We Were Born Under Burnt Skies (Yakulev)

Chapter 3

A single blip on a grid, a small red circle caused so much havoc. It was the repeated cause of anxiety, mental breakdowns and screaming matches with the wall. It seemed like it was eons away but two flips of a page and there it was; baring its teeth and mocking the young artist. In all reality he should have said no. He should have straightened his back and rejected what his university offered but it was something so large that it made him crumble underneath an unwavering iron boot.

"Do an exhibition for us," they said.

"Your art is exceptional," they said.

"This is a huge opportunity," they said.

"Ok," he agreed; regardless of the looming wall pushing against him telling him he was no good.

Mori sighed and placed another slash through a square, splitting it in two. Another day gone; wasted on smeared charcoal and torn paper. Every day he spent in this studio felt like quicksand slowly swallowing him whole. He gazed into his work space, littered with so many small things that it was cluttered, still somehow managing to look empty. How is it he hasn't made a single piece? It's been so long he's forgotten what it even feels like.

BUZZ BUZZ

He jumped and his head snapped towards his phone. A small laugh bubbled up and he shook his head.

"Who's even awake at this time?" he mumbled.

"Yaku-san, are you up?"

"Yea, shouldn't you be asleep tho?"

"Was writing and lost track of time."

"Can I come over?"

"Sure"

"@ the studio"

"Guess all us artists are hopeless, huh?" He placed his phone on the table and started to gingerly pick up the expansive studio space. Cradling each broken piece of paper in his small arms. The last bit of comfort before they're coldly discarded into a metal prison.

Once the space was devoid of any synthetic life, he clicked on the small Keurig that he had shoved in a corner. The faint gurgling hum of the small machine filled the room with a mock warmth. Mori then wandered over to the balcony and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders; gripping the soft fabright tightly, afraid of it slipping away in the freezing two AM winds.

He watched the silent streets below, cars passing by every ten minutes or so. No one was out walking. The only lights being a faint glow from the parts of the city that find it hard to sleep.

It was easy to spot Lev walking down on the paths. He's tall and the moon reflected off of the silver tones in his hair. It stood out like salt spilled onto a tablecloth. All of his movements were smooth and relaxed, he carried himself well. That was before he tripped over a loose tie on his shoe. He looked so defeated that Mori found it hard not to laugh. Lev picked his head up, following the source of the sound, a dusty blush barely able to be seen. He stared with a wild wonder in his eyes before meekly smiling and raising a hand in a soft wave. Mori leaned on the rail and delicately raised his own in response.

"That was so embarrassing," Lev mumbled as he slipped his scarf off, now safe from the wind inside the studio.

"It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for you though. Want some coffee?" Mori closed the door to the balcony, shutting out the loneliness of the city.

"Coffee isn't really my thing..."

"I have tea," he giggled.

"I'll take that."