| Unfathomable; Takuma, the most popular kid in the school, vists the music rooms after school to listen in on the most beautiful music. | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 23 2018, 01:48 AM (2 Views) | |
| basketkitty | Mar 23 2018, 01:48 AM Post #1 |
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When people see me now, they would have no idea that I was ever picked on. The thought would be unfathomable to them. That someone like me, Takuma Hideaki, would ever have been made fun of or mocked for my appearance. For my chubby cheeks and crooked teeth, for my whiny voice and awkward demeanor... No one would even consider the idea. Just the way I want. Because I was so miserable about my appearance, and because my dreams consisted of me living in the spotlight in the good way, my parents agreed to spend a little extra money on surgery for me. It was hell for a few weeks as I recovered... But like an awkward caterpillar hidden in a cocoon, I eventually emerged as a gorgeous butterfly. And after the surgery, my dad got a business opportunity in another area, and so with my new appearance, we moved and I decided to start from scratch with my relationships. At sixteen years old, I started up my first year of senior high school, and quickly formed a group of admirers and followers. In just a few weeks, I had an entire flock of students falling to my beck and call. In a month, I even had teachers falling at my feet. Halfway through the first semester, I was the King of the school. Because I had the fashion, the hair, the walk, talk, and smile. I was a god. And it quickly went to my head. It started out small at first. I had ended up with a small band of students around me, some older, a few younger, but all of them wanted my approval. So if I made fun of someone, commenting on how their hair isn't brushed, or their clothes are outdated, my posse would follow suit and we would laugh at the person's discomfort. A part of me knew it was bad. That it wasn't right. Because I had been on that end before...so wouldn't I know, of all people, how it felt? But on the other hand... If I did it first, could people do it back at me? I couldn't afford to be pushed around anymore. Now it was my turn to do the pushing. Before long, it started to escalate further. Someone tried to say something bad about me behind my back, and one of my cohorts informed me. After school, I leaned against a wall in the back alley and watched as some of the sports club members disciplined the student for me. When they finished, with him laying there, sobbing and bleeding, I walked over and stood over him. "Next time... Say what you'd like to my face... If you still have one," I tell him, before walking away and leaving him up to the more kindhearted people in my group. But that's probably the worst it's ever been. I don't raise my hands, myself. I just let other people do it on my behalf. Often, I don't even say anything. Everyone wants to protect me, to make me proud, to earn themselves praise and presents... I don't have to lift a finger. All I have to do is smile and they're willing to fling themselves off bridges for my sake. It's addictive. But it's not always what I want. Coming to school early one day, because my parents had gone to work early (as usual) and I was bored, I meander the grounds for a long while, miraculously alone. I guess it's too early for the usual people to come hang off me, and for a moment, I'm grateful for the break. I'm used to being alone, and despite loving the attention, I occasionally miss being by myself. However, as I walk down the hallway through the art department, I'm acutely aware that I am no longer alone. Because there is music playing in one of the practice rooms. Stopping by the door, I listen quietly to the piano playing, inwardly marveling at the skill of the pianist. The piece is so beautiful, too, that while I had first envisioned a teacher, my hope is now placed on seeing a beautiful girl behind the keys. The image of a black-haired beauty, her style simple and elegant, her hair straight and pinned behind her ears, her fingers long and slender but with enough strength to press down on the full-weighted keys... She is the only possibility for such a masterfully played piece. Only she, who I envisioned, could be behind that piano. And for a moment, with my hand on the handle of the door, I freeze, unable to move. If I open the door, what would I say to her? Everything else this semester had come so naturally to me. All I had to do was smile to people and they would fall head over heels for me. But now...now I had the feeling that wasn't going to be enough. I didn't want it to be enough. Whoever was behind that music, I wanted them! Mind, body, and soul! I had to work for them. For once, I needed to work for her heart! My mind now made up, determined to do anything to profess my love for the beautiful musician I had created in my head, I quickly open the door, startling the actual musician. Who I stare at. Hard. He was nothing like the princess of my dreams. For one thing, he was a he. And another thing: she had long, straight black hair...he had short, brown hair. Almost reddish. ...At least it was somewhat straight. And then, while she had style and elegance and was as slender as a willow, he was...none of that. Not even close. Somehow, he had managed to find a way to improperly wear the school's uniform, and even worse, had managed to find the most unfitting bag to hold his books in. What a garish red... Almost as bright as his startled eyes... And how on earth could hands like his play with that much precision and speed? Impossible! Staring at each other for several seconds, I eventually just close the door again, already feeling my face burn with embarrassment. How stupid of me... Assuming it would be a princess befitting my beauty, just based on music ability alone... Of course other people had talent, too! Even the most hideous person could create something as gorgeous as that song! Music came from the soul, after all. That is one of my biggest beliefs. So how contradictory for me to assume that the outside must be as beautiful! How humiliating. And how haunting. From that day, I found myself unable to spend my mornings at home, and as soon as my parents were gone, I would leave as well and hurry back to that hallway by the practice room. And more times than not, I would hear that piano again. And I would sit there for as long as I dared, just listening to it. And sometimes I would hear him sing. And sometimes, he would recite poems, and edit them outloud, looking for the right rhythm and cadence. And sometimes...if things weren't going well... I could hear him cry. But I never stuck around long enough to see him leave, and I never stayed long enough for anyone to see me there. I was careful. Because this was my time. And I didn't want anyone else getting in the way of it. Sometimes I felt like a creep, listening in on a stranger's rehearsal time... Listening in on his most vulnerable moments... And sometimes, when listening to him berate himself got too much, I would have to leave, to keep myself from bursting into the room and praising him and telling him just how perfectly executed his playing was, and how heartfelt his poems were and how amazingly pure his soul was... Because there was no way in hell I could do that. There was no way in hell I could let him know that I was currently his biggest...and quite possibly only...admirer. After starting my morning ritual of listening to that boy play in the practice room for a little over a week, I found myself a little more aware of the colour red. Red backpacks caught my eye more than ever, and not in the harsh way they used to. But in the nostalgic way that made my head turn to linger on the sight, my mind replaying those piano melodies from that day. And sometimes in the afternoons when I walk down through the art department, I pause by the practice rooms to listen to the students rehearse...but I now know his style of playing, and he's never in there after the morning. I can tell. I don't hear him, after all. My followers can tell something has changed about me. I'm more distracted, less interested in any of them. They vie for my attention more than ever, and I barely seem to smile anymore. A part of me worries that they'll get bored and start to leave me...but a larger part doesn't care at this rate. If they all left me...that would give me more free time to find that pianist and listen to his music. That would allow me time to stay in the hallway until he was done rehearsing and I could formally greet him and thank him for all the hours of soothing melodies he's played for me, his only audience... And without the fear of what other people thought, when I do get to see him and thank him and get his name, I would then grab his soft cheeks in my hands and squish them together, and I could gaze into those big, startled red eyes, and lean down towards those full, plush lips-- Jerking myself back to consciousness, I apologize to my parents and hurry my dinner, claiming that I have a lot of homework to catch up on. But once I'm in my bedroom, I lock my door and don't go near my desk. Instead, I go straight for my bed and grab my oversized body pillow, squeezing it tightly. I've never considered myself attracted to guys, much less heavier-set guys. In fact, a lot of my fantasies involved slender girls with long legs and maybe a nice, soft butt... But for some reason this boy...this boy I can't stop thinking about. Was it really just his music? His poems? His garishly bright backpack and mismatching outfit? His tears? His criticisms? What was it? What was it about him that made me want to hold him so badly? What was it that made me unable to envision my body pillow as anything but him? How soft he would be to hold, how warm he would be, how much of him there was to just grab and kiss and...love... I slept restlessly that night, my face burning hot with embarrassment, my heart unable to stop beating incessantly, and in the morning I slept through my alarm, causing me to be too late for my morning routine. But for now, I decide that it's alright. That perhaps I am being silly with this whole thing. He was a guy, after all. And so was I. It would never work out. All he knew, if he did know me, was that I was popular. I never saw him outside of that practice room, so he must be an outcast... And so he would never even try. I was out of his league. If I were to approach him, he would turn me down for sure. He wouldn't risk it. It would be too good to be true, after all. Besides, he was a guy! And I wasn't gay. I wasn't. I'm not. So with that in mind, I was determined to not care that I missed his music. I had already decided that I needed to stop being silly. Who was he to me, anyway? A stranger with a cute, round face, that was all. I didn't even know what level he was in. For all I knew, he would stink hideously. Or be insane. Or...or even be criminal! Whatever the case, I made myself not care. I made myself forget he even existed. Until I saw his bright red backpack laying in the grass, with him beside it. And my laughter quickly died on my lips and my heart leaped and raced and I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Because there he was, sitting on the grass, a large pair of headphones on, and a bento box in his lap...and he was eating with such delight that I wanted to cry from how pure it was. I didn't even care that the amount of food he was eating was enough to make me feel overly full...all I cared about was how happy he was to have it. How eagerly he put it away, his face alight with joy, as if the meal was the best thing he had ever had... And how he didn't seem to care what other people thought of him. Of his eating habits, of what he was putting in himself, or how much... He was happy. And I wanted to cook for him so badly. Being pulled from my reverie by one of my followers, I stammer out a confused reply, trying to pull my eyes from the sight of the cute, round boy on the grass. But the guy doesn't repeat his question, and I give up on figuring out what it was he wanted. In that moment, I give up on everything. And I just allow myself to sit there and watch as the pianist eats, writes, and then gets up, picking up his bright red backpack and walking off as the bell rings... And I don't notice how many of the students around me watch with jealousy, or how many of them are plotting. "Hideaki-san! You need to come down to the alley! Something's happening!" Standing up quickly from where I was studying in the library after school, I frown with concern and swear under my breath and leave the girl to pack away my things for me as I hurry off. Every now and then something will happen down in that alley for my sake. Someone says something off-coloured, or looks at me wrong, and my followers are more than happy to put people in their place. But it hasn't happened in a long while, and usually I hear about the shit-talk before the discipline takes place... So needless to say, I'm concerned. Well...concerned is an understatement. Entering the alley, I see a small crowd of people at the end, yelling and swinging their fists and feet. At one point, someone grabs a piece of two-by-four to add into the fray, and as I hurry my approach I just about scream when I notice an all too familiar bright red peeking out from between feet. Grabbing the two-by-four as it swings back for momentum, I rip it out of the person's hands, yelling and swearing for them to get out of my way and back up. Tossing the piece of wood aside, I grab at shirts and sweaters, hauling people away from the crowd, shoving and pushing my way into it. Then, once at the center, I drop to my knees and assess the damage done. He blinks up at me with one eye, his red eyes still as startled looking when I first saw them, only this time one is swollen shut and the red in his eyes isn't nearly as bright as the red flowing from his nose and split lip. My hands shaking, I hold his head up, my mind going blank on all the first aid lessons I had ever taken in school. Finally finding my voice after a moment, I scream for someone to hurry up and call the goddamn nurse, before turning my attention back to the boy, who's head is now in my lap. "Y-you...you're the boy...from the other day..." His voice is gurgled, straining through the pain no doubt coursing through him. After all, they didn't just go after his face... His clothes are ripped, too, and already starting to stain with the blood seeping into them from scrapes and cuts. His hands, however...are uninjured, and I nearly weep at the relief of seeing that. "Y-yeah..." "Wh-why'd you--" But before he can finish his question, the nurse arrives and with another flurry of activity, the boy is hauled off back to the nurse's office with me tagging along behind. Or at least trying to. Eventually getting to the office, I'm quickly shooed out as I have no relation to the boy and the space is limited, leaving me to just linger in the hallway until it's clear that it was useless for me to wait around. And so I go home. And I skip dinner. And I hug my pillow as tight as possible. And I cry bitterly. Because now I've become one of the monsters I hated... Because I'm responsible for what happened to him. Because I'm the reason he's hurt. And I don't know what to do about it. For the next couple weeks, I don't know what to do. I sleep in in the mornings to avoid the temptation to visit the music hall in case I don't hear him play, and I avoid the patch of grass I saw him have his lunch at. I turn away from bright red colours, the colour now associated with that blood that had been on his cheek, and I steer clear of the nurse's office, just in case he's still in there. I don't know how he is, or where he is, or even who he is... And it kills me. And my crowd is starting to fade around me, and people are losing interest in me, and no one seems to care about me anymore... But I barely even notice. But one morning, with the end of the semester looming overhead and exams coming up, I find myself unable to sleep. And so at five in the morning, I give up on sleeping completely and spend the next hour doing my makeup to make it look like I had slept, and then...with time to spare and an uneasy mind... I leave even before my parents and I go straight to school. Before I know it, I'm in front of the practice room, but like I had feared...it's silent. Deathly quiet. And my mind is blank because I refuse to think about it, and my face is stoic because I refuse to cry. But my heart is heavy and the weight of my limbs is crushing me slowly. Until I hear a voice right beside me. "Oh...! It's you." Nearly spinning in place to see the person, I stare as it's revealed to be the boy. The pianist. By now, his wounds had mostly healed, with just some light bruising here and there and a small scar on his lip. But his eyes are a brilliant red, and, again, so big with surprise... And I can barely look at him. He's too beautiful. "U-um. Thank you for helping me the other day! I-I don't know why they came after me like that, s-so I really appreciate you stepping in the way you did! I-if it weren't for you, I--" "I-it's nothing! Don't worry about it. You did nothing wrong and they shouldn't have done that," I say, my voice a little more sharp than intended, causing him to flinch back. And with that, my heart is tugged even harder. Feeling my face heat up again with guilt and because my heart is going a thousand miles an hour, I struggle to find my voice again. "Th-thank you, though...still. Um. S-sorry, I don't think I ever got your name?" he asks, shifting his bag on his shoulder. And I notice it's no longer his red one. Instead this is a simple grey. Flat. Not like him at all. I make note to buy him a new bag. "Um, sorry. What?" "Um. Your name? Mine's, uh... Yuuki. Yuuki Shunya," he says, holding out his hand. "T-...Takuma. Hideaki," I stammer out, too stiff to remember to take his offered hand...and by the time I realize it...he's already dropped it. "Oh! You're Takuma Hideaki? The prince who took over this school...?" "Prince?" "King?" He tips his head, frowning in thought. "Though a king implies you have someone with you..." he murmurs under his breath, just barely loud enough for me to hear. And before I can stop myself I've already grabbed his hand. "You can be my someone so I can be king!" "What." Staring at each other, I can't stop blushing, wishing I could just be swallowed up as I realize what a hole I had just dug myself into. But now that I've taken the leap, I can't go back anymore. Not when I'm finally holding his hand, how soft and plush it is! "I-I like you, Yuuki Shunya! Please go out with me!" "What." "I've been listening to you play for weeks now, your music is beautiful! It's like a window into your soul, and it's pure and magical and I love your music and I love you, Yuuki Shunya! Please go out with me!" "What." I feel like I'm going to cry. And as he pulls his hand from my grasp, I feel it even harder. And as he speaks, backing up from me, I want to scream. "S-sorry...is this a joke? I can't take stuff like this seriously. Stuff like this just doesn't happen," he says, holding his hands up as he takes another step back. "If you're just pulling a prank on me, I'm not having it. Please, could I get past? This is my only time to practice, so..." My whole body burning, I shuffle away from the door, but as he steps into the room, I don't let him close the door. "W-why do you think this stuff doesn't happen?" At this, he pauses before turning back to me. "...Look at me." "I am." "Right? It's not hard. I take up all of your view. You can't see past me," he snaps. "And that's the thing. Beautiful people like you don't like people like me." "What are you talking about? You are beautiful!" "Don't give me that bullshit!" he yells suddenly, and I'm taken aback, but I don't run. And he doesn't back down either. "I don't need your fucking pity compliments! I don't need that! I love food, I love eating, and it's the only thing I'm actually allowed to enjoy in front of anyone. So don't tell me that I'm beautiful, because I know I'm not! I know I'm heavy! So don't give me bullshit that I'm not!" For a long moment, we're silent, with him glaring at me and me silently assessing my next move... Because this is rocky terrain and I'm not sure if I can safely trespass in this territory... But I know what my goal is now, so as long as I get there...whatever it takes, I'll do it. "...I don't care. Regardless of your weight...you are beautiful, Yuuki Shunya. Like I said...I could hear your soul through your music. Through the way you enjoy your food, through the way you love the colour red... You are beautiful, and I'm not talking about your appearance. Please...I've liked you for so long now..." Taking a step forward, I try again to reach for his hand, but he takes another step back. "Please... Do you even know what it's like to not be attractive? What a cheapskate way out, saying it's inner beauty that matters...fuck tha--" Holding up my phone now, I show him a picture of me just a year ago. And he turns silent. It's a doofy picture, one of me with my messed up teeth and terrible smile, with my unstyled hair and disproportional body... It's ugly and I hate it...but it makes me appreciate where I am now. And I appreciate the picture all the more now, too. He stares at it for a long while before turning his eyes back to me, then back to the picture. "...No way..." "...I used to get picked on a lot. I thought...I would never be beautiful or popular... I hated myself. Until I got fixed up and came here. Not a lot of people can do what I did...and I don't expect you to. But, please understand that I do know where you're coming from. And I want you to understand...that I really mean what I say. I like you, Yuuki Shunya. Please...and this isn't a joke, or a prank... Please... Will you go out with me?" I take his hand, and for a very long while we stand there, with me staring at him, and him staring at our hands...before he finally lifts those brilliant red eyes of his to meet mine. "...Where do you wanna go...?" |
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6:42 PM Jul 11