All of it became too much.
Soon the devotion you had towards music were gone. You've cut ties with them. Every musical equipments on your house were hrown off in a vintage shop. Everything related to music, from the picture frame of the band standi...
Chapter Eight. In which in (a rather frustrating) circumstances, you're back in the studio to properly 'offer your thankfulness to them'. You wished you persuaded your mother not to make them.
Warning: mentions of suicide/suicide attempt.
Proofread.
I WANT TO HEAR YOU
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You didn't consider yourself a popular student.
You were pretty much a sort of shadow kept in the dark and to never be seen, only hiding from Yuri's back. Between the two of you, she'd easily beat you in terms of popularity. She had everything while you were just...you. You didn't even consider yourself as somebody who had something that attract people because most of them had told you and felt that you had an intimidating aura, look always like they didn't have gotten the touch of sleep (which was kind of true) — Overall, you'd like to think that you didn't anything that makes people want you in a romantic eay. Especially when the whole school knew that you were dating her, most have ignored you in a loathing way because you? Dating the Yuri?
So it was a wonder in your third year that you'd receive love confessions. Although you've started having them in your first year, it wasn't that prominent at that time. Albeit, within the start of your last year — they were suddenly coming right at you. Perhaps they knew that the relationship you had with the popular girl was coming to its end, so they were starting to take their chances. You were going to be honest that it was starting to get annoying, although you were flattered that some people saw you that way, understanding that you weren't looking for any romantic relationship at this time would be good.
There were times when you wished that you could just bury yourself six feet underground and to never rise again because some of them caused something embarrassing.
And those times were like this for example.
It was afterschool and you were inside the art club room. The room itself was vacant today and with that, the club teacher rang the members to attend. It was supposed to be a normal session, there was a wave of relief and calmness like soft rain when you stroked the brush against the surface of the canvas, each careful touch that it lingered against a specific color in the pallet held by your non-dominant hand was euphoric in a way. These were the times when you felt like nothing mattered in the moment. The other members of the club were silent around you, only puffed breaths of frustration and contentment along with brushes — the silent whirring of electric fans.
It was all quiet.
" FUJITA-SENPAI! "
Until, it wasn't.
You heard the call behind the door before the door itself bursted open, so harshly that it hit the wall and a loud bang resonated around the once calm room. The chorus of surprised yelps and gasp, were followed by groans of frustration seeing what happened with their works. The scream brought a mistake to their canvas along with yours, the shade of sky blue that was supposed to make contact with the bottom side of the art's surface went down to the finished grass — now, a smudge of blue was out of place there.
