Thanks for the review(s?) everybody that's read this so far. To be perfectly honest with you all I had no intention of writing another chapter… I'm unbearably lazy when it comes to following through with these things. But hearing that people are actually interested has inspired me to finish this story! So thanks! Here's chapter two! And i don't own anything blah blah blah. Is this story good? I don't know anymore.
It wasn't much at first. Kisa could still fondly recall when the beautiful prince had first stepped foot into his life. He, at the time, had felt as if the young man's presence had been some kind of celestial joke. Yukina was, by all definitions, perfect. Those first few months flew by in an emotional blur. He remembered feeling, at the time, swept away by Yukina's words, by Yukina in general. Simply the young artist's presence would send Kisa's heart rate sky high, the small brunette could still only wonder, with a morbid sort of contempt, why it was that his heart hadn't just plain given out over that time. 'Surely an old man's frail organ wasn't made to withhold so much use.' Kisa smirked despite himself, it was a thought he had entertained regularly back then, still self-conscious of his own age around the spirited youth. The time spent together had been far from prefect, but much to Kisa's chagrin, he would admit that he would never have exchanged it for any number of punctually received manuscripts. In truth, it had been the best few months of the small editors life. Lazy mornings spent in each other's arms. He could still remember the all too tempting warmth of another's body beside his, as he was gently lulled back into a contented daze. 'Kisa san.' The sound of his name on Yukina's lips would never get old, even now the brunette had to mentally slap himself for slipping into the all too attractive daydream of snuggling up with the princely character of his imagination. Yukina was far from a safe topic for Kisa's recent pensiveness. 'Kisa san."
True he had voiced his concerns, over and over, to the attractive artist. 'What if we grow tired of each other? What if somebody better comes along?' Kisa had been correct in his suspicion that regardless, something was going to get in their way. 'What if we don't have enough time? What if…" It would have never been enough time, the brunette reminded himself, spitefully. Regardless of his current relationship status, Kisa was sure that a small part of him would never truly get over the fairytale like apparition of his past affections. Honey colored locks, eyes the colour of chestnut, or cinnamon, sparkles… Yukina was the very definition of a perfect man. Everything from his pierced ears, to his tranquilizing voice had Kisa enamored. Unfortunately, as he was reassured daily from the displays at Marimo, he wasn't the only one who had fallen under the guy's princely charm. Meaning that, of which he was more than certain, there were plenty of others where he came from, it was just going to take the right girl, or guy to convince Yukina that he had truly made the wrong choice in pursuing Kisa… the straw that broke the camel's back, as they say. Not to put mildly the show Yukina would put on if Kisa ever voiced his doubt. The guy was chalk full of 'I love you's' and enough kisses to keep the small editor happily satisfied, or rather distracted, for the time being.
Unfortunately, it hadn't been the alluring call of another that had stolen Yukina away from him. It had simply been neglect. Days turned into weeks turned into more weeks, turned into months. The times spent together seemed to grow farther and farther apart. With Yukina's school drawing to a close, the young artist had finals to worry about along with his usual duties at the bookstore. And Kisa… well nothing really ever changed for him. His arduous hours spent at Marukawa seemed to drag into longer and longer stints, until the brunette had to wonder if he ever did have a life outside the high maintenance publishing house that seemed to prove, time and time again, a relationship in itself. It was only after everything was said and done that the two realized they had drifted apart. Not for lack of trying, on Yukina's part especially, did they simply give it up at that. They had both done their best to make something good of a bad situation. Both of them had bent over backwards trying to match schedules, make time to meet, but after a while a simple fuck and cuddle didn't really do the relationship justice. It had just begun to feel like a series of one night stands, the only difference being that the partner was the same every time.
Maybe it had simply been Kisa's problem, as he always seemed to pawn it off as, or maybe for once they were both to blame. Regardless of who or what was at fault, Kisa found himself growing more and more wary of their decaying relationship. He knew Yukina well, and although the young man would never admit it, the guy was all about appearances. Not in a shallow, snobby, or standoffish way. Kisa simply understood that it mattered a great deal to Yukina, how the world perceived him. To everybody else, Kou was the ideal appearance of a well put together, creative, and attractive young man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. He had the world at his fingers, and flaws in this perfect prince were doubtful, to say the least. That's who he was. The guy was honest, hard working, and loved with all his heart. So much so, it sometimes made Kisa's own displays affections seem like half-hearted gestures. It was only after meeting Kisa that, to Yukina's own horror, his more selfish side made its appearance. Or so the guy claimed. Regardless, Kisa knew that Yukina would never be the one to suggest that "maybe they break up." He just didn't have it in him.
Of course, this remark sent the young artist reeling, stuttering about, trying to convince Kisa otherwise. 'Was it something I said? Did I do something wrong Kisa San?' Yukinas expression spoke volumes about how much he cared for Kisa, that wasn't the problem. The guy was barely holding it together long enough to choke out a strangled 'I love you' how would he be expected to do much else? The small editor understood that breaking up would just make things worse. And of course, in the end the small brunette surrendered and the two went on as always, keeping up airs and pretending to be fine with only meeting once or twice every month.
Truthfully, Kisa, although a little irked by the whole situation, wasn't too much of an emotional wreck at that point. He no doubt understood that the princely artist still held his heart; he was fairly certain that would never change. But it was almost unbearable counting down the days until their next rendezvous, understanding that it would merely be a few short hours before they had to part ways. Both leaving, to reset the countdown and wait for zero yet again.
It was only until much later that everything had come to a head, when during one of their rare "sessions" (it had begun to feel more and more like an appointment then an actual date), Yukina unloaded what exactly that art scholarship he won at the end of the year had secured him. And, after a long talk, thinking and reworking the situation until it was nothing but a mess of dates and impossible to reach places, the two decided that for both their benefits it was wise to break it off. Kisa had seen it coming as soon as Yukina uttered to words "moving." That familiar sinking feeling had crept back into his stomach and was making a nice little home as his boyfriend, at the time, continued to talk about museums, and opportunities and "Won't you come with me Kisa San?" He had all but kept it together long enough to make it past the threshold of his apartment before collapsing in the genkan and crying his heart out. Because no, of course he couldn't come with him. Who knew that kind of idealistic wishing that kept them together in the first place, ironically, would be what pulled them apart. He thought he had been ready for this, steeled himself, emotionally, for what was to come when they did inevitably call it quits. But it hurt like hell anyways, and as much as he tried to reason with himself that 'it was for the best' and 'there was no way you two would have worked anyway' he still felt like bit by bit, he was falling apart. Yukina had become part of him, barging his way into his heart just as abruptly as he had his life. And now he'd left, a gaping hole of longing filling the space he used to be. Kisa had felt utterly and completely shattered. He could still remember (heck it still happened) waking up in the middle of the night and rolling over expectantly to find nobody, just the other side of the futon cold and neglected, waking up drowsily, wondering if it really was the real thing or just his imagination, the feeling of something warm and soft brushing against his cheek as he worked late into the night on an unfinished manuscript. Sometimes he would even wake up in his own bed, after passing out (he thought) on the couch in his living room, wondering if Yukina had come back and carried him to bed like he used to do. Of course it was just a lapse of memory, of course he knew Yukina wasn't coming back. He had all but traversed the Pacific Ocean by then. Creating a distance between them so physically vast it seemed to span even larger in his own mind. There was no going back, there was nothing to go back to, Yukina was completely and totally gone.
Shaking himself free of his futile circle of thought, the brunette stepped out of the shower, his feet sinking into the soft bath towel nestled on the floor in front of him. "You're never going to snap out of this, going on about it like that." Kisa muttered miserably as he toweled off, roughly mussing about his hair as he glared at his own pitiful reflection. Letting the dregs of his depression dry with the water on his skin. Padding into the cool bedroom, Kisa remembered to silently say a prayer of thanks to the beings that invented air conditioning. It had been sweltering since he arrived, his only reprieve being the interior of the small hotel he booked to stay for the week. This meant he had spent almost 90% of his time indoors reading, 'which you could have done at home.' He reminded himself critically, pulling on a pair of shorts and a light t-shirt. He chanced a glance in the wall mirror and heaved a sigh. For once his small frame proved an advantage, as most of the clothes he owned were almost always too big, it meant that he'd at least stay a fair bit cooler in the suffocating climate. Letting go of another wistful sigh, he glanced quickly around the small room and, hardening his resolve to get out for once, the brunette slipped on his shoes and stuffed his wallet in his pocket, closing the door behind him with a soft 'click'.
The air was thick and humid, crowds bustling, people laughing, sharing ice cream and gelato on the cobblestone streets as they shuffled by. Couples holding hands, family's walking in groups, Asian tourists... It was almost a task in itself not to be swept away by the overwhelming crowd, each traversing in their own creative direction. Kisa spared a glance at a group of gawking Japanese travelers and was reminded just how thankful he was that he didn't go ahead and book a guided tour of the little European town like the brochures had suggested. Standing there in their khaki shorts, cameras, disposable and digital hanging from their necks, each one sporting a saggy safari hat and pocketed vest, with the occasional fanny pack, they were the epitome of Asian tourism. Flavours of the orient at its finest. Watching as the group shuffled and arranged themselves to take their pictures, Kisa couldn't help but smile. There was something ridiculous, but also so innocent about they way they patiently took snapshot after snapshot of the same picture, rearranging themselves between each photo so everybody could stand beside everybody else. They were living up to the stereotype, sure, but at least they looked like they were having fun doing it.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, the small editor continued down the cobblestone path, not really looking, but sparing a glance at the various art displayed along the side. Paintings, sculptures, trinkets, and stupid souvenirs, this was the culture of the town, on display for all to see. The art was good; he had to admire the talent of the town's resident bohemians. There were artists every few feet or so, trying to push their wares on passers by. You could hear the coaxing between salesperson and customer. The charming demeanor or of the seller, with their gimmicks and ploys meant to make the buyer feel important, as if they actually mattered. "This is one of a kind. It took 2 months to create! Its a special price, just for you! You're very beautiful, I would be honoured if you bought this piece from me." It was, Kisa admitted, part of the charm of the small getaway. Everybody was anonymous, faceless. There was no worried glancing about, concern on the edge of your mind 'what if I bump into an old friend, or acquaintance?' Nobody was there for long and your past didn't matter. 'Isn't that why people travel?' The brunette mused as he made his way along, walking casually behind a group of American tourists happily gibbering away about their recent excursions and purchases. Kisa noted, in a kind of muted fancy, that his mood was actually lifting. Maybe it was the jovial hustle and bustle around him, or the anonymity, but he was actually feeling better now than he had in the last few months combined.
Paying closer attention to the wares on the sidewalk, Kisa noted a large group, collecting around a certain stall several meters to his left. It seemed as if whatever it was that merchant was selling was in high demand. As he neared the crowd he caught a glimpse of a woman squeezing her way out of the group, practically beaming, as she clutched a canvas to her chest. 'Another painter' Kisa deducted, craning his neck to see above the crowd, knowing full well his efforts would prove fruitless. As the brunette stepped back to take in the scale of the little congregation he realized that the group was almost entirely made up of females. Taking note of the apparent demographic, Kisa had to wonder just what had these women in such frenzy. As he watched people peel away from the crowd, all women, all beaming, he vaguely wondered if it wasn't so much the art but the artist that was attracting all of the attention.
As Kisa took another step backwards, his foot caught on an uneven cobblestone and he went toppling over backwards, his eyes widening at the sudden shock of being knocked off balance. The small brunette let out a little yelp, bracing himself for a painful landing that never came. Eyes opening in confusion, Kisa found himself staring up at the face of a very attractive local. Olive coloured skin, and hair the colour of polished mahogany, he was, needless to say, very much Kisa's type.
"Are you alright?" The stranger inquired, giving Kisa an amused grin, his white teeth flashing behind thin lips.
"Uh... Yeah, s-sorry, I just lost my balance." The brunette squeaked out, barely remembering enough of the English he had learned in college to piece his meager sentence together. Steadying himself enough to pull away from the unusually graceful dip he had landed himself in, Kisa took a step back. Taking stock of his saviour. The guy was tall, dark and handsome; to put it in any other words would be an insulting lie. He had a slender build, with lean muscles hinting through the light dress shirt he wore, sleeves rolled to just past his elbow. He wore dark jeans, showing off his long legs, and expensive looking shoes. Dark hazel eyes smiled warmly at him as Kisa's gaze met his, curiously wondering what European fairy tale this stranger could have climbed out of.
"... You aren't hurt are you?" We're the last words of the sentence Kisa tuned into, his eyes finally focusing and pulling him back to the present.
"Hurt? No not at all." He replied, surprised at the worried expression on the handsome strangers face. "Thanks to you." He added, smiling warmly at the guy.
"Good, I'm glad." Came the reply, heavily accented, it was clear that English was not his own first language.
Reassessing his situation, the small brunette took a step to the side, giving the two privacy from the heavy foot traffic. "I didn't actually think somebody would catch me like that." Kisa stated, glancing around to see if they had caused any disturbance.
Smiling warmly, once again, at Kisa, the stranger held out hand. "And as thanks, would you do me the honour of sharing your name?"
Now this was familiar territory, and as soon as Kisa recognized the all to habitual turn their conversation had suddenly taken, he nodded his head to one of the many bars located on the strip, I'll tell you if you buy me a drink...