［ house of cards. ］

[ whispered dreams and diatribes ]

❧

The sun was shining through cotton white clouds as the afternoon hour slowly crept up onto the unnamed town. It had been an hour since the man dressed in black bid farewell to Yuusei, as he had to go back to his photography company to answer a few enquiries. So Naoyuki walked alone on the bustling streets, alone as he had always been. He could feel the stares of some people who just allowed their eyes to travel wherever they want, but he didn't care.

He just doesn't understand, though; what was it that made him look stare-able? Was it his all-black attire that made him look like some sort of stalker? Or the fact that his feet were walking along to some nonexistent beat that was in his head? Maybe it was because of his facial expression; he recalled a certain someone from his college days (not a friend of his and never was) who had told him that he always looked like he was slightly irritated at everything. He wasn't right, but when he thought about it again, he wasn't wrong neither. Just indifference.

The man wanted to do something. He wanted to have an objective of the day, for some reason. Because everyone around him seemed to have one, right? While nodding his head, he took out his cellphone that was in his pocket and went through his contacts.

While he was doing so, he didn't notice that a bunch of girls were tailing him from behind. When he did realize after looking through the reflection from his phone screen, they were already quite close to him, a thing which the man didn't really like since he is very sensitive about his private space.

When they distanced themselves closer, though, the man could hear faint whispers and gossips between the group, and he was drawn by curiosity. Only when he listened tentatively did he realize that the comments they were making among each other were about none other than him.

"Why is he wearing all black?"
(Because I felt like it..?)

"Oh my god, could he be an idol?"
(This is the funniest thing I've heard today.)

"Shhh, he'll hear us!!"
(I mean, you guys were already this close to me so... not my problem if I heard y'all.)

"I think he looks kinda cool.."
(Thanks, girl, this is the most normal-sounding comment so far..)

"What if he really is an idol??"
(Girl, you've watched too many idol shows or something...)

"Hey, what if he isn't one? At least ask him who he is first.."
(Would you even know who I am if you asked me though....?)

The man couldn't help but cover his mouth with one and laugh to himself. These sentences were just too much for him to handle. He swiftly walked past the four girls, leaving them in shock and surprise, and left the area in case he gets chased, or in case the group knew that he was laughing due to their comedic remarks. The last thing he wanted to hear was somebody calling him an "idol" because clearly, he isn't and will never ever imagine being one.

❧

four hours ago

The morning rays of the sun were masked by the voile curtains, making streaks of sunlight feed through the material's holes and shine bit by bit onto the cold room. The presence of light cleared the pitch-black darkness the room once had, but it didn't stir the figure in the room below the sheets. All silence was broken when a sniff was heard, and the once still scene was disturbed when a dishevelled head of ebony-black hair popped out from below the covers. The feeble rays of light illuminated his fair skin, as well as his sleepy expression. Two orbs of brownish-black eyes stared at the headboard of the bed in a daze, then shifted with great effort to the figures on the alarm clock sitting on the table next to where he slept, as the person, with his heavy eyelids, tried to make out the current time.