The crisp smell of this fresh rain pierces the night, a light flowing from a lone window perched high above the world casting a shimmer over its crystalline streaks of liquid sorrow. Softly, a soothing pattering embraces the darkness, pulling a sweet veil over the earthly sounds of dusk. Gradually becoming thicker, the shimmering water begins to define a hole in its perfection, the splashes radiating around a single dark figure. The smooth droplets collect around his shoes as gentle rings ripple delicately from their source as the fragile noise envelopes the area easily and drowns the sound of his steps. Languidly, the man shrouded in the shadowy veil of night places a foot before the other, causing circles to extend from the impact, then sets the other foot before the first to create a similar effect which tangles with the curves already dancing on the water’s surface. He is heading toward the light.
A thin finger strokes lightly over the small, fragile glass bottle clasped with equal delicacy in his rather feminine hand, both kept secret from the falling rain just outside the fabric of his trench coat pocket. The man’s face gazes downward at the glistening puddles below him. His chin-length blond hair spills over his beautiful face while small orbs drop from the tips in growing frequency with the storm’s aggression. As the winds twist around him, furiously whipping the dark cloth about his figure, his muscles tighten and pull his body into a more defensive position to resist the sharp gusts. Wandering in his thoughts are memories of the past, memories which his tortured heart fought to bar in hopes of some type of healing. Happy though they were, he could not bear them. They reminded him of a time of dreams and unbounded energy, of movement and of color, of the beautiful form of a music that matched the sorrow that moved him then but binds him now. This rain imitates with the memories dancing in his mind as it flows out in thin shards but gathers in pools at the bottom of his heart. To remember only brings pain and pain only adds slices in his heart. Thus, he pushes them away with the quick shake of his head, sending water flinging from his hair. The lids close tightly over the holes in his eyes but tears force their escape from the confines of his emotions. The movement of his feet grows awkward before they cease in motion. Gently, the man drops to his knees, causing large ripples to extend from the splash. He holds a hand over his face and his shoulders shake delicately with his sobs as a new wound is added to his heart. The hushed crackling noise of the shivering rain throws static around him that separates him from time. However, a swift change of flow in his mind builds a wall suddenly around his emotions. Then, abruptly standing, the gathered water on his coat cascades from his back and joins the sea of rain on the ground. Anger floods the space left by the sudden emptiness of the memories that previously filled him. His new power drives his strides forward in rough movements toward his destination while his strong stance becomes unfaltering in the frustrated and confused winds. Soon, he will have his work again to block from his mind the beautiful, untouchable pains of the memories etched evermore in his soul. Soon, he will be absorbed again in the delicious flow of music: his life. This medicine of work allows the needed time for healing of his heart while the medicine of man works to numb the pain of it. His finger wanders again over the smooth surface of the fragile glass bottle holding the calm elixir held within. He reaches the door of his home, a single light bathing the rain above him. A hand fumbles through his pocket to remove a key and lifts it to the lock. He swings open the door and steps into a dark dryness while his fingers move to feel along a familiar wall to the light switch. Now the warm glow of light bathes him, Yoshiki, the essence of a sadness that speaks only of beauty and of wisdom. Though his heart is tormented and scarred, he remains of the essence. His mind tells of confusion and endless depth in feeling andis at once his strong point and his weakness.
Yoshiki bends downward to reach his delicate hands to his shoes and slips the strings out of knots. After removing them, he climbs the stairs to the upper floors of his expansive LA home, landing his feet quickly but silently on his way to his room. When he reaches his door, the tired lyricist pushes it to the side, effectively opening a new world. The gentle glow of his table lamp envelopes the room and places soft edges on the sharply drawn furniture set about the room. Removing his heavy coat, he latches the door shut behind him and hangs the sopping black thing on a hook next to him. The blond moves sluggishly to his desk where he lets his face fall into his arms upon the glass surface. Flooding his mind again are the painfully beautiful memories. They leak from his eyes and drop in small, wet circles on the glass table. Outside, the gentle crackle of the falling rain no longer hides Yoshiki’s thick sobs. The broken man stops trying to cage his thoughts when his arms reach around the back of his head and his eyes squeeze free new trickles of tears. A tormented sound escapes his throat before he slams his hand on the table. “Nazen... Nazen!” His fist loosens when he moves his hand to his face, his fingers grasping it gently while the reats fall from his chin. So vivid now, the images... “hide... hide... Why?” Yoshiki’s splintered thoughts flicker through the recent past of only a few weeks before it happened. Unable to suppress the thoughts any longer, he stares through between his fingers blankly.
“hide, are you sure you’re okay...? Your face seems so pale lately... and...” Yoshiki’s worried voice trails off slightly over the phone. “Yo-chan, I’m fine. You know... You worry too much. You’ll get wrinkles or something.” A soft chuckle makes it back to Yoshiki’s ear. He smiles only slightly before pushing further. The ex band leader wasn’t about to let his nights of lost sleep go for nothing. “Have you been eating well? Have you had enough sleep? And you know I worry about you even when you’re healthy. hide sighs at the other end. “Okaasan, I’m fine... Alittle stressed out, yes, with all that’s happening right now, who wouldn’t be? But it’s all starting to fall into place now and soon it’ll be over. So... go to bed, my loving mother. Four AM is abit late, even for a workaholic insomniac like you.” The distance physically between them doesn’t blind Yoshiki from noting a smug expression on his closest friend’s face. “Ah, hide-chan... Don’t call me your mother...” He lets out a slow sigh, then recalls the other half of his argument of worry. “Your lyrics lately worry me, hi-chan.” The guitarist pulls in a quick breath and replies, “This coming from the most melodramatic, Cry-your-heart-out, sorrow-driven musician in Japan...” The said musician’s voice becomes stronger with seriousness. “hide, please don’t hide this from me because I can see it in you already. Don’t lic to me, I want to help; please, tell me what’s wrong.” The sleepy pink-haired man glares at the phone, making an indignant, frustrated noise but Yoshiki cuts him off before he can speak again. “I love you.” hide’s glare melts. “Yoshiki... Yo-chan...” Yoshiki closes his eyes softly, his ears listening patiently. His voice is sad and gentle through the phone. “Please tell me what’s wrong, my love.” Each other’s steady breath is the only sound while hide considers his words. “...Alright... It’s really... you’re right. But what it is... beyond the stress... I’ve lost myself. Look how... plastic I am now... I can’t change it now. It’s frustrating to know that I’ve sold myself to a stereotype of a shadow of myself. But I can’t take back my persona now... It has... become me.” He pauses for a moment. “Would I be betraying my fans to say that I want to go back? Would I be betraying myself?”

Yuh, so this one's not done yet, either. Would you like a cookie? *smile*