Work Text:
I. STRENGTH
Those deep-black eyes.
At first, Tsuyoshi didn’t aware of the eyes that glued to him. If he remembered correctly they had met once –when he was crossing the street last week if he’s not mistake— he could still visualize the man startled expression when their eyes met, but looking away instantly as if they saw something that should not be seen.
Those eyes stopped blinking when Tsuyoshi looked at them, and as if he realized that Tsuyoshi was aware of what he’s been doing, he averted his gaze. They were on last train now, not so many people around but that man chose to stand across of Tsuyoshi. He observed the man —who now was fidgeting because he knew Tsuyoshi was looking at him—wearing a full black sweat clothes, and a black hat —with F1 logo— covering almost half of his upper face.
A bit suspicious, Tsuyoshi thought. But he was only looking anyway, what Tsuyoshi can do? So he let him be. Leaning his head to the window, Tsuyoshi watched as the blurry lights flickering before him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the man too was looking at the window. Maybe watching the moving lights outside, and sometimes glancing at him from the shadow.
Did they meet before?
…
“It’s a mind potion.” An old lady offered him a small bottle with purple liquid, “It will clear the cloud on your mind.”
Tsuyoshi stopped walking, he already finished searching fabric for his work, and this old lady somehow caught his attention. The market was crowded, but she was alone in one of the corner —surrounded by her antique stuff.
“What will happen when I drink it?”
“Oh, young one. I can see emptiness in your eyes.” Her eyes turned sad, “You either will find your bottom or drown on your own fate.”
“Then I don’t need it.”
She smiled a little, “The world before us has been erased. You can choose to live as nothing or suffer as someone.”
“They say… the world in the future will be in peace.”
“They’re talking like that before too, but are you in peace now?”
Tsuyoshi lost his words, it’s too vague, and he didn’t understand the concept of peace anymore—his concept of peace.
…
Tsuyoshi never had a dream.
For almost 35 years of his life, he couldn’t remember if he ever had a dream. Every time he closed his eyes and slept, the only thing he saw was darkness. Nothing but darkness; he couldn’t even see his own hands. The only thing that was clear to him was the sound of his heartbeat.
Echoed in the darkness.
When he was too tired, and nothing occupied his mind other than sleep he curled up, then the sound would be in rhythmic. The kind of sound that would send you to sleep inside a mother embrace. He would lose into infinite darkness, wished to never wake up. But sometimes, when he realized how empty he was, the sound would haunt him. The tears that he never understood why flowing like a river, drowning him to the endless darkness. Floating around, as if he was dead and never found a place where he belonged.
Every time he opened his eyes, the pillow soaked with tears. There was something missing from his heart. But somehow he felt better. Not because he woke up, but because the world around him was surrounded by light. The white paint, white furniture, big window with thin- white curtain that would let the light from outside showered his completely white room. He felt better; light helped him found his breath.
He would sit in the corner of his bed, looking at his own face on the big mirror in front of him. Cried then sobbed. Wondering why he couldn’t stop his tears from flowing down, clutching his chest watching his own pathetic-face hidden by his messy hair.
.