The Painter [Chapter 12]
Title: The Painter
Chapters: 12/20(?)
Genre: Romance. Angst. AU. Fluff. Smut. Humour.
Warnings: Angst.
Ratings: PG-13
Pairings: AoixUruha (main), ReitaxRuki (side)
Disclaimer: I only own my imagination ♪
Synopsis: A painter which convictions and hopes are destroyed by a single man. A single man who would change his life.
Comments: Late update ~
Yuu Shiroyama sighed.
Why his editor was harassing him during a day off? He took the call, listened attentively, made him repeat twice, nearly fell off the couch and rushed to his bedroom, giving up his cellphone somewhere after he took note mentally of the place and of the hour of the exhibition.
Few minutes later he was rushing in the venue, noticing all of the walls there were red, a deep one. The guests were already all over the place, admiring the pieces and he couldn't help but to examine their reactions.
Some of them were leaving, offended and he smiled. About him, he was savouring the feeling that his whole being was so disgusted, so upset, so ill at ease. It wasn't the kind of art he affected but, this time, it was almost perfect. He had been right to feed so much hope for this painter.
Finally the last large room. All black. The glasses on the ceiling could let the light of the moon get in the huge room, could let it show a new piece, fruit of the tormented mind of it painter.
This one was hung up on the black wall. He stood there for a while, contemplating it, wondering from where the man had found such dark emotions. The name of this piece was Incubus. A lot of people were staring at it for so long now, him included. So many details that were catching his attention, so many details that were giving him shivers.
Yuu added few more lines on his notebook and sighed.
His gaze scanned the dark room, it was hard to see the faces, all of the lights were for the pieces in the room and it gave to the venue a very gloomy atmosphere. But he recognized him, quickly. Leaning against the wall on the other side of Incubus, his stare on it, on this canvas where he painted his story.
He seemed so frail, so sad, so lonely.
Yuu came closer and imitated him, leanining against the dark wall too. He had glanced at his face before, deep purple bags under his eyes that were sublimating his beauty.
Kouyou didn't give him any single look.
- I don't want to be far from you anymore.
The painter sighed when he heard his words.
- You'd better.
The critic was disconcerted by the reply.
- What does it mean?
Kouyou crossed his arms, his dark suit couldn't have helped him to go unnoticed among all of the people in this room.
- That I shouldn't have accepted to see you again, that I should have never kissed you, promised you some things, I shouldn't have made anything...
His voice was cold and tinted with pain. Yuu turned to look at him better.
- I don't understand. I was waiting for you and you...
- Forget me.
Kouyou had interrupted him curtly.
- Forget me, I'm just a depressive painter. Write your review and let me be what I was, just a painter among others.
The punch was horrible for Yuu. The weight of Kouyou's words were tearing him apart. He tried to speak but closed his mouth, trying to find any proper answer and finally faced Kouyou:
- Since that day, when I received this wine in the face...It's you. And you don't have the right to kiss me, to make me think that I can dream about something deeper about us to dump me like this in the end.
The painter chortled.
- But I'm doing it. Forget it, or you'll suffer.
The dark haired shook his head, a fake smile splattered on his face.
- Too late.
Kouyou's eyes weren't leaving the painting.
- So I pray for you it won't last. Go, find yourself a good guy who could love you, somebody everything but twisted and depressed, and lead a happy life together. Leave me alone.
Yuu stared at him, dumbfounded. It was hurting. So much.
He walked away and bumped into Takanori who was followed by Akira. They watched him leaving the place.
- It was Yuu, am I wrong?
Akira nodded.
- It was him.
They instantly both gazed at their friend and walked toward him, Takanori calling Kouyou out.
- Did you talk to Yuu?
The painter glanced at his friend and retorted, thoughtlessly.
- I talked to him.
- Why is he gone?
- Who knows?
Kouyou left for the buffet where he started to talk to some guests, naturally. Akira's hand on his shoulder, Takanori looked at his lover who was frowning and at the worry on his face, he knew that it was normal for them to wonder what happened to their friend.
- What the fuck is going on?
They stayed quiet as Kouyou was laughing carelessly.
Later, the three friends were watching Kouyou, drinking, obviously aiming to put in his bed the first guy or girl around. Yutaka sighed loudly, Takanori bite the inside of his cheek and Akira drummed nervously on the curve of his glass of champagne.
They could hear his laugh from where they were and it was hard to bear.
- What the hell happened?
The couple gazed at the brunette with sad faces.
- I guess it's getting back there. We should have known.
Akira nodded.
- Where's Yuu? You told me they were together...
Takanori laughed falsely under Yutaka's frown.
- Seems like Mr I-Push-Everybody-Away-When-We-Get-Too-Close is back. That fucking coward.
The cook shook his head:
- He keeps lying to himself, it won't fix anything.
- Yeah go and tell him, you'll see how much he'll listen to you.
- Akira what's with this tone? I'm his friend too you know.
He looked at Yutaka and put a hand on his arm:
- I'm sorry...I didn't want to talk to you like this. It's so frustrating to see him being fine after countless efforts and that everything is fucked up because he went back there.
- It was his choice.
Akira nodded at Takanori's words.
- He can't handle this alone though.
- No he can't. He'd be fine already otherwise...
They all shared a nod and tried to put up with the sight of their friend getting drunk little by little.
Takanori was supposed to join Yuu at his work. He thanked the secretary and stopped in front of a door, a gold sign indicating it was Yuu Shiroyama's office. He knocked and when he heard the familiar voice allowing him to enter, he obeyed.
The dark haired was sat, looking at the view he had on Tokyo from his huge window and finally turned on his swivel chair to look at the person he was waiting for.
- Take a sit.
The critic wasn't hiding his sadness. His dull gaze was speaking for him, the tiredness easily visible on his face. Could he sleep with the weight of this rejection?
Takanori shifted on the comfortable chair and as if the dark haired noticed the silence suddenly, he started to say:
- I can't work properly anymore.
The writer shook his head.
- Don't doubt about yourself for what happened with him. It's not you, as cliché as my words can be. It's really not you. I told you already, remember?
This time he showed his back, as impolite as he could be, his gaze falling on the roof of the building few inches away. It had no garden, nothing. Just concrete. Emptiness.
- I try to busy myself not to think too much. I try to forget.
- I didn't know you weren't the persistent type about love.
- I didn't know I was so weak.
Takanori sighed.
- Don't give him up. He's never going to surface anymore.
A laugh resonated in the office.
- He doesn't want me.
- But his gestures prove you wrong.
Yuu nodded to himself, recalling that walk in the park, those kisses, this tenderness.
- I thought I succeeded. Until the exhibition. I don't understand.
Takanori stood up from his spot and went to lean against Yuu's desk. He could see the man's profile, his pain.
- I can't tell you what happened because he has to do it himself. I'll only plead that he might be really scared to reveal you what destroyed him, partly. To the point of being ashamed.
The critic lapped up the words.
- Is it that terrible?
Takanori nodded, sadly.
- Don't give up please...That night after this dinner, he seemed so fine. I haven't seen a lot of people who could have Kouyou's interest to this point, even when they were rude to him. And you, you have something that really caught his attention, besides your boldness.
The writer laughed and from where he was noticed the lips of the critic stretching into a smile, but it faded away. Yuu took a deep breath, chewed on his lower lip for few seconds that seemed an eternity to Takanori and finally, he said:
- I need to think about it.
Takanori put a hand on Yuu's shoulder and replied before leaving the place:
- We'll help you.
It was the usual place where they would always come to share a drink, all together. Akira sighed at the bar, rolling his eyes at Kouyou's playful words. Not to him, no.
To that girl he was trying to seduce, even though he hadn't anything particular to do, she was already bending over the bar so he could get a nice view on her breasts. She was laughing in a way that was making Akira's ears to cringe. Not to mention that she was very stupid.
But Kouyou didn't care. Tonight he wanted to forget. To get drunk and to fuck the first beautiful one around. And she was the perfect target.
- He's already in a relationship. With a guy, icing on the cake.
Two heads suddenly turned. Her incredulous expression. His glare. Akira though was only staring at his best friend, warily. The painter was about to speak when they heard Takanori's voice, followed by Yutaka. Akira showed a table where he leaded everybody, Kouyou included, forced to leave the hottie who merely nodded when he told her he'd come back.
As soon as they were sat, he attacked his best friend:
- What the fuck are you doing?
Takanori pouted and Yutaka flinched. Kouyou wouldn't talk to Akira like this usually.
- No, what the fuck are you doing?!
The painter stole Takanori's cigarette to drag on it nervously.
- None of your business. Don't act like you care now. You didn't care at that time.
Akira bent his head down, clenching his fists, guilt feelings rushing back in his mind and in his heart. Takanori's hand covered his knee and he tried to focus on that feeling. The writer glared at his friend, how it was easy for him to hurt everybody around, selfishly sharing the pain.
- This isn't the right way Kou. Not at all.
The blond laughed and the three friends felt powerless.
- There's no right way. It will always be here.
With a trembling finger he touched his temple.
- He could help you. He really cares for you Kou.
Akira and Yutaka were just watching. Takanori's tone was soft and calm, only Takanori knew how to talk to him when everything seemed to slip from Kouyou's hands.
- I don't deserve happiness, I'm rotten inside. I'm wasted. Tell him.
A loud noise. Akira had banged against the table. People in the bar were looking at them.
- Bullshit!
Takanori sighed and grabbed Akira's arm, forcing him out of the place for a walk, so he could calm down. Yutaka watched them leaving, sadly and tried to talk to Kouyou but the blond stood up and came back beside the woman at the bar, swallowing anything that was on the glass in front of him so quickly that the cook feared for the future. It was terrible to see Kouyou falling back into the depths of sadness, to see him denying life. He could feel it again in the pit of his stomach, the fear of finding their friend decided to leave. Would he? Was he depressed enough to cross this last line?
When Takanori and Akira got back, they both showed the same desperation in their gaze seeing nothing had changed since they left the bar.
- By the way Akira, why did you gather us up there?
The blond pulled out from his back pocket a folded piece of paper he opened out on the table and pushed it toward Takanori and Yutaka for them to read.
"Accursed poets are still among us"
The article was depicting Kouyou's exhibition, a week ago. A genuine praise, detailing his paintings's strength, his grim universe with a short description of the painter who was compared to the French bohemians of the 19th century. Yuu had disregarded the fact Kouyou dumped him, writing this paper with dispassion. He had put aside his feelings to do his job and they were touched he did.
Akira was waiting for an hour now, at their table, watching from afar Kouyou kissing that girl breathlessly. That was so ironic how in a matter of time he had seen Yuu flirting like this in an almost similar situation and how now it was Kouyou. Something he'd have never imagined, not that his friend couldn't seduce or get who he wanted, it was just that it wasn't his type. The only times he showed that kind of attitude, it was when they were students, when Kouyou had wanted to drown his past and his sadness in alcohol and sex. Somehow, it never worked and he gave up after a while.
Takanori was waiting for him and it was the only thing that prevented him to stay more here, to keep an eye on him. It wouldn't matter either, Kouyou would never listen to him and certainly not when he was drinking. He walked up to the bar, put right in front of his friend the folded paper and said coldly, not giving any glance at the woman comfortably settled in his arms:
- When you'll have screwed her superbly , read this.
Kouyou remained quiet while his friend left the place and didn't protest when the woman in his embrace stole his lips hungrily.
Few minutes later they were in her appartment, making out against the wall of her bedroom when she parted to say she was going in the shower and that he could take it as an invitation. Intrigued by the paper in his pocket though, he replied that he'd wait for her on the bed and with that, she bite his lower lip so much that he hissed in pain and grinned when her laugh resonated in the bathroom.
Kouyou sat down the huge bed, grimaced at the pink blanket and unfolded the paper he had taken out of the pocket of his jacket.
He read it in one breath.
Tear filled eyes.
Cursing after himself.
When he was at the door she appeared wrapped in a towel. He didn't even know her name.
- Hey but where are you going?
Kouyou was already showing his back, opened the door and showed her his middle finger in the air before disappearing as quickly as they ended up there.
When he reached his appartment the first thing he did was to run to the toilets to throw up, sicken by his attitude. He wiped his mouth and found a spot on his carpet, his back leaning against the couch. His trembling hands lighted a cigarette, his bruised mouth held it tight, fighting but it was too late, the tears were already streaming down his porcelain's cheeks.
Swamped by the sorrow.
In the morning the first thing Takanori did was to call the painter who took time to take the call.
- What do you want that early in the morning?
Kouyou's voice was hoarse and the tiredness in his tone was worrying the writer, hoping he didn't cross the last line with that pretty girl in the bar.
- Hello there Kou, I'm fine, thanks for asking.
- Stop the fucking sarcasms.
The painter wrapped himself better in the plaid, on his couch.
- So, didn't sleep much?
- Not for the reason you're thinking about.
Takanori cleared his throat.
- Oh so this girl wasn't that good?
- She never was.
- Is Yuu good enough then?
Kouyou sighed in the receiver and Takanori continued:
- Did you read the article?
- Yes.
- So?
- So what?
- Kou you're tiresome.
- You too.
- Thank you.
- It wasn't a compliment Taka.
- This guy is crazy about you.
- May God help him.
Takanori groaned of frustration.
- God has enough problems! Seriously Kou...
The painter stared at the puzzle of papers on his coffee table. He had picked them up from the floor at 3am to make it whole again, had read the words about his work countless times until he couldn't cry anymore. It had hurt him each time, Yuu was hurting him so much. The sound of his friend exhaling confirmed to Takanori that he was smoking, something he would do a lot when he was feeling bad.
- Seriously?
The writer didn't utter a word, waiting.
- It shook me so much that I gave her up, I cried like a little girl all night long, mad at myself, lost and...Fuck I don't even know what else. Is that what you wanted to hear Taka? Or you need more pathos?
Takanori only replied with a little voice before hanging up:
- No thank you, it's enough. Take care and think about what you should do with Yuu.
Kouyou wanted to retort "Nothing" but the engaged tone was resonating in the receiver.
Meanwhile the loudspeaker produced a loud tone, informing Yuu that the call was now over. The critic was gazing at the writer, perplex. Hearing Kouyou confessing his troubled emotions after he had read his work it was a little comforting. Even if the details of the story were painful.
- See? He doesn't really want to get away from you.
At Takanori's words he forced a laugh.
- He didn't say anything clear about that.
- But I'm his friend and I can claim I know him. And this article gave him a punch, he doesn't openly admit he's been weak over something. Certainly not about his work.
Yuu looked at the raising sun through the windows of Takanori's living room. This was so fucked up. Why on earth did he decide to be here, at Kouyou's first exhibition, that particular day, why?
Why did he insist to provoke fate and to meet him regularly? Why did he kiss him? Why did he get attached to him? Why did he let his guard down by developping feelings?
I don't waste my time loving anyone. It's useless.
Those words he had told to her. Or him. Or her. Or him. Them. It was so pretentious, so wrong. You can never control anything, certainly not the heart. When the heart wants something, you can't fight against it, you can disappear from the loved one, you can close yourself up in empty spaces, it will always shout silently what you don't allow to pass your lips, harassing you in the middle of the night when you wake up from a dream that seemed so real.
No you can never control it and Yuu Shiroyama was realizing it. Kouyou had something that stole his sanity, his power, the one he had to resist the shouts.
- I'm as lost as he is. Hearing him, it made me feel a little bit better. Thank you.
The door closed and Takanori bent his head down, tired.
He opened the mail in his office, his brows furrowing at the early time of the morning it had been sent, three hours ago, and felt his heart tightening while his eyes deciphered the message.
"I'm going back in our hometown, again. This time, it will work, this time I promise I'll come back and I'll control my life. I want to give Yuu a chance, I want to live normally. I'm hurting you, bothering you all and I don't want this anymore. But please, trust me, let me fight this past for the last time. I won't let it catch me again, I won't. I want to visit grandpa and grandma, I couldn't last time. I'll bring them their favourite flowers.
Akira please, let me win my own battle alone.
I'll call every day so you won't worry. Tell Taka and Yutaka that I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye. But I'm determined. I need to start living, right?
Can you tell Yuu that I had to go away again? Tell him, please, that I really think about us, that I'm sorry, he'll know everything when I'm back in Tokyo, if he still wants me around...
P.S: Don't reproach yourself anything anymore. I know you still do, but you were forgiven from the beginning. I love you for being my best friend, don't ever forget that.
K."
--------------------
Sorry for the very slow update. I have quite a hard time writing recently, I guess it's my mood, or the few changes in my life. Inspiration likes to drive me crazy haha. Anyway, it's a long one so I hope you enjoyed ♥
Chapters: 12/20(?)
Genre: Romance. Angst. AU. Fluff. Smut. Humour.
Warnings: Angst.
Ratings: PG-13
Pairings: AoixUruha (main), ReitaxRuki (side)
Disclaimer: I only own my imagination ♪
Synopsis: A painter which convictions and hopes are destroyed by a single man. A single man who would change his life.
Comments: Late update ~
Yuu Shiroyama sighed.
Why his editor was harassing him during a day off? He took the call, listened attentively, made him repeat twice, nearly fell off the couch and rushed to his bedroom, giving up his cellphone somewhere after he took note mentally of the place and of the hour of the exhibition.
Few minutes later he was rushing in the venue, noticing all of the walls there were red, a deep one. The guests were already all over the place, admiring the pieces and he couldn't help but to examine their reactions.
Some of them were leaving, offended and he smiled. About him, he was savouring the feeling that his whole being was so disgusted, so upset, so ill at ease. It wasn't the kind of art he affected but, this time, it was almost perfect. He had been right to feed so much hope for this painter.
Finally the last large room. All black. The glasses on the ceiling could let the light of the moon get in the huge room, could let it show a new piece, fruit of the tormented mind of it painter.
This one was hung up on the black wall. He stood there for a while, contemplating it, wondering from where the man had found such dark emotions. The name of this piece was Incubus. A lot of people were staring at it for so long now, him included. So many details that were catching his attention, so many details that were giving him shivers.
Yuu added few more lines on his notebook and sighed.
His gaze scanned the dark room, it was hard to see the faces, all of the lights were for the pieces in the room and it gave to the venue a very gloomy atmosphere. But he recognized him, quickly. Leaning against the wall on the other side of Incubus, his stare on it, on this canvas where he painted his story.
He seemed so frail, so sad, so lonely.
Yuu came closer and imitated him, leanining against the dark wall too. He had glanced at his face before, deep purple bags under his eyes that were sublimating his beauty.
Kouyou didn't give him any single look.
- I don't want to be far from you anymore.
The painter sighed when he heard his words.
- You'd better.
The critic was disconcerted by the reply.
- What does it mean?
Kouyou crossed his arms, his dark suit couldn't have helped him to go unnoticed among all of the people in this room.
- That I shouldn't have accepted to see you again, that I should have never kissed you, promised you some things, I shouldn't have made anything...
His voice was cold and tinted with pain. Yuu turned to look at him better.
- I don't understand. I was waiting for you and you...
- Forget me.
Kouyou had interrupted him curtly.
- Forget me, I'm just a depressive painter. Write your review and let me be what I was, just a painter among others.
The punch was horrible for Yuu. The weight of Kouyou's words were tearing him apart. He tried to speak but closed his mouth, trying to find any proper answer and finally faced Kouyou:
- Since that day, when I received this wine in the face...It's you. And you don't have the right to kiss me, to make me think that I can dream about something deeper about us to dump me like this in the end.
The painter chortled.
- But I'm doing it. Forget it, or you'll suffer.
The dark haired shook his head, a fake smile splattered on his face.
- Too late.
Kouyou's eyes weren't leaving the painting.
- So I pray for you it won't last. Go, find yourself a good guy who could love you, somebody everything but twisted and depressed, and lead a happy life together. Leave me alone.
Yuu stared at him, dumbfounded. It was hurting. So much.
He walked away and bumped into Takanori who was followed by Akira. They watched him leaving the place.
- It was Yuu, am I wrong?
Akira nodded.
- It was him.
They instantly both gazed at their friend and walked toward him, Takanori calling Kouyou out.
- Did you talk to Yuu?
The painter glanced at his friend and retorted, thoughtlessly.
- I talked to him.
- Why is he gone?
- Who knows?
Kouyou left for the buffet where he started to talk to some guests, naturally. Akira's hand on his shoulder, Takanori looked at his lover who was frowning and at the worry on his face, he knew that it was normal for them to wonder what happened to their friend.
- What the fuck is going on?
They stayed quiet as Kouyou was laughing carelessly.
Later, the three friends were watching Kouyou, drinking, obviously aiming to put in his bed the first guy or girl around. Yutaka sighed loudly, Takanori bite the inside of his cheek and Akira drummed nervously on the curve of his glass of champagne.
They could hear his laugh from where they were and it was hard to bear.
- What the hell happened?
The couple gazed at the brunette with sad faces.
- I guess it's getting back there. We should have known.
Akira nodded.
- Where's Yuu? You told me they were together...
Takanori laughed falsely under Yutaka's frown.
- Seems like Mr I-Push-Everybody-Away-When-We-Get-Too-Close is back. That fucking coward.
The cook shook his head:
- He keeps lying to himself, it won't fix anything.
- Yeah go and tell him, you'll see how much he'll listen to you.
- Akira what's with this tone? I'm his friend too you know.
He looked at Yutaka and put a hand on his arm:
- I'm sorry...I didn't want to talk to you like this. It's so frustrating to see him being fine after countless efforts and that everything is fucked up because he went back there.
- It was his choice.
Akira nodded at Takanori's words.
- He can't handle this alone though.
- No he can't. He'd be fine already otherwise...
They all shared a nod and tried to put up with the sight of their friend getting drunk little by little.
Takanori was supposed to join Yuu at his work. He thanked the secretary and stopped in front of a door, a gold sign indicating it was Yuu Shiroyama's office. He knocked and when he heard the familiar voice allowing him to enter, he obeyed.
The dark haired was sat, looking at the view he had on Tokyo from his huge window and finally turned on his swivel chair to look at the person he was waiting for.
- Take a sit.
The critic wasn't hiding his sadness. His dull gaze was speaking for him, the tiredness easily visible on his face. Could he sleep with the weight of this rejection?
Takanori shifted on the comfortable chair and as if the dark haired noticed the silence suddenly, he started to say:
- I can't work properly anymore.
The writer shook his head.
- Don't doubt about yourself for what happened with him. It's not you, as cliché as my words can be. It's really not you. I told you already, remember?
This time he showed his back, as impolite as he could be, his gaze falling on the roof of the building few inches away. It had no garden, nothing. Just concrete. Emptiness.
- I try to busy myself not to think too much. I try to forget.
- I didn't know you weren't the persistent type about love.
- I didn't know I was so weak.
Takanori sighed.
- Don't give him up. He's never going to surface anymore.
A laugh resonated in the office.
- He doesn't want me.
- But his gestures prove you wrong.
Yuu nodded to himself, recalling that walk in the park, those kisses, this tenderness.
- I thought I succeeded. Until the exhibition. I don't understand.
Takanori stood up from his spot and went to lean against Yuu's desk. He could see the man's profile, his pain.
- I can't tell you what happened because he has to do it himself. I'll only plead that he might be really scared to reveal you what destroyed him, partly. To the point of being ashamed.
The critic lapped up the words.
- Is it that terrible?
Takanori nodded, sadly.
- Don't give up please...That night after this dinner, he seemed so fine. I haven't seen a lot of people who could have Kouyou's interest to this point, even when they were rude to him. And you, you have something that really caught his attention, besides your boldness.
The writer laughed and from where he was noticed the lips of the critic stretching into a smile, but it faded away. Yuu took a deep breath, chewed on his lower lip for few seconds that seemed an eternity to Takanori and finally, he said:
- I need to think about it.
Takanori put a hand on Yuu's shoulder and replied before leaving the place:
- We'll help you.
It was the usual place where they would always come to share a drink, all together. Akira sighed at the bar, rolling his eyes at Kouyou's playful words. Not to him, no.
To that girl he was trying to seduce, even though he hadn't anything particular to do, she was already bending over the bar so he could get a nice view on her breasts. She was laughing in a way that was making Akira's ears to cringe. Not to mention that she was very stupid.
But Kouyou didn't care. Tonight he wanted to forget. To get drunk and to fuck the first beautiful one around. And she was the perfect target.
- He's already in a relationship. With a guy, icing on the cake.
Two heads suddenly turned. Her incredulous expression. His glare. Akira though was only staring at his best friend, warily. The painter was about to speak when they heard Takanori's voice, followed by Yutaka. Akira showed a table where he leaded everybody, Kouyou included, forced to leave the hottie who merely nodded when he told her he'd come back.
As soon as they were sat, he attacked his best friend:
- What the fuck are you doing?
Takanori pouted and Yutaka flinched. Kouyou wouldn't talk to Akira like this usually.
- No, what the fuck are you doing?!
The painter stole Takanori's cigarette to drag on it nervously.
- None of your business. Don't act like you care now. You didn't care at that time.
Akira bent his head down, clenching his fists, guilt feelings rushing back in his mind and in his heart. Takanori's hand covered his knee and he tried to focus on that feeling. The writer glared at his friend, how it was easy for him to hurt everybody around, selfishly sharing the pain.
- This isn't the right way Kou. Not at all.
The blond laughed and the three friends felt powerless.
- There's no right way. It will always be here.
With a trembling finger he touched his temple.
- He could help you. He really cares for you Kou.
Akira and Yutaka were just watching. Takanori's tone was soft and calm, only Takanori knew how to talk to him when everything seemed to slip from Kouyou's hands.
- I don't deserve happiness, I'm rotten inside. I'm wasted. Tell him.
A loud noise. Akira had banged against the table. People in the bar were looking at them.
- Bullshit!
Takanori sighed and grabbed Akira's arm, forcing him out of the place for a walk, so he could calm down. Yutaka watched them leaving, sadly and tried to talk to Kouyou but the blond stood up and came back beside the woman at the bar, swallowing anything that was on the glass in front of him so quickly that the cook feared for the future. It was terrible to see Kouyou falling back into the depths of sadness, to see him denying life. He could feel it again in the pit of his stomach, the fear of finding their friend decided to leave. Would he? Was he depressed enough to cross this last line?
When Takanori and Akira got back, they both showed the same desperation in their gaze seeing nothing had changed since they left the bar.
- By the way Akira, why did you gather us up there?
The blond pulled out from his back pocket a folded piece of paper he opened out on the table and pushed it toward Takanori and Yutaka for them to read.
"Accursed poets are still among us"
The article was depicting Kouyou's exhibition, a week ago. A genuine praise, detailing his paintings's strength, his grim universe with a short description of the painter who was compared to the French bohemians of the 19th century. Yuu had disregarded the fact Kouyou dumped him, writing this paper with dispassion. He had put aside his feelings to do his job and they were touched he did.
Akira was waiting for an hour now, at their table, watching from afar Kouyou kissing that girl breathlessly. That was so ironic how in a matter of time he had seen Yuu flirting like this in an almost similar situation and how now it was Kouyou. Something he'd have never imagined, not that his friend couldn't seduce or get who he wanted, it was just that it wasn't his type. The only times he showed that kind of attitude, it was when they were students, when Kouyou had wanted to drown his past and his sadness in alcohol and sex. Somehow, it never worked and he gave up after a while.
Takanori was waiting for him and it was the only thing that prevented him to stay more here, to keep an eye on him. It wouldn't matter either, Kouyou would never listen to him and certainly not when he was drinking. He walked up to the bar, put right in front of his friend the folded paper and said coldly, not giving any glance at the woman comfortably settled in his arms:
- When you'll have screwed her superbly , read this.
Kouyou remained quiet while his friend left the place and didn't protest when the woman in his embrace stole his lips hungrily.
Few minutes later they were in her appartment, making out against the wall of her bedroom when she parted to say she was going in the shower and that he could take it as an invitation. Intrigued by the paper in his pocket though, he replied that he'd wait for her on the bed and with that, she bite his lower lip so much that he hissed in pain and grinned when her laugh resonated in the bathroom.
Kouyou sat down the huge bed, grimaced at the pink blanket and unfolded the paper he had taken out of the pocket of his jacket.
He read it in one breath.
Tear filled eyes.
Cursing after himself.
When he was at the door she appeared wrapped in a towel. He didn't even know her name.
- Hey but where are you going?
Kouyou was already showing his back, opened the door and showed her his middle finger in the air before disappearing as quickly as they ended up there.
When he reached his appartment the first thing he did was to run to the toilets to throw up, sicken by his attitude. He wiped his mouth and found a spot on his carpet, his back leaning against the couch. His trembling hands lighted a cigarette, his bruised mouth held it tight, fighting but it was too late, the tears were already streaming down his porcelain's cheeks.
Swamped by the sorrow.
In the morning the first thing Takanori did was to call the painter who took time to take the call.
- What do you want that early in the morning?
Kouyou's voice was hoarse and the tiredness in his tone was worrying the writer, hoping he didn't cross the last line with that pretty girl in the bar.
- Hello there Kou, I'm fine, thanks for asking.
- Stop the fucking sarcasms.
The painter wrapped himself better in the plaid, on his couch.
- So, didn't sleep much?
- Not for the reason you're thinking about.
Takanori cleared his throat.
- Oh so this girl wasn't that good?
- She never was.
- Is Yuu good enough then?
Kouyou sighed in the receiver and Takanori continued:
- Did you read the article?
- Yes.
- So?
- So what?
- Kou you're tiresome.
- You too.
- Thank you.
- It wasn't a compliment Taka.
- This guy is crazy about you.
- May God help him.
Takanori groaned of frustration.
- God has enough problems! Seriously Kou...
The painter stared at the puzzle of papers on his coffee table. He had picked them up from the floor at 3am to make it whole again, had read the words about his work countless times until he couldn't cry anymore. It had hurt him each time, Yuu was hurting him so much. The sound of his friend exhaling confirmed to Takanori that he was smoking, something he would do a lot when he was feeling bad.
- Seriously?
The writer didn't utter a word, waiting.
- It shook me so much that I gave her up, I cried like a little girl all night long, mad at myself, lost and...Fuck I don't even know what else. Is that what you wanted to hear Taka? Or you need more pathos?
Takanori only replied with a little voice before hanging up:
- No thank you, it's enough. Take care and think about what you should do with Yuu.
Kouyou wanted to retort "Nothing" but the engaged tone was resonating in the receiver.
Meanwhile the loudspeaker produced a loud tone, informing Yuu that the call was now over. The critic was gazing at the writer, perplex. Hearing Kouyou confessing his troubled emotions after he had read his work it was a little comforting. Even if the details of the story were painful.
- See? He doesn't really want to get away from you.
At Takanori's words he forced a laugh.
- He didn't say anything clear about that.
- But I'm his friend and I can claim I know him. And this article gave him a punch, he doesn't openly admit he's been weak over something. Certainly not about his work.
Yuu looked at the raising sun through the windows of Takanori's living room. This was so fucked up. Why on earth did he decide to be here, at Kouyou's first exhibition, that particular day, why?
Why did he insist to provoke fate and to meet him regularly? Why did he kiss him? Why did he get attached to him? Why did he let his guard down by developping feelings?
I don't waste my time loving anyone. It's useless.
Those words he had told to her. Or him. Or her. Or him. Them. It was so pretentious, so wrong. You can never control anything, certainly not the heart. When the heart wants something, you can't fight against it, you can disappear from the loved one, you can close yourself up in empty spaces, it will always shout silently what you don't allow to pass your lips, harassing you in the middle of the night when you wake up from a dream that seemed so real.
No you can never control it and Yuu Shiroyama was realizing it. Kouyou had something that stole his sanity, his power, the one he had to resist the shouts.
- I'm as lost as he is. Hearing him, it made me feel a little bit better. Thank you.
The door closed and Takanori bent his head down, tired.
He opened the mail in his office, his brows furrowing at the early time of the morning it had been sent, three hours ago, and felt his heart tightening while his eyes deciphered the message.
"I'm going back in our hometown, again. This time, it will work, this time I promise I'll come back and I'll control my life. I want to give Yuu a chance, I want to live normally. I'm hurting you, bothering you all and I don't want this anymore. But please, trust me, let me fight this past for the last time. I won't let it catch me again, I won't. I want to visit grandpa and grandma, I couldn't last time. I'll bring them their favourite flowers.
Akira please, let me win my own battle alone.
I'll call every day so you won't worry. Tell Taka and Yutaka that I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye. But I'm determined. I need to start living, right?
Can you tell Yuu that I had to go away again? Tell him, please, that I really think about us, that I'm sorry, he'll know everything when I'm back in Tokyo, if he still wants me around...
P.S: Don't reproach yourself anything anymore. I know you still do, but you were forgiven from the beginning. I love you for being my best friend, don't ever forget that.
K."
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Sorry for the very slow update. I have quite a hard time writing recently, I guess it's my mood, or the few changes in my life. Inspiration likes to drive me crazy haha. Anyway, it's a long one so I hope you enjoyed ♥