i didn't think you would like this heh. Story is updated by two chapters everytime. Enjoy.
Green
It was one of those moments, that his eyes seemed alluring than usual, that his mouth curved ourtwardly than usual, that his shoulders seemed straighter than usual, that he is more beautiful than usual. He was in a distant dimension, surrounded by his own thoughts, imagination and inspirations, writing yet another masterpiece. There was no emotion evident in his eyes, but that's what I love about him. He's unpredictable like me, only in a different way. Cross legged in his swivelling office armchair he claimed he needed for looking serious, he was tapping a mechanical pencil on the paper. During his design phase, he wouldn't allow me to take even a peek, so I was lying down on an upholstered camel back couch on the corner of the work room, watching him. I was always told by his peers that he's lucky to have me, always inspiring him, but I do nothing but love him. That's all I do.
So far he probably wrote fifty words and is currently trying to put them together. List all the words you want to sing, even if they don't make sense at first, he says, and after that, the once upon a time begins. I tried following this advice of his, but alas, my writing of music is a lot different. I always analyze a subject first. After stretching my legs upward of boredom, I decide to do something for him.
Our gazes touch as I leave my place. I give him a smile and skip to the kitchen, open the fridge and scan its contents. There were still some left of his favorite, and casserole by his mom. I get a glass and pour his signature champagne. Deciding the dish for dinner, I get Natsuko's cooking and transfer it into an oven pot to heat it up for later. I set up the timer and carefully place the drink and pastry on a silver tray, with a napkin. I go back to him and lay it on the side of his desk.
"Macarons?" He smirks. I feel proud of myself.
"Uh-huh."
He pinches my cheek and takes a bite of one pastel green cookie. "There's one thing missing, though."
"What is it?" My eyebrows furrow.
He takes me unto his lap. "If you're serving all my favorites, you need to be plated." He starts giving gentle butterfly kisses on my neck.
I whine. "Finish that already."
He grunts and lets me go, pouting, feeling rejected. I giggle. In a little while, he goes back into scribbling things, at a faster pace while munching on a cookie. The nerves of his arms told me he was furiously gripping the pencil, feeling newly energized. I wanted to kiss him, but all I could do is focus on his distant concentrating figure, that always amazes me. Who knew someone so in-control could love me? I didn't realize I was smiling when he locks our eyes together.
"Shouldn't you be writing too?"
"A good artist never criticizes the work ethics of a fellow artist." If they criticize the style, I'm okay with that. But if you judge my productivity, you're dead. I wave my palm back and forth to him in dismissal. "Now go back to work." I giggle as he dramatically frowns. He suddenly leaves the room and gets the nearest guitar, Mimato, the white middle-aged one he gave me a few years back.
His aura changes. He was no longer a knight fighting a dragon for treasure in another world, but a father holding a fragile child delicately, making sure he uses just the right pressure, to make a satisfying sound. Sometimes I think he loves guitars more than me, and I always forget it's one of the things that brought us to each other. I sit up, anticipating a new tune. His long firm fingers strum in a slow tempo. A sweet melody of silent feelings. There is no voice yet, as he mouths the words he wrote, sensing it doesn't sound right, he rewrites something.
This is why I love watching him create. He can finish a song without the use of his vocal chords, at least not yet. His eyes is narrowed again, jaws clenched, as if he's internally asking if he can finish this. I stand to kiss him in the cheek and give him a semi-hug, plopping myself on his lap. He doesn't move an inch, but when I let go, his dubious expression fades. No matter what, I love you. All I could do is love him, and that's always been enough.
His nouse makes a sound. "I smell something chicken in the oven."
"Oops." He laughs while I run back to the kitchen. Looks like I was too absorbed in what I do best.