Authoress: Keishi
BIG FAT WARNING:
Contains m/m relationships
ONLY read if you are of age and open-minded!!!
Disclaimer
Chin in hand, I lean towards the window, looking out as the store fronts and general city sights rush by. I'm not really looking, though. My mind is filled with more delicious thoughts.
The black stretch limo snakes it's way on the road next to the train at a leisurely pace. I can't help wondering if, behind that black tinted glass, sits a man who is as miserable as I am? Perhaps he goes back to his perfect mansion, eats his perfect delicious food, wears his perfect expensive clothes, and wishes for more? Maybe he wants to be free of his present stasis of a life as much as I do. Maybe there's something, or someone, out there he yearns for, just like I do. I think about him, sitting by himself, meditating, and wish I could curl myself in his lap and lick the tension and sadness away.
The train busily winds it's way through downtown Tokyo, passing the limo easily. I glance back at the art gallery I had boarded the train from, and think back to the events of the evening.
The showing had been a small affair, the artist specializing in metalwork. I had walked slowly around the offered rooms, milking as much out of my 1,300-en entry ticket as possible. Working as a waiter/delivery person at the Nekohanten didn't exactly make me the wealthiest person around, and I cherished the few events that I could attend. I paced the floor of the Tokyo Opera City Art Gallery, seriously wishing I were in the above golden tiers, perhaps seeing Otello or Jenufa, than wandering by myself around the lonely bare-wood floors. It was then that I saw him. My Perfection.
I always see him at these affairs. I don't know why it surprises me every time, but it does. He stands, regally, for once out of his blue samurai garb. A long, black coat sweeps his knees, matching black pants tailored to perfection, a soft, heather grey collarless shirt complimenting the contemporary casual look. Even his shoes look spit-polished. A glance down at my ordinary robes and I sigh with disgust. He is surrounded by many people, including the artist himself, holding a champagne flute with ease, laughing at some hidden joke. For one terrifying moment, he glances my way, and I begin to think maybe he was laughing at me. Then he gestures at one of the pieces, and my heart removes itself slowly from my throat. As I relearn to breathe, the tall, chestnut-haired boy motions as if to leave. I quickly follow him outside and watch him get into his sleek, black limousine. As it glides through the busy streets, my own transportation, Moe and Joe, take me slowly to the station down the street.
I spotted the limo just as the train left out, and I couldn't resist watching it for as long as I could. Watched my Perfection leave me once again.
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