Okay, well since the general consensus is that I should have more parts, I will. =^_~= Again through the eyes of another.
Warnings: Angst, stuff.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.
Sense
Part 2: See
I sit on the soft grass, clutching my favorite doll in one hand and tearing up the turf with the other. It is late, probably midnight, but I don't want to go home quite yet. I wonder if Mother is worried or if she is too busy dealing with Father.
I look up for a moment, staring blankly at a streetlight. It casts its soft glow upon the concrete, barely illuminating the cracks and dents. Shadows creep from all sides, pressing in the light like monsters from a horror movie. I am about to resume my half-asleep trance when a man steps into the spotlight.
The first thing I notice about him is that he is pretty. That in itself is not a surprise, men have become prettier and prettier since… well, since some point. But he is pretty in a masculine way, so unlike the majority of the male J-pop singers that my best friend idolizes, with their long dyed hair and skimpy, feminine clothes. He has short blond hair, yellow as a buttercup. For a moment, I consider if it could be dyed and then shake my head.
Because the second thing I notice is that he is sad. Not sad because of one incident, but sad for the entirety of his life, or something close to it. Someone like that would not bother with the maintenance required to dye his hair and make it shine like it does. He wears a long dark trench coat and the shadows seem to embrace him and empathize his gloom.
He sags against the pole, fishing around in his pockets for something. Apparently he doesn't find it because he sighs and slumps to the ground, one hand covering his eyes. It is a forlorn, defeated posture and it seems very wrong.
There is a small sound off to the right and both he and I start. I dismiss it as a cat or some street creature almost immediately, but he stands now, warily eyeing his surroundings. It turns out that his actions were more correct than mine, because another man stalks into the light.
This one I recognize almost immediately, if only for my friend's disturbing obsessions. He is Nakano Hiroshi. I am positive, what with his long reddish-brown hair and dark, soulful eyes. Those eyes are blazing now and he draws back a fist and punches the blond.
The blond stumbles a little, almost catches himself, and then sits down hard. He wipes what I assume to be blood off his chin but barely has time to regain his senses before Hiro snags his shirt collar.
"Get up you bastard," Hiro snarls. "So I can hit you again."
"That's certainly an incentive," the blond states, managing to sound sarcastic even in his situation. I would have been impressed had his eyes not been that of a dead man's, one without hope, or even a will to live. "Care to tell me what this is about?"
"Take a guess, Yuki!!" Hiro says, hitting the blond again. Yuki coughs slightly and grins. His eyes remain dull and lifeless though.
"Of course. The little pink haired plaything. Shuuichi."
"You fucking bastard!" Hiro exclaims, lifting Yuki to his feet. "I told you I'd never forgive you if you made him cry."
Yuki chuckles a bit. He closes a hand around Hiro's wrist and squeezes it until the guitarist lets go with a small gasp of pain. I wince in sympathy.
"And did I?" Yuki asks, a sardonic smile appearing on his face.
Hiro jerks his hand out of the blond's grasp and trembles with suppressed rage. I am reminded of a time when the police took my father away. He was shaking, his face livid, obscenities at the tip of his tongue- but I knew he wouldn't say them. He would wait until he was out of jail, safe from the justice to vent his anger. Dangerous are those who repress their fury, and even more so are the ones who can only do it for periods of time.
Hiro speaks, which jerks me back to the present.
"No," he says, fists clenching and unclenching, as if he wants to hit Yuki again but knows the blond will not let him another time. "He whimpered and sighed and looked sad and pitiful, but he didn't cry. He doesn't want me to hate you, so he didn't cry."
"Then why," Yuki says coldly, "Why are you here?"
Hiro lets a scream of frustration and annoyance. "You don't deserve him. Sit on your high horse for now, but one day he'll realize that it was just a childhood love and walk away forever. You'll never actually be worthy of him."
I watch Hiro stalk away into the darkness, his long strands of auburn hair being the last to leave the comfort of the light. The second that the guitarist is obviously gone, Yuki's mask shatters into a million tiny pieces.
His face crumples and he sinks to the ground, curling up in a fetal position. His hands draw his coat around him, as if preventing the outside world from getting in. His eyes close and he shudders, biting his lips.
He does not cry.
I press my face up against my doll, not wanting to watch anymore. I feel tears streaming down my face, getting the stuffed toy wet. I am not sure how long I stayed like that, but I know I was drifting off to sleep.
Then Yuki's hoarse voice proclaims something obviously not meant for human ears and I blush furiously, feeling embarrassed for myself.
"That much," he says softly, "is true.
-Fin-
Note: I'm not using much Japanese in this fic for a reason- after all, if they're already speaking/thinking in the language, why throw in a kaa-san or teme?
Please review and tell me what you think!! ::begs:: Onegai? The more reviews the faster I get the next part up!!! =^_^=
-ryo0oki
"Don't jump in front of speeding cars."