The Scripture

Chapter One

Consumed

For as long as he could remember, Hiroshi had noticed that throughout the majority of his life, people liked to pour their souls out into him.

It didn't matter who it was, or where it was, people would just rant to him. Let go of their frustrations, say what they needed to say in order to let their heart free itself of whatever painful burden they were experiencing.

Hiroshi wasn't quite sure why, however. It was very confusing. But he really didn't mind. After all, every person has a story, has many experiences that make up the pages of their life. And those writings are the most precious kind of scripture in the world, and it's such a shame that most people don't ever write them down.

So he was always interested and always willing to listen to a person who just needed to talk. He found it just as fascinating as reading.

He recalled once, on a late night train ride on his way home from a friend's house, that he shared the car with only one other man. He looked worn, sad, and tired from much more then a lack of sleep in his nice black suit. His face had lines of age and his black hair was combed back in a professional manner.

The man sat across from Hiroshi, looking at the teenager in an analyzing sort of way. Hiroshi tried to ignore the awkward stare.

"It's very late for someone as young as yourself to be out." The man stated, breaking the silence.

"Ah but it's late for anyone to be out." Hiroshi replied with a polite smile. The man gave a low short chuckle in response.

But then the laughter died, faded away and being replaced by a sad tinge to the air.

"I lost my job," The man said, dropping his eyes to the steel floor in shame. "And I've been avoiding going home. I don't know how to tell my wife and kids." And as if cued, Hiroshi stood and walked to sit next to the man, ready to hear his story.

There are many stories in the world. Some happy, most sad. Some exciting, most boring. Yet in the end, it never seemed to matter. Almost everyone Hiroshi met opened their book to him, and he was glad to read. He came to really enjoy it.

So that's why, when he met the young, restrained and talented keyboardist by the name of Suguru Fujisaki he readied himself for another story. He got his glasses on, turned on the nearest lamp and had sat in his favorite chair and was ready to read this book.

Yet Suguru hadn't approached Hiroshi.

And this Hiroshi found to frustrate him greatly. So he tried to stay long after work was over into the late hours of the night, or come in early so he could put Suguru and himself in a situation where there was no one else around. Yet still, the boy didn't come to him.

It was driving him mad. He wanted to know about this man.


"You know Suguru, life isn't about all work and no play." Hiroshi said with a lazy strum of his guitar.

It was late at night and the two men could be found in the studio, Suguru working on some arrangements for their latest song, and Hiroshi strumming randomly on his guitar.

"What do you mean by that?" Suguru asked, never once taking his eyes off the papers before him.

"What I mean is, you can still make great music and have a life too." At this, Suguru did lift his head up and smiled slightly at Hiroshi.

"You've got me all wrong Hiroshi. Just because I don't have a social life doesn't mean I don't have a life. You just fail to see that music is my life."

Hiroshi smiled, shifting his guitar slightly to play another random tune, letting his fingers and his pick roam free along the strings.

Suguru seemed to enjoy this, relaxing back into his chair and letting his mind flow with the soft tune playing.

"I think you play the guitar quite beautifully." Suguru said letting his eyes close lazily.

Hiroshi smiled warmly.

"Yeah, well, I think you are beautiful, Suguru." said person just picked his pencil back up and continued to work.

Hiroshi sighed.


Hiroshi took note of his conversation with Suguru. Never had they had a conversation that didn't include business-like terms.

Hiroshi smiled.

It may have not been the whole story, but if things continued like this he could gain it, piece by piece.

That boy with his big brown eyes, and his neatly styled hair...he was consumed by something. His heart was being overflowed by this something and it had stolen Suguru's individuality.

Hiroshi added this to his list of what he knew about Suguru.

So far, Suguru was restrained, quiet, easily angered, easily annoyed, very serious, had no apparent social life and now, Hiroshi wrote with his black pen on the notebook, consumed.

End Chapter One.