Work Text:
Dear Diary,
The days are getting longer and harder. I've had to attend multiple HA meetings to discuss the rapidly declining number of hero applicants. Because of this, I have to do triple the promotional work for them, and promote what I believe to be my last album. I have to finish writing one more song, and film the MV for the single. It grates on my ears every time I hear it. On top of it all, I have a fan sign in City S. And I almost forgot about the agency dinner I have to attend. I have to pretend that I like all these irritating people that want nothing more from me than my fame and power, but at least the food is decent.
My muscles ache from the constant activity. I can't remember the last night I got more than 4 hours of sleep. I haven't seen my masseuse in weeks. I desperately need a hot bath.
I have no idea what I'm going to write my next song about. It's due in a few days, and my usual ghostwriter, well, ghosted. I need to come up with something fast, but I only have one idea. Generally, I'm much better at spitting out the bullcrap that my fans love (though I do struggle a bit with titles), but no matter how hard I try, my mind can only think about one thing.
He shouldn't have as much power over me as he does. He's just a coworker I hooked up with. Oh, who am I kidding, we've been hooking up for months, and the good feelings have long left the bedroom. I haven't called him in weeks. I've only seen him at work. I shouldn't even think about talking to him, much less drinking with him. I know I won't be able to.
Yet all my heart yearns to do is scream about him, and his unique kind of beauty. Sure, the abs, chiseled jawline, and very large you know what are fun to play with, but something about his nature is so attractive. He could live a much grander life. He could bask in the limelight, and revel in the glory of being a powerful, internationally recognized superhero with millions of fans. Yet, he chooses not to. He lives in a small apartment. He takes the public bus to work. He chooses to take care of Child Emperor, a child who's been exploited by every person close to him since his abilities were discovered. But, he protects him. He comforts him when his little mind is overwhelmed with the burden of being the only person smart enough to save these heroes' sorry asses. Despite everything that he’s seen, and everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t take his pain out on others. Instead, he goes out of his way to help, from saving people’s lives through his hero work, to giving his extra change to the man on the street being stepped on. He signs autographs and talks to the children and teens that come up to him. I once saw him cover the cost of someone’s coffee when they forgot their wallet (and he tips well too). He’ll get to do good until the end of his days. I’ll be dead in the next ten years.
He goes out of his way to enjoy his life too, because he doesn’t take it too seriously. He knows that he’s a freak. He’s accepted that, and he even exploits it, through his excessive smoking and drinking. In the beginning, I wished he would get rid of the pungent odor, but that rancid smell mixed with his natural sment, feels incredibly comforting. God, I never thought I’d see the day where the smell of booze and cigarettes soothed me. His kisses are delectable, even though his lips are chapped. His hair is surprisingly soft, considering his disgusting self care routine. It’s getting better though, he’s clearly using the products I gave him.
We’ve gone out for coffee once or twice. I wish we could go out more, but putting on a disguise and ignoring my fans is the biggest pain in the ass. I await the day where my time in the spotlight is finished. It will be a gruesome end, I know it. It will probably lead to my death. But, if I do live, I pray that I will get to spend at least one more night with [______________].
I guess I'm just going to write another empty song about fighting monsters, and make the replacement fix it. The fans won't know the difference.
Sincerely signed,
Beaut
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His eyes float back to the blank space right off center of the paper. He taps his ballpoint pen against the edge, letting the noise harmonize with his crackling fireplace. He stares at the unfinished sentence, waiting for the right words to float into his consciousness. As he thinks, his eyes get lost in the untamed dance of the flames. His surroundings start to blur, and the orange-red hues captivate him, taking him away from his struggles. And then the right words crash down from the sky. They're the perfect fit for his predicament. But his pen becomes a brick as his mind desires to get lost in the flames once more. His mind leaves the sanctuary of the fire, and turns to his wine glass for comfort. He drains it for all its worth. While his logic is still slurred, he forces himself to pick up the pen. He fills the blank in with my love , slams the pen down, and remakes himself comfortable in his leather chair. He glances at the clock beside his bed. It blinks at 1:25. He lets out a loud groan, he has to get up at 5:00 for his next shoot. Guess his streak wasn't going to break anytime soon.
He mentally goes through his task list for the next day, trying to figure out when he can squeeze in time to eat, or if he’s lucky, a quick nap. His shoulder’s tense at the thought of tomorrow. His mind takes him to around noon yesterday, where his manager showed him his schedule for the week. He couldn’t even see the paper beneath, it was covered by red ink. He didn’t pay attention to what his manager was saying, his mind was still trying to process the business meeting and TV interview he had to do yesterday on half a turkey sandwich, a sip of beer, and three hours of sleep. He sighs, bringing himself back to his lavish bedroom. His head slips onto his desk, landing with a thunk . After a few minutes of trying to force his brain to pick his head up (he might have fallen asleep, he’s not sure), the flames wiggle their hips and the smoke’s tempting fingers beckons him back to his hypnotized state. He stares at them, enticed by their every move. They take all his cares away for him. He fills with warmth and comfort as he stares into the fire’s eyes. They hold him carefully and tightly in his arms. Beaut feels like he can truly relax. Just like he could with him.
All the nights they spent together came flooding back. He would hold him so very close, and whisper a caring word or two in his ears. He’d run his hands up and down his back. He would always make sure to ask if he had eaten. If he didn’t, he’d head to his kitchen and make him something simple that was always delicious. If he ever had crumbs on his face, he would always wipe them off for him with his thumb. Beaut would always lean into his calloused palms when he did that. His personal favorite thing however is he always would get a little kiss goodbye. Those moments where he could finally drop his mask and be himself were always accompanied by wedding bells in his mind. There, he’s finally safe, in his own personal heaven, protected and guarded by a very handsome, rugged man. He then remembers he won’t be able to rest there for a while. His mind flashes back to that damn calendar, covered in red ink.
That thought shocks him out of his reverie. He grumbles and stands up, cracking his back. He drags himself out of his desk chair to the fire pit, and throws the paper in, letting it fold up and turn to ash.
"Next time I see him, I'm making him give me a back rub." He turns off his lights, and crawls into bed. He allows the fire to burn throughout the night.