Chapter 4
Wait for me, okay?
Gakupo's fingers gripped the railing more tightly. Splinters bit into his palms. For a week, he'd managed to fight himself. He was nearly out of money for both cigarettes and alcohol, and even just the trivial matter of choosing one over the other made the water below look that much more tempting. When did I become so weak? The tops of his arms were red, nearly scratched raw by his own fingernails as he'd paced and paced, wanting to die, wanting to wait.
Wait for what? He shut his eyes tightly, as if that might block the harsher voice in his mind. For that brat to come wandering along? I thought this was something you had to do alone – a battle only you can end.
"No," his voice was a gravelly whisper, sore from not being used in the past week.
"Yes."
Gakupo's eyes shot wide, and he whipped his head to the side to see none other than the kid from before. He stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands in his pockets and his head cocked curiously to the side. A small smile graced his pale features. "Ah, sorry, am I interrupting?" He walked slowly to stand next to where Gakupo sat on the railing, leaning forward and staring down at the river. "It sure is a long way down."
Gakupo tried to find words, but came up empty-handed. In the end, he could only follow the teen's gaze, his hair shielding his face from view as he watched the black water slither along its winding path.
Seeming unbothered by the silence, the kid spoke again. "It's pretty cold today, isn't it?" His breath was, Gakupo realized, coming out in small clouds. "Hopefully it'll warm up once the sun's up."
"Are you always up this early?" Gakupo raked his hair back, pulling his fingers through it and trying to put on an indifferent face as he looked at the teen again.
"Sometimes," he glanced at Gakupo out of the corner of his eye. "You don't have to put that mask on, you know."
Gakupo turned his gaze away again. Silence fell between them, broken only by the subtle sounds of the mountains coming to life in the pale light of dawn. Without much warning, the kid put a hand on his back. Before Gakupo could ask what had prompted the gesture, his fingers clenched in his shirt, and with a hefty tug, he pulled Gakupo backwards off of the railing. A startled exclamation escaped Gakupo's throat as he landed - flat on his back -on the wooden bridge.
"It's dangerous to sit there," the kid leaned over him, his hands on his knees. "You might fall." For a moment that seemed to last forever, Gakupo could only stare up at him and his windblown yellow hair. Another one of those smiles, one that never touched his gray eyes, pulled at the corners of his lips. "I'm Len, by the way."
"…Gakupo." The artist sat up slowly. "It's… nice to meet you."
"Same. It's been hard to keep thinking of you as 'that guy I saved the other day.'"
"'That kid' was working pretty well for me," Gakupo snickered dryly. He stood and brushed the dust from his clothes while the kid—Len—narrowed his eyes into a glare.
"That's no way to talk to your savior," he chided with a click of his tongue. He turned back towards the railing, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward. "You should show me some more respect."
"My apologies, Len-sama, how can I properly show my gratitude?" Gakupo's deadpan tone brought laughter bubbling from the teen's chest.
"So you're familiar with Japanese," his cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly. "Ha… I guess I should have known by your name."
What is he getting so self-conscious about? Gakupo's heart stuttered in his chest. He'd be lying if he said the boy wasn't cute, gazing down the canyon with a rose-petal blush staining his cheeks. "I am," he finally agreed, pushing back his ridiculous thoughts with an inward shake of his head. What are you even thinking? You came here to kill yourself, not befriend this boy. Somehow, with Len standing in his line of sight, the voice that once seemed so loud and demanding had faded into a barely audible whisper. Lost in thought, quietly observing his unlikely companion, Gakupo couldn't help but to see the shiver that rippled through the boy's torso.
"H-hey," he stepped forward and leaned his elbows on the railing beside Len. "Are you cold? Should you be out here wearing so little?"
Len shrugged, looking sheepish. "I've got on a jacket and boots, I thought that would be plenty."
"You're shivering," Gakupo frowned. Len's fingers were as white as snow, trembling as he clasped his hands together. "Baka," he muttered. He pulled the gloves from his own hands and pushed them unceremoniously towards the teen. "Put these on before your fingers fall off."
"I couldn't…" Len's features softened into something akin to sympathy. "Then you'll…"
"I'll be fine." Gakupo pulled the scarf from his neck and started wrapping it around Len's, making sure to wind it up around his mouth and nose. "Just put them on, or I'll do it for you." Gakupo didn't take his eyes off of the boy until the gloves—far too large for his slender hands—were on and secured snugly beneath the sleeves of his jacket. He pushed his own hands back into his pockets, achingly aware of the dried blood beneath his nails from his anxious scratching.
If Len noticed, he didn't say anything; not directly at least. Looking at the limp fingertips of the gloves he mumbled through Gakupo's scarf, "Your hands are awfully dry. If you put on lotion before you go to bed your knuckles and fingertips won't split like that."
"Speaking from experience?" Gakupo cocked one eyebrow up, and Len shook his head.
"Not quite," he chuckled. "It's just something I've heard. I'm sure you've already noticed, but my skin is pretty great."
Gakupo rolled his eyes. "It must be your modesty that gives it that subtle glow."
"Mhm," Len hummed. "Must be."
Two pairs of charcoal eyes turned back to the churning river. They stayed there until the sun was nearly right above them, caught in their own thoughts and not yet willing to give up the simple company. Without any real announcement, Gakupo straightened. Len didn't move, so he took that as a sign that it was okay for him to leave. I need to buy cigarettes, after all.
And though no good byes were exchanged, no formal agreement made, Gakupo knew that somehow, he'd see Len there again.
Maybe next time, he mused, examining his chapped fingertips as he walked back down the trail, I won't be there to jump. Maybe… maybe I'll bring some paint.
And like an ocean swelling in his lungs Gakupo decided that his last painting – the final mark he'd leave on the world before ending his gray-tinted life – had to be of Len.
