We Were Born Under Burnt Skies (Yakulev)

Chapter 5

The art studio at last felt full; not cluttered, but full. Bright squares of paper clung to the perimeter in an unspoken decoration. Ideas flowed from the walls and a small figure was always poured over something. His contents spilling out beautifully in water color, forming under the ridges of a rough oil painting or scattering loosely amongst charcoal. Small hands pressed and pressured glorified earth into shape. A baggy apron splattered with dull grey clung onto him.

Guarded attention was played. Not an inch of the clay was neglected. Tender touches meant for a lover stroked thumbs over still forming cheeks. Lines were hashed into the even material before the jagged pieces were fit together to complete each other. The sculptor was dancing around the subject. Taking two steps back before his hands returned to his work. Spinning his partner so he could examine him carefully. Plick plick plick estranged the tarp laid out on the floor. Occasionally the stray pieces would be gathered and rolled back into each other; embracing the other until no seams remained.

Mori took a few steps back once again. He swiped his hands on his apron before picking up the already soiled sketchbook. He held up sketches of Lev to a slightly dysfunctional project. His tongue clicked against his teeth and his arm fell back at his side. It still didn't look right. Something was missing, certain features felt wrong. Now back on his stool, he leaned in and tapped the sculptures lips. They were too thin. Clay warmed under his touch as he smoothed over the newly added pieces. His gaze was soft from his exhaustion of visualizing Lev's features.

His lips were full, beautiful and smooth. His top lip was slightly slimmer than the lower in such a way it created a heart-like shape. His "cupids bow" wasn't extremely prominent and it made his face look subdued; graceful.

"Handsome," Mori muttered. He mentally took back that comment, glad Lev wasn't here to ask: "What's handsome?"

His movements stilled, the speaker stalling as the song previously playing switched to another. Wind rustled paper and plastic; a chill wrapped itself around him and he looked up from the bubble he'd been in whilst working. It was instantly apparent that a large presence was missing. He tried to go back to the statue but something tugged at his ribcage.

Giving up for the day, he wrapped up all the clay and cleaned himself up.

"Don't forget to eat! c:"

2 hours ago

Mori smiled at the screen before placing his phone in his pocket, exchanging it for his keys. Locking the door behind himself, he started walking to find a quiet place for dinner.

~*~

By the time he'd arrived at his dorm the sun was setting. He ran into a group of people from his painting class and they invited him to join them, and he was too polite to decline. They drank, which drew out the interaction. He was drained; the group was boisterous and it only became worse as their blood alcohol content increased.

Mori slipped his phone from his coat and a quick search said it was [insert time] in Japan. It was far too late for anyone to be awake, but he couldn't help but wonder. Contacts flashed across his screen until he found who he was looking for. He pressed the small bubble containing a video camera and his softly lit face filled the screen. He placed the ringing device on his desk, propped against his books.

Warm fabric trailed up his spine leaving a chill across his skin; goosebumps were left in the wake. It was discarded to the corner of the room. The ringing that had echoed against the walls and windows stopped, replaced by rustling of paper and the quiet murmur of music.

The sunlight washed over the soft plains of a smooth, small back. Milky white dotted softly with strategically placed freckles. The frame was slim and as Mori shifted around the skin and muscles stretched and moved, favor prepossessing. It was a shame when a dark sweatshirt fell to obstruct the view. He turned back towards his screen to catch eyes wide with awe quickly soften into something dispassionate; their attention turning back to the pages displayed in front of them. Appearing to be completely unbothered. If the blush was any evidence, it's unmistakably not the case.

The person within the frame was scooped up and promptly moved to a nightstand as sandy hair shuffled around in the sheets until finally settling facing the camera.

"How late is it there?" Mori finally whispered, afraid if he spoke any louder the calmness would slip away and be replaced with something far more dangerous: need.

"It's not that late, don't worry. How about there?" Lev replied. He closed the all too familiar journal and slid it out of frame. A small click was followed by total darkness of the screen.

"Hm, eight or nine, I haven't really checked the time..." Silence fell again until Lev's face was visible again.

"I miss you," three little words murmured through exhaustion. They weren't a question, or a statement, but a declaration. "I miss you".

A contemporary heat rose to the surface. Creeping into the edges of the room. The rules were never laid out. Was this allowed?

Mori didn't like the way the space grew heavy, starting to tear the flesh from his body until he felt horridly exposed, "I miss you too, Lev."

Without fail their status took a step forwards, leaving them behind to pick up the pieces and try to catch up. There's a silent acknowledgement of these moments, but they're filed away and drift until they linger only in their subconscious. Never being addressed or confronted. They don't ask questions. Perhaps leaving doors unopened, not curious enough to cast themselves into a dark unknown; for fear of being eaten alive. What was the point of searching if it meant the end of what they knew?

"Goodnight, Yaku."

"Mori."

"... Goodnight- Mori."

"Goodnight, Lev."