American Holiday (Part Four)
Title: Shards. American Holiday (Part Four).
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: My humble attempt at humor. More semi-angsty Gackt thoughts (he’s cranky, poor dear). Hinted GakuHai (Gackt + Hyde).
Disclaimer: As to the authenticity of this created tale, your guess is as good as mine. But for the record, it’s speculation, through and through. Consider this AU from the real world. Furthermore, Gackt and Hyde belong to themselves, as do their friends and family. No monetary gain is accumulated through the writing of this story.
Author's Note:Sorry for the wait...I got caught up with finals. :) I'm out of school for winter break, though.
Words: 2344

Archive: [1] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Summary: Gackt and Hyde arrange a meeting in America on a business trip. Gackt PoV.
This Time: Gackt is cranky because he isn’t getting any. Hyde pursues other conversations in a coffee shop. Will Gackt keep his temper in check?
Suggested Tracks: [Gackt] Vanilla, [L'Arc] Link, [Gackt] wa.su.re.na.i ka.ra., [L'Arc] Ibare no Namida.
Edit: Okay, so readers don't like up-beat music with my angsty story. Go figure. ^^;



a.n.: Special thanks to Sarahz for being a wonderful beta! She always catches my (accidentally) switched tenses, and commonly confused words. Thank you! :)

American Holiday

by smilingcrescent.

---

The open door becomes a portal, a new world in which everything takes on light. The warmth of the setting sun has left me, and as I enter, the whole atmosphere of the room falls upon me like a harsh wind. Warmth overflows, removing the moisture and leaving my lips dry.

“Hyde,” I call, running my tongue across my lips.

The other has retreated further into the shop, too far to hear. In the orange light of the coffee shop, he shines. As I watch, he settles into a plush chair, settling into it with closed eyes and upturned lips. Hyde sets his bag beside him, and begins to examine the little shop. Around him, the patrons mill and buzz with a surprising hum of energy despite the late hour. This place becomes them; it’s filled with low chairs, relaxed and warm. It’s almost as though I’ve stepped into a painting.

The scent of coffee is strong in the air, and it unexpectedly turns my stomach. “Would you like some tea?” I call to Hyde again, louder this time. I gesture, directing his gaze to the counter. “Or coffee?”

His reply is indistinct, so I barely hear what my eyes (his lips) confer. A quiet “Anything’s fine.” He sinks bonelessly into the folds. He seems much smaller there than he had before.

I turn my eyes back to the counter and edge forward in line. My thoughts quiet here, and I offer a tiny smile to the girl waiting to take my order. Despite her severe stare and tense shoulders, I take a small breath, and make my request. “Two teas,” I pause, “not sweet.”

She stares at me incredulously. “What was that?” She gives me a lookover before guessing, “tea? Earl Grey or English Breakfast?”

I hesitate. “Two,” I repeat. “Maybe…ah.” I look away, and then back to her, peering over my sunglasses with nebulous blue eyes so she might catch the meaning there. “Small,” I add.

She huffs quietly, and punches a few numbers into the machine. “Three-thirty-six.” she declares, and moves deftly on to the next in line. She glances at me and grumbles, “Enjoy.”

I nod, handing the required bills over. I take a breath and look back to Hyde, offering a tiny, if frosted smile. My dignity takes another blow. I look over to see a stranger occupying what I’d thought of as my chair.

With my thoughts a jumble, I cross my arms as I lean on the counter. I think to myself, Hyde will want cream and sugar…but this does not still the pounding in my ears or return my breath.

The machine hisses as a second young lady stirs unknown syrups into another customer’s thermos bottle. The light by the coffee bar shines on the employees, casting their faces into stark contrast. Hyde, on the other hand, seems to be in a spotlight, surrounded by a soft amber glow much lighter than the garish red by the cash registers. I wait, impatient, as the series of proceeding orders thin. The woman calls out the contents, and sets the drink aside for the owner to claim. Finally, she calls out our beverages.

I nod, gather the hot cups in my hands and retreat to the side counter again. I breathe the aroma and look at the bragged tea leaves. I prefer my tea strained, but this wil do. The cup is hot to the touch, and steam bellows off the liquid. I deliberately steep the tea for a few moments before emptying a small packet of sugar into the cups. I add a touch of cream next, and watch it cloud the dark liquid.

I listen for Hyde’s voice amongst a crowd of foreign English, and slowly return to my companion. Even though my steps are slow, the invading presence does not slink back from which it came. I take a breath, and hope spitefully that it is a short conversation.

“—you don’t talk much, do you?” An uncertain chuckle, complete with wide eyes. “Where you from, again?”

Hyde tilts his head, and stares quietly at the man. “Japan.” He replies, his voice cool and firm despite himself.

I set the clouded tea on the table between the two, and coolly smile. “Hyde,” I greet, handing him the first cup.

Hyde takes care to reply in our quiet, beautiful Japanese. “Thanks,” he replies, and turns his gaze from the man to offer me a faint smile. “Oh, Gacchan, do you want to move…?” He starts to get up, to relinquish his chair so we might sit side by side.

To do so would admit defeat. No, more certainly, this way might be interesting.

With a quick shake of the head, I reply, “no, no…I’m alright.” Taking myself from their immediate presence, I step back. I lean against the wall, watching Hyde’s tell-tale eyes follow me. I slide my legs away from my body to support my weight against the wall. Knowing both eyes to be on me, I balance the cup in a display of agility. “I’d like to stretch.” To see how long I can hold the position.

“Oh,” Hyde’s tone is dubious. His voice is rich, all darkness and light with a single syllable. Precious. “Well, then.” He tilts his head, and the light shines in such a way to send streaks of amber-tinged color through his dark hair.

Silence for a moment, and the questions spread between us without another word. What does one say to a man like Hyde? What does one do, together.

What will he do, for me?

Instead, I ask, “Do you have any ideas for the whirligig?”

Surprised again, Hyde turns to look at me. “What?” A moment passes by, like the gentle touch of a feather. I can only see so much of his body, but I can tell he’s tensed (in interest?) with my coming. Hyde is alive with intent, and he seems ready to spring from his chair at any moment. But a part of him is relaxed…so smooth and controlled, this contradictory Hyde.

“Oh, not really…I wanted to give some thought…a message worth giving. That sort of thing.” His eyes wander around the room, crossing the stranger for a moment.

The man takes this as a cue to speak again. Unlike my partner, he is all joints and ungainly angles as he gesticulates. Moreover, he addresses only Hyde. “So, you live around here, or are you just visiting?” The words are short and clipped, too fast to really understand immediately. The stranger himself looks a little nervous, as many Americans do when they hear a language other than their own.

I take the liberty of responding. “No, we don’t live here.” I’m quick to fix my gaze to his. Time to attack. “Why?”

The man drinks his coffee with no obvious pleasure. “Oh. You know. Just talking.” He shrugs half-heartedly. Unabashedly, he continues. “So, what do you do?”

I lift my cup as if in toast. “I drink my tea,” and I’m smiling only a little.

Before me, Hyde snorts, entertained as anything. “We are artistes,” he grins, tilts his head and presses on. “You always talk to…people like me?” He laughs to himself.

The stranger smiles, all uncertainty hidden in the creases of his face. “Good ol’ American hospitality.” The word sounds somewhat hostile to me, despite his easy grin. “I, uh, so. Artistes.” He looks us up and down.

Me, tall and slender, Hyde, delicate yet somehow carrying a strong aura-- how do we look to him?

“Are you…together?”

Hyde’s smile is secretive. He casts his dark eyes around the room, and sits there. He tilts his head and doesn’t answer. Perhaps the question is above his understanding.

I can feel my lips stretching over my teeth. I know that phrase… “It’s only so-so here,” which isn’t an answer at all. The laughter grows within me, and I can’t help but add, “Don’t you think so?” Ah, an interesting turn-of-phrase can help one sound more fluent than one is, I’ve noticed…

Hyde laughs aloud, now, saying to me, “I want to see a horror movie,” He’s switched to Japanese as though nothing has happened. “Something bloody and gruesome and distinctly American,” and he wags his eyebrows suggestively. “How about it, Gackt?”

I shrug, and swirl my drink reflectively. Already some of the heat has left the beverage. “Ah. Okay.” I’ve won.

Hyde turns to the man, and asks in his choppy English, “So…do you know a movie place?”

Perhaps he’s struck by the absurdity of meeting two Japanese men and suggesting a route of entertainment. Or perhaps his mind wanders. “Er, what kind of movie?”

Hyde laughs, shutting his eyes against the dim light as he does so. Peering over his sunglasses, he replies smoothly, “Horaa.” He gesticulates tightly, sure of himself and his ability to be understood, “One shi-ah-taa.”

“Uh. Theater?” the man asks stupidly. “Oh. Er. Right.” He blinks in the amber light, retreating into the over-stuffed chair and speaking without thinking. “There’s a place that’ll serve you dinner…not too far. Maybe a ten minute drive, give or take. It’s called The Blitz or something. Big sign.” He adds, his fingers and hands moving apart widely, as though we cannot understand the concept of big.

Without another word, I stand lazily, through with this place and American hostility, offering a hand to Hyde. I slowly step out of the spotlight. “Thanks,” I casually add to the man, and leave him staring in the silence that follows.

The sky appears deep and clear, much darker than the inside of the coffee shop. Somehow, I feel that I’ve left something precious inside that light…

I wish absently that Hyde had chosen an outing more personal, that there would be time for just the two of us instead of a theater full of strangers. I look deep into the sky, pondering our little remaining time.

Our tea is still warm when the taxi comes to greet us. The driver is a tanned man, with almond eyes the color of coal, and his black hair is as unruly as it comes. His smile is pasted on his wrinkled face, and his teeth glint yellow in the evening light. “Where to?” he asks.

In English, I start, “A theater--” memory leaves me, and I stare out the glass absently, “theater, please.” Can he hear it, the regret in my voice? I wait quietly for an answer that comes too slowly.

The man nods tightly, murmuring something that doesn’t sound like English.

My mouth turns down, and I sink into the seat. This man…I don’t like him much.

As I glance out the window, my thoughts turn spontaneously to the family I’ve spent so long making, and I wish, suddenly, that one of them could be here, too. Instead, I left most everyone I’m comfortable with-- and Hyde, the only friend beside me, now-- sits in silence. I wish for something closer than that quiet…a knowing a--

The cab comes to a stop, and the taxi-man glances at us. We’re far from his usual customers, something tells me. He can’t seem to make up his mind about us, after all. “You wanted to go to a theater?” I think he said something further, but the meaning is lost on me.

“Mm-hmm,” I say taciturnly, but force out the following words. What little is left of my tea is cold now, and Hyde is silent beside me. The English is harsh to my ears. “Thank you. I call later.” The phrase itself is awkward, the accent wrong. My mood has swung inexplicably downwards, I find, with the ever darkening heavens above.

Time passes so slowly. The city is a blur of lights, and it seems that more than ten minutes pass in this too-tight space.

Glancing out the window, I see that the theater is a modern place, as it’s built up like a pillar of flashing lights on which memories are inscribed. The very list of featured movies seems somehow archaic, with the plastic letters arranged on a similar molded frame. The taxi stops, and we get out.

Hyde handles the fare, and I find my place in line again, happy to have nothing to do with that other man. Beside me, Hyde loosely swings his bag of gifts, his lips pursed together without a smile. His eyes seem as anxious as my heart, moving around the area without pause.

Hyde steps into pool of lights and waits there. I look on at him from behind, unaware of the passing time. Finally, he turns to connect his eyes with mine, a dry smile lingering on his lips but not his eyes. “Gackt,” he calls. “Come on.” His voice is caught deep in his throat, as though his heart lodges there.

I look on past him, then, and walk towards the cheerfully lit double doors.

Hyde huffs quietly, and lightly punches my arm. “Come on, why so gloomy all the sudden?” He grins sharply as the light leaves his eyes. We’re passed into a shadow, but neither of us hurries through it.

I pause there, observing the gentle folds of Hyde’s hair, the soft lines of his face. I reach out to smooth his anxiety over, but his hand stops mine as his fingertips close around my wrist.

“Don’t,” Hyde warns, tilting his head to the side, his lips are pressed tight, and his whole body is tense.

“Hyde,” the word numbs my lips, the name pulls my heart. “Is everything--”

“Come on, I wanted to watch a movie, Gacchan...let’s hurry it up.” He moves from the shadow directly into the light, pausing only a moment as he crosses the threshold.

I feel my lips turning down as he furthers the distance between us. The urge to throw his question back at him parts these errant lips of mine. I barely manage to reign in the annoyance, and simply stalk after my friend.

Why is it that my time with Hyde seems so inexplicably difficult?

---

..tbc..

Thoughts?

[On to part five.]