My apologies, I've been away on a three month trip in Asia. thus, this update has come hella late.

I hope you can all find it in your hearts to forgive me, I'm working on the next chapter for this as quickly as possible. Hopefully my update pace will pick up from here on out.

Once again, thank you for all the reviews and favorites. I'm truly flattered that anybody at all is actually enjoying this story.

Without further ado, chapter 3:

The room was dark and humid. Kisa gave out a soft moan as he rolled onto his back, eyes focused on the ceiling before him. It had been a while since he'd done this. The sleeping figure next to him didn't shift, didn't move. All that alerted him to its presence was the soft rise and fall of his bedmate's shoulders as he slept on. He remembered most of the evening, although closer to the end, Kisa's memories seemed to get a little fragmented. He could recall inviting the guy to get drinks. True, his intentions hadn't been pure from the start, but he could remember genuinely enjoying the guys company. 'What was his name?' not much to Kisa's trepidation, he had all but remembered the poor guy's name, if he had ever asked it in the first place was debatable.

The darkness around him seemed soothing, lulling the small brunette into a dazed sense of stoicism. What would it hurt if he just closed his eyes for a little while longer..? Kisa felt his consciousness slowly being unwound as his eyelids slid shut, cutting the hazy grey into a pitch black. The blankets were soft, the air was still, the only sound he could hear was the soft humming of a ceiling fan somewhere in the house, and the rhythmic breathing of the man next to him. It would have been nice to slip back into his earlier complacent daze were it not for a sickening feeling that slowly began seeping into his conscience.

'I have no reason to feel this way.' Kisa thought, his feeble attempt to quell the rising panic in his gut slowly ebbing. He hadn't done anything wrong, so why was he feeling as if he had? Pushing himself into a sitting position, the small editor ran a hand through his hair shakily, as if the unsettling burden would tangle itself in his fingers and disappear along with the action. He glanced around the dark room, his eyes picking up dim shadows instead of images. It was too dark to see much more than a bleak grey on grey, as unassuming furniture took the form of angular lumps and ambiguous curves. Kisa figured he had already pushed the limits of the other's company, regardless, and began to slowly take his leave, gently untangling himself from the duvet so as not to wake the sleeping man to his right.

His feet felt cold on the smooth tile, as the small editor began hunting around the darkened space for the clothes he had all too eagerly removed the night before. It wasn't unlike him to do this sort of thing, Kisa reasoned, as he slipped his discarded shirt off of an expensive looking ornament in the hall, hastily pulling it over his head as he continued to search. It's just been a while, that's all. It'll take some time to get back into it. The brunette scowled as he spotted one of his shoes laying upside down by the door, its partner, decidedly missing. He sighed and continued his search, the slight throb in his chest proving to be rather resilient as he made his way around the apartment a second time. It's nothing, it's nothing. It's fine, nothing is wrong. The small editor repeated to himself stubbornly as his feet carried him in a final circle of the condo, shoe still lost in the darkness. There's no reason to feel this way so just stop thinking about it. It doesn't matter anymore… he doesn't matter anymore.

He stopped; staring blankly at the open window before him, dusk barely breaking on the horizon of terracotta rooftops and marble terraces. He's part of your past now, you both agreed on that. Warm sunlight poured over ochre tiles, slowly chasing away the shadows that, only moments before, dominated the delineated landscape. Kisa stared, unseeingly, as grey washed into gold. Hazel eyes and chestnut brown hair… He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, trying to chase away the image with a gesture. It didn't matter. What he'd done wasn't wrong; it wasn't like he was cheating on anyone for god's sake! "Then why does it still feel like this?" Kisa faintly muttered as he felt a slight stinging behind his eyelids, his vision slipping into soft blurs of distorted colour. Forget it! Squeezing his eyes shut, Kisa quickly wiped the mist from his vision and blinked a couple times, pulling the world back into focus. What did it matter now anyway? Whatever it was that they had was gone now. It disappeared a long time ago. It's just like an old man to get hung up on a thing of the past. He reminded himself sorely, turning away from the window to continue his search.

"Are you leaving?"

Kisa jumped, nearly knocking over a tall vase as he spun to face the voice, eyes wide as they landed on the figure outlined in the bedroom doorway. "a-ano..?" He stammered, all attempts to communicate stalling on his tongue.

"No, no, it's all right if you are, I had been hoping you would maybe share some coffee with me first?" came the reply heavily accented and coupled with a charming flash of white teeth.

"Coffee…?" Kisa echoed quietly, somewhat taken aback by the casual charm of the man standing opposite him, arm draped against the doorframe inadvertently showing off his lean build. Kisa had to give himself credit; he definitely still knew how to pick them. It took the small editor a few minutes to process the invitation before he brokenly translated the man's question and pieced together one of his own. The latter being a very hesitant "Yes."

Sun blanketed the harbor, glistening like crystals off of the water's surface, it's reflection mirrored in the clear blue sky above. There was something so beautifully calming about the scenery. Blue mixed with yellow, red with green, colour layered over one another to create a landscape befitting of a morning basked in summer's soft kiss of languorous nostalgia. Clear amber eyes watched as the waves cascaded over each other, drawing closer and closer to the shore before being hauled back towards the open expanse of sea. The air was still light with daybreak's sweet scent of morning dew, too early to be drawn in by the sun's searing fever of dreary afternoon. Paint dried as he watched, green turn into blue turn into silver turn into black. It was a mesmerizing sequence, one unpredicted and unrestrained, almost as dangerous as it was breathtaking. He figured that's why he loved it. 'And maybe you're out there watching it too…' He sighed, returning his gaze to the canvas he had carelessly set aside when his attention was avidly pulled to the tide, as it had been day after day. He felt bringing his supplies down to be more of a burden than the help they should have been at this point. It was easy enough to deduce that he spent more of his time watching the sea then he did painting whenever he made his way to the sleepy dock. The artist slowly picked up the brush he had tucked behind his ear, the boy's sand coloured hair falling from where it had been caught the tool. Placing the coarse bristles to canvas he began making short sweeps of colour across the image. Blue dragged and mixed roughly with the thin layer of white that had been placed beneath earlier, creating an almost stormy sea as he worked, mirroring the motions of the waves before him. I wonder what you would say, if you could see what I'm doing now… The artist wondered retrospectively as he worked, eyes following each brushstroke casually, his vision floating over the image before him. A long sigh spilled from his lips as the artist continued to work, his mind elsewhere.

Dark hair and a reluctant smile, almost self-conscious, big brown eyes that expressed way more than he would have ever admitted. He loved that, the way he so unintentionally wore his heart on his sleeve. It was adorable. The artist smiled gently, sweeping the brush across the canvas and up, mixing dark blues with yellow and orange, a summer sky slowly taking form below the textures and colours the artist's tool produced. 'It's harder without a muse' He wondered, lightly mixing his brush on the palette to his left. 'We agreed it was for the best…' The green wasn't quite right… 'Everything's harder without him.' Maybe some more yellow… '-But this is what we both wanted.' Now it was too bright. 'When will you be able to move on?' The artist sighed and placed the paintbrush back behind his ear. 'You didn't want this…' This always happened. His condescending inner dialogue had the tendency to speak up while he went to work. That was probably also why he so readily allowed himself to become distracted by the seascape he so painstakingly continued to try and recreate. The waves created a constant whooshing sound as the lapped and danced at the dock and moored boats below; the idea was that they would create a sort of calming effect conducive to his current work. Unfortunately they only proved to magnify the distance, in his mind, that separated him from what he would have used to call 'home'. It had been months since the pair had even been in the same room, yet the young artist had found himself, more and more, trapped in his own recollections and accumulated memories of his lover's charming quirks and habits. Things he would have taken for granted months before. It was only now that he found himself so painstakingly recalling each and every little detail. As if the action would somehow resurrect some kind of haphazardly forgotten solution. 'What are you doing now? Do you think of me as much as I think of you?' He knew the answer was probably "no", which suited him just fine. The young artist was perfectly aware of his overzealous habit of pining romantically after the object of his affections, almost obsessively. He, in a way, appreciated the fact that he had still not let his feelings for the little editor go. 'I suppose part of me is still hoping for that happy ending…' besides, didn't some psychologist discover that depression fed into an artist's creativity? 'Although, if that were the case, I should have millions of these done by now.' He lamented, examining the scenery that was "not quite right" spread out in still shining oils, red, green, and gold contrasting with the stark white of untouched canvass. With a heavy sigh, the artist cast one last glance across the broken seascape, and began to clean his brushes. The sun was getting higher in the sky, colours changing and shifting; he knew his moment was far from gone. 'Oh well, maybe tomorrow…' He lamented, knowing full well that tomorrow would be no different. At that, his stomach gave a growl of protest, alerting the artist to his momentarily forgotten hunger. "Well it is almost noon." The brunette speculated animatedly, leaving his listless sort of woe on the ground as he straightened to examine the harbor. It had filled up since his arrival in the early morning, now brimming with activity and the hum of day-to-day life returning to what had once been a still landscape of cobblestone and sky. He stowed the art supplies away in a canvas bag and gave his paint stained hands a wipe. If anything, it had been time for breakfast long ago. The brunette shielded his eyes form the sun, his gaze settling on a nearby café that he frequented. Running a hand through his sun bleached hair, he cast a glance around the bustling avenue, taking in the life that had seemingly sprung out of the cobblestone. The change never failed to baffle him, and he grinned as he watched two young boys chase after one another, plastic water guns in hand. Their gleeful screams could be heard long after they disappeared from sight. Yukina Kou chuckled and took his leave, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. If he had learned anything in the past few months, it was to appreciate each individual moment instead of the whole. At least that way he could still find reason to smile.