji less and less every second.
"Shut up, shouldn't you be a consoling prince or something? 'Cuz you sure as hell look like one."
"Well, are you a damsel in distress?"
"I'm going to hit you soon, asshole." The ebony-haired head hissed.
He just smiled. But his eyes opened once again as the boy's air morphed to one of seriousness.
"Fuji. You're really naïve, you know that?"
Fuji's eyes narrowed.
"How so?" He asked voice deathly calm.
"The saddest thing about life is not monotony, for only the blessed have such logic. The saddest thing about life is that the world, a place God created, has been reduced to something like this. " The boy gestured with a sweep of his arms.
The boy stood up.
"And what really hurts, is the fact that one can spend so much time trying to make a living, and yet you never really get to live."
The boy walked down toward the end of the alley, before stopping right before turning a corner.
He turned around a bit.
"By the way, my name's Ryoma. I'm very pleased to meet you." He announced with a sardonic smile.
Fuji, left rather surprised, eyes wide open, regained his composure and smiled.
Very fun, indeed.
lalalalala-(Omake)-lalalalala
Fuji ran quickly eyes searching for the boy, before finding him about to slink around a factory wall.
He darted towards the black-green head and grabbed his arm, albeit a bit roughly.
Ryoma's eyes tried to identify him, before they widened.
"Fuji. Wha-"
A warm, wet something licked the younger's cheek. Fuji tasted the slightly metallic taste of the younger's crimson blood.
A blush crept onto Ryoma's face.
"Fuji! Did you just-?"
"See you later, Ryoma-chan~ You were bleeding again, you know." He called before running off.
"…Ah…wha…FUJI!"
No way was he going to let Ryoma have the last word.
Because of Tumblr, Les Mis, and a little bit of No.6.
The ending...is a sort of fail. Actually so is the Fuji POV part. Most likely a one-shot but might be continued, depends. Well anyway now I must work on the story that I'm supposed to be working on. The end is hard for me so I've been putting it off...orz. Kay, sorry, forgive me? R&R please...