Hiro walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink. From worrying
so much, his hands trembled
as he reached over to grasp the faucet handles and turn the water on. He
took a brief glance at himself in the
mirror. Under his eyes were deeply puffy and swollen and his eyes were
strictly bloodshot. He never looked
this way, not even when his parents rejected him and threw him out on the
streets for choosing to stay with
music and not go into medical like they wanted. They would constantly give
him speeches about him
ending up like his brother if he stayed with music and with such an
untalented group. Hiro took that insult
hard and bluntly threw words in their faces. Of course, the person his
father suddenly changed into, Hiro
was out on the streets before he could count to two. He was only let back
inside for a short moment to
collect his clothes and whatever else he could carry with just one trip in
and out. The rest would just get
thrown out. That was three months ago. He quickly adapted to it. His place
was small and rundown, but it
was just himself and Shuichi as well on many occasions. Hiro didn't need a
big place, he just had the
essential basics: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room. He was
alone, what more could a single
person ask for?
His brother would come over every now and then to bug him for something, maybe even stay the night or two, then he'd go back and lead his boring life.
"Wake up Hiroshi, get in gear here," he whispered to himself, then splashed cold water on his face. The water mixed in with the tears, bringing a salty taste to brim his lips.
After doing his business, he exited the bathroom and into the hole he called a living room. With what little Hiro had to call his, it was everywhere. Between the parties he threw with Shuichi and his brothers' careless behavior, the place was anything but neat. He flopped down onto his couch and stared blankly at his guitar on the scratched up coffee table with days old soda cans resting on top of it. It was the only thing in halfway decent shape around there, besides his electronic entertainment items. He leaned over and brushed his fingers lightly across the instrument, only to realize he felt like doing anything else but playing. It reminded him too much of Shuichi and the way things used to be. It seemed like everything he looked at reminded him of Shuichi in the room in some way or another. Sighing, he laid down, resting his head on the arm of the couch. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Shuichi would discover he had no place to go tonight and would come to him.
_______________________
After many minutes of mindless staring, Hiro finally realized he wasn't getting to sleep that night. He spent some hours playing Grand Theft Auto III and Vice City, feeling somewhat at ease running over pedestrians, shooting people, and picking up hookers.
Finally, a long while later, his eyelids got heavy during his forty something match of the difficult stage in Soul Calibur II and decided to shut the games off after he was losing every battle and would prepare to fall asleep with whatever hours of the night that were left. Checking the wall clock, it was just past two and no sign of Shuichi.
"Either he hates me, or he's in trouble," Hiro concluded aloud mumbling tiredly, walking to his room and rubbing his eyes. "I hope he's okay..."
He fell stomach first onto his obliterated bed and fell fast asleep in only a matter of seconds, dreaming about what he couldn't be to his best friend.
His brother would come over every now and then to bug him for something, maybe even stay the night or two, then he'd go back and lead his boring life.
"Wake up Hiroshi, get in gear here," he whispered to himself, then splashed cold water on his face. The water mixed in with the tears, bringing a salty taste to brim his lips.
After doing his business, he exited the bathroom and into the hole he called a living room. With what little Hiro had to call his, it was everywhere. Between the parties he threw with Shuichi and his brothers' careless behavior, the place was anything but neat. He flopped down onto his couch and stared blankly at his guitar on the scratched up coffee table with days old soda cans resting on top of it. It was the only thing in halfway decent shape around there, besides his electronic entertainment items. He leaned over and brushed his fingers lightly across the instrument, only to realize he felt like doing anything else but playing. It reminded him too much of Shuichi and the way things used to be. It seemed like everything he looked at reminded him of Shuichi in the room in some way or another. Sighing, he laid down, resting his head on the arm of the couch. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Shuichi would discover he had no place to go tonight and would come to him.
_______________________
After many minutes of mindless staring, Hiro finally realized he wasn't getting to sleep that night. He spent some hours playing Grand Theft Auto III and Vice City, feeling somewhat at ease running over pedestrians, shooting people, and picking up hookers.
Finally, a long while later, his eyelids got heavy during his forty something match of the difficult stage in Soul Calibur II and decided to shut the games off after he was losing every battle and would prepare to fall asleep with whatever hours of the night that were left. Checking the wall clock, it was just past two and no sign of Shuichi.
"Either he hates me, or he's in trouble," Hiro concluded aloud mumbling tiredly, walking to his room and rubbing his eyes. "I hope he's okay..."
He fell stomach first onto his obliterated bed and fell fast asleep in only a matter of seconds, dreaming about what he couldn't be to his best friend.