- My Muse -

Chapter 3

The art gallery was towered four stories high and built almost entirely of tinted glass. The showcase lights threw themselves around the entrance, lighting the whole block in different shades of blues and greens.

One woman stuck her leg out one of the limos, and wiggled her fingers out the door, until her chauffer finally helped her out onto the sidewalk. Then, she screeched at him to get the umbrella, so the rain wouldn't mess with her "perfect hair".

But it wasn't until the rain had finally stopped that he finally showed up. It was almost a quarter to nine and being the prized guest of the event, he was incredibly late. And by the sullen look he gave the clock on his dash, above the rim of his aviators, he knew it.

After stepping out onto the red carpet laid under the narrow canopy, he tossed his keys to the unexpecting valet and sunk his fists into his pockets.

The bouncer didn't even have to ask for his ID and scrambled to open the door for him. He was the only person missing from the guest list and here, if you were a somebody, you knew who he was.

Just as Hikaru stepped through the entrance, his chest clenched, catching a familiar draft that smelt like sushi hors d'oeuvres and too much perfume.

He had been here so many times before, but he had never paid attention to how it made his stomach turn.

Then again, he had never come alone, either.

"Ah, there he is."

Just as Hikaru walked through the entrance, The owner, Mizuma, a short and stocky man, threw his arm around his shoulder, pressing himself up against his side. His face was glowing behind his mustache, claiming, rather loudly, that the party could finally get started.

Nobody in the room even looked towards in their direction.

"A bit behind schedule?" The man suggested, eyes still twinkling.

"I had other arrangements." Hikaru muttered. (Which was a lie. He idled in his hotel room just to be late).

When Mizuma didn't remove his hand, he awkwardly shrugged him off, and straightened his vest in distain.

They weren't friends, but Hikaru was his number one plus-one to any of his held events. He loved parties and making a big deal. He loved flaunting his money in front of people who also had lots of money, and the Hitachiin's were the epitome of socialites and fortune. Hikaru in particular was always the life of the party.

Or he was, the last time he saw him; Four years ago.

"Where's that pretty girlfriend of yours? What was her name? Airi?" The old man asked, looking over his shoulder, gesturing Hikaru to follow him. "I was hoping she'd show with you."

Hikaru didn't reply, nor did he follow him, and left the old man just to ramble to himself as he wandered down one of the display halls. Muttering something about him "mentoring" and there being "big time reporters upstairs", which Hikaru made sure to make a mental note to intentionally avoid.

Along one of the aisles, opposite from the crowded hall, were paintings on the walls he hadn't seen before, hung above names plates of people he had never heard of. There was a bidding table under every painting, set up for silent auctions. As if people in their right mind thought they could actually sell them.

Apparently Mizuma was trying something new.

The first painting he took his glasses off for was a bushel of gloppy sunflowers, hanging off the sides of unrealistically proportioned vase, in an unnatural light setting.

Whoever had painted it made sure that their streaky, bright blue signature took up the entire left side corner.

"Invitations extended a little too far this year." He mumbled, before hearing someone rather too close snicker behind his ear. He rolled his eyes at the sound of high heels clopping against the tile, and a thin ankle rubbing up against the back of his leg.

Her hand was slick, curving around his elbow, pulling the back of his arm close to her chest, so close her fresh perfume was rubbing off onto his sleeve.

"They said you were coming but I didn't think you'd actually show up." The woman said, breathing against his neck as she laid her chin on his shoulder.

Yoko Ishikawa, the second daughter of a wealthy furniture manufacturer. She was a model, and maybe owned her one line of makeup, but he couldn't remember.

She was friendly during their first meeting. She was intrigued by his art. She didn't know a thing when it came to painting, but with him she seemed interested to learn.

She was tall, and slim, dressed in a sleeveless skin tight ruched mini dress that hugged every invisible curve, standing almost at his height in her clear, five inch sandals. Face framed with large brown curls that ran down to the back of her knees. - She was beautiful, and the entire fashion industry was obsessed with them the entire 3 days they were together.

He liked her. At first.

It's a shame she wasn't the "commitment type" and only wanted in his pants.

She blew against his cheek, watching his face, feeling his shoulders tense. "Doesn't look like you want to be here though. Lucky for you I've been actually looking for an excuse to leave."

"I'm here for business," He admitted, brushing her hair away from his face. Though already having his personal space heavily invaded today, he was ready to leave now. "Not a one night tryst. "

Yoko shrugged. Couldn't blame her for trying. "Then it looks like you have you work cut out for you. They really let some interesting characters in this time."

After what seemed like ages, Haruhi finally found her way around and stumbled into the empty hall, which she had been trying to find for the last hour and a half.

Joichiro was so caught up in the "wonders of rich people" that he's barely even batten an eye at her since they arrived, and left her to her own devices, i.e., left her alone in the middle of the lobby, surrounded by extremely tall people dripping of aristocracy who would rather on her than politely step the other way.

Men were dressed in black suits and ties, their hair slicked back or neatly combed, and the women, dressed in all different colors and sizes. Either in extravagant cocktail gowns or shimmery thigh high tubes that looked like lingerie.

While dressed in her last clean t-shirt and faded jeans, and having no idea what the different mediums were in paint, she felt horribly out of place and insanely under dressed.

She wasn't good at painting anyway.

She didn't even like painting.

Just then, a man, too busy fussing over the cuff of his blazer, brushed against her shoulder. His large build almost sent her to the floor, but instead of apologizing, he snapped at her to watch where she was going, and made a smooth stride passed her, making sure he didn't let her touch him again.

"I paid ten thousand dollars for this?" She sigh, and threw herself against the wall, eyes moving around the room aimlessly until she caught sight of the exorbitant buffet table. To which she immediately perked up.

Finally Something in this building that was actually worth something.

She went to it like a moth to a flame, cracking open the first pair of chopsticks she could find. Immediately digging into the cucumber sushi rolls.

Haruhi opened her mouth and was ready to completely stuff her face until she heard a woman, two sections down the hall start to cry crying.

She was in the same boat as her apparently, clothed simply with her hair in almost as big of a mess as her cardigan was.

The man next to her towered her in both height and confidence. His chopper hair untamed and poised with arrogance. Every feature of him looked sharp and sour. The only softness to him was the pair of sunglasses that hid his rotten expression.

"But," her nose stiffened, "I sold my car to be able to afford-"

"A sob story isn't going to sell your painting." He said coldly. "Your technique is sloppy. The picture itself looks like every mediocre West Coast piece of artwork from the seventies and you're a fool coming here." He paused, turning away from both her and her painting. "You'll get more for it by throwing it away and selling the frame as scrap metal."

"You're wasting your time." He concluded.

The woman was so shocked, she didn't say anything. Not that he gave her a chance - He didn't give her another moment of his time.

He walked passed her.

Haruhi glared, straightening her back as she threw her food down somewhere on the table. His gaze was fixed ahead of him and didn't look like he was even going to look at her, but that didn't stop her anyway.

"That was uncalled for."

Hikaru stopped. holding in a groan as he rolled head to the side, seeing another one of those commoners a little too close to him. Considering her size, it was almost cute how hard she was trying to look angry.

"Excuse me?" He scuffed.

Even his tone made her skin crawl. "Have you ever heard of constructive criticism?"

He raised his brow, impressed that she even had the nerve to talk to him. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

Haruhi almost choked. This man was so wrapped up in his own self-admiration that he was blind to whatever came out of his own mouth.

"If you're going to buy the painting, you didn't have to say anything." She retorted.

He wanted to laugh, watching her nose turn red, but his eyebrows narrowed into a scowl. "I'm a critic, it's my job to say anything I want."

"I don't see how that justifies belittling someone," She said curtly. He wasn't used to being talked down to, and by the way his jaw tightened, she could tell he didn't like it. "How can you even criticize art when everyone has an individual style? That guy over there literally painted just a circle and called it art."

She threw her hand towards the painting at her side, gesturing to the price tag of the circle, which was put up for auction for over thirty thousand dollars, trying to prove her point.

He barely glanced at it, before looking back at her unaffected. "If it's any consolation to you, I told him it was cockeyed."

Haruhi discomposed, almost speechless. "Circles can't be cockeyed!"

He pulled at his glasses, ripping them off in exasperation, and Haruhi finally found that little piece of imperfection to him that she was dying for.

Without the glasses his face was pale was pale, and she could see the redness around his eyes, but the cold piercing of his eyes distracted her and made her feel two sizes smaller.

Demeaning words hung loosely off the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself.

He saw her in full color, she was short, but she held herself tall. Her round face glowed ivory and her eyes were a soft brown. Her brown hair cupping her cheeks. Compared to the other women, her efforts towards herself was laughable, and while she wasn't beautiful, he had to admit, she was kind of cute.

Kind of.

Haruhi took a step back from the way he held his eyes on her.

Hikaru hesitated. "What's your name?"

"Fujioka."

"Never heard of you."

"I don't come here often." She said curtly.

He looked towards her left, where another painting was hung. The entire canvas was painted in unblended shades of blue, with random streaks of white, making the red oval shaped, textured tulips? stand out so much it was as if a preschooler painted it with melted crayon.

"Is that your painting?"

Haruhi turned, seeing Joichiro's painting. She almost wanted to say no.

"It's my fiancé's"

"Your fiancée must be the loud mouth at the open bar, trying to sell that piece of trash."

"Wha-"

"You people waste my time," he muttered, slipping his glasses back on over his nose. "Stop taking up space where you don't belong."

He knew exactly how to leave conversations with the last word, just like now, he knew she didn't know how to reply, so he walked off. Probably looking for his next poor target.

Haruhi didn't realize that she was standing in the exact same spot she had been, mindlessly picking at the random foods that were still on the table, until her drunken fiancée stumbled up to her. He took her chopstick and kissed her cheek.

Joichiro leaned into her, grinning, hugging her shoulder. "Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?"

Haruhi took the napkin out of his hand and used it to wipe off the bright rep lipstick that was smeared across his cheek, before throwing it on the floor.

"We're leaving."

He frowned. "What for?"

She didn't reply, and just walked passed him, declaring that if he wasn't ready to leave yet then she was going to leave without him.

He wasn't, so she did.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, hiding behind the water fountain, Hikaru's phone vibrated with a text message and, fifteen unread emoji's

"From: Kaoru
Message: Have you eaten?"

He ignored it.