STARRY NIGHT | ENG - FANFICTION | HEY!SAY!JUMP! | YABU/INOO
Title: Starry Night.
Pairing: Yabu/Inoo.
Normal warning applied.
Do you remember?
The first time we met. You were standing under that certain momiji tree. I just found that three days ago, after seeing the same guy over more than a week at that one spot, doing nothing but smiling at me. I would return your greet with a small nod, and then you immediately walked away.
At first, I thought you, the weird guy―I stated―who was breathtakingly, impossibly too beautiful to be a guy was greeting my friend who happened to go home together with me for staying over. But after that day, when I was going home alone, and you were staying under the same maple tree like yesterday, the third tree from my school gate, waved your hand―I was sure those fingers were incredibly pretty and I couldn't help but compared those with my calloused hand―before giving me the smile I started being fond of, I realised you were smiling at me.
"My name is Inoo Kei."
It was our eighth day of doing the same routine, except two days ago, which happened to be Sunday. Something unusual you did made me tugging my lips a bit, for unknown reason. I let myself shaking your hand back and told you my name as a reply.
I hope you remember.
You were smiling at me, and trust me, the smile was different from the other smiles you've given to me―I'm not being overly confident, but whom was supposed to receive it when there were no one around―your smile that day could put me at ease, as if telling me finally you knew, we knew each other.
Under that certain tree, exactly on September twenty three, at the age of sixteen, I felt intriguing by your presence, for the first time.
Because, I do remember.
The uniform you were wearing was from some prestigious school in this city. I concluded that you came from a very rich family. But, when you chuckled at that thought―which I found amusing―I could only scratch my cheek in embarrassment. The fact you attended that horribly expensive place was making me felt somewhat proud of myself, for having an amazingly genius prodigy as an acquaintance. Surprisingly, you were not like those wealthy brats who were annoyingly selfish. It's probably because you weren't any of them or simply because it's who you really are.
Neither of us intended to leave in any minutes, perhaps hours. I bought two sweet baked potatoes while you insisted to buy two cups of hot chocolate. We strolled around until we saw an unoccupied bench nearby in the park which surrounded by momiji and gingko trees. You ran there with that childish laugh on your face as you dragged me rather forcefully, which shocked me because I never liked physical contact with other people moreover a mere stranger, but I... liked it? No, it was more like―when it's you, I felt comfortable, albeit we're literally just knew each other one hour ago.
I hope you never forget.
"I like red."
It's what you said to me suddenly. As I ate the last bite of my sweet potato, I turned my face to look at you, who was already staring at me with your deep obsidian orbs.
Red always reminded you of me, what you said afterwards immediately. And I found myself speechless. I had no words to respond yours. Was it because the scarf I was wearing? Or the sport bag I was bringing? However, I do like red. But, was that the reason behind your words?
When you answered me, I felt nothing but satisfied and happy. That time your soccer club had a match with the club from my school, you happened to saw it. Even though mine almost lost, but what I did was laughing with my friends. As a captain, I should able to remain calm so my comrades would not feel under pressure. You said you were captivated with my club, with my play. Soccer was indeed my passion. Then, losing, of course you'll feel disappointed―I thought. But, rather sulking over that wasn't coming yet, I decided to not giving up. There was always a chance, no matter how small, as long as we put a faith in ourselves, every impossible were possible.
"I love you."
I stared at you without blinking. You were looking down at your half emptied cup of hot chocolate while saying those words. What amazed me more was the tint red on your face―ah, it even went back to your neck. Have I told you that I do like red?
The next day, you never ceased to surprise me. When I was still shocked with your previous confession yesterday, you seemed more agitated. I was concerned. And everything was confirmed with your last stuttering sentence before I couldn't help myself but looked away while nodding affirmatively.
"P-please, go out wi-with me!"
We were meeting at the exact same place again. You would wait there until my school was over and sometimes waiting inside where I had a practice to attend, after convinced you that was okay as long as I was there. I said to you that I should do vice versa which you disagreed promptly. I tried to shrug it off. But still, I did ask you why which you answered that your school was farther and it would take more time for us to go home together.
Because, I never forget.
I figured that you liked painting. You also played piano well. You said to me that you were some classical-nerd or something like that, timidly. You looked at me as if hoping I would not tease you for being one. Why did you think I would do such thing? To be honest, it's kind of―well, out of my league. I did not understand any of it, but I always had a thought that classical things were cool. An embodiment of elegance, and so did you.
The first time we had a date. After two weeks doing nothing but going home together, embellished with small talks and hands holding each others'―to my surprise because you had a rather tight grip. You told me you've been anticipating that Sunday since we decided to go out. On the appointed day, you wore a long-sleeve light blue t-shirt, black jeans, and white sneaker. I tried to not to gawk embarrassingly but I hardly found a reason why not to. You looked nice with casual clothes, and I liked it.
There was a movie you'd like to watch with me. Although I was not into drama and romance things, I couldn't help but interested and drowned with the movie you suggested. When the movie was over, again, you startled me with your already tears-covered face. I took off my black cap and put it on your head. Then we walked away with your hand lightly gripping my red polo shirt.
On the certain time, rain poured like a rainfall. Heavy. Inside a small café, we decided to stay longer. You took out a drawing book and a pencil. I smiled as I thought you were drawing the pouring sky outside. I've seen your arts once and they were breathtaking. As a common people like me, who had no much knowledge about such things, if I had to define your style or art, I would say it had sort of a Van Gogh-esque quality to it. You said his works, all of them inspired you the most. Well, not to mention I also fascinated with his expert command of colour moreover on his infamous artwork which I helplessly forgot its title.
"Quiet night full of stars."
I turned to look at you. Your drawing book and other equipments were placed inside your bag. Then I took a glance on my wristwatch. I wondered since when it's almost ten at night. You stood up and I followed. I insisted to walk you home and you finally agreed. We got out from the café and I stepped ahead.
Do you remember?
The night was indeed quiet, calm, but in comfortable silence. There was a pleasant smell of rain I grew addicted to. When you look above, you would find a crescent moon and shining starry sky. The colour of orange and red of the leaves melted perfectly with dark blue sky. And I finally remembered.
As I suddenly stopped and turned around to lay my gaze on you, you were smiling. You looked so enchanting in the pale moonlight, and when you sent me that small, unsure smile, I found myself leaning in before I could even think twice about it. It was chaste, shy, and sweet; utterly perfect. Our first kiss was under the smudged of red and orange together with blue in swirling motion in one part of the sky.
Starry Night.
Why don't you remember?
The first time we made love. The way your sweaty milk pale arms clasped around my back, how your fingertips pressed into my flesh, and when you gritted your teeth on my shoulder. You were shaking and so did I.
Sometimes, your fingers grappled with the starchy sheets, tangling them in the clutch of balled up fists. A textured sound of yours rose up from the motions, adding to the faint creaking of the bed in the background.
I could never begin to articulate the feelings rushing through my head, nor could I separate what was true and what was urged on by hormones. My mind was one indecipherable swirl. Your voice given over to cries that consisted more of harmonic sounds than intelligible phrases. Unintended, a fierce groan followed suit.
Arms that supported you, arms that held you tightly in a passionate embrace, arms that were mine.
Our forms intertwined in the dim bedroom, skin on skin in the midnight. Blinds drawn from another sky full of star.
Despite neither of us having had much experience, our first time was more pure than I could have ever dreamt it would be.
Why can't you remember?
The first time we had a fight. It was happened before our graduation day, precisely a week before. I always had a feeling you would be applying yourself in another university with prestige with your skill and passion. But, knowing you would go to the same university as me for some silly reasons wasn't in my mind at once.
You had a chance to make a better future. I always had a faith in you on that.
"I want to be with you!"
You were always so stubborn. Persistent.
I did like that side of yours. Yet, worshipping me that much, as if I was a Greek God, I would definitely feel uncomfortable.
I always remember.
On the awaited graduation day, you didn't come. When I went to your school, you weren't there either. You neither replied my message nor answered my call―unusually, your phone was turned off. I walked back to your home just to no avail. Your mother said you weren't home yet. I almost gave up when night appeared. Then I found myself walking towards a familiar route, passing by a school gate, and stopped exactly at the third tree of falling momiji leaves.
You were there, looking at me with those disconsolate eyes of yours. I ran my hand through your messy strand of hairs and let out a small chuckle. We laughed together.
We were so childish back then.
I never forget.
You proudly said you were accepted in university at Kyoto. I proudly said to my friends I was currently dating an art student whom would be a future infamous artist―the Japanese Van Gogh as I stated.
Living so far apart had more downfalls than perks. This was our first time being in long distance relationship. Compared to our high school life, when we could meet almost everyday, recently we only could face-to-face once in a month or more. You were busy and so did I. With our lack of communication, some misunderstanding would fabricate a big fight. Another catastrophe as I could say. And we planned on remedying those inconveniences by meeting in Tokyo or Kyoto, depended on our agreement.
You and I were mostly arrived at the particular spot at night. Sometimes it's about delayed schedule. The other times would be because of part time jobs. But neither you nor I complained. Deep down, we knew, night was the best time on everything―and we had a strong attachment on that very night.
Do you remember this?
The first time in our lifetime. At the age of twenty five, on September two, I asked you a hand for matrimony. You were silence for a long time and I was agitatedly waiting for your response. After another horrifying minute what feared me most changed when you suddenly embraced me and cried on my shoulder. I knew what I hoped for went into realization.
You insisted our wed should be on September twenty three which I easily agreed. On our memorable date, I declared my oath firmly, clearly, telling everybody that I was ready for every consequence. Meanwhile, you were, again, a bit stuttering with your words. But, that was okay. We vowed never to part.
We decided to move to Tokyo and lived together―build a family just the two of us. In a house of ours; where there were only three rooms―one was main bedroom, the second was my office room, and the last was your own small gallery; a big enough living room to put two sofas facing each other, one television, a grand piano in the corner along with a big bookshelf you explicably adored; and a dining room.
But...
... do you remember that?
The first time you forgot to go to our appointment. When I called, you told me that you never heard of that before. I shrugged it off because you might be quite tired with your works.
The first time you forgot how to play piano. You always had that perfect tune on Symphony no. 4 in F minor by Tchaikovsky―as you said you loved that piece so much I began feeling fond as well. When you suddenly paused at the only first part, I frowned and approached you. You had that confused expression, and I started feeling unwell.
The first time you forgot what to paint. I saw you staring at the unfinished canvas inside your own gallery. The palette was left untouched. Three brushes you usually used were laying on the floor. Your finger dipped into red colour and moved then stroked gently on the hard surface of canvas―you stopped promptly, staring at the disarray colours in a pure confusion.
Your easily forgetting things became more frequent. One time, you forgot to make breakfast or to buy some groceries. Other times just got worsen, you even forgot whose piano in the living room.
But, I don't forget.
I brought you to hospital and to see a doctor.
And I definitely never forget.
Dementia, they said.
You were associated with a decline in memory or other thinking skills severe enough to reduce an ability to perform everyday activities. It was caused by damage to brain cells. This damage interfered with the ability of brain cells to communicate with each other. When brain cells couldn't communicate normally, thinking, behaviour, and feelings could be affected.
I tried to absorb the new discovery that brought a painful strike on my temple. They said, the brain had many distinct regions, each of which was responsible for different functions and when cells in a particular region were damaged, that region couldn't carry out its functions normally.
I lost my breath for a brief time. The weighted moment vanished because I felt a tight grip from your hand in mine. Coldness radiated from your skin. You were looking at me and spoke,
"No, I will never forget―don't worry."
Yes, I will never forget.
The first time you were lying to me.
Everyday, you seemed to forget me more and more. Sometimes, you would look at me as if I was a stranger that broke into your house. One time, you accused me as a robbery and at that very time, it was hurting me to explain it to police that was coming. The looks you gave to me were tormenting, my heart was aching, my mind went numbing.
You hardly recognized my face anymore. It was hard for me too. I cupped your face once, forcing you to look at me, ignoring your rage as I hugged your skinnier body. Those eyes were the only reason I was standing this firmly, as if asking me to be strong―looking at me as I was the stronger one.
No, you were so strong and I fell into pieces.
Years passed quicker than I thought. A catastrophe, like I would always say, has reached its end when you've fallen sick. Despite my wailing, screams, pleads, doctor weren't optimistic.
I remember.
Move on, they said
Screw you, I replied.
Do you remember?
They did not know the vow we've oath. To never be separated. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; and thereto I plight thee my troth.
They never knew, right?
You've been spending your precious time in the bedroom. You've been sleeping for entire years in a torturing silence. You've been staying with some kind of hospital machine attached to your body. Though your hair has greyed and deep wrinkles have set in all across your face, I still am in awe at how beautiful you are.
Remember.
I move your painting inside the bedroom, hanging them on the wall so you can easily see them. My favourite is the middle one; Starry Night―a quiet navy blue sky full of shining yellow stars blended together with orange and red maple trees.
Please, remember.
You are too fragile and I am too scared to touch you. I'm terrified you will break the moment I lay my fingers on you. But, I want to. I will do anything to kiss you once more, to hold you once more, and to hear the words you said in our first time knowing each other.
Please.
Our time is almost up.
I want to be strong for you. We've been doing our first in everything together. Yet, this is the first time I do it alone, for you. You are always the one who put a strong façade meanwhile I am the care less. But this time, I must be strong―for you, for us. And I―
―can't.
It's just too hard. All I can do is burying my face on my hand.
Please.
"Third tree from the school gate."
I can hear you speaking weakly, and I snap up to look at you. I see you gazing out the window longingly. The shining yellow stars on the sky outside twinkling as if notice your gaze. You look confused, as if you are trying to recall something but simply cannot. It is an expression I have seen on your face many times over the past years.
"I―I always like red."
I let you keep talking even know it is hard―your eyes asking me to keep my mouth shuts.
"While eating a baked sweet potato and―a cup of hot chocolate, I... I―"
I hold my heavy breath.
"I once confessed to a guy under maple tree at high school."
You look as if there is more you wish to say, but a violent string of coughs shakes your whole body. I move to help, but I fear that you will turn away from me again, and I don't think I could take it. You finally stop and let your eyes fall closed again. Your breathing is heavy.
"I once confessed to a guy under maple tree at high school," you repeat. "He said yes."
You fall silent, and if it were not for the rhythmic mechanical beeping of the heart monitor, I would have feared the worst.
"I'm glad," you finally speak. You open your eyes and the tears I was trying so hard to keep at bay fall freely once again when you look at me. It's not the cold, blank look I had grown accustomed to seeing. It is warm, loving, and kind―a look of recognition in those beautiful, beautiful eyes. "I'm glad you said yes, Kou."
You smile at me, and never in my whole life have I seen anything as radiant.
I pulled you into a tight embrace as I put my face on your shoulder―and I weep, like once you did to me. I make sure you're comfortable and safe around my arms. I say something to you. Saying it again. Over and over until I'm hardly differ between my words or sobs. I keep saying it until I'm not sure what I am doing anymore. I don't care. All I know that you are here. Finally. For years, you are truly here; beside me, with me, together.
I mutter it again, not letting go of you at all.
You give a weak squeeze on my arms. It's too weak and too hard for me to notice. I half-heartedly release you, without taking off my hands on your body.
You are still smiling. The smile I always miss. The smile I crave to see.
Your lips move to make voiceless words. I ignore the blurry on my eyes as I try hard to understand what you want to say.
I love you too.
I smile back at you and your eyes gently slid off. The beeping of the monitor echoing in the room, slower, and keep slowing until it stops all together. Even in your everlasting sleep, you are still beyond beautiful. Maybe, even prettier than before.
Thank you.
I once confessed by a guy under the maple tree, in afternoon autumn, September twenty three. I told myself to give a try.
I once kissed a guy under the same maple tree, in the night sky full of stars. I believed this was the reason why I wanted to give a try about dating him.
I fell in love with a guy who confessed me and kissed by me under that particular momiji leaves. I was captivated by the beauty under the night of swirling cloud blended together perfectly with blue sky and yellow crescent moon.
I will never forget about you, Kei.
I love you.
(A/N: Comments are really appreciated. Ciao.
-nju)