S and the Maestro's Story II
Have you ever wanted to stop eating a certain kind of food? Sometimes, the doctor will request—strongly—that you refrain or completely go off foods that include dairy or high content of fat. Perhaps even specific foods, as in that one sort of chocolate pastry that you love so much, or those Pocky sticks that you just absolutely adore. And when you return home and look through your pantry and you see those Pocky sticks and that chocolate pastry, you tell yourself that you'll have just one—just one last one—before you heed the doctor and stop.
And you do. You just have one, and once you stop and swear you won't have any more—you'll just let them stay in your pantry until the doctor takes back his ban—you don't. You walk away and go about other things.
But then, as you go about your daily business around the house, cooking in the kitchen, you open your pantry to grab some sugar, some chips, and you see those two sweets lying right there besides, and you think that if you have just one of either one of them, it wouldn't hurt you right? The reason that the doctor told you to stop eating them was because there was too much sugar in them. And since you've already been fasting from them for nearly two weeks, you think that it's all right if you have one. Just a bit. Just one wouldn't hurt. Everything in moderation, right?
Even though the doctor told you to absolutely swear off of them, it'd be all right if you just had a bit, right? Really, a lot of foods you eat anyway have sugar in them, so what does it matter if you eat one of these? You're going to get sugar in anyway, so just a little bit wouldn't make any difference, right?
And so you take one—one Pocky stick, just one, and a little crust off of that pastry that you've been saving. It feels so good to have them simply in your mouth. To have the chocolate and the flakiness of the pastry melt between your lips, and the hard, Pocky stick crunch from the slightest pressure of your teeth. It's just been so long, and you don't realize how much you missed it until you tasted it.
It has been long, hasn't it? And you've been doing so well, too. So…so it'd be all right if you had just one more, wouldn't it? Just one more, and then you'll stop, you swear it to yourself. Just this one more—not even one calorie, you bet—and you'll stop for the next year. Maybe longer. You'll even throw the box and the pastry bag away. Honest to God.
And you do. You take one more, and then you shut the pantry doors and step away.
Except you don't throw neither the box nor the pastry bag away, because you think—you know—that it's a great waste of food, and they're probably children starving in Africa that would literally kill to get their hands on one single crumb of either of those sweets.
Besides, they're far from their expiration date, and when the doctor does remove his ban on them, you don't want to have to waste good money buying more of them if you've already got them here in front of you. It's better just to save them, because it isn't like you're going to eat anymore, y'know?
But before your next doctor's appointment, you end up finishing the whole lot. And not only that, you ended up buying more and finishing those, too, under the pretense that you were only getting ready in the case that your doctor said you were no longer banned from having them.
And in the end, the doctor finds out and has no choice but to condemn you to another segment of the year without those foods. Of course, the doctor, he can't assure that you won't repeat what you've done. And he can't assure that you'll get any better—whether it be the amount of sugar in your blood or any other medical figment that must be adjusted—because he isn't your warden. He isn't there to strap your hands behind your back every time you relent to your temptations.
This cycle won't stop until you put your foot down. Until you throw away every single thing that the doctor forbids you from eating. Until that certain shelf in your pantry. Until you absolutely forbid your own self from ever even thinking about drifting anywhere near those foods. It will never stop, and it'll just go on and on and on. You have to make a choice. Whether you value mere foods over yourself—your health, your wellbeing, and essentially, possibly, your life.
Subaru bit his lip and uncertainly traced the edge of the cubicles near the east door of the Glass. He was trying to remember if he'd yet re-registered his trumpet into the Glass's records. The admissions board had had to change around the locations because so many of the seniors that'd left last year were musicians, and to acquire the correctly sized cubicles for the incoming freshmen of this year, they'd had to rearrange everyone who was already presently in attendance—Sacreds included.
And although re-registration was as simple as filling out a form at the admissions building across campus, most students were too lazy to show up in person, and requested (coerced) a more willing freshman to do it for them. Fai and Amaterasu certainly took no time in doing so. Subaru highly suspected that the only reason Yuui didn't was because he was a pianist—in that case, only he himself had to fill out the form to reserve a cubicle for the sake that he was a musician and had to have a cubicle in order to be registered as a music major.
This meant that Subaru was alone in the regard that he hadn't re-inputted his trumpet in. And this meant that his trumpet and student ID were still categorized as "blank" in the records office—in short, it meant that his trumpet was dusting over in the Glass's less than glamorous storage closet. Along with his music sheets and theory books that would've else been stacked neatly in his cubicle, tucked cozily beneath his trumpet case.
He only had two hours before he had to depart to meet Kyle down by the medical building. It was the weekend, and as was the custom, Subaru would usually spend Saturday at Kyle's house and Sunday clubbing Hexagon with the Sacreds.
Subaru slid his cell phone open, and checked the time. He sighed, placing the cold-metal tip against his jaw's edge. He had to rehearse a part that he was playing for the New Year's benefit that Kuriakiri was holding for one foundation in Africa or another. It was a chamber orchestra arrangement, so it was quite small and he had the second trumpet part. He'd be going head on head with a senior from Kuriakiri, and he wasn't about to get shoved flat onto his face by the senior's performance.
But there wasn't enough time for him to adequately rehearse and re-register his trumpet. And the deadline was in two days. He wouldn't have time in the next two days to return and register. He could use a freshman…but…no. He shouldn't. Most freshmen already had enough hazing going on from Yuui—either exhausted from being pounded into the floor by Yuui, or being seduced to pound Yuui into the floor. It was difficult to get Yuui moaning. Or rather, it simply took endless surpluses of energy.
And hormones. Plenty of those.
He slid his phone back into place and laid it onto the table before him. And then he glanced up to relieve yet another sigh.
Subaru's breath stilled.
"Oh. Don't stop your brooding on account of me," Seishiro waved a hand dismissively, and stepped through the doorway. The Maestro passed Subaru without a second glance, as he headed for the music sheets reserve at the back of the Glass. "I'm just stealing some theory books, since Yuui asked me so kindly."
Every memory. Every pain. Every hurt and tear. Every ounce of I love you, don't leave me, I'll do anything. Every rush of lust. Every heat of comfort. Every and all of that had swept through him when Seishiro's shoulder had brushed against his, as the Maestro headed back to the reserve.
And yet.
And yet, Subaru simply responded—the words falling out of his mouth with such ease—his tone clean and drenched in humor, "Yuui has the ability to ask kindly?"
Seishiro turned around and smiled, one of his hands holding a hardcover book to the light, tainted red by the stained glass walls. "He has the ability to coerce exceptionally, was what I meant to say. You can tell the coercion has gotten through so quickly. But you never know—he might surprise us one day."
It frightened Subaru that this felt so normal. So perfectly right. This was precisely why he hadn't allowed himself—and had begged to Kamui—not to allow Seishiro alone in a room with him. He was terrified that something like this might happen. Because unbeknownst to the others, this was how badly he had loved Seishiro.
No. Loved. Not 'had' loved. Just loved.
But that didn't matter now, right? It didn't matter. He was with Kyle now. Seishiro no longer factored into the equation. Seishiro didn't even care for him. He hadn't tried to chase after Subaru, because that was what the Maestro wanted all along. For Subaru to be gone. To be out of his sight and out of his life. If anything, what they had now was strictly as colleagues—as fellow students and members of the Holy Trinity, as conductor and trumpeter.
Subaru laughed, his eyebrows gathering at the middle, raising upward. "He's done hazing, then? Usually he would be too preoccupied in bed—or wherever else he normally has them. I imagine he wouldn't want to make Fai's ears bleed."
Seishiro balanced three books on his right palm and set them down beside Subaru's cell phone. "Really? What with the Task those two came up with? I s'pose."
The trumpeter felt the Maestro's eyes sweep over his body—felt the encompassing heat that accompanied the moving gaze. This was what he hated about Seishiro. The fact that he could make Subaru feel like this, no matter how much Subaru didn't want this any more. Though in reality, Subaru had no one to blame but himself. Seishiro wasn't lusting after Subaru—therefore, the conductor's gaze couldn't be held in fault. Subaru was merely ridiculous when it came to Seishiro.
"It was nothing short of what anyone expected," Subaru shrugged one shoulder, and his fingers began toying with his phone—twirling it around the table and spinning it like a top. "Though, I think it still gave me and Kamui a heart attack when we saw the video sent to us. I think everyone felt like that."
Seishiro caught Subaru's fingers, setting the phone still. "You know, it's going to break if you keep playing hockey with it. Yuui's phone went down the same way. And Fai did it to his phone just so he had an excuse to get that model that won't come out for another five years."
Of course Seishiro would know the detailed going-ons of his main attraction. The reason all the tickets to his Circus were sold out night after night. And of course he would mention them to Subaru.
The Maestro smiled, his eyes closing up and he swiftly intertwined his own fingers with Subaru's—removing the trumpeter's hand completely from the cell phone. "If you want a new phone, you can just ask—you don't have to mutilate the current one. What sort do you like?" Seishiro opened one eye teasingly through the smile.
Subaru's smile had been wiped clean from his face—replaced, instead, with an awfully confused expression. "I…what?" All he could think of was that Seishiro was too close to him—not enough distance. A dangerous proximity.
"What sort of model would you like?" Seishiro tipped his head and squeezed softly around Subaru's hand, his fingers impressing against the trumpeter's knuckles. "I s'pose you could get one like Fai's, but it's just new—it's quite overrated in my opinion. I think a Blackberry would suit you quite nicely, but then Yuui would—"
"I-I don't need a new phone." The words came out of his mouth frightened. "Aren't you just going to buy them for Fai and Yuui?" His throat was uncomfortably tight, his eyes were too hot, and his chest hurt to a point where his hands itched to grasp it in a vain attempt to ease the pain. Because of course, of course the Maestro always proved him wrong—whenever Subaru finally found spoken or written proof that the Maestro just loved Fai and Yuui, Seishiro always proved him dead wrong. Or lied, and fooled around with Subaru, as he proved him dead wrong.
Seishiro raised his eyebrows, but Subaru could see that it was a distraction to hide the flash that ran through the conductor's eyes at Subaru's words and Subaru's tone. "Fai and Yuui can buy their own phones." He picked up Subaru's phone and held it to eyelevel. "And it's obvious you don't need a new phone, but don't you want one?"
"I…even if I did…" And then, the real question rose to Subaru's lips, ready to fire, but not quite willing—not willing at all, actually. So instead, it came out soundlessly, just dusting over his lips—
Why?
Even if only just mouthed, Subaru knew by the tiny change in Seishiro's face, that the Maestro understood. But all the trumpeter received as an answer was just a gathering of Seishiro's eyebrows and a continued gaze. And all this time, Subaru just now only realized that his hand had been firmly ensconced in Seishiro's. Just now, did he take time to notice how beautiful and right and brilliant their hands were fitted together.
But it was wrong. It was wrong because to Seishiro, it meant absolutely nothing. And to Subaru, it meant everything.
He pulled his hand out as gently as he could, stood up, grabbed the sheet music and headed for the door.
It wasn't until Subaru was on the tiled floor in a bathroom stall in the admissions building, ordering himself not to cry, not to throw up—not to show any expressions, and not to let anyone know that this happened—that he realized one very, horrible, foolish, deadly mistake he'd just made.
He'd left his cell phone in the Glass.
He'd left his cell phone with Seishiro Sakurazuka.
And now, someway and somehow—and someday soon—he had to get it back.
A/N: FINALLY. I GOT THIS FREAKING CHAPTER UP. *major headdesk* I was torn at first if I should actually research some cholestrol thing for the metaphor, but I decided that I'm too lazy a bum to do that, and it's summer vacation. So I went with the easy (and probably medically incorrect) way out. And yet, I want to be a doctor (an obstetrician) in life. I wonder how that'll turn out. Anyhoo, I haven't even started on the next chapter of Compelled yet, so you can all throw darts at me for that. HOWEVER, I am a good way through the next Prohibited chapter. And, if you go to my profile, I've got an update. Again, just saying, but my updating with Rule is super sketchy. It's not a definite thing that I'll continue it, but I still might update it whenever I feel like writing. The reason that I have so many fics still open is that my writing moods are fickle. If I just have Compelled, then I'll be writing marathon angst. If it's just Prohibited, it's marathon mystery/action. And I just can't deal with that. Same goes for Rule, marathon history and proper colonial speech--which really kills summer vacation, since it's like being in school, like literature, english, and history class all thrown into one. Impulse is a variety, but it's still kinda blurgh.
Anyway, regarding this chapter. *bows* I hope you enjoyed the angst. I certainly did. No really, I did. At times, writing this, my chest literally hurt. It's weird. But it was good, 'cause I got really into the angst.
So anyhow, I was rewatching the second half of Death Note because I never finished it, and I realized that I will probably never write a DN or a Code Geass fic because their characters are way too smart for me. I'd try to sound smart while writing in one of their thoughts, and I'd fail epically. Maybe Code Geass, I actually might (since it's one of the gayest anime out there, and not 'gay' as in 'bad'--gay as in, well gay) because the characters aren't so much smart and just messed up. And I can do messed up. Death Note, however....no. Just no. I wish I could, since they have HOT bishies, but DN is one of the ones I'd rather just let people who're already English majors do the writing and I read. As an almost-high-schooler, I'm still waaaay too intimidated.
And for kicks, if anyone wants to spurn some advice onto my pathetic self, here's what I've been assigned to read for English: To Kill A Mockingbird, and The Chosen. Any thoughts? I welcome spoilers.
Wow. That was the longest author's note I've written in a long time. *headdesk*