a mix of bipolar[i-sm] and artist[r-y]
Title: a mix of bipolar[i-sm] and artist[r-y]
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: Ruki spends a long moment glaring at the phone, before deciding that he is both annoyed and angry at the world because the world is an unfair place and Ruki is a genius artist.
Pairing: Reita/Ruki
Rating: PG-13
& &
When Ruki feels annoyed, he turns to thick paint brushes and whitewashed canvases. Sometimes he splatters strong colours of blue, red, purple, green, yellow against blinding white in a disarray of passionate movements, while sometimes it’s just black and white with maybe silver or gold; he experiments and takes risks, venting his frustration in a blear of colours and shapes. Here Ruki is an artist.
But when Ruki feels angry, his artistry is miraculously drowned out: he turns instead to a wide range of nail polish and Maybelline eyeliner (with the occasional Chanel eyeshadow) and different hairdyes, along with a 80,000 yen wardrobe-budget for Shibuya. He always overdoes it: his looks and walk-in wardrobe change like clockwork that even Kai-the-obsessive has trouble keeping up with. Here Ruki is all but an utter, spoilt brat.
Today Ruki is furious. Waking up at ten to an empty bed without a coffee companion makes it hard to decide if he’s feeling the first or the second sort of indignation. He groans and tosses around in his (their) bed, and buries his face in one of the pillows -- only to realise that it’s not his pillow and it reeks of Reita’s disgusting strawberry shampoo.
Thus Ruki decides to call Aoi.
“Take a bath, Ru.” He tells the vocalist in his strong Kansai accent. “It’ll make you feel better, especially if you use the lavender bath foam from last Christmas--”
Ruki slams the phone down and scowls menacingly before Aoi could finish. Aoi is the man who believes that bathtubs and classical music together are the ultimate combination for unmeasured enlightenment, and the shower (Ruki doesn’t have a bathtub nor believes in them; you can drown in one of those) is the last place he wants to be because it just stinks of someone.
So he calls Kai.
Ruki could almost hear Kai roll his eyes. “It’s just for the weekend, Ruki. Let it be.”
“But -- it’s fucking irresponsible to just leave Keiji here in Tokyo while he goes back to fucking Kanagawa--”
“Ruki, you left Koron here, in Tokyo, alone, for a week when you went to Canada.”
“I put him in a hotel!”
“And hence Reita left Keiji with you and Koron.”
“But-- but--”
Kai chuckled. “Give the guy a break. It’s his sister’s birthday.”
“But Uruha--”
“Uruha has known Sayu since he was seven, Takanori.”
“But Reita’s with Uruha and not me and--”
Kai laughed. “Go take a bath. Aoi tells me that they help to reduce sexual tension.”
Again Ruki slams the phone down, though he can still hear Kai’s distant laughter echoing in his ears. He spends a long moment glaring at the phone, before deciding that he is both annoyed and angry at the world because the world is an unfair place and Ruki is a genius artist.
On Sunday night Ruki is splayed across the couch, the living room littered with canvases and blotches of paint and the air smells of chemicals and excessive hairspray. His hands hang limply over the edge as he mutters incoherently in his sleep, the fifth coat of black-over-white-over-black-over-pink-over-white nail varnish slowly drying. His fingertips are a spectrum of colours from blue to red to purple to green to yellow with traces of smudged black eyeshadow. He has on a new pink-and-white leopard print hoodie with neon-yellow tracks and off-the-new-arrival-rack socks from Shibuya 109.
Reita chuckles lowly as he takes his jacket off and hangs it carefully on the coat rack by their main door. He surveys the damage of their apartment and considers for a moment the amount of time he’ll take to pack this up, before shaking his head and gently tiptoeing across the cans of paint and scattered jewellery.
He accidentally knocks a pile of DVDs off the coffee table, and Ruki stirs awake.
“Did you miss me?” Reita asks.
The chihuahua on Ruki’s lap barks and leaps towards the bassist.
“Keiji did.” Ruki gestured at the cage hanging by their balcony.
“I saved you some cake, by the way.” Reita stroked Koron’s soft head as the puppy nuzzled his ankles. He eyes the haphazard disorder of their apartment bemusedly. “And you really overdid it.”
Ruki pouted and looked away. “I don’t want cake,” he said, examining the vast number of canvases on the floor, “And I didn’t miss you at all.”
* - ***
A/N: A whole new style!! Recently I've been tearing through aozoracomplex's fanfiction archive and god, this lady can really write. Simplistic and beautiful ♥ I was sobbing for a few stories... It's really so touching...\ (; ▽ ;)/
And please give me a little moment to celebrate Aoi's comeback on Twitter since the Decade!! Thank you for listening to the fan's requests and return!! Aoi-san, I really do love you ♥ His tweets really make my day.
I don't think I can write that much this year anymore, as I'm getting way too busy with work and life really, really sucks for me right now. Hopefully I can find some inspiration and time to write in between my heartless and merciless piles of work ^^
Thank you so much for reading!!