Lowlight

Prologue

2 years ago.

Hashirama:

It was the most exotic experience I had ever had.

At least up to that point.

The moment would etch itself on my retina, create a pattern of nerve signals in my brain and settle in my soul to become a memory to be cherished for as long as I lived.

The moment itself, I would like to describe like the cherry on a cake. It was not the icing; the moment was far too short to take as much space as the icing did. No, it was the cherry; small but much more memorable than the icing, seeing as it was bright-red on top, the first thing to catch the eye of the beholder, the first thing to be devoured.

That was how that moment felt.

Before it happened, I was sitting down at a round café table. It was autumn, the orange and yellow leaves causing the world to burn, creating a sharp contrast to the bright blue sky, but the air was still blissfully mild. In front of me was a cup of hot coffee with almond cream that was slowly cooling in the breeze, making me feel very sophisticated as I read my arts journal. My camel-coloured coat moved softly around my ankles, matching the flow of my long, dark brown hair against my waist.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I had just finished marking the creations of my art students in the studio at the university. They had all done a fantastic job, and I had noticed that several of them had taken what I had taught them at heart and implemented it in their paintings. Now, I had the afternoon off, and enjoyed it to its fullest in my favourite café in the city, placed on a picturesque cobblestone street.

I sat there for two hours, reading, sipping my coffee. At one point, the cute and kind girl behind the counter came out with an almond croissant as she always did, knowing it was my favourite, saying it was on the house. I thanked her warmly, and felt guilty because I thought at some point, I ought to tell her I wasn't into girls. I didn't want to use her in this way, but I still couldn't find a smooth way to let her know.

It was when I stood up to leave that it happened. I pushed my chair in underneath the table, and still had my eyes on the last bit of my article which was why I didn't look properly when I started walking.

And I bumped right into someone.

People say the first thing you notice about someone is their face, or their eyes. But seeing  I bumped into this person, the first thing I noticed was their height; their soft head bumped into my chest, meaning this person was quite tall seeing as I was unusually tall so reaching my chest was still quite impressive. The bump was soft, and I noticed it was because they had a long, wild mane of black hair cut in soft layers that went past their waist. Wow...

This all registered within me in a millisecond. What happened after that was that the person, probably a female, lifted their hands to my chest on reflex, and I grabbed onto the person's wrists, also on reflex.

"Whoa..." I said softly. "I'm so sorry, that was entirely-"

But I was cut short as the person looked up at me.

The person wasn't female.

He was the most gorgeous male I had seen in my entire life.

His skin was a soft, milky white, a contrast to my tanned complexion. His hair tumbled down thin shoulders and was so shiny it glistened in the sunlight. He had dark eyebrows that were beautifully shaped, arching over his large, dark eyes. He had lines underneath his eyes, causing his face to look a lot more interesting than any other I had ever seen. Just those lines made me want to sit him down immediately and sketch a charcoal portrait of him. He was clad in a black coat, underneath of which he had donned black suit pants and a grey cardigan that I could discern showed one shoulder despite his coat. Whoa...

But there was something else about him.

About his eyes.

His eyes were dark and clear, but they weren't focussing on anything. They just sort of drifted across my chest and my neck.

I noted all of this, yet not even a second had passed.

"...That was entirely my fault", I finished softly.

He still had his hands on my chest, and I still had my hands around his wrists, so small in my large hands.

He was quiet for a while, his face a soft expression. And we stood there for a few seconds, feeling each other's presence.

But suddenly, he frowned, and he pulled his hands away.

"Oy! Watch it!" he exclaimed with a deep, musical tenor voice.

Then, he walked past me, still not having taken eye contact with me, and left, leaving me in my place, looking at his back as his figure became smaller and smaller, not even noticing the glances that was cast my way from those passing by caused by how I just stood and stared.

And this wonderful day, this soft, breezy, warm autumn day, where I had had time to sit at a table at my favourite café, just got a cherry on top of it.

I wouldn't stop thinking about that day for two years.

Not until...