[Breakfast]
"Breakfast is ready," the brunet says as he sticks his head out of the kitchen and into the adjoined living room.
Hayato grunts from his seat on the worn couch and rises – silent and scowling, still not fully trusting (but wanting to, oh so wanting to) the strangers that have extended their hospitality to him.
He follows the brunet (so unguarded and unafraid, Hayato could have killed him eight times over already) out of the living and into the kitchen.
The motel they are renting at is one of the fancier ones – the type with an actual living room and kitchen built in.
He stops in at the threshold of where the kitchen would bleed into the dining room – which is nothing more than a clear corner of the kitchen, large enough to fit a tiny table and some chairs.
He stops – and watches – as the brunet and blond converse softly in Japanese before feeding one another spoonfuls of cut up pancakes and sliced fruit, warm smiles painted onto their tender faces.
… Such expressions are disgusting – are a weakness.
Hayato doesn't join them for breakfast.
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The world [and something else]
The world tries to kill me [there is a fire burning deep inside me]
I won't let It.
The world tries to crush me [something in my bones yearn to be free – to be released]
I won't let Her.
The world tries to erase me [it grows stronger and stronger with each passing day, hour, second]
I won't let Him.
The world tries to end me [grows until it is a typhoon, hurricane, storm of ME]
I won't let Them.
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chess in the morning sun
Hayato is sitting on one end of the window seat – the space barely wide enough for him, a small, wooden chess board, and Natsuki though, somehow, they make it work.
He's straddling the thin line where the seat meets the window ledge meets the outside of the apartment building they are renting. His right leg is planted firmly on the warm, wooden floor of the studio apartment. His left leg is dangling ten stories in the air, warmed by the morning sun despite the cool kiss of the passing breeze.
He looks down, stares intensely at the wooden chess board situated between him and Natsuki. He's hunched over slightly, jade-eyes and sharp-mind calculating and recalculating moves.
From what he's observed of Natsuki over the past month they've been travelling together, the blond is the type of person to hold back and protect the pieces most important to him. He also tends to favor the bishop and rook pieces.
Hayato's slim, calloused, fingers finally make their move, plucking up his remaining knight and moving it two squares up and one square to the left – towards the window.
He leans back and glances out to see the morning sun brilliantly illuminating the cityscape stretched out far below him.
He closes his eyes and sways slightly.
If he so chose to, he could end everything right here, right now.
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What Do You Want? – Q&A
What Do You Want? – Hayato watches.
(acceptance)
(love)
(respect)
What Do You Want? – Hayato looks.
(for people to stop telling me that everything is my fault)
(people who will understand)
(I cannot control the circumstances of my birth nor the blood in my veins nor the people who would call themselves my kin)
What Do You Want? – Hayato stares.
(warmth)
(happiness)
(someone, anyone, who would look at me the way they-)
What Do You Want? – Hayato wishes.
(to be myself. FREE .loved)
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Concept: love comes in a myriad of forms
Pale skin and shining eyes
A taut muscular back covering a warm body, delicate fingers and long eyelashes
Dark, roasted coffee and green tea
A soft melody, sung in a low, unintelligible murmur and smoke curling up from a lit cigarette
Skin further darkened by the summer sun and sunbeam eyes
A small smile and tilted head
A carless grin and raised brow
Plain t-shirts and bomber jackets and jeans and hiking boots
Intertwined, interlocked, fingers
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(What People Say, What People Mean, What People Think…)
My sister used to say, "Let's spend some more time together."
She meant, "come with me so that I can poison you slowly."
I thought, (no. why do I have to? why do you have to smile that empty smile and pretend to care about me when you clearly, never, have? why do I have to eat your food to improve my performances? isn't what I do, isn't how I normally play enough? why are you lying to yourself?)
My father used to say, "Your piano skills have improved! Keep it up!"
He meant, "I'm proud of you and the way you contribute to my image and reputation, if you ever stop, I will no longer be proud of you."
I thought, (no. that's not something I want. I don't want to have to play and play and play for people who will be nothing more than faceless phantoms to me. I don't want to spend hours and days and weeks and months and years perfecting my skills. I want to read and experiment and learn and grow.)
My 'mother' used to say, "You are such an obedient child."
She meant, "Just stay quiet and do as you are told."
I thought, (no. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be a pretty, little puppet doing whatever I was told. I wanted to scream and shout and yell and rage at all the incompetent fools who thought they were better, smarter, stronger, than me. I wanted to break free of the shackles that were holding me down and prove to the world – and to myself – that I could be someone.)
My mentor used to say, "You're doing it wrong."
He meant, "I don't like the fact that you have taken something that belongs to me and improved it to make it more effective."
I thought, (no. why do I have to do it exactly like you? why can't I figure out a way that makes sense to me? why can't I do it my way? why does it matter when all that counts is the result? why don't you actually teach me something instead of just standing there?!)
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Concept: love comes in a myriad of forms
Warm breaths and cold hands
A hand on my shoulder, a hand on the small of my back
A restaurant – the patrons are watching, staring, judging
Shocked blood
Sharp, biting words
Hushed, dangerous threats
Solidarity in the face of adversity
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Stay
- "Aren't you cold?"
- crawl into bed with me and rest your head on my beating heart
- curl your body into mine and forget the world and Her cruelty
- wrap your arms around me and lose yourself in the warmth
- close your eyes and count the breaths we all take
- ignore the fear and terror racing up your spine and stealing your sanity
- do not tense as hands hold your face and trace your freckles
- do not tense as hands glide over scars and burns that you have long forgotten about
- do not tense as lips brush over your shoulder bone, feather-light and apologetic
- do not tense as lips kiss the crown of your skull then the center of your forehead then your tears
- do not tense at the sudden burst of emotion rocketing through your very soul
- dreadanduncertainityandpanicandhopeandgriefandreliefandjoyand(love)
- "Stay with us…?"
- "Stay with us."
- "… Yes…"
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chess in the evening
Natsuki is sitting on one end of the window seat – the space barely wide enough for him, a small wooden chess board, and Hayato though, somehow, they make it work.
He is sitting sideways on the seat, shirtless, the upper half of his body rotated to face the board and Hayato. His bare feet rest comfortably on the cool, wooden floor of the studio apartment they've been renting for the past two days. The single light bulb is a cheap thing, barely giving off enough light to illuminate the tiny space. The full moon, however, more than makes up for it, as do the lights from the other buildings and houses.
He looks down, stares intensely at the worn, wooden chess board situated between him and Hayato. He's sitting straight up, hand on his chin and sun-eyes and sharp-mind mulling over his next move.
From what he's observed of Hayato over the past three months they've been travelling together, the Italian is the type of person to attack relentlessly and guard the pieces most important to him. He also tends to favor the Queen and pawns.
Natsuki's long, tanned, fingers finally make their move, picking up his King and moving it one square to the left – towards the interior of the room.
He leans back and glances out to see the pale moon brilliantly shining down on the cityscape stretched out far below him.
He turns his head back to the room and sees Tsuna, slumbering peacefully on the twin-sized bed the apartment came with. The sheets are wrapped tightly around his thin frame, his cheek planted firmly against one of two pillows – the other has fallen on the floor in a sad, rumpled heap.
He closes his eyes and smiles at the glorious sight.
If he so chose to, he could join Tsuna on the bed right now.
He doesn't.
He turns back to the chess board and sees Hayato's retreating hand, having just moved a black bishop to claim one of his white pawns.
Hand still on his chin, he looks down at the battlefield and thinks.
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Concept: love comes in a myriad of forms
It comes in the combination of Sun and Sky.
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[Dinner]
"Dinner is ready," Tsuna says as he sticks his head out of the kitchen and into the adjoined living room.
Hayato grunts from his seat on the worn couch and rises – leaving his copy of I Malavoglia by Giovanni Verga open on the armrest of the sofa.
He follows the brunet out of the living room and into the kitchen.
The hotel they are renting at is one of the cheaper ones – there is a small living room area with an attached kitchenette.
He stops in at the threshold of where the kitchen would lead into the dining room – which is nothing more than an open corner of the kitchen, large enough to squeeze in a tiny table and some chairs.
He stops – and watches – as the Tsuna and Natsuki converse softly in Japanese before feeding one another spoonfuls of pieces of grilled fish and salad, warm smiles displayed so openly on their faces. When they see him just standing there, they turn in unison, and beckon him forward – still smiling so brightly and tenderly.
… Such expressions are still new to him.
But, they are growing more and more common as time moves on.
Hayato joins them for dinner.