Resonating Frequency in Blue - A Blue Period KumoTora fanfic

2 - A Harmony

Yatora didn't know how he ended up here. Neither did he remember what happened the night before. All he knew was that the room was way too bright, and that no matter what time it was, it was still way too early to be awake.

While rolling over, he made a new discovery, a hard, hard floor. He groaned, trying to get comfortable, huddling up into himself.

According to some of the greatest artists, art is not a forgiving subject, because even the smallest change in scenery would change their art forever. After learning the craft, your eyes change, your ears change, your sense of self changes. Looking out over a field of flowers wouldn't just be a moment anymore, it becomes a reference. A point of view where you see the perfect shade of green mixed in with the blues of the sky and the red of the flowers, and maybe even the brown of the soil and trees.

So when Yatora slowly opened his eyes, and was met with a room he didn't recognize, it quickly became a point of reference. Looking around he saw how small the space was, a small desk cramped in the corner next to a bed, two easels taking up the space next to it and quite the amount of smaller paintings hung messily upon the wall. Yakumo. It was quite the immediate thought, one that he would later find to be accurate as could be.

He also noticed he was alone in the room, a messily set up boardgame cast away into the corner with a few bottles of whatever alcohol he could still taste in the back of his mouth. The light streaming in through the window seemed to be his worst enemy, seeing as he couldn't do anything about it, and would likely have to live with the headache thumping through his brain. He would probably have to live with it until he could think straight again.

He brought up his hand towards the window, trying to block out as much light as he could. Squinting his eyes he saw the light was golden, a faint orange glow lighting up the room. It was a kind glow, one that told stories of early forgotten mornings, one repeated many times by the wrong people at the right time.

So no, Yatora didn't know what he was doing, but he also couldn't find it in himself to care. If there was anything he had learned over the past three years, it's that he didn't have to care. Sometimes there were much more important things to think of, and other times it was okay to just. Not. Care.

"I could paint you like that," a voice from behind him, which he correctly identified as Yakumo, "Would probably be one of my prettiest pieces."

Yatora felt his face getting warmer, the golden glow of the sunlight highlighting the shade of red. He wouldn't dare try to speak yet, knowing his voice would betray him without hesitation. Instead he just hid his face in his hands, peering through his fingers. Standing up he took a shaky step towards his companion.

It wasn't just that he had woken up moments ago, or that the hangover was pounding against his head, neither the way that Murai had looked at him. Instead of that, it was the way he couldn't remember the night before, but he could feel the other's frequency like it was nothing.

Still the same frequency as it had been when he first met him, although more refined. If he was to compare it to an instrument he would say a bass guitar. Something brass and guiding, good at taking control and filling the gaps with glorious sound.

Maybe it was the change in which he viewed that glorious sound that gave him the confidence, but suddenly it didn't feel so scary to lay his hand on Yakumo's shoulder.

"Hmmnhh," he groaned in thought, "uh- maybe when my head doesn't feel like it's made of lead..." he offered. He tried to look him in the eye, finding it very hard to find his pupils.

Yakumo laid his own hand over Yatora's, taking it off his shoulder as he brought it to his mouth, laying his lips upon his knuckles. As much as Yatora wished it was a kiss, he was only resting his face on it. Same motion with vastly different meanings.