Thanks to Tarantasik again for the edit, and the tidbits on St Petersburg :) I want to go there now!
Grey Overwhelms.
-Bing bong.
"Attention passengers, we are descending to land in St Petersburg in approximately 10 minutes, there is a light easterly wind, and the sky is clear, the captain predicts a smooth landing."
"Please fasten your seatbelts and put your sets up in any case, and have your passport ready for security. We hope you enjoyed your flight with Air Asia, and that your stay in St Petersburg is memorable. Local time is 3:30 am, please don't forget to set your devices to the correct time."
The service announcement roused Akihito from his uncomfortable, cramped with a sore neck sleep in economy class. He blinked his bleary eyes as the 'fasten seatbelt' sign lit up on the display in front of him.
Fuck. He fell asleep on the twelve-hour flight. Now his sense of time was going to be all out of whack. He tried to keep himself awake with inflight movies and games but to no avail. Twelve hours was a long fucking time to sit down without falling asleep.
It wasn't like he could chat to the person sitting next to him either, who was sitting in the aisle seat, while Akihito got the window seat - yeah, suck on that, snobby bastard.
The man in his suit that looked half the price of the Armani ones his old man wore took one look at him - with his dyed blonde hair, headphones about his neck, ripped-up jeans paired with leather chucks and tight-fitted hoodie - and snubbed him right off the damn bat.
The beady-eyed cheap suited fucker didn't even bother to say hello when Akihito gave him a genuine smile and greeting.
Be like that, then!
It was hella funny watching the man from the corner of his eye stiffen when Akihito's tattooed hand went across his face to take food from the flight attendant though. The arrogant cold shoulder changed to a respectful cold shoulder after that. Sometimes, it wasn't so bad when people thought he was associated with organized crime.
The service announcement came over in English then, which Akihito understood with a self-satisfied – because he did it - ease, and then in Russian, which he didn't understand a word of. Frankly, he didn't want to because he was sure if he even attempted to speak the harsh language, he'd rip his voice box to shreds and never talk again, even if he thought that it sounded cool and at the same time intimidating.
Ignoring all that though, because he shouldn't be thinking about such dull shit when he was ten minutes away from starting his epic journey across the world, he turned to survey the view out the small window as the plane coasted down towards the second largest city in Russia.
It felt as if he'd been given a good punch in the sternum and he needed to concentrate to breathe. Beautiful was such a dumb word for a man to use; in fact, it was a dumb word for an artist to use too.
St Petersburg, Sankt-Peterburg, Leningrad, Piter, the city before him was called many different names depending on what generation you were from, but all he'd call it right now was beautiful.
At half past three in the morning, the entire world beneath him was bathed in ethereal twilight, nights at this time of year in the northern hemisphere didn't get to reach the shade of midnight, and for that his breath was taken faster than a pick pocket in the red-light districts of home could do the job.
Hues of purple and blue streaked the skyline, and the land mass was speckled with thousands of different colored lights, twinkling like diamonds scattered across a dusk colored blanket.
He could see veins of the city, glimmering highways in straight lines with moving vehicles pumping up and down in tiny specks of light, as if the city was alive.
A cluster of brilliance pulsed at its heart, the epicenter of the city was at the shoreline, next to the Gulf of Finland and the Neva River, which ran through St Petersburg and branched off in canals and channels, which were an artistic dream to sit and paint.
He'd researched it all, and now it was right in front of him, he hadn't even touched down yet, and it was better than anything he could ever have hoped for.
He was beginning to get that feeling, that spark that formed before inspiration hit him full force and it turned him into a mindless creature whose only instinct was to put his tools to work and create something beautiful.
His fingers began to itch in anticipation to pick up his brush, or a pencil, or charcoal or anything so that he could render the sight before him on canvas and preserve this memory for life, because it was something he never wanted to forget.
He wasn't much of a believer in fate, or destiny or any of that shoujou manga bullshit, especially when it came to his life, but he had this indescribable feeling, it almost made him uneasy, telling him that St Petersburg was going to be special.
The ting of the café doorbell was a sharp cry against the muffled street noises that his jet-lagged brain was trying to tune out. A coffee, his first coffee outside of Japan was placed on the table in front of him, the aroma of caffeine potent in his nostrils this early in the morning, too early for someone who'd been a student months ago to be up at, but here he bloody was.
He was sitting outside a hipster café in a trendy part of the city where clubs and cafés lined the paved roads, colorful art hanging on the walls inside at odd angles and varying heights, it gave an odd sentiment to each piece, they all fit on the wall like they belonged on their skewed axis of the world.
He couldn't help but notice that as the barista, who spoke thick English, put his coffee down he admired the lengths of his tattooed arms. Since he was only wearing a T-shirt today, his body art would be seen differently in a place like St Petersburg, and he was proud of the crimson flowers that represented Japan on the backs of each hand.
On the walls outside, in the air that was much fresher than that of carbon-tainted Tokyo, there were band posters and exhibition promotions layered on top of one another so much you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Loose corners flapped on the wall as small gusts of what smelt like freedom swept through the city.
It looked so much better than the unskilled streaks of paint that decorated the memories of his teenage years.
There was so much color in St Petersburg, but the only color he could conjure in his head right now though, was melancholy grey.
He wanted to see the color, he wanted to get up and explore, go to the Hermitage and spend hours looking at the perfection of one brush stroke on a painting that was older than he was five times over.
He longed to sit on grass that would probably be soft enough to sleep on in front of the Kazan Cathedral and stare at the sky with just a pencil and a sketchbook for company, because no one would pick fights with him here, he didn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder.
His mind could comprehend all the brilliance, but fucking jetlag was raining Satan's piss on any urge he had right now. As he saw it now, through tired, messed up sleep pattern lenses, everything was a blur of city overcast, harsh stone, slate pavement and dull colored clouds that hogged his thoughts. He didn't much like the color grey, in his art or in his head, but he shrugged it off, the caffeine was helping, and he knew a day's rest wouldn't hurt despite how he wanted to do and see everything right now at this instant, more like five minute ago, if he weren't so tired he would have been fidgeting with anticipation.
There was no set time limit on anything though, the credit card in his pocket would have its amount renewed each month for as many months as he stayed away, all he had to do was stay under the limit. He relaxed then, and really savored the taste of his coffee as he sat back and watched people go about their lives in this country that was so different to home it almost seemed like another planet. No one seemed as rushed, as desperate to get to wherever it was they were going, the traffic was mental, but slightly less mental than the hectic streets of Tokyo.
This was only the tip of the iceberg; he hadn't even been in St Petersburg for half a day, and his system was lagging as bad as a shitty LAN connection when playing online, but fuck, it felt good to be here.
He sighed, trying to ease the grey in his head, and leant back in his chair with the cup cradled in his hands, ah, shit, even with the triple shot cappuccino in his hands he was getting sleepy, and he really shouldn't. He had to wait until nighttime, or he'd never get his head in the right fucking time-zone.
Another gulp of coffee went down, and he watched over the rim of his cup as a polished black Hummer pulled up to the curb in front of the café, what a sick ride, there weren't many Hummers in Tokyo. He looked at the car for a few moments, noting how it looked pretty badass with its tinted windows and huge ass tires that looked suited for all terrain, as a Hummer should be, before deciding he'd had enough and turning away -
- Well, he was going to turn away, but then someone got out from the driver's door, and for the second fucking time in as many days he felt like he was having another goddam shouju manga moment. What in the actual fuck…
This man stepping out of the Hummer was like, if Russia were a person, this man would be him.
He was built tall and strong, an immense presence that matched the country's status; he overwhelmed you just by existing. He was dignified, proud and Akihito could tell he was well respected just by looking at him. Who wouldn't respect those long legs and that powerful broad chest that commanded the very air he breathed?
At the same time though he was beautiful, as beautiful as the view of St Petersburg from the plane, like the city, he was bright, refined and colorful, as if the city took its feel from this very person.
But like Russia also, Akihito could sense a wilderness at his core, a Siberian blizzard in the depths of winter; there was something cold, dark and unforgiving about him, hidden underneath it all. People would rather avoid a person like him -too different, too strong, too dangerous. Misunderstood. Out of anyone's reach.
Minutes, or hours felt they'd passed, but it'd only been the space of about forty-five seconds, he could look for hours though.
He snapped out of artistic mode to make himself stop gaping, he'd actually just done the full fucking art appreciation stare on the man as if he were a masterpiece, and he didn't think he would be able to function if the man caught Akihito looking at him. The thought alone made him want to melt into a puddle on the pavement.
Well, he was a masterpiece, a seriously hot, blond-haired, well-muscled masterpiece of ass. He wanted to keep looking, wanted him to get closer so he could see his eyes, his face, see the curve of his lip, and the plains of his neck that tapered down to his chest, but he couldn't keep staring, if the man were to look at him, he'd self-combust.
This wasn't a goddam shouju manga though, and this man definitely wouldn't look at him, so he'd risk it, he was a fucking daredevil, yeah!
He snickered to himself though, as he pictured himself saying 'notice me sempai'. He was done for.
Another man got out of the passenger seat then, he was older, held himself with the same dignity and his blonde slick hair had silver at the temples of his stoic face, showing his age and life experience. The older man kept the man-masterpiece's attention by talking to him, and Akihito tried to play it cool and make it look like he wasn't gawking directly at him like some feverish zombie-looking stalker. Instead he looked from the corner of his eye as the pair walked by him and into the café he'd just ordered coffee from.
Real smooth, Akihito.
Then, he saw them. His eyes.
He saw them as the man turned and locked his Hummer with the remote on his keys, and then he couldn't breathe, or function, this was it. He was dead, definitely dead. This couldn't be real life, people didn't react like that to other people in real life.
He retracted his earlier moronic opinion about not liking the color grey.
Because his eyes were grey. Mercurial grey; ever changing and unpredictable, they gleaned like gunmetal when his eyes caught the sun overhead as the man turned back and entered the shop, Akihito's breath caught at the same damn time.
This man went with the color grey in his head perfectly, bringing his jetlagged brain to life, and he decided that maybe grey was actually probably his favorite color now. Grey could be light and gentle, or dark and harsh, and everything in between, it all just depended on how hard you pushed the lead of the pencil against the paper.
At the thought of a pencil and paper, his fingers began to itch, he was going to be inundated with the motivation to create soon, fuck the jetlag - he was in art mode now! This would normally be the time he'd go out and spray-paint somewhere when he was a teen, and now he was practically vibrating with the urge to get this image of the Russian man on paper, on something!
Searching through his satchel at his feet under the table, full of travel books and his most valuable things, like his passport and credit card, his fingers found the side-pocket where he kept a supply of pencils just in case this ever happened to him while he was out.
Just like now.
He found a soft-lead pencil that could do the exact things he said, shade soft gentle grey, or deep, almost black shades and every shadow in the middle.
Dammit though, he didn't bring his sketchbook! He'd been adamant he was just coming out for coffee before going back to his hotel room to get it, of course he hadn't expected inspiration to hit him like a knife to the gut a few corners from where he was staying.
Another small flurry of wind swept by him then, and the napkin on his table fluttered, as if calling out to him, it was a thick napkin with the café's name printed in the corner; he only knew that because the glyph-like writing on the shop sign was the same.
It wasn't one of those napkins made up of three thin layers of tissue, but one big fast soft layer that could wipe your mouth without tearing, or mop up a mess on the table, or be perfect enough to sketch on in an emergency.
This was an emergency.
His coffee went cold as he put the pencil to the napkin and began to draw.