A Hymn of Illusions
「A Hymn of Illusions」
Type: oneshot
Fandom: the GazettE
Pairing: Ruki/Reita if you squint really hard; (Ruki-centric)
Genre: general/drama
Rating: G
Synopsis: That other side of fame - a contemplation of what goes on behind the empty look in Ruki's eyes that appears every now and then, more as of late.
Word count: 1,869
Notes: Finally, something new? Is this even possible?
Another photoshoot. This time it's for a pamphlet, making it slightly more important. Ruki liked the outfits. They were mostly his ideas, anyway, so he was almost obliged to like them. He sat patiently as one of the staff did his hair and spent an entire can of hairspray on it. He sat patiently as she dabbed and swiped make-up over his lids. He sat patiently as she tapped the corners of his lips with foundation. He didn't say a word, only wondered why he even allowed them to do that. He had always liked the shape of his lips. It was saucy.
He blinked when she announced that he was “All done!” There used to be a time when he'd stand up, approach the mirror and drink up the image of the new him - the handsome and exciting stage image of himself; now, the stage persona no longer existed. He was that persona, he was that image, and he was the weathered, tired man behind it, too. They had blended long ago, and there was a time when he thought it was a positive outcome. Today, he couldn't remember who he was anymore.
He glanced at the mirror when his stylist finally removed herself out of his sight after he had ignored her long enough. The dark shadows under his eyes were still visible even under the face cream, the concealer, the liquid foundation, the powder foundation, the eyeliner and the multiple eyeshadows.
He weighed the whole image before him. Did he even look that good? Years ago, he would've killed for this sort of professional make-up. The only thing in his mind now was the question: what was the point of all these camouflaging masks? His mind travelled and his eyes followed over to his band mates. Kai and Reita were still getting their hair done. Kai resolutely albeit very politely pointed out whenever he didn't like something. Reita grumbled whenever the tiny girl that was working on his hair pulled a bit too hard. He complained loudly albeit very politely whenever he didn't like something. Even Uruha, who was usually full of compromise and happy as a purring kitten as long as there was a cup of something alcoholic in his hands, even he sometimes chirped in with a complaint. And Aoi, he was the loudest and the grumpiest and therefore the first one done.
Ruki sighed and got up from the seat in front of the mirror. What was wrong with him lately? He stopped voicing complaints. He stopped bossing people around. He let Kai do everything. It wasn't that he had become lazy. He had become tired - of the display, of the costumes, of their presentation, of all the illusions.
***
He moved an arm. Click, flash, the ringing sound he never quite liked. He pouted his lips, brought a hand to his face. Click, flash, the ringing sound that he really wished wasn’t there. He turned his body by a few degrees, made some kind of a look in his eyes and hoped it didn't look as ridiculous and lost as he'd felt. Click, flash, the stupid ringing sound. He lift up his arm and wondered why he chose this kind of a set. A white room, an empty room. He smirked inwardly. He can't have been that desperate, that transparent. An empty room, just like my life? Some twisted form of smile set on his lips as he played with the golden gloves he wasn't sure he liked anymore.
Click, flash, I hate that ringing sound. He stared somewhere through Miyawaki and his giant camera, somewhere past him, past his band mates who idled around the set, somewhere into a history, a today, a hereafter. Was this what his life had boiled down to? Thinking up new ways to sell his appearance and hoping people still buy it for the music? Making up songs too fast and not how he actually wanted to in order to be able to gain as much money as possible, and then do better music, and better videos, and better designs? Is this the road he had to take to achieve his ultimate dreams?
He knew very well how level-headed, mature and amazing he looked to the world. It was him after all, wasn't it? There was a perfectly measured dose of nonchalance in every motion his body made, in every tug of his facial muscles, in every word that he spoke, and coursing through his veins alongside it was an infusion of maturity, calm, and confidence weighed and concocted with hysterical precision. Every smile, every giggle, every pout, every touch ... it was all a work of immaculate self-control practised and practised in front of the mirror. He was a robot to the whole world, even to his friends, and ultimately, to himself. He was a cold and controlled machine - as if his everything, even his consciousness and awareness were remotely controlled by someone else from somewhere else, probably the deepest pit of hell.
From the depths of that fine façade, his innermost nature rarely protruded, but when it did, it did so in the strangest of fashions. The first that came out was his blatant insecurity which took shape of masked paranoia, making him fix every detail on himself. That paranoia then seeped out of its borders and settled into the space around him, and there, everything became different: wrong and distorted. At times like those, he wondered whether the lyrics he claimed to had written about the world around him were even about the real world, or about the false perception of the world he had come to create within himself. And sometimes, he didn't even know if either of the notions had any positivity in it.
***
Ruki rubbed at the red paint that still clung to the side of his cheek. The black eyeliner and multi-coloured eyeshadows that once created the illusions of perfection over his eyes were now thinned with water, and mostly washed out; only a small portion of black still clung to his lids where they connected with lashes - the place that was the most difficult to cleanse.
He stared at the mirror as he wiped the last of red away. He was so used to wearing make-up and seeing himself with it that he sometimes forgot what he actually looked like. His eyes looked worn now, and eyebrows ridiculous. Apparently, make-up was what made him him nowadays.
With a sigh, he paced away from the sink and the curse residing above it. He removed his robe and hung it neatly on the wall before entering the shower.
His hair spilt water drops everywhere until he wrapped himself in a robe and the fluffy white material started to soak it up. The so neat and organized him usually didn't dribble water around his apartment, nor sit down and lean his wet hair against his very expensive couch - today seemed special.
He continued staring at the silent TV set even when Reita finally parted with his fridge and came to sit next to him. There was something distinctly familiar in the look he gave him over a mug of barley tea.
Reita seemed to have a special power. No matter how often people considered him blunt and slightly slow, Reita had some sort of perceptive powers that worked all too well on Ruki. At that moment, he merely stared at him, but Ruki knew exactly what he would say if he had wanted to. He'd say, ‘I know your deep and sensitive artistic soul is suffering. I know it's currently rolling around in a pit of mud or sinking into quicksand or burning in hell or something of the sort. I know you feel worn and empty. I know that, no matter how much you love fashion, you don't enjoy sitting still for hours being dolled up. I know you sometimes hate your life and I know what you think about when you go up to the roof to “smoke”, but I also know that that all is not why you left your school and your home. You left to create music, to make something of yourself, to become someone ... to become a star. Fucking enjoy it.’
Ruki's mind assembled and wrote the scenario, translating the look in Reita's eyes perfectly, and as the words rolled across the screen inside his head, with him as a lone viewer in an empty theatre, another film began to develop. His thoughts rolled and grinded and screeched and clawed at each other, only to mould themselves into perfect order the very next second.
Years ago, he had wanted to write and sing about the world inside his head. That world used to be beautiful in its toxicity, untouchable and so surreal that he couldn't ever transform it into images. There was something in his mind that rendered him incapable of translating what he saw inside into something visible and tangible. That's when he began to write. Words gave him freedom he never knew he had and though not perfect, his fledgling works became bigger and bigger, until they turned into flawed dragons - shining, great, but crippled. There was nothing that made him happier than them, his creations. They weren't perfect and he learned how to stop caring whether they were or weren't. Perfection wasn't what he strived for. There was beauty in every flawed thing. Beauty and ugliness couldn't live without one another, and he, he was there to take them by their hands and let them unite within. Whether it was his programmed behaviour, the creation of music, or everything he had to do just to keep the band up and running, he would do it. Whether it was wrong or right, he had to do it because that was his choice. It was what he wanted. It was a marriage of him and the music, him and his band mates, him and the money, him and the industry, him and the world, and in the end, the reason why he did it all, the union of him and art within his creations. He was going to stare down the barrel of the gun; he was going to glare right back into those depths of hell and grin at them viciously, because they, too, were on his team.
He made it so simple. No words needed - just a stare that made him think over his attitude - a stare that no matter what, made him return to himself. Ruki grinned. Reita still peered at him over his mug.
“Ruki.”
He gave a slight hum to acknowledge the word.
“Your hair has gotten longer,” Reita declared and snatched the remote while heaving his legs up on the coffee table.
“I know.” Ruki enjoyed the head-spinning speed with which Reita flipped through channels before stopping on a sports one.
“I like it.”
Ruki smiled, and rested his head on Reita's shoulder, loving the tiny shudder of muscle when the cold, wet hair connected with it. At least for tonight, he wouldn't be going up to the roof to think what would happen to the world if he jumped.
_____________
I'm not sure about this. I started writing it somewhere around Christmas and finished it about a month ago. I like it, but then again... it's strange. It's not even something I consider true ... though I do deem some of GazettE's music as flawed but beautiful, which is why I love it so much.
Anyway, I haven't posted anything in so long I no longer remember what my own standards are. I just wanted to get started again with this writing thing, because I really miss it. ♥ Wow, my hearts's fluttering all over the place as I stare at the post button. It's really been too long since I've last posted.