18

                                    

                                          


KOREKIYO'S POV
                          
And, as the day waned onwards, Rantaro must leave.
                          
The day has stolen him away, and all he'd left in the wake of his rush to keep moving is a note, a single slip of paper,  'Call me later!!' it reads, and I smiled. He boiled the kettle before he disappeared, and so - while the little indent where he'd been lying hours before is now cold, the water is warm, and I appreciated it.
                          
Tea was always refreshing, yet it seemed to carry a whole new kind of nice when sipped in the late hours of the evening: in my own company, seated, tranquil in a quiet hotel room, joined only by plush sheets and the pillows that sat on my bed, but I didn't mind, it never phased me.
                          
For once, all was as it should've been.
                          
- And I liked it.
                          
The chatter that carried up form the streets below was muffled, comforting, almost (where usually the knowledge that such a large throng of people milled about beneath me would bring only unease) and I smiled to myself, bringing the rim of the mug to my lips. I took a long, drawn-out sip, and carefully set it back onto the coaster that squatted neatly in the centre of the coffee table.
                          
Lacing my fingers, I laid my palms in my lap, enjoying the pleasant quietness of the room - thoughts flitted about my head like butterflies in the breeze, fragile wings holding them beautifully aloft.
                          
Rantaro.
                          
Anomalous, bizarre Rantaro - where was he now? Perhaps he was seated in the back of a taxi, near-enough falling asleep, watching streetlights zip past and headlights zoom by from behind the window of the car - maybe he'd driven himself, even? 
                          
It didn't matter, really, it might've just been my feasible longing to think about the boy,  to think about anything other than my ridiculous pang of slight sadness when he'd let the door swing shut behind him - I missed him, that was all. 
                          
(I'd certainly need to get used to it.)
                          
Because Rantaro - Oh, Rantaro - he drew me in like a moth to a flame, and I loved it, I really did - and I should hate it, but I don't, I can't -
                          
- Enough rambling.
                          
I chuckled to myself, returning to my gaze to the brilliant array of oranges and pinks that had begun to melt into the evening expanse of sky.

                          
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

                          
When I wake once more, it is dark.
                          
The stars are out - and though the gentle ring of light shining the city skyline dulled their glow, they continued to smile downwards, and I did my utmost to return it (albeit, rather sleepily) - and kicked my legs over one side of the bed, my feet landing on the carpet with a soft thump.
                          
The incessant ticking of the clock became my only company as I crept into the bathroom, scarcely making a noise, and stared into the mirror.
                          
- Why did it have to be like this..?
                          
I really could've used a distraction right about now; Rantaro had told me to call him, but... whether that invitation was still open at - I glanced downwards at my watch - eleven o'clock at night was something of a mystery.
                          
Still: It couldn't hurt to try, now, could it?
                          
With a sigh, I tore my gaze from my own reflection, swallowing the rage that churned like bile in the back of my throat. I left the bathroom, picking my way across the room to my beside table, fumbling for my phone, and dialled Amami's number.