The Black Guitar
"Let me sing you the white song…"
Huge snowflakes floated in the air as he was walking down the street. The air was cold and the wind was blowing gently making the snowflakes float a little more in the frozen air.
The man was wearing a black jacket, black skinny jeans and black boots. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his jacket. And despite the not-so-pleasant weather, the man had no hat to cover his bright orange hair.
He was walking casually down the street as if nothing could bother him, not even the snow that was stubbornly trying to get in his eyes, not even the cold air that made his skin feel uncomfortable. There's was nothing that could make him feel…
On the corner of the street there was an old style building, with two floors. At the ground floor there was an old bar, called "Le Chat Noir". The building was made of black wood, probably ebony, the man wasn't sure about it. It had its name written with golden stylish letters. Black and gold. The man thought that those two colors were perfect together; he believed that one couldn't really exist without the other. Black was highlighting gold and gold was a royal color.
He entered the bar and looked around searching for a free table. The thick smoke, however, made his searching a bit complicated and if that wasn't enough, the bar was poorly lightened. But the man didn't care. Actually he found it rather interesting. In the end he spotted an unoccupied table and he nonchalantly sit down.
The table was as black as the building was and the man started to draw circles on the wooden table. He smiled involuntary as he felt the soft yet rough table under his touch. And his mind started to wonder in the past again…
No matter how much time passed the man couldn't forget his first…umm…love. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get out of his mind those baby blue eyes or that blue hair his first crush possessed, they were the last things he saw in the night and the first in the morning. Those and that feral grin that showed his oh-so-perfect teeth. His ex was none other but the famous painter Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.
"Um, mister, if you don't mind…", the waitress interrupted his thoughts.
He moved his gaze to look at the waitress. She had long orange hair and her eyes were dark grey. Her skin was white and she had a nice body. However, he could see through her and he saw she was a little nervous. Maybe she is new, the man thought.
"I would like a cup of coffee…", he said in the end in a low baritone voice.
She blushed and nodded.
"Anything else…?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
The man shook his head and the girl left. Either he was way too scary or the girl had a crush on him…he didn't know. He shrugged not carrying which was the truth. He didn't hate girls…only that he didn't like them that way.
Left alone he could just go back to what he was doing before. Thinking about him again. The orangette pulled his sketch pad out of the black bag he carried after him all the time.
He was Kurosaki Ichigo, age 23, a famous artist or so he were…The man lost his muse after a certain person left him. And that happened a year before. In all that time Ichigo hadn't been able to draw anything, not even the simplest things he used to draw in school. But he still carried his sketch pad after him, he still walked down the streets hoping he would find his muse again. But in vain… The bluenette stole both his heart and talent.
In present, Kurosaki Ichigo was working at a small library in District 7, also called The Old District. The library wasn't too famous, but people still borrowed books from there. And though a lot of people visited the small library called "Mary Rose", no one recognized him. They had no idea the librarian was the famous artist Kurosaki Ichigo, even though they all knew his name. Society had completely forgotten him.
The orangette didn't even see when the girl brought him his coffee, but he absently grabbed the cup and sipped slowly while staring the sketch pad. No matter where he looked he couldn't see anything interesting…
Sighing, he put down the cup and hid his face behind his big sun-kissed hands, his long fingers covering his beautiful, but sad face. He felt so lost he couldn't even cry. He closed his mocha eyes and saw those memories again. But he didn't open them. Even if they hurt him, it was all he had.
He remembered his rough yet soft voice calling him in the morning. And his powerful arms holding him tightly as if he was never letting the orangette go. And those times they used to draw together. Or his soft, but selfish lips. Or…NO MORE! Ichigo couldn't stand it anymore.
Hot tears started to run down his cheeks soaking his palms. So pathetic, a grown man crying in public! Lucky him the bar was poorly lightened and that he was covering his face with his palms...
A soft guitar song was played somewhere near him…that's what drew his attention. He thought he imagined it but he listened carefully and his ears weren't fooling him. Wiping his tears he looked around and saw at the table next to him a man playing the guitar.
The song was sad, probably a sad love song. Ichigo didn't know. Curious Ichigo moved his gaze at the man who was playing the guitar. He blinked a few times trying to see through the thick smoke and the few tears that stubbornly stayed in his eyes, blurring his vision.
The guitarist was wearing a black shirt and black pants. His sleeves were rolled and that made the man look cool. However his skin was snow-white and his spiky hair as well. His eyes were closed as he was playing the sad love song. The man looked like a marble statue…a treasure staying in the dark.
Ichigo couldn't move his gaze away from him. That man had something…strange about him. No, maybe not strange, but different. He was, without a doubt, beautiful. But his beauty wasn't a wild one, like Grimmjow's. He was more delicate, more mysterious…and somehow he looked frozen. And unreal... Ichigo couldn't find his words.
The man finished his song yet the orangette didn't seem to realize that. And soon he was going to find out that it wasn't really the way the man played that guitar, not even the song he played, but the man himself. Or maybe not that soon…the orangette was a complete idiot when it came to realizing things.
The albino opened his eyes and stared at the man at the other table. His face was serious almost as if he was trying to pierce through the orange haired man mind. Meanwhile Ichigo was staring at the albino with interest although he wasn't actually realizing it.
For a second the mysterious pale man grinned wildly and Ichigo blinked in surprise, but the next second the brutal grin was gone. Maybe he imagined it…Yeah. He imagined it.
While the orangette was trying to convince himself it was only his imagination, the male next to him, the mystery started to play the guitar again.
For Ichigo's despair it was another sad song. But this time the carrot top didn't cover his face to cry, this time he was looking at the mysterious guitarist with interest sipping his not-so-hot-anymore coffee occasionally.
Unconsciously he grabbed his pencil and started to sketch…