It's only a road.
You just have to walk it.
Tachi had just driven in any old direction, which was pretty much the same way he found the hotel, and pretty much the same way he found that girl, and pretty much the same way he lived each day. His only real drive and direction in life had been towards music. Anything else was extraneous. His life was trash, and had always been. He'd treated school like shit, he'd treated people like shit, he'd treated life like a distraction. Music had been exactly what he'd been made of, from start to finish.
He'd always assumed that music was his only redeeming virtue, the reason why Ma-kun and Ken kept him around.
Tachi parked the car and let it idle. Tachi folded his arms on the steering wheel and thought, that he should sell his car. That it was too damn expensive to own. That he could live off the money from the car for a long time.
But he didn't want to.
He wanted to cling to his previous, temporary lifestyle. He wanted to pretend he was being taken care of by the most powerful record label in all of Tokyo. He wanted to pretend that his one saving grace had been enough to lead him to his only goal.
But his god damn brain just couldn't do it.
He kept thinking about the truth of the matter. He kept thinking about how it was impossible to succeed when Seguchi was out to get him. He kept thinking about how it was impossible to succeed when he wasn't even in a band anymore.
He wished he hadn't done it. He wished it every day he was alive after that point. For a million selfish reasons, and maybe one or two selfless whims.
He shut off the engine, grabbed his pack and his shirt, got out and heard his car door autolock. As he was walking down the street, he buttoned up his shirt. He buttoned them one button off, so his shirt was on him slightly sideways, but he didn't pay much attention to it.
He swung around and walked back to where his car was parked, fished out some spare change, and paid for his parking space. Then he sat down on the hood of the car, and fished out his socks. The bottoms of his shoes were sticking to his feet, and were annoying the hell out of him. The car sunk and bounced back up under him.
Then he leaned back onto the hood and arched, feeling his back fall back into alignment. He got back up, and started to trudge down the sidewalk.
People, were everywhere. As he pushed his way down the sidewalk, he looked into all their faces. None of them were looking at him, and he wasn't wearing shades and a hat. No one there recognized him, not one single person who looked back at him recognized him not one damn bit.
He couldn't walk anymore, so he sat on a bench, dropped his pack between his feet and put his elbows on his knees.
He wasn't sure what to do next, so he did what he does best, he acted on impulse.
The parking lot was empty, and dirty, and Ma-kun stood in the tiny lot, barefoot with no shirt for a few minutes before he got motivated enough to turn back to the hotel room. The door was slightly ajar, and he was able to push it open with just one hand.
He was pissed off at himself.
He shouldn't have waited so long to chase after Tachi -- but he'd been afraid of not being able to open the door again once it'd shut.
The hotel room was messy and empty. He felt a little dizzy, a little breathless in the wake of failure. He was a little amazed at how quickly things could go to shit. He got dressed and went to clean things up, before he just gave up and simply went to go check out of the hotel room. He started to think of a good lie to tell them, but ran out of energy quickly. He was glad he had a credit card. It took an hour to check out, due to the amount of damage they'd inflicted on the room. He left his contact information at that point, called a cab, and said he'd deal with it later.
What next?
Why is it always 'what next'?
When was it going to stop being 'what next'?
Every time he thought he knew something for fact, it would change and then he'd have to figure it all out all over again.
He had a meeting with Seguchi that afternoon, at a restaurant. He still needed to find Ken.
He still needed to find the words to tell Ken what had just happened.
Two hours left until he signed a piece of paper and changed his life again.
In the back of his head he started to muddle about with a song, with no lyrics. He was never very good at doing the whole thing alone. Ken was the virtuoso, Tachi was the prima dona, and Ma-kun... was just a guitar player, a generalist, knowing a little of everything.
He was only envious sometimes, but usually he was quite content -- unlike Tachi, who seemed to feel some haunting need to be the best at all times. He had to admit, like everyone else with an artistic bent, he found that mad streak of passion and ambition alluring. But he knew it was something he personally could never live with.
But he wanted to be near it.
He arrived home, after watching buildings and people streak by, after watching lights become one long line of red and white. He paid the taxi driver, climbed out, and then started up the stairs to his apartment. He wanted the movement, he didn't want to feel caged in by the elevator. When he finally reached the door to his own place, he unlocked it, went in, relocked it and then just sat on the couch.
What next?
An hour and a half left until he met Seguchi. He should get ready to go, he should call Ken, he should start making shit happen.
Ma-kun's cell phone rang and he answered it without looking at the caller ID, "Yeah?"
"... hi."
Ma-kun blinked and sat up straighter, "You, called me?"
"It happens."
He wasn't sure what to do or what to think, so the first word out of his mouth was, "Why?"
"...I, just wanted to hear your voice. I guess. I don't know. Fuck it, nevermind."
"No, don't hang up."
"I really have nothing to say."
"... me neither."
Ma-kun leaned forwards and looked at his cream colored carpet. He started to fidget a little bit, sighed heavily, and opened his mouth to talk.
"Sorry," Tachi beat him to it. "I guess that's about it. Sorry. I don't know... it's not much, I guess. But that's all I can think of."
"Heh.. I think, that's what I was about to say."
"Why?" And Tachi sounded bitter for a moment, "you didn't do anything wrong. I overreacted. I should have told you right up front. I ruined the band. I...I don't know. I did everything. You were right, I ruin everything. I think I actually try to sometimes."
"No... I don't really believe that. I think there are some things you try to ruin.... but... I don't think you do that to everything..."
Without Tachi's presence in the room, he felt detached from the whole situation. As if he could tell the truth to the air, and it would have the same effect as not saying anything at all.
Tachi laughed on the phone again, and it sounded severe and mean. "Yeah." Tachi's voice was light.
And they both fell into silence, neither of them knowing what to do next.
"I..." Tachi's voice cracked for a moment. "I... "
"Yeah?"
Tachi sighed on the phone again, a labored sigh.
"Go ahead," Ma-kun pushed a little.
"I want to."
"Want to what?"
"Talk." And his voice was tight.
"We are talking."
"No, I mean..... no, nevermind."
"Go on, just say it."
"But, I can't. I can't just say it. I don't just say things. I don't know how." Another sigh cut into peices by the cell phone, "I want to. I really want to. I want to talk to you."
There was enough stress on the word 'you' to make Ma-kun's heart skip a beat.
And the phone went dead again.
"I don't want to sign that contract without you."
"I told you you could. My blessings. I'd be proud of you if you did. Finally, as greedy as me."
"Stop that."
"What? I'm just saying what you're thinking."
"Well, stop that. Say what you're thinking instead."
"I'm a greedy fucking bastard."
"Tachi....." And he didn't know what to say, what he could offer to do. "You aren't giving Ken and I much choice. We sign. I can help you, we should be making enough money for us to help you..." And he knew immediately he'd offended Tachi's pride, offering to help him with money. But Tachi was quiet, too quiet, for a moment he thought Tachi'd hung up the phone. "Tachi?"
"What?" He sounded weak and distant.
"Where are you?"
"Bench. Somewhere. Don't know where. I guess my car is.... sssomewhere, over there."
Ma-kun didn't ask where 'over there' was, and they both fell quiet again.
"What do we do next?"
"I don't know."
And the question hung in the air, suspended from some imaginary ceiling by a thread.
"Tachi?"
"What?"
"Tachi..."
"Yeah?"
Ma-kun smiled a chagrined smile, leaned back on the sofa, and started saying, "Tachi... Tachi... Tachi..."
"What, what, what?"
Ma-kun grinned and closed his eyes, "Tachi."
"For fuck's sake, stop that."
"Taaa chi. Tak ii chi. Tare me."
"Stop that. It's really fucking annoying."
"Tachi." And he made it a strong statement this time, trying to get Tachi's attention.
"...yeah?"
"When you're not here, I'm more afraid I've fucked things up than ever."
"Live with it. I have to."
"Heh,"and he sighed, forced himself to relax, and continued, "We meet with Seguchi in about an hour... I should get ready to go."
"So go."
Ma-kun was actually a little afraid to hang up the phone. "I don't want to."
"Chicken shit."
"I guess I'll talk to you later."
"I guess."
"I'll call you right after the meeting."
"...maybe you shouldn't."
"Tachi..." He leaned forwards again, closed his eyes. "I want to call you. Hell, if I could afford it, I'd just keep you on the phone until you got there."
"Carry the phone on stage. Introduce the phone to your parents."
"Stop that."
"I'm going to hang up now."
"Tachi?"
But he had hung up.
And now Ma-kun was going to be late.
They met at a quiet restaurant. When they arrived, Ma-kun could see three people seated at the round table.
The manager of Bad Luck, the personal assistant to Seguchi and producer of Bad Luck, and Seguchi himself.
The manager of Bad Luck and Seguchi seemed to be engrossed in a conversation that Seguchi found amusing, and he'd at times laugh a restrained, and honest sounding laugh with his eyes closed, and he'd nod once or twice at the manager of Bad Luck. Seguchi's personal assistant just seemed to be attempting to remain calm.
When they started towards the table, they were noticed and all three immediately stopped doing what they were, and just watched them cross the restaurant floor -- except Seguchi's personal assistant, who continued to attempt to remain calm.
Ma-kun tried to keep his posture perfect. Ken just strolled along, dumb to the mechanics behind the stares.
They neared the table, and exchanged formal greetings. Seguchi did not introduce the manager of Bad Luck or his personal assistant to them, and they were told to have a seat.
"Two of you." The tall blonde with long hair said, and a little smile formed on his lips.
"Yeah," Ma-kun replied, "Were we supposed to bring--"
"No."
Ma-kun felt uneasy. There were two pairs steadfast determined eyes on him, and the third seemed to be nervous beyond comparison.
Seguchi finished the very last of his meal, picked up a cloth napkin and gently touched his lips with the corner. Seguchi turned his gaze to the manager of Bad Luck, without turning his face, and Ma-kun could see that there was a very small and amused smile there.
He felt uneasy.
Seguchi tapped his mouth again with the napkin, and then folded it discreetly in half and set it down underneath his plate's lip. Seguchi's posture was perfect and regal, he wasn't looking at either of them yet, just concerning himself with making his table setting proper -- as if he couldn't stand to have anything untidy in his presence. His smooth ministrations on the plate, utensils, and napkin were less fussy and more elegant, and deliberate. It took just a few seconds, and then Seguchi smoothly lifted his chin and regarded Ma-kun and Ken.
"So, shall we get down to business?"
Ma-kun nodded. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, he imagined it being as simple as signing a piece of paper and then leaving. But they way the three across the table were acting, that seemed to be a little on the delusional side.
"This should be brief." Seguchi stated. And then he reached for his attaché, and pulled out a little folder with some papers in it. He slid it across the table with a pleasant smile. "And then we can all go about our business. And you, can return to the NG family."
Seguchi's assistant seemed to almost have a spasm. Seguchi was emanating calm. Bad Luck's manager was staring at them with his hands folded in front of his face to cover his mouth. He was squinting at them.
Ma-kun placed his fingertips on the folder and gently pulled it closer.
"I don't like them." Bad Luck's manager said.
Seguchi didn't seem to respond, but kept looking at Ma-kun and Ken.
"Anyone that abandons their so called 'friend' so easily is hard to like." Bad Luck's manager continued. "But, I suppose it was him to begin with, so that doesn't speak highly of you."
Ma-kun tried to ignore them. He opened the folder and looked down at the typed contracts, pages and pages bound together inside their own clear files.
"Seguchi-san, se- se-se-se-se- se--" and then he suddenly bent over in half in a bow right at the table, so quickly that his forehead made a bonk sound as it struck the fine dining table, "with all due respect, Se- se- se-"
"Do you have sedatives you can give him when he does that?"
"Unfortunately, no."
Ma-kun handed Ken's copy of the contract information over to Ken, and then opened his own, already wondering if he was still carrying a pen. And then he started to notice that choice words seemed to have altered, that it didn't seem familiar at all.
He took a closer look.
"So, why do you keep him around?"
"My wife thinks that having a pet is good for my blood pressure."
"You have high blood pressure?"
"No, but I have had Sakano for a number of years now."
Bad Luck's manager laughed a loud, startling laugh at that, and it seemed almost like his entire face was transformed by it.
Ma-kun's eyebrow's knit together a little bit and he leaned down to the table and squinted at the text. He sat up abruptly and looked up at Seguchi, for the first time looking directly at him, directly in his eyes.
"Studio Musicians?" He asked, forgetting all formality.
Seguchi nodded gently, and smiled at him, hard edges starting to intrude on his overall softness. "What good are you to me without a frontman?" And Seguchi seemed like a statue, unmoving and direct, absolutely sure of his power, sure enough not to need to stress it. "Ah, don't get me wrong." And Seguchi closed his eyes and pented his hands in front of him, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on the plain he'd made there. "The two of you are quite good. But neither of you are particularly saleable on your own. ASK was a true ensemble group, without any one of you three, ASK ceases to exist. It's refreshing, really, to see a band like that again. Most bands these days are usually composed of only one person, with a few ornaments on the side."
"I," Bad Luck's manager interrupted, "-would suggest that you sign that contract."
Ma-kun looked at the two men across the table from him.
Off to his side, he heard Ken break in, his voice broken up by confusion, "I... don't understand. This isn't what you offered us -"
"No, it is not." Bad Luck's manager swung his gaze away from Ma-kun, aimed it at Ken, "But you'll take what you're given."
"I don't understand!" Seguchi's assistant suddenly broke out of his rut, "Why are we offering these people a contract when we're suing them for breaking a contract but we're not allowing Aizawa to sign with them and we both agreed that Aizawa was the lead of the band and he --"
"Ssssh," Seguchi interrupted him, and he immediately shut up. "You don't need to understand everything that happens, Sakano. Only that I am in control, of everything."
"Shindou is still gone!"
"Are you going to make me say 'sssh' twice?"
"No sir." And Sakano folded into himself, meekly.
Ma-kun stared at them in mild horror. Ken just sat there dumb to the whole situation. The whole thing was just odd, as if their careers were so easy to ruin that it didn't even alter the natural course of their conversation, "We can't sign this."
"You don't understand." Bad Luck's manager leaned over the table, half stood up so that he loomed over the two of them. His long blonde hair slipped forwards, his blue eyes fixed on them with the single intent to intimidate them, "You, must sign this contract."
Ma-kun shook his head in disbelief, "No."
Bad Luck's manager suddenly had a gun out and was brandishing it around, finally smacking the barrel up against his temple and shouting, "Oh, but you will!"
"Kei!" Seguchi's voice raising for the first time, "contain yourself."
"Aah, all you people." K said in disgust, "Your entire label is filled with nothing but little --"
"Speak. Softer."
"-wusses." K's voice was actually much much softer now. He hadn't put his gun away though, and Ma-kun was impressed by the very coldness of it against his temple.
Seguchi's assistant, Bad Luck's producer, had a fit. "Aaaah, why does he have to pull that thing out every time someone says anything but what he wants to hear?"
K stood completely upright, and answered the question himself, "Because he's used hearing exactly what he wants to hear, everywhere." And he sheathed the gun, and nodded down at Ma-kun, squinting again, he swooped down in what seemed to be yet another abrupt decision, and stared Ma-kun right in the eye.
"How's your love life?"
"... it's... "
"Pick up any good ass lately?" K nodded knowingly at him, "Any familiar ass? What about photogenic ass? Any of that swinging around your bedroom lately?"
Ma-kun couldn't look away from Bad Luck's manager, his frenetic energy the most alarming thing in the room.
"I..." Ken carefully said, "- don't, get it."
"FFFfft." K started to laugh immediately. "What, no locker room talk? You haven't told anyone yet, have you? Keeping it a secret? I bet there are many people who would be interested in these pictures. I bet there are people who want to know all about you. I bet Yuki Eiri would love to see you taken down a notch. I bet my Shindou would, too."
Sakano whispered, "My Shindou, too." And then immediately stepped out of the conversation, mentally.
"Pictures?" Ken asked, "..... not the ..... ones of...."
"No." Ma-kun said, "Not of that." And he couldn't break eye contact with K. "Tachi and me."
"..... soooo..." Ken started, and then paused. "Oh."
"Yup." And K abruptly stood straight up at the table again, his face formed into a happy-go-lucky expression that seemed almost overly boisterous and nearly completely out of place, "Two thirds of your band are raving homos, kid." His voice was overly loud, and people at other tables started to stare at them.
"Uh..." Ma-kun felt ridiculous, "We're bi -"
"Oh, fence sitters." K labeled them.
Sakano looked quite a bit like a deer in headlights, staring in perfect horror at the scene in front of him.
Seguchi was just still and mildly amused, only pleased because everything that was happening before him was bad for ASK. "Even so," Seguchi interjected, "I would like you to sign that contract shortly. I do have a flight to catch. You are not the most important thing I have to do, today."
Ma-kun finally forced himself to look down at the contract sitting on the table. Sakano's ice water was sweating little puddles onto the lacquer wood, Seguchi's tea was mostly gone, and K seemed to be drinking something that was whiskey....or some other dark liqour in a rocks glass. Seguchi was the only one with food at the whole table.
Studio Musicians. Being a studio musician meant that they'd be backup for some other band, and they might, maybe, get some small line of credit on the inside of the record sleeve. Being a studio musician meant that they'd never have creative control over the songs. Being a studio musician meant that they would not make good money.
Ma-kun couldn't sign this, but when he looked up, there were three pairs of eyes just staring at him, waiting for an excuse to ruin him.
Or maybe it was just two pairs, since Sakano appeared to be in a trance-like state.
Tachi came to the conclusion, that Ma-kun was safe. That had to be the reason why all this was happening to him, why he'd let himself fall like that. He'd forgotten that no one was safe, that no one mattered. Some secret romantic (or desperate) part of him had suddenly declared that safe people existed, that someone that mattered was right there in front of him.
Not 'romantic' in the sense that he wanted a fairy tale wedding with untold riches and good fortune for the rest of his natural life.
'Romantic' in the sense that the world wasn't out to get him.
That had to be why.
Ma-kun had seemed so very safe. He was a friend that hadn't gone away, no matter what shit he pulled. He was a friend that told him the truth unflinchingly. If someone asked him if he believed in God or Love, Tachi would say, 'no', but he would always believe in the Devil and Friendship. Those two things, at least, had left irrefutable proof all over his life.
Evil, inside himself. Friendship, with Ma-kun and Ken.
He wished someone on the street would recognize him.
He stretched his legs out in front of himself and slouched backwards on the bench, nearly tripping someone as they were walking past. It wasn't a woman, so Tachi didn't pay much attention to them.
He'd fucked up their band, that's why he kept thinking about Shindou.
He'd fucked up his life, that's why he kept thinking about Shindou.
These people on the streets didn't recognize him, and that was why he was thinking about Shindou.
He hated this. It was as if his brain didn't work right unless it was fixated on something. Music, Money, Fame, Shindou. It was like this never-ending cycle that didn't leave room for video games and dance clubs, work or women.
He probably shouldn't have called Ma-kun, but it was all impulse. He rarely thought any of his actions through before he acted on them.
He was thinking of Shindou because someone was blowing a pink bubble of chewing gum across the street.
He was starting to sound like a bad liar.
"Heh," Tachi stated his laughter as though it was an expected reply. He was still holding the cell phone in his hand, he dropped it into his backpack, zipped it shut. Inside the pack, his cell phone battery popped off.
Tachi ambled down the street, his posture less than perfect. His pants were rumpled up, his shirt still sideways.
It was a day, no matter how it started. It didn't matter that on the previous night, he'd had sex with what he supposed should qualify as his best friend. It didn't matter that in the morning, he'd argued with what he supposed should qualify as his best friend. It didn't matter that he'd lost a record deal, and that he didn't have enough money for rent next month. As far as the world was concerned, it was a day like any other.
So he stopped at a restaurant, and ate.
The waitress met him at the door, and showed him to his table. After she left, he pulled out his wallet and started to count what he had there. He could afford a moderate meal for two days, or one good meal for one day. Tachi ordered one good meal and waited for his food.
Life goes on whether or not you want it to, and even in the throes of misery you have to stop to eat.
And Tachi wasn't miserable, he was just hungry, perhaps a little vacant as well.
He didn't like pondering life deeply, he preferred to stay on focus, on task. He took life one ambition at a time. He tackled music the same damn way. He poured his everything into a vessel made out of air, and helped to form a half decent pop band.
His mother had told him one time, that it was good to dream, but he had to wake up one day.
He remembered being pissed off at her when she said that, in her soft, small voice.
He'd met other musicians the same way. They floated by, singing their songs and laughing, happy to dream.
Fuck them.
If they were satisfied to dream, then they didn't deserve success.
His meal arrived, and he stared at it for twenty minutes before he got around to eating it. After the first bite, he found he was starving and ate the whole thing.
He wondered for a moment, what was happening with Ma-kun and his date with fate.
He couldn't think of any job skills he possessed. He'd need a job, and soon, if he wanted to keep eating a good meal a day.
His plate was a sharp, glazed white color and his food almost seemed to mar the white as it sat there. After eating half of it, he realized it wasn't very good food. He ate the rest because he'd already paid for it. He'd leave the leftovers on the table because he knew he'd never eat it. He hated leftovers.
As he sat there he realized how stupid it was to sulk alone in a restaurant. He paid for his meal, walked back to his car, and drove home to his flat.
He parked at his spot in the garage, and stood in the cold, dimly lit space.
A moth was beating its wings against the cage surrounding the bulb. The steel was the only thing keeping it from frying itself on the heat of the incandescent bulb.
He stared up at the light, and then down at the cement floor.
He was confused at a lack of hate inside himself, and then continued to walk because standing there was morbid. He had been standing there as if something would happen, as if something would change. As if some sort of cleansing ritual he'd always been denied would suddenly surface, and he could take it all back.
If he touched the cool, black surface of the parking lot, if he stared at the light until he saw blue, if he held his breath.... maybe something would happen. Maybe something symbolic would happen. Maybe magic would happen. Maybe philosophy would happen.
But the parking lot stayed cool, and dimly lit, and the moth still beat its wings against the light, the heat of the bulb still just far away enough to keep it safe from death.
Nothing happened.
So he just kept walking, until he reached his home.
He almost felt cheated.
He sat down with his back braced against the door, his shoes still on his feet. He should shower, try and clean the collection of food wrappers and dishes off his shining coffee table. He sniffed lightly and tilted his head backwards until it bonked lightly against the door. He looked up at the ceiling, and wondered what he could do to get rid of the mild headache he was sporting. The drywall above him reminded him of animal print.
His phone started to ring, and he ignored it. It hit the silence of his flat over and over again, sharply intruding itself onto his peace. Five rings later, his answering machine picked up.
"Yo," His own voice stated, a background of static behind it, "Leave a message. Or don't. I don't really give a shit."
Whoever was on the other end hung up the phone. Eventually Tachi got up.
The world doesn't stop turning, not even when Aizawa Tachi was having a bad day.
He looked all over his place, considering all the junk he owned. He'd actually gotten rid of nearly everything he owned when NG signed ASK to their label. He wanted to start over again, be a new person. He'd picked all his furniture with that person in mind.
The whole place, in the beginning, had been edgy, sophisticated, and new. Black furniture against white walls, brand new plastic glinting unmarred as the sunlight hit it from his one window. As time went by, he found he couldn't maintain it. Garbage started to fill his room, things he was too drained to throw away: pieces of paper, fast food wrappers, empty liquor bottles, dirty laundry. He'd taken his shiny new personality and thrown his refuse all over it.
He couldn't change who he was with new furniture, he couldn't change who he was with new clothes. He couldn't change who he was no matter how he tried. He just took those nice, new things and smeared himself all over it, before it even had a chance to influence him.
He walked over to his stereo, and turned it on. The first CD started to play, and it was his own voice singing back at him. Soothed by familiarity, he went to go get ready for the rest of his life.
Tachi kicked off his shoes and heard them hit the wall by the door, he threw his pack onto the couch and then walked to his small bathroom.
He took one long look at himself in the mirror, to see how he looked. He only looked a little like hell, his hair was ruffled because it had dried badly from his shower. His eyes looked as though he hadn't actually rested in a few days. He grit his teeth at himself, to see how scummy his mouth was, and then he pulled out his toothbrush and brushed them.
He went to his bedroom next, pulled open his closet, and then turned on the closet's light. He started to pull shirts out almost randomly, whatever texture or color appealed to him. When it failed to pass his arbitrary test, he'd toss them over his shoulder and they'd land on the bed, or it wouldn't, it didn't matter to him. After a while, he stopped at a snake print shirt, in gun metal grey. He walked over to his mirror, and held the shirt up to himself, and then got aggravated as he stared at himself for a moment.
"Jesus Christ, he's right, I do primp." And he threw the shirt behind him, onto the bed. "Not like I'm going anywhere." And he walked back to his living room, and flopped down on the couch. He arched his back against the cushions, looked up at his ceiling again, and sighed.
The phone rang again, he heard his voice again, whoever was on the other end hung up again.
"What next?" He asked the ceiling. And the room was empty, except for his voice.
He liked the beat to this particular song, it had a real drive to it, it really swooped in and kicked some ass before it ended.
He sat up, and grabbed his CD player's remote, and changed the play mode to 'random shuffle'. Then, Tachi sat back on the couch again and waited for it, as if waiting for a sentence. He didn't want to go straight to the album, he wanted it to be out of the blue. He wanted it to be sudden. He wanted to see what would happen.
Tachi lounged on his couch, indulging in emptiness and expectation. When would the album rotate on his CD player? What song would it be? How would he react? Would he react?
He wanted emotion, he wanted a reaction, he wanted something to happen.
A new CD cycled into play, a new dance beat. It wasn't a particularly interesting song, just something Tachi tended to use as background noise when he was home.
When the album he'd been waiting for came on, and a song was picked off of it at random, Tachi didn't feel anything.
He mouthed the words aloud, "'Blind game again...' -- he doesn't enunciate enough..."
Time moves slow when you're waiting for the miracle to come.
There was nothing, not anymore. No phone calls, no heart stopping moments. Tachi went to nightclubs, he danced and drank. He lived off of distraction. He had enough money for exactly one more month of rent, and so he didn't look for a job.
He spent a lot of money on things he knew he shouldn't, but he did it anyways.
One more empty night, he went to another club.
Men were dancing with men, in this club. The lights changed all of them, in uniform, different shades of day-glo. A crowd of men, dancing to a voiceless song, all of them changing blue, and then yellow, and then violet, and then pink. A disco ball shattered the colors into a million small triangles all over the floor.
He didn't fit in there.
It was an experiment, really. He danced one awkward dance with his partner, unsure of where he should put his hands. At the end of the dance, the other guy called him 'cute' and kissed him.
It didn't feel right, so Tachi frowned and pushed him away, simply opting to leave the club altogether.
Nothing seemed to effect him so much these days, so when he just swiveled around and walked away he didn't bother to say 'excuse me' or 'good bye' -- or even a 'fuck off', which would have been slightly more traditional for him.
He was burned out, reduced to simply listless.
So he was startled when a voice behind him lit something inside himself he'd forgotten about.
"Nyaaaa ha ha haaaaaa..." It was a low drawl, "Look at the faaaagot."
Tachi's teeth immediately grit, and he tilted his head to one side to crack it.
He told himself he could change, he told himself that he didn't need to react to everything everyone said. He told himself he could be trained to ignore these things.
Even while he froze just a little, even while his jaw clenched just a little, the tiny voice of reason was trying to talk himself out of turning around.
But it was a tiny voice, and Tachi was never known for being sensible.
But he couldn't resist turning around, couldn't resist staring at the man who was taunting him, the man who was taunting him as if he would never do anything about it.
"What's the matter? Forget your purse?"
He had an angular, cat's face, and was squinting at him as if to make fun of Tachi's eyes.
".... why don't you just fuck off, okay?" Tachi was trying to reign in his natural aggression.
"Oooh!" The man jeered back at him, swiveled around to his friends who were laughing behind him, "He's propositioning me!" And he swung around to face Tachi again, opened his eyes wide and said, "No, thank you, honey, I don't swing that way."
Tachi could feel his shoulders tense up to match his jaw, "If I were you, I'd shut the hell up, right now." Tachi could feel his shoes start to halfway lift off the sidewalk, started to feel himself lean forwards and just focus on the man's face. He tried to remind himself that he didn't need to immediately race in with his fists clenched.
The whole street was long and dark; buildings loomed up above them as silhouettes against the twilight blue sky. Each nightclub was lit up and traced with a string of neon. People passing by did their very best to avoid them, no one wanted to be involved.
Only one Tachi, four of the bastards who kept jeering.
FaggotQueer
Homo
Pansyass bitch
The men in front of him were laughing, obviously a little drunk, the four of them made braver with the mentality of the pack.
"What's a short little uke-boy like doing out alone at night, anyways?"
Tachi gave up patience and ran forwards, slammed his body into the one that was doing the most trash talk. He started flail at him with his fists. It was a release, each strike was one less fire on his insides. Flesh would yield suddenly at his fists, and then the strike would slow down abruptly as he compacted that flesh against bone.
One slapping sound, one abrupt stop. A violent rhythm that he knew.
None of the guy's friends came over to help him.
When the guy fell over, Tachi kicked him in the head, repeatedly, until he stopped moving.
"Fuck you," He said, his breath was irregular.
Blood was coming out the guy's nose.
Tachi turned around, without worrying about the guy's friends, and walked to his car.
He didn't figure he was doing too bad. He was only alone for a week and he'd only gotten into one fight. It was almost disappointing that they didn't try and follow him to his car, apparently their pack didn't account for faggots with a temper.
At home, he saw the light blink on his answering machine. LED red blinked over and over again, like fists in the dark.
One.
One.
One.
Tachi hit the button on the machine and kept walking towards his kitchen.
"Hey," the voice said, and he stopped walking. "Wish you'd pick up the phone sometimes."
And then the message ended.
It didn't help that he missed Ma-kun, and he had to fight the urge to dial him up immediately and apologize. He wasn't sure why he wanted to apologize, he was fairly sure he'd apologized to Ma-kun already. But it seemed that every time he opened his mouth these days, that's the first thing he said.
He walked back to the couch, exhausted already just from trying to think deep thoughts.
He sighed, and looked at his cordless phone.
Maybe changing himself wasn't as easy as buying new furniture, maybe it was as hard as deciding to call someone back.
Bite down on pride and fear and give it a whirl.
Tachi didn't have any of the lights on, but the faint street lights streaming in through his window cast tiny shadows on his individual carpet fibres.
Tachi touched the cool, scratched plastic of his cordless phone, and then dialed up Ma-kun.
"Yo," Ma-kun's voice. He obviously forgot to look at his caller ID.
"Hi." He felt a frog in his throat.
"....oh, hi... Tachi..." A pause on the other end as his voice lifted lightly in surprise, "You called me. Again."
"Yeah." And Tachi refrained from saying anything sarcastic. "Again. I guess I won't if you don't like it..."
"No, I like it. It's.... different." A moment, "Very different..."
Tachi felt weight swing around his insides. "I guess."
"Tachi..."
"How's NG?"
"It's... there." Ma-kun's voice sounded odd.
"Oh, come on." Tachi's voice became dry, "Aren't you happy to be a rock star?"
"I'm not a rock star. I'm a guitarist. And unemployed."
"Why the hell didn't you sign?" Tachi felt himself get angry at that, suddenly feeling as if he'd been suffering needlessly for the last week.
He heard a hoarse laugh at the end of the phone, "HFft, they weren't ever going to sign us for an actual record deal. It was a trick. He didn't mean it. None of it. He said, he said that Ken and I were worthless without you."
"Huh," Tachi didn't know how to feel about that.
"I guess after he said that... I realized I agreed. Or something. I tried to call you but you weren't answering. Screening your calls?"
"Just not paying attention to them..."
"Ah..."
They fell into silence, and Tachi touched a small, color poster sitting on his coffee table. "Are you going to the concert tomorrow?"
"What concert?"
"What concert do you think?"
"No," Ma-kun replied.
"I am," Tachi stated.
"..... why?"
"I don't know." Tachi answered, his voice trailing off as he stared off into the distance, looked down at his scraped up knuckles, touched the color poster again and rotated it. "I guess..." And he rotated the poster again, staring at the people in the picture. "I guess I want to see him."
"I don't get it. Tachi, I don't think you should go."
"No, I want to. I think I should."
"What if anyone sees you?"
"No one recognizes me anymore, anyways."
"But what about the band?"
"I don't care." He twirled the poster one more time, leaving a tiny smear of blood.
"I don't get it."
Tachi looked at his hand, and realized he had one good, solid tear right at a knuckle, and several scratches that made no sense whatsoever. It wasn't as if the man he'd hit had pins on his face. He supposed maybe he tore them up a bit on the guy's jacket zipper.
He poked at the cut with his fingers, made it reopen a little bit and bleed a little more. He dipped his fingers into the blood and carefully placed his fingertip on Shindou's face, and drew a small smile. The smile was darker on one side than the other, and when it dried it dried an unimpressive and slightly translucent brown.
"What's to get?" He asked, sometime later.
"Why do you want to go there?"
Tachi looked down at the poster. Shindou's face was glaring out at him, a dull brown smile painted over it in blood. "I just want to see him...."
"Why?"
Tachi stared down at the poster of Bad Luck. Three rectangles, each holding a band member. It wasn't a very imaginative poster.
"Just...." Tachi started, stopped again, unsure of what he wanted to say next, unsure of his own motivations. "Just...." And he scratched at the bloody smear that didn't really look like a smile, "-- to see, you know... if he's okay... or something... I don't know..."
He felt stupid, talking to Ma-kun like this. He knew Ma-kun couldn't understand, was not capable of understanding. How could he, when Tachi didn't quite get it himself? He had the sinking feeling that he was groveling just a little bit, that he was asking for attention, or forgiveness, or something which he needed and probably shouldn't get.
"...oh..." Ma-kun's voice was devoid of emotion when he said that -- either that or Tachi couldn't hear it.
But maybe... maybe, it was entirely possible, that the reason why Ma-kun couldn't understand was because Tachi never gave him any clues, never shared even a little bit. Maybe it was possible that all he had to do, was open up his mouth, say it, and then wait. Maybe it shouldn't just be one great dump of emotions, an avalanche of guilt and lies all mashed into one.
"I just have to see to be sure."
"Be sure of what?" Ma-kun's voice was almost gentle, but not quite, since it could easily be interpreted as noncommittal, and Tachi wasn't sure which was which at this point.
"I can't tell... you know..." And he twirled the poster on the table again. Shindou was frowning. Shindou was smiling. Frowning, smiling. Frowning, smiling. "...I can't tell... if... I'm, really like this or not."
"Like what?"
"I can't tell, iffff ... I'm a monster or a person."
"You're a person, Tachi."
Tachi shook his head 'no', as if Ma-kun could see him. "No, it doesn't matter if you think I am or not..." And Tachi winced at how that sounded, "I can't tell. I'm not sure. I don't know. I want to know."
"... good to know my opinion matters to you...."
"No, you know that's not what I meant."
"Say what you mean."
"I can't believe you. I want to. I can't until I see him."
"What if you don't feel guilty? What if you just hate him all over again?"
"I guess that's just how it'll be." Tachi shrugged, and kept twirling Shindou's poster.
"...can I be there?"
Shindou was frowning. Shindou was smiling. Tachi's blood was a messy bit of clown makeup on his face.
Tachi tapped his fingertip against his tongue, and tried to wipe the blood off.
It smeared, became less, but refused to come off entirely.
"...I don't know. Do you want to be there? You don't have to. You aren't obligated to. Will Ken be there?"
"Are you afraid to be alone with me?"
"No...." Tachi leaned back into his couch, and felt his body ache. "I just miss the band. I miss us. Nevermind, don't bring Ken. Don't come over. I should probably be alone, anyways."
"Tachi, stop that." Ma-kun's voice wasn't harsh. "Stop that. Just, stop that." His voice became slightly exasperated now. "Haven't I been here for you all this time, every time? Aren't we always there for each other?"
"At the first sign of money, you left." It was almost like pain, now, almost like a real emotion. "I really wanted to depend on you. I did."
"I tried, didn't I?"
"Yeah, I guess you did." He touched Shindou's poster, tilted it sideways, and tried to figure out if it was a smile or a frown.
"I don't have tickets." Ma-kun said, "but I'll try." And they both were quiet, unsure of what to do. "Tachi?"
"Eh?"
"Can I stay on the phone with you?"
"Why?"
"I don't know. Miss you. I guess. Or something."
".... Check channel forty...."
There was a pause, and then he heard Ma-kun laugh a little, but it sounded mostly for show, "... haven't seen this in years..."
It was Shindou, on stage, and not Aizawa Tachi. It was Shindou, who caught the light and reflected it. Bad Luck's concert, not ASK's. There was a hoard of fangirls filling the audience, screaming Shindou's name, singing along with the lyrics.
He wore banana yellow, and his hair was bright pink. When he spun a circle, his long trench coat flared outwards and formed a big, fruity hoop in the air around him.
When Shindou pranced across the stage and made a show of clapping his hands, the audience obediently clapped in rhythm with his claps, giddy and drunk with Shindou's enthusiasm.
When he finished one of his songs, he flung a peace sign to all of them, and yelled at the top of his lungs, "I love you!!!" and then laughed.
Shindou probably only meant one person in the whole world, but for that evening, every girl in there felt as if they were that one person.
"Yo," a voice behind him called out, and Tachi turned and looked behind his shoulder.
Ma-kun and Ken.
He didn't say anything, for a moment, and then turned back to Shindou's concert, and his open support of peace and love.
"Wait here," Ma-kun said to Ken, "Please?"
"Uh... yeah..." Ken hovered to the back, looked around to see who was lurking in the back as well.
Ma-kun stuffed his hands into his pockets, and approached Tachi from behind.
Tachi was staring at Shindou, nearly transfixed.
"Hey..."
Tachi didn't answer.
"What's up?"
Tachi blinked for a moment, looked at Ma-kun with a sort of odd nervousness, "No one recognizes me."
"Good." And he nodded approval, as if it needed it. And then he looked at Tachi's nearly blank face, and asked what he wanted to know, "How are you?"
Tachi shrugged, and turned back to the concert, seeming to be unwilling to stop looking. "I don't know."
"Feel better?"
Tachi shrugged, not seeming to want to really communicate while Shindou was singing.
He put his hand on Tachi's shoulder, and tried to turn him so that they could look at each other eye to eye, but as soon as his hand closed around Tachi's shoulder, he jumped backwards and looked almost horrified for a moment. He relaxed when his eyes focused on Ma-kun, and then he folded his arms to his chest and looked back to the concert.
It didn't look like healthy behavior. "Are you okay?"
Tachi shook his head 'no', and kept staring at Shindou.
".... what's wrong?"
"I wanted to feel something."
"It looks like you're feeling something, to me."
Tachi shook his head 'no' again, "I wanted to feel something different."
The expression on Tachi's face didn't look like hate to Ma-kun. It looked more like remorse, like confusion, the expression of someone overwhelmed.
"Any hints?" Ma-kun asked, carefully, reached out towards him as slowly. When his fingertips brushed against Tachi's skin, Tachi shuddered away from him a little bit, his eyebrows knit a little bit, and he frowned a little bit.
He hissed a sigh, it punctuated the moment perfectly, and said, "God, it's like it never stops." And Ma-kun watched Tachi clench his fists into the fabric of his jacket.
"Good."
Tachi stopped looking at Shindou for a moment, surprised. "What?"
He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but followed through to the end, anyways. "Some things you aren't meant to get over, you aren't meant to heal from. I hope you never get over Shindou..... I think... I know, I'd think less of you if you ever did."
"You sound too fucking wise when you say that." Tachi turned back to Shindou again. "He's smiling." Tachi stated.
"Yeah. He's a pretty optimistic bastard." Ma-kun nodded. Ma-kun moved slowly this time, lifted his hand and carefully placed it on Tachi's shoulder, turned him around so that they were facing each other. He saw Tachi's eyes dart over to Ken and then dart back to Ma-kun. Tachi flicked his eyes back to Ken again, and then hesitated and smiled at him. Ma-kun lifted his hand towards Tachi's face, his palm facing upwards, his fingers curled towards himself, and touched Tachi's lower lip with his own knuckle. The skin was soft, and he drew a line with his fingers along Tachi's lip, right to left.
Tachi shied away, but didn't pull so far away that touching him was impossible.
He caught sight of Tachi's knuckles, reached down without thinking and grabbed one, he felt Tachi wince away for a moment, before settling there and letting him keep the contact. "What happened to your hand?"
"Fight." Tachi said, flicked his eyes back at the concert.
"A fight?" He frowned, wishing that Tachi would look at him, "About what?"
Tachi almost seemed to center then, become himself again, "He called me 'short'." There was a haughty catch to his voice.
"'Short.'"
"Yeah." And Tachi lost focus again, drifted back to the concert. "I hate that."
"....'short'," Ma-kun stated, dubiously, but decided not to push any further.
He reached forwards and touched Tachi's face, suddenly, wanting to see what would happen. Tachi winced backwards, turned his head to one side to avoid the touch. He dropped his eyes and looked almost bashful, almost ashamed, almost guilty. He kept his hand there, though, didn't allow Tachi's reactions to get to him. After a while, Tachi seemed to almost relax, and almost accept it. His body posture was still a half-cringe, but he didn't try and force Ma-kun to step away.
"You aren't that short." Ma-kun said, smiled lamely.
"I know that. He was just trying to piss me off." And he seemed to settle a bit.
"Tachi?"
Tachi was looking everywhere but at him. "Un?"
"Look at me, would you?"
Tachi looked at him with great hesitation, and Ma-kun offered him a smile. Tachi's face was perfectly unmarred, though the expression on his face was strange, "Looks like you won."
"Yeah." Tachi nodded. "I did. I guess."
Tachi stared at the set for a moment longer, and then turned completely around to face Ken and Ma-kun, who both offered him a weak smile.
"Hey, Tachi..." Ma-kun asked, trying to get his complete attention.
"What?"
"You realize it's impossible, right?"
"What is?"
"Instant salvation. You can't do it. No one can."
Tachi looked down at the concert, at Shindou, who was dancing badly on stage. "Who says that's what I was looking for?"
"No one... but it's obvious."
Tachi started to draw away from him again, lean into the concert, pay attention to the words.
Tachi didn't have a retort for that. So he just gazed down at the concert, and waited for another thought to speak aloud.
"Maybe you can't get redemption. Maybe you never will. Maybe you are a monster. Maybe you deserve all this crap. I don't know." Ma-kun shrugged. "I don't know about any of that shit, Tachi. I can't be the judge of it. Frankly, I'm not qualified."
They were quiet.
"All I know is I like you. You're my friend. I don't want to lose you. Nothing is neat, nothing is tidy. It won't ever be that way, if you want it to be that way, then you just have to grow the fuck up, Tachi."
Tachi shook his head, 'no', and kept watching the concert. "You aren't living with what I am."
"You're right, I'm not." Ma-kun agreed, started to feel less annoyed when he didn't realize that he was annoyed at all. "But you did make that choice." Tachi was riveted to the concert, staring out there, transfixed. "And we're still here."
"So what next?"
"I don't know. Not happily ever after."
Tachi shrugged. "What kind of dumbass wants that?"
"You do."
Tachi shrugged, and looked down at the concert. Shindou seemed farther away than he was before, smaller with a block of fans between Tachi and himself. Tachi felt on the brink of something worthy of attention, two steps away from something just beyond his reach. And if he stretched just a little bit, if he paid just a little bit more attention, if he could just....touch it, then something miraculous would happen. But it just hovered there, on the brink, never coming completely into focus.
Tachi leaned forwards, towards the concert, and forgot that Ma-kun and Ken were even there.
Shindou's song ended and he seemed to bounce on stage. "He has a lot of fun there."
"Yeah. Good place to be." Ma-kun sounded farther away, and Tachi turned around almost entirely out of fear.
"Where you going?"
For the first time he focused on Ma-kun's face and posture, his clothes and presence. His hair was messed up and less than perfect, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. He was walking backwards, away from Tachi and his fascination with the concert. Ma-kun was leaning forwards towards him as he moved, as if he were bowing a little as he walked.
Ma-kun's expression was of faint regret. "I think we're getting something to eat. Call us sometime. Or something..." Ma-kun regretted going to the concert. "We'll see you around."
And Ma-kun pushed at Ken, who looked like he wanted to say something more, and they both started to walk away.
"Wait," Tachi felt a little desperate suddenly, "Can I come with you?"
"What?"
"...nothing..." He turned back to the concert, resenting their presence now. "I don't know why you bothered to come out, anyways."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Tachi's voice was bitter now and broken, it was more of a statement now than it was before. "Just go away. Leave me alone. I can't stand you being here. Leave the monster alone."
"....Jesus fucking Christ..." Ma-kun's voice was sharp and angry behind him, "...Tachi, just.... I give up. I do. Tell me how long I have to wait. Tell me how long I have to stand here, right in front of you, before you can see me. Seriously, now. I just, I can't take it anymore. How long do I have to wait while you're looking at Shindou when you should be looking at me? What do I have to do? What great fucking deeds to I have to accomplish? Should I slay some dragon, or tear some fucking golden wool from some fucking tree before you notice that I've been here all this time?"
Tachi dropped his eyes down, from the concert and down to his knuckles. He traced the scab that would make him think 'faggot' for the rest of his life.
"... I give up..." Ma-kun's voice. "I can't do this any longer. My pride, my pride can't take it any longer. It seems like the more noise I make the less effective it is. I don't know what to do to make you prefer me over your fucking penitence. But..." And then from behind him, Tachi heard a hiss of pure aggrivation, "-- god damn. I still want to ask you to call me, I still want to shout upwards at you from where ever the hell I'm standing. I still want your attention, even though you'd rather just stand there like a dumb bastard and wallow..."
He wasn't wallowing, when he felt hollow inside. "So what should I do?" He pinched the cut on his fist, "Stop? Stop trying... give it up and run off to screw you in some random hotel?"
Ma-kun laughed behind him, but it was a half laugh of someone who wasn't actually amused, "Sure. That'd work. Better than this crap. Better than standing here and waiting for something that probably doesn't exist."
Tachi couldn't turn around, couldn't look up. He didn't feel strong enough to make a choice.
"I guess we should go. Call us or don't. I'm really not sure I care."
A catch of fear, welled up and grasped at him suddenly, and Tachi heard himself say it, "Wait," before he knew to stop it.
Look up, he instructed himself. Look up, damn you.
And he did, his feet shuffled a little on the ground as he turned, the rubber toe of his shoe's sole scrapped a little as he didn't quite lift his foot. He wasn't facing Shindou now, and he wasn't facing Ma-kun. He was staring downwards, and then he was looking upwards, towards a wall. He looked the other way, towards the other wall, he looked up, and then he took a few steps forwards, so that he was within arms reach of Ma-kun, and he forced himself to look directly at him. "I know..." And he dropped his eyes again, forced himself to reach out and touch Ma-kun, curled his fingers around Ma-kun's coat, "I know you've been here for me.... when you didn't have to. I know you... are here now..." He couldn't quite talk straight, he couldn't quite breathe. "It's.... hard....to..." He started to feel himself lose, "I just can't do this alone. That sounds selfish. I can't, though.
Please stay.
Or take me with you."
Ma-kun stopped walking, turned and faced him, because Ma-kun always faced him. He let out a long sigh, gave him a smile, and tilted his head to one side, "Alright, fine. I'll let you come with us. But you have to do something first."
"What?"
"Let me kiss you."
Tachi shied away.
"A small one? Nothing heavy.... just, you know... affection...."
"No... I don't think so."
"How about your cheek?"
Tachi shook his head, started to step backwards.
"Okay," Ma-kun covered the distance Tachi had placed between them, reached out and smiled playfully, "here." And he touched Tachi's temple. "Just one. Just because."
Tachi dropped his gaze like a child, didn't actually want to pull away or step forwards. And Ma-kun leaned forwards and kissed his temple once, lightly, dropped his chin low enough so that he was whispering in Tachi's ear, "Seguchi won't stop. But neither will ASK, and I won't let you give up anything." He stepped away, motioned for Tachi to follow.
How does a person change?
Maybe it's as easy as doing it.
Wait for the miracle, walk to the miracle.
He had always assumed, that he'd save himself. That he had to, because he was alone. He had always figured he'd get out of this, that he'd take the one final step and that would be the end. He'd always assumed that he'd travel down the path, find the end, and he'd stop walking. But that isn't how it works. It seemed like every time he took a step it was his first step, and every time he looked towards his goal it was never any closer.
And Tachi took another step.
And Tachi took another.
"-- walking lost in the sparkling streets, glaring
one way
maybe numb from this cold, I am illuminated --"
Each day just melts, one clumsy ache following another.
One step following another.
And where does it end? Because Tachi is never satisfied, not by the moment... not by sex or music... and maybe, all he'd get was this: with ASK, with Ma-kun and Ken, he was a little less restless. He was a little less forlorn, and a little less alone. Maybe a little less evil. The devil and friendship.
A motion, a movement, a presence which resembled satisfaction.
"Tachi?"
Tachi focused on them, hesitated again...
"-- come on Tachi, let's go."
The devil and friendship.
It's only a road, all you do is walk it. It's only a road, but, there is no end.
WAITING FOR THE MIRACLE (from the album 'THE FUTURE') Baby, I've been waiting, I've been waiting night and day. I didn't see the time, I waited half my life away. There were lots of invitations and I know you sent me some, but I was waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. I know you really loved me. but, you see, my hands were tied. I know it must have hurt you, it must have hurt your pride to have to stand beneath my window with your bugle and your drum, and me I'm up there waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. Ah I don't believe you'd like it, You wouldn't like it here. There ain't no entertainment and the judgements are severe. The Maestro says it's Mozart but it sounds like bubble gum when you're waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. Waiting for the miracle There's nothing left to do. I haven't been this happy since the end of World War II. Nothing left to do when you know that you've been taken. Nothing left to do when you're begging for a crumb Nothing left to do when you've got to go on waiting waiting for the miracle to come. I dreamed about you, baby. It was just the other night. Most of you was naked Ah but some of you was light. The sands of time were falling from your fingers and your thumb, and you were waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. Ah baby, let's get married, we've been alone too long. Let's be alone together. Let's see if we're that strong. Yeah let's do something crazy, something absolutely wrong while we're waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. Nothing left to do ... When you've fallen on the highway and you're lying in the rain, and they ask you how you're doing of course you'll say you can't complain -- If you're squeezed for information, that's when you've got to play it dumb: You just say you're out there waiting for the miracle, for the miracle to come. Written by Leonard Cohen and Sharon Robinson, Stranger Music Inc. (BMI) and Robinhill Music (ASCAP).
contrary-perfection.net // the collected fanfictions of eidolon tree