Cool Rush of Silence

Azrael - Kazu's Apartment, Tokyo

Another darkened evening, one that bordered between impossibly late hours, or so stated by a LCD clock that sat upon his nightstand beside a curling wrought iron lamp and discarded sketchpad and broken pencil. The sheets, boring cream colored material used solely when guests weren't expected to arrive and spend “quality time“, were crumpled near the foot of the bed, tangled around one thin ankle, and the ebony comforter was discarded off the mattress somewhere to the right. Dispassionate mercury incandescence filtered in through an open window, silent fingers slipping over the smooth planes of his flat stomach.

Insomnia sure was a pain the ass, if you asked him.

Rolling over to his right side, he fingered the edge of the unused pillow beside him, annoyed. All movements were uncomfortable, all positions frustrating. Sometime ago, he had ceased consumption of coffee, tea, and soda in hopes of helping on such a situation; it did nothing. He attempted reading for bed, but that only invigorated him more. Sketching seemed to work, but only on some nights, in some lights.

Another evening alone, not that that was what troubled him; not in the slightest, in fact. However, a friendly face staring across the rim of a glass of water while talking of inconsequential bull seemed more inviting than rolling stray strings that had escaped the pillow casing around his finger by moonlight.

Freeing his ankles from the sheet's grasp, he planted both palms against the bed and pushed himself to his feet. Pacing did little, but perhaps some fresh air...? Stooping down, he blindly reach for a darkened shadowed mass upon the floor, and satisfied with the feel of silk slipping between his fingertips, wrapped the robe around him as he headed towards the window.

Pushing the panes of glass open, he felt the cool rush of night air splash against his face, as tangible as any ocean wave and twice as delicious. A sigh slipped through his pliable lips, elbow resting against the bottom of the ledge and his chin finding its place in the cup of his hand.

"Star light, star bright. How about giving me a little sleep tonight?"

The air at the window was a tempting entity, one that whispered his name in a thousand different voices in a million different tongues. The cool rush splashed against his cheeks, slipped through the long tangle of obsidian tresses, touched his lips with the most tentative of ethereal fingers. Underlying on the soft taste was the scent of car transmissions, of cigarettes and smog, but he filtered that out of his consciousness and focused on the midnight hour and the underlying peace within that.

However, none of that brought him any closer to sleep.

He hung his head for a moment, allowing the tendrils to slip over the subtle curves of his shoulders. Pushing away from the window and it's blinding blinking lights lining fields of concrete and rush. The room was a living shadow, and feeling his way to the table lamp was difficult, but not impossible, at least, once one got through several stubbing of the toes and several obscenities.

Once the small click of the lever echoed in the darkness, blue radiance filled the room from beneath the satin shirt that was draped casually over the lampshade. Snagging that off, he slid his arms through the sleeves, leaving all shades naked to the sudden rush of creamy light. Wandering to his bathroom, he found a simple pair of vinyl pants and quickly tugged them on over thin legs. Grabbing a pair of shoes, he disregarded his lack of socks and quickly tied them.

Letting out a soft sigh, he made his way through his apartment and finally outside. The stars were distant, clouded, sometimes in spots, not even visible in the cool lights of such a city. The streets were calm, though even at such an hour, people lingered and whispered about, on unknown missions at insane hours. Hands found the depths of his pockets, slick bumps where his knuckles stood out, and he leaned slightly into the soft breeze wind. Maybe if he walked a little... maybe if did something... he could finally get some sleep...

(Time passes. Story shifts to Sunrise Wandering...)

Fingers slipping through the mass of black, he sighed as the growing light slipped over the cinderblock towers and washed across his flesh. Annoyed with another night that ended like so many others, slipping and burning away with the coming of the sun, he quickly tied his hair into a high ponytail, ebony tendrils escaping and falling forward to slip across his cheeks and give him that slight feminine edge once more.

The streets were filled with businessmen and school children, both of which he ignored, not of out rudeness, but of simple indifference. Curving his body, he dodged a young girl complete in uniform and with a group of eardrum-shattering giggling little friends.

He really did need to get back; there were sketches and designs scattered across his living room and kitchen table that screamed for his attention. He didn't have long before a couple of the companies he was submitting work for would be yelling for his ideas or his blood, and though he feared this, it wasn't top priority.

After all, he felt his work was fading with his lack of sleep. It all came out hazy, blurry, lackluster, and he refused to hand in something he wasn't completely satisfied with.

Perfectionist? Just a bit.

His feet carried him to their destination, and he more than happy to let them control him, as he too tired to fight much of anything anymore. The train station seemed inviting, as common sense cried that they probably had water or coffee or something. Perhaps even the people watching would prove entertaining...or maybe...

Nah. He doubted he would meet anyone, especially looking like how he did. Men's clothes... hair in a sloppy ponytail...he could feel the bags that lined beneath his eyes.

But who knows, right?

Follow a character? Azrael