“Colors muted in your absence.”

[miseinen]

There's just something not quite right when he's not around.

✖

The windowsill reflected a gloomy blue light and Uruha wasn’t exactly sure why that was the first thing he noticed. It was only a little after 3 PM and yet it felt as if night was about to fall, not that it really mattered. The door was sucked in by the winter wind and banged against the frame violently, making him jump out of his skin but the sound didn’t last in his ears for more than a second. Nor did the sound of his bag falling on the marbled floor. Uruha inhaled deeply and then exhaled. His apartment didn’t smell quite the same from when he last remembered.

He looked around – silver and gray surrounding all corners. The color of his walls. Uruha never thought they looked that gloomy too until now.

Looking around his dim apartment didn’t really change how he felt (not very at home) and so he walked over to the bathroom and flicked the light switch on. His lanky form looked even unhealthier under the yellow lights.

Uruha stared at his face – bare, clean of any make-up, unglamorous. Stripped to the (cheek) bone that protruded under his eyes. He was nowhere near beautiful as how people revered him, how they perceived him to be. He didn’t hate that face. He didn’t exactly hate the Gazette’s guitarist’s face either. It just meant that there were different faces that he was able to display, or at least that’s what he believed.

Now that he’s on his own, he can’t exactly fool the eyes that stared back at him, unlike earlier today.

Uruha stared, and he stared hard. His eyes were deep from sleeplessness and a dull brown already. Nose too big and lips chapped from the cold. Not too bad looking for somebody physically tired. Emotionally, maybe, maybe not.

A grin stretched his mouth and he pulled the cupboard open, moving the mirror away from its place. There was this urge to just drive his fist into the glass but he’s not Aoi. Definitely not a romantic like him.

Washing his face didn’t quite erase the things on his mind. Maybe just the smaller details.

Uruha turned the bathroom lights off and stared around his unit. Far too dark for 4 PM. It was already almost like 8. He watched the shadows and the shine of some objects until he got to the living room’s light switch. It emitted a sickly yellow glow again, this time paler. Almost white, but not exactly. Uruha clicked his tongue distaste and turned it off. Everything was swallowed by the dark again, but at least now he couldn’t feel the loneliness as much.

He never thought that his bed was this cold and hard before. Uruha furrowed his brows and laid on his stomach instead, face buried in the middle of his pillow. It didn’t smell like… that mixture of cigarettes and alcohol and maybe a little bit of drool.

It didn’t smell right.

Uruha’s chest felt heavy but he fought against the feeling; he didn’t cry, he never would. Whatever drops of tears that accumulated there at the corner of his eyes somehow was because he had stupid colds and his eyes somehow were more sensitive when he’s sick.

He wasn’t fooling himself. He didn’t cry because of it. But he does acknowledge that small hurt that churned his stomach badly.

This time maybe he’ll learn to go back to his apartment every time.






Bright red numbers flickered before his eyes – reading 19:25 – and Uruha awoke from the rustling by his door. Light sleeper. His bare feet padded silently along the wooden floor in contrast to the loud footsteps outside and the sound of keys that clanked against what he guessed was the coffee table.

“You need to give that key back to me.”

His brown eyes met black ones. Contacts. Uruha always thought it bad to have those on for longer periods. Aoi never listened, like now.

“You gave it to me. It’s my property now.”

A sigh cut through the still air. Leaning on the wall, Uruha bent one knee in front of the other and narrowed his eyes as he tried adjusting to the light.

“I’m taking them back. You have no reason to have them anymore.”

Aoi stepped forward. Uruha couldn’t step back.

“Uruha please—”

“You’ve got nothing more to say to me, okay? I know. You’ve got a reputation to uphold. If you want to play with other people, that’s fine—”

Uruha’s chest felt tighter. Squished, like his torso and shoulders. In between Aoi’s arms.

“But just don’t lead me on. I’d be fine,” Uruha continued.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“If you meant that, you’d have thrown Pakira-chan on my face and told me to get the fuck out.” Uruha opened his mouth to talk back but Aoi stared him down. “You wouldn’t be holding back onto me like this.”

Uruha’s fingers loosened their grip from Aoi’s shirt. Aoi flashed a smile.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s when Uruha pushed Aoi off him. “You don’t mean that.” He went over to the coffee table and took the keys, but remembered he didn’t have any pockets. He dropped them on the carpet not a moment too soon as Aoi pulled on his arm.

“Look at me Uruha.” Aoi pulled the other closer. “Look at me.”

Uruha looked. Straight in the eyes. Aoi didn’t flinch or look away.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing. Here, in your apartment. I don’t know how this shit should work. I really don’t know what the fuck’s happening, but whenever I spot you, you always shine in my eyes.”

Uruha barked a laugh. “That’s something you say to a girl.”

Aoi frowned. “Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean. When you started ignoring me after the live, everything just went… dull.”

Aoi’s hold loosened and Uruha relaxed. “Just… sometimes I forget myself. But give me a chance, Uruha, I don’t want to lose you when I only realized how much you really mean to me.”

It was almost as if Uruha could see blue lines over Aoi’s head. He laughed at that. “I can’t always give you a second chance.”

Aoi frowned again. “It’s not as if I don’t forgive you every time.”

One of Uruha’s eyebrows rose. “What are you talking about?”

“Whenever you’re messing around with Ruki and Reita. Like earlier, you fucking kissed Ruki. What the hell was that about.”

Uruha rolled his eyes and pushed Aoi back. The latter stumbled a bit backwards. “You’re jealous of Ruki and Reita over fan service?” Emphasis on the word fan. Aoi only glared.

The younger looked down, seeing red (carpet), black (Aoi’s socks), and flesh (his feet). Somehow that seemed right. He raised his face and Aoi took him by the chin and pressed their lips together. Uruha couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

“Now you need to light these candles,” Aoi gestured to the candles on the windowsill, “It’s Christmas Eve but your apartment looks so depressing.”

Aoi lit the two small candles by the window. “I’m gonna make some hot chocolate. One that doesn’t suck.” Uruha frowned at Aoi’s insult on his chocolate-making skills, but that didn’t last too long – the blue and red shadows on his windowsill have completely taken his attention.

Not bad, not bad.