The World's Stage
Practice Makes Perfect
Chapter Eight
For once everything was alright. It was not completely fine, but it was alright. A mediocrity that stemmed with the very progression of something better to come. A future where there was light, a future where together they could embrace all there crackled souls together, hoping that there missing fractures would fit into their star speckled hearts.
The walk to the music studio was long and tedious. The sun bathed the four in all it's glory, priding in it's unnecessary heat that stuck to their skin. The warmth only growing as heated glances were exchanged. But it was not simply exchanged, it was placed onto them, and they felt the eyes of the public view them as the walking display they were. Eyeing, judging, following them as they sauntered, their paces slow and degrading.
"Smile for the camera boy's, smile and wave," Alfred says through gritted teeth. He loved attention but he loved it when he was prepared. When he was wearing a planned outfit that envisioned a life of status. When he was walking on something other than the streets of Canada and more so on the never ending red carpet that rolled for him. No, for them, as they glamorously walked across, poses and smiles already practiced and planned. Because everything in front of the people was a mere act. A show that took years of improvisation and practice. Every little smile was deliberate, each wave stating a fact. The fact that they were there in the moment, not as singers but as actors, smiling even though they may be sad.
"Bloody hell, we shouldn't have rushed out…," Arthur retorts quickly, frowning ever so slightly before quickly replacing it with a sweet tentative smile. Turning to a crowd that had his name engraved on bristol. The three watch that transformation in awe before quickly putting on their own masks of pretense. The Britain has always been one of the fans most adored. Maybe it was purely based on his face, the green eyes that made girls swoon, and the slim yet strong build he had, or maybe it was his princely attitude that he displayed liberately for none other than his audience. He was a walking royal, waving and smiling silently to his own people. A prince. Maybe even a king.
"Da. We should of brought something, something to hide us from the people…," he mutters, before pulling at his scarf that lays lifeless on his shoulders. "And the heat."
"You three are lucky- aru. Very, very lucky…" The three look at the Asian, raising one eyebrow before drawing a silent question. There pace slows and Yao shivers, eyeing the crowd with a look of heavy disdain.
"At least you do not have men ogling at your body," he stands closest to the crowd, next to the Russian who towers over him. He mentally detects the burning stares that roam his body, the stares that burn his flesh and make him flush in discomfort. His grimace deepened tremendously as he attempts to avoid the heated gazes that reflect nothing but malicious desires. Ivan tenses before tutting, hiding his discomfort under a strain of birdlike hums.
It was not always a problem. Yao's feminine body was something that could not quite compare to that of a ideal man. He was thin, although he had muscles they only defined his immaculate curves, treading carefully on his body cautiously not overdoing places that it should be overdone. He was a rarity amongst men, not a diamond but a beautiful rare ore. Different, and of a kind that none have seen before.
Suddenly a microphone is in their faces. There slow paces draining into a sudden halt, their breaths caught in their throats as a bombard of questions get thrown their way. Who called the paparazzi?
"The ALLIES, is it true that you are going to also participate in the 'Beautiful World' competition?"
A horrendously loud woman interrupts, her own recorder getting thrown at their faces and Arthur flinches. He felt small when the paparazzi were around, as if they were more than just reporters who indulged in gossips and rumors. As if they were more than just people waiting to capture the very epitome of a misshapen moment. And maybe they were more than that. Maybe they were just money hungry humans whose only chance was to create drama for a better living. Maybe they were just like them. Doing their jobs in a world that revolved around money and power. And if it was that, then he could not blame them. The world truly was not as free as one would think.
"Are those your real faces?" A woman asks, and Alfred tenses although you can see his toothy grin. Flashing his white teeth before winking at a passerby. He walks closer to the woman, standing an entire head taller.
"Are you implying that we're too hot to be real?"
The woman pauses for a moment and Alfred wonders if she sees how serious he's being. How strips of his mask is slowly peeling off in the most unsightly manner. How underneath lay the careless and deceitful man who has always hid in the shadows. The man who subconsciously came out on instinct not depending on the situation but on his short burning temper and will. At the same time he was flattered, flattered that people thought they were fake. And that was human instinct. When something was too great the mind concluded it was false, a glitch in a wonderful wonderland. But they were real. As real as the dying plants on the ground and the scorching heat. They would never implant plastic into themselves because that would ruin there radiance. After all, which one made the prettier diamond? The copy or the real? They were raw talent. He liked it that way. It had to be that way.
"Alfred! Now, didn't I tell you not to cause a commotion?" Arthur interrupts, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. His smile is warm and kind and some people amidst the crowd swoon, his grin widens but to the few of them it looks nothing but chilling. It was nothing but fake. A fraud stitched into a pure canvas. The way that his mouth twitched upwards not daring to fall as he gazed upon nothing in particular. It was like he did not truly 'see' even when he was staring rigidly at Alfred's face. Like his mask- his facade did not leave the least bit of realism within him. Like he was nothing but a perfectly drawn portrait speaking a code that made no sense to the group but made perfect sense for the audience. Like he was a walking statue. The embodiment of beautiful but made out of cold stone with a demeaning placid stare. For he didn't truly remember what happened when he was like this. Time flew to quickly and words from his mouth spewed out without hesitation. This version of him was not at all Arthur Kirkland but a man created from his insecurities. The man who was given life from the darkest corners of his own mind.
"R-right..," Alfred nods doubtfully, shifting his weight uncomfortably to shrug off the hand that gripped his shoulder painfully.
"I'm afraid we won't be answering that question- aru, 对不起*," Yao quickly walks forward his hand waving to a small girl. "Or any questions asked as of right now."
[对不起*: Sorry]
Most people stay, still eyeing them the same way as if not comprehending the groups forced cheer. Then Yao hears a scream, and then another. It's not peircing but more of a wail that came from an angry child. It continues, a string of shouting and hollering that makes him shiver in disgust. Repulsed that grown adults could act so immaturely.
"You can't do that!" A man shouts, his cries igniting a fire within the paparazzi's eyes.
"We live for this! To broadcast your lives, I was hoping for some big money today. I have a rent to pay!" A woman cries in anger.
"That's not fair! You rich brats. Just answer our goddamn questions!"
All four of them stare unfazed, although all of them hold an equal amount of surprise and disgust. Arthur huffs angrily changing his standing position as he remains silent. Waiting for the endless insults to end. If it doesn't die down then they have more things to worry about. Rumours and fake news that could be created within this standing comedy. He eyes the heightened recorders and microphones no longer feeling remorseful or afraid. There was no reason to feel afraid of miniscule bugs that spouted garbage as there fuel. He was used to it, yes, but the pain from every insult stung the same. It was just a matter of how he coped with it, and he did that by remaining cold, silent, that demeaning stare that held no mercy or remorse. He was unable to. He just couldn't.
"W-wait! Can you all just calm down!" Yao shouts, his calm already at it's peak. They had a job to do and nothing was more important than getting it done. A goal was meant to be reached not delayed.
"I said calm d-" suddenly his world seems to gravitate toward an angry man. The first to start this commotion. His shirt collar is getting crushed by the man's fist, his chubby fingers white in rage, and Yao realizes some of his buttons get undone.
"Listen, you brat. I have a job, and it's to report everything I know about you dumb schmucks, so get a grip around yourself and answer the damn questions!"
The next thing Yao knows, he's dancing between two pairs of arms, getting roughly yanked out of the man's rough hold before tripping into his teammates strong chest. His back colliding against a broad chest, he almost falls further but strong arms pull him up. Supporting him.
"I'd rather if you don't touch our teammate like that again, da?" Strong arms snake around Yao's torso, pulling him closer into a crushing grasp. Fingers dancing on his lower stomach. Amethyst eyes burning into a deep pewter.
"Ivan! S-stop this nonsense!" He looks up, using his arms to aware Alfred and Arthur of the situation. Both of them quickly try to coo the paparazzi to leave, and Yao watches as Alfred and Arthur instantly drop their acts. Their faces clear of all frustration that they may be feeling. And they should of done that ages ago, when things were getting bad.
Finally the arms that cradle him to close for comfort slump to the Russians side's, and the Asian breaths a sigh of relief. His cheeks flushed for no apparent reason, a remaining heat still radiating within his chest.
"Ivan! Are you insane?" He snaps accusingly, dusting off any remnant of the crushing hold.
"I only wanted to help, da, Yao Yao?" Ivan's cold exterior melts into a childlike pout. However, his violet eyes remains as cold and intimidating. Staring daggers at the quickly retreating figure in the crowd. And only for a moment does a fleeting question find its way in his mind. Why? Why should Ivan care so much? And why did his heartbeat seem to have an insatiable rhythm?
The older man sighs. Shaking his head like a terrible headache had hit him. His logical mind pushes the emotional and sensitive inquiries away. He just couldn't take it. Couldn't take the horrible effects emotions could create, to build a person so high only to let him fall. To hope only to see an endless demise. To put yourself first before the world as it's pressure breaks you like it does when you're not ready. He shakes his head again, forcing these useless thoughts out.
He was better than this.
"I- I know, but next time…" he stares at Ivan who does nothing but stare back. Something clearly different in his eyes then before. "Next time, try and assist the situation in a more professional way. No one benefits from rash behaviour Ivan. None."
The Russian nods before muttering a string of apologies. Arthur and Alfred quickly interrupting the scolding he was having. For once he was thankful as he was to dazed reliving the feel of Yao being close to him. Reliving how small Yao was and how perfectly he fit in between his arms. How if he intended to, he could crush him in his hold. A little man and a huge giant that loved him more than anything. And hopefully Yao could feel the difference he was treated with. How he was more than just a friend, a worker, a comrade, but a man that held so much control over him as much as he wanted to control and consume every thought that fleeted the Asians mind.
"Dudes, hurry. Paparazzi mad. Leaving. Fans giving opening to studio. Come. Thirsty. Hungry. Mother of-"
"Hurry up you bloody gits! The fans are subsiding, so it's in all our interests to hurry on our way." Arthur motions a less crowded exit, and the Asian and the Russian rushingly act on demand. Walking quickly out of the crowds way and into the tranquil streets of Toronto, where absolutely none could hurt them.
But malice spread fast, and rumours spread even faster.
There was no one waiting for them when they arrived at the music studio other than the silence and the empty hallways. Of course they were prepared and Alfred quickly finds the one key that fits the lock. The design of the music studio is different compared to the other, it was vibrant and colourful. Warm woods mixed into the burgundy walls that held DVD's of their first albums. Papers and awards that came from the years. However the number two stained each certificate like a disease. The delicate curve of the number looking awfully serpentine as it sat on a straight line. Marking the paper forever.
"No one's here?" Alfred calls out and the four roll there eyes in utter annoyance.
"Do you know he was gifted?" Arthur whispers under his breath as he lowers his stature to face Yao's ear. The Chinese man chuckles, and Ivan smirks condescendingly.
"Ahem! Still here! Plus, that doesn't matter, I'm gifted in many other things," Alfred scratches the back of his neck before whistling. "Wow, it really is empty."
Ivan smiles gently, a fleeting smile before a frown as he stares at the DVD record of their first successful album. "I think we should just do it ourselves. No one needs to be there for it to work."
The Asian man steps up, nodding his head in eager agreement. "Right. We won't have anyone stopping us, or any potential pleas to convince us to change our minds. Heard the call with Matthew, he's pretty upset isn't he?- aru?"
Alfred nods and he feels his phone vibrate within his pocket. Another message.
He had to call back at one point. To apologize and maybe shed some light to a situation that was covered in shadows. As much as they wanted to be independent, they needed him. They needed a boss even if they weren't going to obey the man's wishes. They needed it for visuals sake. For the media.
"But what if we somehow, well, I don't know, break and damage the machinery during our frolicking?" Arthur quickly makes his point very clear. The American sighs before putting a firm hand on the man's shoulder.
"Then we'll just pay and buy new ones."
The British pinches his eyes shut before nodding. Convincing himself that it was as simple as that. His mind quickly moves onto a question that's been on him during the entire walk to the studio. He reopens his eyelids, the florescent lights blinding him momentarily.
"Hey, has anyone found out about the substantial loss of money in our shared account?"
Ivan pops up, turning his head around. "Do you mean the money that we lost a little over more than three months ago? The five million in US dollars?"
"Maybe it was the studio's fault- aru. I mean, they could use our shared account after all, maybe something needed fixing, or producers needed money to get the big stages working." Yao ponders for a while, before shaking his head in thought. A cloud of haze covered his eyes as he thought about everything other than the incredible loss. It was a tragedy yes, but to him it was a memory that was best left unrecovered. However it did recover a recent memory; pixels of blue and black. A single line dancing in his view. He exhales deeply before inhaling shakily. Suddenly wishing he had more painkillers.
"I don't know. Five million though? That's enough for a lifetime! And what microphone setting needs millions of dollars to fix? There's something fishy about it for sure, I...I just want to strangle the person who stole our money. First off, it's illegal to steal money within an account without permission from all the legal holders! We earned that money, no one, absolutely no one deserves to take it away from us."
His eyes darken and the Brit nods. "Somehow this problem was being disregarded by the higher ups. But yes, it is a problem. Remember when the same thing happened a year ago? When a couple mill' left and vanished? Absolutely untraceable?"
Ivan hums in consideration before sighing. "Isn't it best to just ignore this situation? I mean, it doesn't bother us nor does it affect us, da?"
"No. And it's not because I love the idea of money, but someone's stealing our money. We've been robbed, and no one's batting an eye about it because it's true. We aren't short on money at all. No matter the loss."
Yao rolls his eyes. His eyes cold of whatever feeling he may be feeling. He hated when Alfred talked about money. It changed him. Just like it changed so many others. The way his eyes lit up, the way his mouth became the defendant of any side money was on. The way they talked big behind their words but the real objective was nothing but to retrieve anything of value and to chain it to oneself in complete ownership. Because money meant power and power was everything for certain people. He shivers, a man dancing in pink petals comes to his vision. Gently walking further into a blinding white before never coming back. Yes, money changed him, as did the power that came with it.
"Sounds like you are only doing this for the money," Yao mutters quietly, except not quietly enough for everyone to ignore the statement.
"Yao…" Ivan warns before placing a firm hold on the man. "Let's stop this can you?" His grip tightens urging him to stop the growing conflict. To burn it out as it lightens. Although a part of him knew it was true. Alfred loved money. He loved being rich and indulged in all its rare luxuries. The man indulged in the fame, but the money that came with it was what he desired. He remembers how Alfred first reacted to the situation months ago. How he threw a rampage, his eyes void of anything other than loss and rage. How he seemed like a piece of him was missing and convinced himself the police had to get involved, although Yao and Arthur told him better. It was best to keep these situations in a small number of people's eyes, and so they did. After all, time heals all wounds and soon it became a secret amongst the 'ALLIES', a simple probing question that constantly nagged within their hearts.
"Let's just get to the studio and start, da?" Ivan keeps his hand on the Eastern man's shoulder before leading him to a small black door. His fingers gently brushing the tips of Yao's ponytail. Gently, deliberately, every touch a chance for him to open the man's heart, and sooth his own. His heart that ached for a single response. A yes or no. But he knew the Chinese man was not as simple, and that was good. If he was, then what would be the point of the chase?
The door is black, a glass panel separating the hanging microphones to the centerpiece of operation. Colourful buttons cover the machines that they could see behind the glass, and Arthur quickly wipes at his neck of sweat and perspiration before gently opening the door that connected and intertwined the two rooms together.
"Just going to get the song on, give me a moment. Ivan, test the microphones please?"
Ivan nods, watching as the Brit nervously turns on a desktop that had multiple circuits connected to it's empty jacks.
"Testing...testing?" he says carefully, waiting for his voice to bounce off the walls of the compartment. It remains quiet and Alfred stifles a laugh, Yao smiling softly.
"They're probably not on yet. Arthur?"
There is a heavy sigh before a loud groan. "Yes, Alfred?"
"Help with the micro-"
"Do it yourself."
Alfred rolls his eyes before chuckling softly, passing through the door smoothly. Ivan carefully watches his surroundings waiting for a change, and after an eternity a small flickering red light illuminates on the metal rods that hoist the four microphones. He repeats the same action he did minutes ago, his breath causing a vibrato of static that fills the closed space. He nods at the waiting American, giving him a relieved and relaxed smile. Silently inviting him to come back into their small cubicle. An annoyed sigh comes from behind the wall that separated the two groups and the American quickly leans over to the British man. Arthur backing away in a reddening spiral. Ivan turns his head to the side, eyeing the Asian man who icily glares at his mobile phone's screen. Yao's eyes send Ivan into a nostalgic dream, he remembers these eyes- he's seen them before. They were filled with a silent loath. No longer a hurt but a short compliance and acceptance buried underneath a heavy hate. Only once has he seen those golden eyes so filled with hate. Only once, and he admits that even this hate filled version of Yao amused and interested him.
"Ya-"
"The song's ready, quick positions!" Arthur scurries out and quickly stands in front of a microphone. Lips parting slightly. Alfred follows after taking the spot beside Arthur, putting on a pair of big earphones that silent the room around him. Yao slips his phone back into his pockets, his eyes a normal hue but the remainder of a small scowl taint his lips.
Everyone quickly assembles there headgear, covering their ears with soft tissue, and leaning into the sound absorbing microphone. Then they wait, until finally a growing beat leaks into their eardrums. Everyone looks at Arthur as he start's the growing melody and then, in a quiet room filled with nothing but static,
there is music.
"Kaji ga moeru to, aru hi ga kuru deshou"
[One day will come when the fire burns,]
His voice is soft, delicate, getting accustomed to the lyrics and the familiarity of the rhythm.
Ivan takes a breath before continuing, "Hana ga kareta hi,"
[A day when the flowers wither,]
The beat grows, getting stronger; the sound of a dramatic piano plays quickly. Rushing notes trying to fill the silence of an empty chord. The American remains serious, opening his mouth when his part comes to play.
"Watashitachi ga taizai suru igai ni sentakushi ga nai hi,"
[A day when we have no choice but to stay,]
Yao flushes when everyone looks at him, silent smiles encouraging him and cheering him on. So he musters his voice and in one empowering sentence he sings, "Shikashi, sonohi wa, NOT TODAY"
[But that day is, not today.]
Practice remained neutral. Although it was filled with glimmers of laughter and precious teases. It was when all four of them stood on neutral grounds, when all their masks drifted off and all that remained was pure music and the sound of static. They memorized their lines with doubtful smiles and when they were finally finished, only the thought of how suddenly a ray of hope had become bigger crossed their minds. The misery reduced to a small portion that only became a cautionary. When they were done practicing the lyrical part, it was by far past dinner and although their stomachs decided against it they silently trudged to the dance studio, calloused finger tips and toes apparent as they danced.
The next day has been the same thing. A stressful amount of work and sweat as they practiced singing while fervently moving their bodies. And when they were done with that, they welcomed the warm beds with shut eyes. Tired expressions leaving them as they fell into a dreamless slumber.
Except one.
It was quiet within the room, the only sound being the quick click of fingernails touching a blurred screen. The sound of a whimper before a rapid breath, and then he let the phone drop from his hands and the world grew black as sleep invited him.
What remained of sound was only the silent vibrate of mail sending to a unknown server. A preview of the email sent opens up on the screen. A single line looks back at the pale ceiling, mockingly, dangerously.
Life was tough when you had to make bad decisions, this was exactly it.
I accept.
HOLD UP. I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR A CERTAIN 'GUEST'
Are you okay? Are you hurt? I've been craving your opinion the previous chapter, but it didn't come. I know, I sound like I'm being awfully greedy and selfish aren't I? But to be completely honest they're only for your reviews. Your reviews are amazingly long and so detailed and you've been my first reviewer with my fanfiction, and have been my favorite read. I mean it when I say this, your reviews are the first thing I check when submitting a chapter. Hope to hear your opinion soon!
Okay, does anyone infer anything? What's up with the strange email foreshadowing? What's up with Yao being suspiciously hateful while staring at his phone screen? Yao seems to have transformed his hurt into hate? Who is the man that seems to cross his mind? Tell me, how do you think the small fluff I wrote for Ivan and Yao was...horrible, I know.
How would you guys feel if I killed someone off?
Plot UNLEASHED! Prepare to read the real plot of this story. Remember, everyone has their secrets, may as well guess which one belongs to who! Hehe!