Chapter Two: an old haunt

Nice tugged Art through the streets, the other boy falling sleepily onto his shoulder with every step. Art was just short enough to have his head fit perfectly under Nice's jaw, so whenever he slumped forward, Art's hair tickled his neck, sending little shivers down his spine until every fibre of his being was wide awake.

Nice knew where he was taking Art. Everyone dreams of finding their own little coffee shop, with friendly staff and an even friendlier clientele. The store would have mismatched chairs, chipped plates, and armchairs with stuffing protruding from the seats, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee would hang in the air and seep into your clothes, so that you could smell the scent even after you had left. Nice had found Murasaki's Deli last year, and since then, it had become his sanctuary. He and Birthday hung out there often, and thought of it as a second home.

"Art. We're here." Nice shook his new friend lightly, trying to jolt some alertness into the slim, tired figure. Art yawned like a cat, and stretched his arms above his head. "Oh. Good," he beamed, his smile as dull and as muted as a car horn through the fog. "Can we go inside?" Art queried, his eyes falling on the 'CLOSED' sign on the glass window.

"No duh." Nice smirked, as he knocked loudly on the front door. "Murasaki always lets me in."

The two stood back and surveyed the building, waiting for some signs of movement. When the darkness of the store appeared unmoving, Nice sighed and hollered, "Hey! Four-eyes!"

A loud groan sounded from up above, and a voice responded, "Call me that again and I will drop the heaviest book I have onto your head."

Looking up, Art saw a man leaning out of one of the windows above the shop. In the darkness, Art admittedly couldn't see much, but Nice's face broke out into a grin as he called out, "Four-eyes, there you are! Let me in, would you? I have an important meeting with a new friend of mine!"

The man brought a hand up sleepily and dragged it across his face. "It's Murasaki," he complained. "You had better start to call me that, or else I'll never serve you ever again." But the person disappeared from the window and a light switched on.

Art just looked at Nice expectantly, his eyes wide and alluring. "Are you two friends?" he asked.

Nice nodded a little. "Murasaki's a good friend of mine. I met him when I found this café."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-three."

"Oh."

"Are you lovebirds going to talk about me forever? I understand that I'm worthy of jealousy, but please."

Murasaki stood in the doorway of the deli, a hand over his mouth as he stifled a yawn. He was a tall and slim man, but still obviously well-built. He had purple hair, like Art, but where Art's hair was light and angelic, Murasaki's was harsh and darker. He was dressed in pyjamas – a dark blue shirt patterned with white clouds and matching trousers.

Nice burst out laughing. "I never get tired of seeing your jammies, Saki."

Murasaki scoffed. "Please. You're just jealous of how comfortable they are."

Art watched as the two went about their easy everyday banter, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy himself. As much as his parents tried to get him to talk to other children and make new friends, he couldn't do it. He couldn't handle pointless conversations and sometimes broke down in tears before he'd even got a word out, which was why he was so shocked that he trusted this stranger wholeheartedly.

"-come on." Nice's hand clamped down on Art's shoulder, eliciting a small squeak from the boy. Murasaki led the two into the deli, with the blinds pulled down low to block out the dim light of the moon. The tables and chairs were all over the place, crooked and familiar, and the smell of coffee surrounded Art, making him wince. He'd always been more of a tea person.

"Just sit anywhere. Nice, you know the drill. I'll bring you guys coffee anytime you want it, but there's ice coffee in the fridge if you want to save me the trouble."

"The ice coffee is fine," Nice replied. "We'll make ourselves at home. Why are you in your jammies already, though?"

Murasaki looked at him blankly.

Nice stared back blankly.

Art alternated between staring at both Nice and Murasaki.

"You really are an idiot." Murasaki sighed finally, breaking the ice. "It's almost midnight."

Art looked apologetically at Murasaki. "Sorry," he whispered. "I don't mean to bother you this late."

Murasaki's eyes widened as he shook his head, smiling a little. "No, it's fine. Nice interrupted me, not you. You're always welcome here. What's your name, by the way?"

"Art." The younger boy responded shyly, anxiously touching his hair with a hand.

"Nice name. Unique."

"T-t-thanks…"

Nice, who had been watching the exchange between the two, suddenly blurted out, "Alright, Saki. I think the lack of sleep has finally gotten to you. You're delirious. Now, go to sleep. Bye. Adios."

Murasaki frowned at him, but bid the two goodnight and went upstairs to sleep. Nice went to the kitchens and fetched a pitcher of ice coffee and two glasses for them both from Murasaki's poky little kitchen.

Yet another reason why Nice preferred Murasaki's cosy little shop was because it had the feel of a comfortable, easy home life, unlike Nice's actual home. Murasaki had a tiled black and white kitchen floor, which was perfect to play hopscotch on. He had a bright yellow fridge and the cupboards and cabinets were cherry and mahogany, lining the walls. Jars of spices sat on shelves alongside cookbooks and grocery lists, and old certificates and letters were stuck to the fridge door with magnets. The granite countertops were spotless, chopping boards stacked one on top of each other at one end, while the counters spanned the length of the room.

Nice joined Art again in the main seating area of the deli. Art was anxiously tapping his feet on the floor, floundering uselessly in the dark. Nice switched on the light, cocooning the two in a soft glow. The darkness from outside threatened to harm the glow through the slits of the blinds, but the interior of the building stayed bright.

A cup of iced coffee was poured for Art, who took it gratefully and murmured a thank you before choking down a large gulp. Nice smiled sadly.

"What's your name? And tell me honestly."

"Art."

"Come on, that isn't your real name. What is Art short for?"

"That's all I am," Art insisted blankly. "It's all I've ever been. Art Fidelis."

"That's your name?" Nice took a sip of his drink.

Art nodded quickly. "That's what my parents call me," he said. "I write it on my exam papers, in my journals, all over my desk, and my hands. That's all I am."

Nice smiled thoughtfully. Fidelis, he thought. That's Latin for 'faithful', or 'loyal', isn't it?

"Who do you live with?"

"My parents."

"Why are you here, in Yokohama? Why aren't you at home?"

Art began to fiddle with his gorgeous hair. "Well…uh…well…I don't like it there."

"And why don't you like it there?"

Art bit his lip, worrying with the skin a little. Nice smiled understandingly and brought a hand across the table and laid it on Art's free hand, which was on the table.

"You don't have to tell me," he whispered to him. "I'd like it if you did, but if you don't feel comfortable…"

Tears rolled down Art's cheeks, marking the skin in a relentless cycle of thrashing, wild emotions. Redness surrounded his magical eyes, making the purple irises pop endearingly.

"I don't really have one," Art mumbled after a while. The first tear ventured out of his eye, kissing his fair cheek. "My parents are nice to guests and other people, but I'm just irregular. I defy reason, my mother says. I'm not fit to live if I'm as insignificant and dull as she says I am."

"Why would your mother say that, Art?"

Art swallowed, and Nice took it as a hint to pour the guy a glass of iced coffee. Once it was filled, he pushed it towards Art, who hurriedly gulped it down. "She says I'm a waste of space," he gasped. "She told me I'm a killer."

Nice's eyes narrowed as he got himself a glass of iced coffee, too. Swiping his finger around the condensation on the sides, he whispered softly, "Who did you kill, Art?"

Art's head, which was hung, began to shake a little. Nice just looked at him. Eventually, Art's shoulders began to shake, accompanied by chuckle. When the boy looked up again, his cheeks were covered in fresh tears as intricate and winding as train tracks, the stories of those tears bound to lead somewhere. A smirk, thin and twisted, was the perfect final touch to a tragic masterpiece.

"I killed my brother."

Hey, there!

I hope you liked this chapter, everyone! Thank you so much for reading. I know I haven't updated in so long, but if you'll forgive me, I was kind of distracted. What can I say, I like the internet. The SNK OVA 2 came out as well, but it's in raw, so I can't understand it, but other than that, Jean Kirschtein! Do any of you watch Attack on Titan? If you do, who's your favourite character? Because mine is Jean. I just adore him, and I ship him with Eren. If I ever do write an SNK fanfiction, it would be erejean, because that's my otp.

Fairy Tail! Who's in the fandom here? My favourite character is Jellal, because he's freaking awesome and rather cute and I like him very much because he can rock blue hair and ohmygod how did he make the transition from a total baddie to come cutie distraught due to guilt I just literally cannot because Jellal Fernandes I applaud you for being so perfect and adorable that eye tattoo thing whut

Alright, what else...do any of you happen to like Hetalia? I was going to write a Hetalia fanfiction, and I actually have three or four of the chapters already, but I'm not sure about it...

OTHER THAN THAT, PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS CHAPTER WAS OKAY!

Ferrezia