Title: Concerning Grey and Friendships

Author: Shine de Praesortyum

Genre/Type: One-shot

Rating: PG-13

Author’s notes: Constructive criticism is always welcome!

            "Oyasumi nasai." She whispered softly, kissing Hideto on the neck as she pulled the comforters up to his shoulders and took a few stealthy steps back. Sleeping. Soundly.

            'Like a baby,' she found herself thinking, and cursed the cliche immediately as it formulated in her mind. Hideto would have slapped her, for a blatant lack of creativity.

            It was the morning of May 2nd. Matsumoto Hideto had just been tucked into bed by his roommate after a long night of drinking to commemorate the progress of 'hide with Spread Beaver's' first album, 'Ja, Zoo.' It was to be released at the two month mark.

            Light shrunk his pupils as Hideto's eyelids flew open, just in time to see the bedroom door shut. The room spun violently as he struggled to stand, and so he sat on the edge of his futon. Somewhere, in an apartment nearby he could hear music. His music.

            "Say goodbye, tada goodbye..."

            Like paper under radiation, Hideto's dry lips tore as he opened his mouth to sing along. His voice was cracking miserably, but he continued to sing the lyrics he himself had written:

            "If you can't find a way... Ikutsu mono winding road... Sora niite..."

            Silence. His voice cut out sharply. He tilted forward. The music sang alone.

            "Please songs tell me true, kimi no melody. Dokoniite mo, narisuzuketeiru... Mata itsu ka, hitori ma yotte mo... Utae ta nara..."

            The air ripped apart with his aching sobs. He couldn't hear the music. He couldn't hear the music. He couldn't hear the music.

            "It doesn't even matter." The words echoed off the walls of his empty bedroom. Empty. That's the first time in a long time. Early morning sunlight filtered through the crème-coloured blinds and resounded off the eggshell walls. He made to stand up. The world spun some more. Success. He remained standing.

            Left foot, right foot. Hide reminded himself mentally. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left--Whunk.

            "Ita, ita, ita..." Hideto muttered as he heaved himself up from the shaggy grey carpet where he had fallen. It used to be white. So did the clouds. Above Tokyo. In the Shinjuku district. They're black now. Did you know that?

            Hideto, just like the pink spider in verse, crawled miserably to the open bathroom door in front of him. Just a few feet more--He dry heaved on the carpet, waiting for something, anything to come through his throat. He could feel it tear, like he was going to split down an invisible middle seam. Beginning in his chest and throat. Finally. Stomach acid turning the grey carpet yellow.

            At last he reached the bathroom and propped his own aching form in front of the toilet. He retched some more. Nothing came out. Once he swallowed a spider. When he was little. He bawled for days. But nothing compared to now. He thought he saw red in the toilet. He thought he flushed the toilet. He thought a lot of things. As he pulled a used grey towel from the laundry hamper.

            Grey. Like the carpet. Grey. Like clouds over Tokyo, Shinjuku. Not white. White. Like his knuckles as he tore the towel in two. He tied a knot in it. Like his friendship. With the rope. With the Butterfly. Yes. The butterfly.

            Another knot. For the bird of paradise.

            The towel was rough. Aged. Around Hideto's neck. Like a drive-by, or the cement pavement beneath it. He smiled to himself. "Turning away from the wall, nothing I can see..." his voice wavered. "The scream deep inside reflecting another person in my heart..." he laughed gently. "He calls me from within." The makeshift rope tightened. "All existence you see before you must be wiped out! Dreams, reality, memories…" He laughed insanely. It bounced. Echoed off the walls. Like a canyon. Some canyon. "And yourself."

            The rough towel chafed him. Tighter. Bile rose in his throat. Blood pounded in his brain. Tighter. His eyes stung with tears. Tighter. There was a hint of blood on his lips. Tighter. He was feeling light-headed. Tighter. He never apologized to Yoshiki for what he said at the club. Tighter. He blamed Yoshiki for his father's death. Tighter. He told Yoshiki he never wanted to hear his voice again... Hideto lost his grip on the towel and gave into darkness.

            "I'm very shocked to hear about his death. I still can't believe what has happened. Right now, he's sleeping with a beautiful face. I tried to wake him up many times, but he's still sleeping." The middle-aged pianist clenched the paper he held tightly. He sobbed. He stopped. He watched the crowd. A moment passed. He dabbed at his eyes with a stark white handkerchief. White. Not grey. He opened his mouth. "We'd drink together and sometimes fight. But the next day, he'd come to me and say, 'Yoshiki, did I do something last night? I'm sorry, I don't remember a thing.'" He gave into sobbing once more. The crowd of hundreds waited. Patience. He wiped saliva from his chin. With the wet. White handkerchief. "But this time, he didn't say anything back to me, he's sleeping now..."