Le Rouge Est Amour

Hetaari | Original song by natsuP

Leaning against the railing of his balcony, Gakupo’s empty-eyed gaze lingered upon the still lake, illuminated by the moonlight. Chirping crickets cut through the otherwise silent night, and as he stood beneath the star-filled sky, despite being not quite alone (Hence the rustling of the sheets on his bed behind him), he was feeling just a bit lonely, nonetheless.

There was a certain level of bliss that had come with living the way he wanted to, with no concern about what others would think; he could do what he pleased in peace, he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, which was generally all the wine and women his heart desired. Though it felt good to care not about the thoughts and opinions of others, the novelty slowly wore off, leaving him with a strangely empty feeling in the end. The many nights he spent with women in his bed had become a way to pass the time and fill the void.

It just wasn’t as satisfying as it was in the beginning.

He had loathed both this feeling and himself for feeling that way; it was such a frivolous thing, love, and yet he found himself thinking of it more and more frequently, feeling an odd desire to be wanted—to be needed—on a deeper, more intimate level, and to feel such a way about someone in return.

Not that he knew how to, though. Well, more like he didn’t remember how to.

His many exploits were the closest he’d get; he’d hit it off with whatever woman he’d managed to sweet-talk long enough to capture their interest, they’d get carried away and once they gave him the go-ahead, he’d whisk them away to his room, and—

Ah. She’s staring. He wasn’t facing her, but he could tell she was looking, he could feel her eyes on his back.

Gakupo turned around, and indeed, she was making direct eye contact with him, looking at him with quite a sad face. He managed to stop himself from asking her why she was looking at him the way she was, and instead just silently looked back at her. Even with that look on her face, she was still as beautiful as ever, just like the day he first saw her.

It felt like there was a roaring flame in the pit of his chest.

If this wasn’t love (And God forbid that it wasn’t), it was certainly some sort of foreign feeling of passion; perhaps this passion was even hot enough to change his fate, to alter his future, to make it so that end the very end, he wouldn’t be alone forever. He’d make sure of it.

Under the sorrow-filled sky, he thought he had forgotten how to love. And now, with his arms and his heart and his life no longer so empty, a fire burning deep within his very soul, he’ll dye his beloved in a beautiful, passionate red.