Title: Love Song
Chapter: 01/1X
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1)
akichuu
Fandom: the GazettE
Pairing: AoixRuki
Genre: Angst, romance, drama
Rating: PG-13 for now
Disclaimer: The translated lyric is bydevilish_alegna at ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=92.1)
gazette_lyrics, the song belongs to the band, the band belongs to the company, and the company, someday, WILL belong to me (in other words: no, not owning anything but the story. Period.)
Theme: 006: Can't Forget You - Siam Shade at50stories
Synopsis: The song wasn't meant to be about them or the way they had split apart, or about the heartache they both felt but had so cleverly hidden from each other. The song should have been a love song; but with the music that Aoi created and the lyrics that Ruki wrote, it became a song that spoke of the things they feared the most: heartaches and depression. Maybe it was all that they were and would always be; maybe it was time to stop trying so hard to pretend they weren't hurting.
Snippets: What words will you put into this song? What will you sing about, if it is a song that I have actually written about you, for you?
Comments: I KNOW I SHOULD BE TORCHED ALIVE FOR STARTING A NEW MULTICHAPTER FIC!!! Uuurrghhh~ What is it with me, abandoning my old projects and starting new ones which I am hardly certain will ever meet their endings?! I don't know. I'm desperate, maybe. It's been a while since I wrote a long drama fiction, and I kind of missed it. So yeah, whatever. Here, just read :)
Love Song
Chapter 01
It was Friday, twenty minutes to midnight and it was drizzling slightly outside. The sound of droplets of water crashing softly against the roof mesmerized Aoi like nothing else could; it was like listening to an endless music which rhythm he could not get a grasp on. This music weaved through the atmosphere of his bedroom, filling his brain with blurry images of very random things. Lying with his back against the cold sheet of the bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling above his face, he let his mind wander to a place he didn’t normally visit if it was daytime and he wasn’t alone. It was a place that only belonged to him, existed only in his mind; it was a sanctuary or some sorts that he knew he could always run to whenever he needed a place to be alone and be himself.
The best thing about coming back to this place that he found deep inside his brain was to find that he wasn’t really alone in this massive universe. He could find many people whom he would love to meet but hardly had the chance to, like his parents, his brother and sister and his friends back home. He could also find those whom he met everyday but never got to be as acquainted as he would like to, like those engineers in the studio, some of the crews and even the elderly woman whom Aoi always met whenever he went into the convenience store down the street for a pack of cigarette or some cans of beer. In this place Aoi could initiate the conversations he wished he could have started in real life, and in this place Aoi would not be awkward, even towards those he usually felt reluctant about.
Aoi breathed and, as if it was on cue, images of the people he had been thinking about the most lately came popping up like flickering little stars in his head. There was Kai; he had just called a few hours ago, informing Aoi that the schedule was slightly delayed tomorrow, of which Aoi was very grateful. Some of his stuffs hadn’t made it through the sorting process and were still lying about on the floor of his bedroom, while his suitcase was already too full and too heavy to be carried around on tour. Aoi had been prepared, mentally, to wake up very early tomorrow morning to clean up the mess, but with Kai’s notice he felt a little relieved now. Two hours of delay didn’t seem much to others, maybe, but to Aoi it meant he would have time to snooze back to sleep at least for a half an hour before he really had to rush.
The second person that appeared in his mind was his sister. Aoi wondered how she was doing lately, what with her being newly pregnant. He remembered the day when she told him he was going to be an uncle; it had sounded so impossible to be true, but then who was he to deny the miracles of life? If he was to think about their younger days where he liked to tease her to no end, along with his brother, and how she would chase them around the house, he would feel as if that world existed in another dimension now. She had grown up, had formed a family of her own and would give birth to her descendant. On the other hand, he had also grown up, but honestly he still felt like he was the boy who always had to be told to work harder on his lessons but ended up ditching every class there was just to grab on his surfing board and hit the waves. Inside, he felt like he had never known what it was like to be a man, constantly wondering what his age really meant if not only inconsequential numbers.
To put it simply, he missed his sister. And he missed Mie and everyone there that he had grown up with. Probably it would be a good thing to go back home once the tour was over, or maybe he could stop by if the bus reached the nearby district.
And last but not least, definitely not least, was the person who never really left that small but significant corner in his brain. As if triggered by an unknown reason, this person’s face emerged through and overshadowed all other faces Aoi had been thinking about. But Aoi wasn’t surprised this happened; this person was a constant haunting in Aoi’s life, and even tonight he made his appearance even if Aoi wished that, for this once, he could have a moment of peace and just stop thinking about him. It didn’t matter how hard he had tried, how eager he had attempted to distract himself with things, people even problems that required great attention, but that person was always there. Aoi would randomly think about him when he was in the middle of a very important meeting, while he was driving, when he was trying to work on his songs. Aoi would find him in the darkest crevices of his dreams, see his face while he was taking a dip in his bathtub, imagine him when he felt much, much too lonely.
Sometimes I wish I can just shut down the organ that is in my head, so I won’t have to constantly see you wherever I go, whatever I do.
Tonight, accompanied by the sound of the rain, Aoi was back to those moments that he actually hated the most, because in those moments he became a prisoner of his own thoughts. He couldn’t get out of the labyrinth that he himself had created; stuck in the whirlwind of memories he wished to forget. The sheet shuffled beneath him as he moved to wrap his arms around himself—no, it wasn’t because he felt cold; it was because the pain had returned, bearing all the force of the universe to wreck him from the inside out.
It’s like you’re here just a moment ago, because I can still smell your scent on my sheet. I know I’m fooling myself again, but can you tell me it’s alright, even if I am stuck in the past?
He couldn’t say that he hadn’t been prepared for this, for the torture to come back again. After all, how long exactly had it been? He counted, and it had been three years, three god damn long years. In these three years, there wasn’t a moment when he was free. There wasn’t a time when he could breathe without feeling his chest constricting from a wound that should have been healed by now, a wound that, oddly, was still hurting so much no matter how long time had gone. There wasn’t a night where he could sleep without dreaming of him, and even if there were good dreams, seeing his presence there in the subconscious manifestation of his unspoken desires hurt him more than he could stand it. If the theory was true, that in a man’s dreams you could sort out his deepest, darkest wishes, then what would that say about Aoi? What would the theory say about these three dreadful years that he had spent being pathetic and helpless?
He was tired, but why on earth couldn’t he stop it from coming back again, day after day, night after night? One day he might have to get an appointment with the local psychiatrist, because if this went on, he would completely lose his mind.
And suddenly, fractured a little by the random rhythm of the rain, a string of chords flowed inside his head. It surprised him, as if a bolt of lightning had just hit him on the head. He sat up on the bed; the melody slowly but certainly merged into the harmony of chords. He could hear Reita’s thumping bass sounds, he could hear Kai’s gentle beat on the background. He could hear Uruha’s electric distortion accompanying his acoustic plucking. He could even hear violins! He could hear a whole song playing in his mind, and good God it was truly an unexpected revelation.
Half running into his working area he nearly stumbled on the carpet, but regained his footing, and then he reached for his black Yairi as quickly as he could without hurting himself or the guitar. He sat on his throne—the black chair in front of his computer desk—hitting the power button of his computer with his toe. He grabbed pieces of paper, a pencil and bit it between his teeth, his hands floating onto their respectable places: the fret and the strings of the Yairi.
Within minutes, the song was fully written. Aoi could hardly believe it. This was probably the fastest song-writing process that he had ever gone through, if he was to count from the first second the song materialized inside his head to the moment it was completed. Most of the times he needed hours, days even, just to complete a song. More often than not he would forget the initial tune or chord that had appeared in his mind, lose his patience and finally end up throwing what was supposed to be his new song into the trash. Tonight, though, it was a rare case.
Everything in this song speaks about you, almost like my mind that is constantly speaking about you and nothing else but you. But I don’t have the words to fill the melodies with. No, I don’t know how to deal with words; you know best, better than me, than any of us.
What words will you put into this song? What will you sing about, if it is a song that I have actually written about you, for you?
Leaning his forehead on the rounded edge of his black Yairi, Aoi sighed shakily. The ghostly remnants of the melodies which the violin wailed resounded in his ears without there was an actual sound. The shifting from one tune to another cut through his heart like a knife. The rhythm, though soft and had a gentle tempo, throbbed inside his veins, suffocating him.
Ironically enough, he realized that it was a love song, the first after a long absence of him writing one. He had never been too enthusiastic about writing love songs; the theme just didn’t fit with the concept of the band, or what the concept had become now after the many years they had gone through, evolving, growing up. This song, that for now was still in its rough MIDI format, was in fact a love song, a nice, soothing one if he may say so himself. But why did it hurt so much just to listen to it repeating itself deep down in his conscience, while printing images inside his mind that he had never wanted to see again? It was supposed to be a love song, but what kind of love song was it that it made him feel like he was shattering to pieces the way he felt now?
But it was finished; the damage was done. And to erase that file from his memory took too much, even more than how much it had taken him to create it. Switching his computer off, placing his guitar back on its storage, he stood up from the chair and walked away.
Returning to his bedroom, Aoi felt as if he was in a daze. Had it all truly happened? Had he just written a song in a matter of half an hour? He was drained, like the contents of his body had been reduced to nothing and had transformed into that song. True enough that his whole existence contained practically nothing else but the thoughts of one person, and tonight, with his guitar, he had extracted what he was made of, what he had kept inside of him and written a whole song about it. And now that he had poured it all out, there seemed to be so very little left inside for him to feel like a whole person anymore.
All that I ever was, all that I am, you made me.
Without you, I’m nothing.
What would his friends think of the song, if he brought it up tomorrow and played it for them? No, honestly he didn’t really care about their opinion. There was only one man he was anxious to hear from, but he knew he would die before truly knowing what that man thought about his song. He knew he didn’t have the strength to sit there, shriveling under that man’s scrutiny, waiting for any kind of conviction that was about to be spewed from that mouth. He knew he would just walk out the door, stay true to the coward that he was and leave the comments behind. The song could or could not be inserted into their new album; he didn’t know which was better, which had a higher chance of him surviving without hurting much further.
He had always been proud of all his works. But this was quite likely a song he would regret ever writing.
Sighing, he leaned down on his bed. He should just go to sleep. There’s a whole tour waiting for him tomorrow. The first thing he touched when he reached for his nightstand was actually his cellular phone. He frowned, didn’t quite get it why he was clutching the object in his hand instead of his alarm clock. With practiced ease he unlocked the phone, blinking a couple of times when the bright glow coming from the screen attacked his sight all of a sudden. No messages, no calls, but he wasn’t expecting any. It had been a while since he stopped receiving those late night calls and messages. It had been a while since he began feeling very, very lonely.
It wasn’t planned, just like the birth of his song, but his fingers moved seemingly on their own accord, and suddenly he was typing a new mail.
“I have just written a song. Will you listen to it tomorrow?”
And before he could stop himself, he pressed the send button, only vaguely lingering on the slight ache when realizing how long gone that name had been from the list of numbers he often contacted. Only when the screen dimmed did he recognize the anxiety, the nervousness that occurred from the depth of his belly. What had he just done?
The phone stayed silent even as Aoi was glaring at it, waiting for it to vibrate, ring or maybe explode to pieces. To his disappointment, it stayed silent for the next hour or two.
You won’t listen to my song anymore, would you? You won’t write me beautiful lyrics anymore, like those that you’ve written back then, would you? You won’t even reply this message, would you?
He glared at his phone for a good hour more before the world turned black and sour and grungy and filled with one man’s face. When Aoi woke up in the morning, he looked at the phone in his hand only to realize it had stayed silent the whole night through.
=== TO BE CONTINUED ===
A/N: Honestly I wasn’t even planning on this story at all. But bits of interviews I read here and there accumulated without me even realizing it, and suddenly I felt a very heavy urge to write something… something angsty.
Well, have you made your guess about what song I was writing about? If you guessed Shiroki Yuuutsu, then you are correct :)
This is going to be yet another very personal story that relates in one way or another with me and my life, my feelings. Like ‘Filth in the Beauty’ (check the fanfic list), I might expect myself to be breaking down in the middle of the story, somewhere, when I really put too much of myself into it. But then, yeah, it is all up to you if this should or should not continue. So here, I’ll leave you this nice, spacey blank comment form down below in which you can tell me what you think.
PS: It's fact that one night, Aoi did write a song and sent a message to Ruki telling him about it, but Ruki didn't reply (that heartless bastard DX). I forgot which interview that came from, but I couldn't get it off my mind.
PPS: And uhh… I was just wondering --> click here and if you know anything, please tell me, whatever it might be.
&hearts Fanfic List &hearts AoixRuki 50stories Project List &hearts Blog &hearts
Chapter: 01/1X
Author:
akichuuFandom: the GazettE
Pairing: AoixRuki
Genre: Angst, romance, drama
Rating: PG-13 for now
Disclaimer: The translated lyric is by
devilish_alegna at gazette_lyrics, the song belongs to the band, the band belongs to the company, and the company, someday, WILL belong to me (in other words: no, not owning anything but the story. Period.)Theme: 006: Can't Forget You - Siam Shade at
50storiesSynopsis: The song wasn't meant to be about them or the way they had split apart, or about the heartache they both felt but had so cleverly hidden from each other. The song should have been a love song; but with the music that Aoi created and the lyrics that Ruki wrote, it became a song that spoke of the things they feared the most: heartaches and depression. Maybe it was all that they were and would always be; maybe it was time to stop trying so hard to pretend they weren't hurting.
Snippets: What words will you put into this song? What will you sing about, if it is a song that I have actually written about you, for you?
Comments: I KNOW I SHOULD BE TORCHED ALIVE FOR STARTING A NEW MULTICHAPTER FIC!!! Uuurrghhh~ What is it with me, abandoning my old projects and starting new ones which I am hardly certain will ever meet their endings?! I don't know. I'm desperate, maybe. It's been a while since I wrote a long drama fiction, and I kind of missed it. So yeah, whatever. Here, just read :)
Chapter 01
It was Friday, twenty minutes to midnight and it was drizzling slightly outside. The sound of droplets of water crashing softly against the roof mesmerized Aoi like nothing else could; it was like listening to an endless music which rhythm he could not get a grasp on. This music weaved through the atmosphere of his bedroom, filling his brain with blurry images of very random things. Lying with his back against the cold sheet of the bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling above his face, he let his mind wander to a place he didn’t normally visit if it was daytime and he wasn’t alone. It was a place that only belonged to him, existed only in his mind; it was a sanctuary or some sorts that he knew he could always run to whenever he needed a place to be alone and be himself.
The best thing about coming back to this place that he found deep inside his brain was to find that he wasn’t really alone in this massive universe. He could find many people whom he would love to meet but hardly had the chance to, like his parents, his brother and sister and his friends back home. He could also find those whom he met everyday but never got to be as acquainted as he would like to, like those engineers in the studio, some of the crews and even the elderly woman whom Aoi always met whenever he went into the convenience store down the street for a pack of cigarette or some cans of beer. In this place Aoi could initiate the conversations he wished he could have started in real life, and in this place Aoi would not be awkward, even towards those he usually felt reluctant about.
Aoi breathed and, as if it was on cue, images of the people he had been thinking about the most lately came popping up like flickering little stars in his head. There was Kai; he had just called a few hours ago, informing Aoi that the schedule was slightly delayed tomorrow, of which Aoi was very grateful. Some of his stuffs hadn’t made it through the sorting process and were still lying about on the floor of his bedroom, while his suitcase was already too full and too heavy to be carried around on tour. Aoi had been prepared, mentally, to wake up very early tomorrow morning to clean up the mess, but with Kai’s notice he felt a little relieved now. Two hours of delay didn’t seem much to others, maybe, but to Aoi it meant he would have time to snooze back to sleep at least for a half an hour before he really had to rush.
The second person that appeared in his mind was his sister. Aoi wondered how she was doing lately, what with her being newly pregnant. He remembered the day when she told him he was going to be an uncle; it had sounded so impossible to be true, but then who was he to deny the miracles of life? If he was to think about their younger days where he liked to tease her to no end, along with his brother, and how she would chase them around the house, he would feel as if that world existed in another dimension now. She had grown up, had formed a family of her own and would give birth to her descendant. On the other hand, he had also grown up, but honestly he still felt like he was the boy who always had to be told to work harder on his lessons but ended up ditching every class there was just to grab on his surfing board and hit the waves. Inside, he felt like he had never known what it was like to be a man, constantly wondering what his age really meant if not only inconsequential numbers.
To put it simply, he missed his sister. And he missed Mie and everyone there that he had grown up with. Probably it would be a good thing to go back home once the tour was over, or maybe he could stop by if the bus reached the nearby district.
And last but not least, definitely not least, was the person who never really left that small but significant corner in his brain. As if triggered by an unknown reason, this person’s face emerged through and overshadowed all other faces Aoi had been thinking about. But Aoi wasn’t surprised this happened; this person was a constant haunting in Aoi’s life, and even tonight he made his appearance even if Aoi wished that, for this once, he could have a moment of peace and just stop thinking about him. It didn’t matter how hard he had tried, how eager he had attempted to distract himself with things, people even problems that required great attention, but that person was always there. Aoi would randomly think about him when he was in the middle of a very important meeting, while he was driving, when he was trying to work on his songs. Aoi would find him in the darkest crevices of his dreams, see his face while he was taking a dip in his bathtub, imagine him when he felt much, much too lonely.
Sometimes I wish I can just shut down the organ that is in my head, so I won’t have to constantly see you wherever I go, whatever I do.
Tonight, accompanied by the sound of the rain, Aoi was back to those moments that he actually hated the most, because in those moments he became a prisoner of his own thoughts. He couldn’t get out of the labyrinth that he himself had created; stuck in the whirlwind of memories he wished to forget. The sheet shuffled beneath him as he moved to wrap his arms around himself—no, it wasn’t because he felt cold; it was because the pain had returned, bearing all the force of the universe to wreck him from the inside out.
It’s like you’re here just a moment ago, because I can still smell your scent on my sheet. I know I’m fooling myself again, but can you tell me it’s alright, even if I am stuck in the past?
He couldn’t say that he hadn’t been prepared for this, for the torture to come back again. After all, how long exactly had it been? He counted, and it had been three years, three god damn long years. In these three years, there wasn’t a moment when he was free. There wasn’t a time when he could breathe without feeling his chest constricting from a wound that should have been healed by now, a wound that, oddly, was still hurting so much no matter how long time had gone. There wasn’t a night where he could sleep without dreaming of him, and even if there were good dreams, seeing his presence there in the subconscious manifestation of his unspoken desires hurt him more than he could stand it. If the theory was true, that in a man’s dreams you could sort out his deepest, darkest wishes, then what would that say about Aoi? What would the theory say about these three dreadful years that he had spent being pathetic and helpless?
He was tired, but why on earth couldn’t he stop it from coming back again, day after day, night after night? One day he might have to get an appointment with the local psychiatrist, because if this went on, he would completely lose his mind.
And suddenly, fractured a little by the random rhythm of the rain, a string of chords flowed inside his head. It surprised him, as if a bolt of lightning had just hit him on the head. He sat up on the bed; the melody slowly but certainly merged into the harmony of chords. He could hear Reita’s thumping bass sounds, he could hear Kai’s gentle beat on the background. He could hear Uruha’s electric distortion accompanying his acoustic plucking. He could even hear violins! He could hear a whole song playing in his mind, and good God it was truly an unexpected revelation.
Half running into his working area he nearly stumbled on the carpet, but regained his footing, and then he reached for his black Yairi as quickly as he could without hurting himself or the guitar. He sat on his throne—the black chair in front of his computer desk—hitting the power button of his computer with his toe. He grabbed pieces of paper, a pencil and bit it between his teeth, his hands floating onto their respectable places: the fret and the strings of the Yairi.
Within minutes, the song was fully written. Aoi could hardly believe it. This was probably the fastest song-writing process that he had ever gone through, if he was to count from the first second the song materialized inside his head to the moment it was completed. Most of the times he needed hours, days even, just to complete a song. More often than not he would forget the initial tune or chord that had appeared in his mind, lose his patience and finally end up throwing what was supposed to be his new song into the trash. Tonight, though, it was a rare case.
Everything in this song speaks about you, almost like my mind that is constantly speaking about you and nothing else but you. But I don’t have the words to fill the melodies with. No, I don’t know how to deal with words; you know best, better than me, than any of us.
What words will you put into this song? What will you sing about, if it is a song that I have actually written about you, for you?
Leaning his forehead on the rounded edge of his black Yairi, Aoi sighed shakily. The ghostly remnants of the melodies which the violin wailed resounded in his ears without there was an actual sound. The shifting from one tune to another cut through his heart like a knife. The rhythm, though soft and had a gentle tempo, throbbed inside his veins, suffocating him.
Ironically enough, he realized that it was a love song, the first after a long absence of him writing one. He had never been too enthusiastic about writing love songs; the theme just didn’t fit with the concept of the band, or what the concept had become now after the many years they had gone through, evolving, growing up. This song, that for now was still in its rough MIDI format, was in fact a love song, a nice, soothing one if he may say so himself. But why did it hurt so much just to listen to it repeating itself deep down in his conscience, while printing images inside his mind that he had never wanted to see again? It was supposed to be a love song, but what kind of love song was it that it made him feel like he was shattering to pieces the way he felt now?
But it was finished; the damage was done. And to erase that file from his memory took too much, even more than how much it had taken him to create it. Switching his computer off, placing his guitar back on its storage, he stood up from the chair and walked away.
Returning to his bedroom, Aoi felt as if he was in a daze. Had it all truly happened? Had he just written a song in a matter of half an hour? He was drained, like the contents of his body had been reduced to nothing and had transformed into that song. True enough that his whole existence contained practically nothing else but the thoughts of one person, and tonight, with his guitar, he had extracted what he was made of, what he had kept inside of him and written a whole song about it. And now that he had poured it all out, there seemed to be so very little left inside for him to feel like a whole person anymore.
All that I ever was, all that I am, you made me.
Without you, I’m nothing.
What would his friends think of the song, if he brought it up tomorrow and played it for them? No, honestly he didn’t really care about their opinion. There was only one man he was anxious to hear from, but he knew he would die before truly knowing what that man thought about his song. He knew he didn’t have the strength to sit there, shriveling under that man’s scrutiny, waiting for any kind of conviction that was about to be spewed from that mouth. He knew he would just walk out the door, stay true to the coward that he was and leave the comments behind. The song could or could not be inserted into their new album; he didn’t know which was better, which had a higher chance of him surviving without hurting much further.
He had always been proud of all his works. But this was quite likely a song he would regret ever writing.
Sighing, he leaned down on his bed. He should just go to sleep. There’s a whole tour waiting for him tomorrow. The first thing he touched when he reached for his nightstand was actually his cellular phone. He frowned, didn’t quite get it why he was clutching the object in his hand instead of his alarm clock. With practiced ease he unlocked the phone, blinking a couple of times when the bright glow coming from the screen attacked his sight all of a sudden. No messages, no calls, but he wasn’t expecting any. It had been a while since he stopped receiving those late night calls and messages. It had been a while since he began feeling very, very lonely.
It wasn’t planned, just like the birth of his song, but his fingers moved seemingly on their own accord, and suddenly he was typing a new mail.
“I have just written a song. Will you listen to it tomorrow?”
And before he could stop himself, he pressed the send button, only vaguely lingering on the slight ache when realizing how long gone that name had been from the list of numbers he often contacted. Only when the screen dimmed did he recognize the anxiety, the nervousness that occurred from the depth of his belly. What had he just done?
The phone stayed silent even as Aoi was glaring at it, waiting for it to vibrate, ring or maybe explode to pieces. To his disappointment, it stayed silent for the next hour or two.
You won’t listen to my song anymore, would you? You won’t write me beautiful lyrics anymore, like those that you’ve written back then, would you? You won’t even reply this message, would you?
He glared at his phone for a good hour more before the world turned black and sour and grungy and filled with one man’s face. When Aoi woke up in the morning, he looked at the phone in his hand only to realize it had stayed silent the whole night through.
A/N: Honestly I wasn’t even planning on this story at all. But bits of interviews I read here and there accumulated without me even realizing it, and suddenly I felt a very heavy urge to write something… something angsty.
Well, have you made your guess about what song I was writing about? If you guessed Shiroki Yuuutsu, then you are correct :)
This is going to be yet another very personal story that relates in one way or another with me and my life, my feelings. Like ‘Filth in the Beauty’ (check the fanfic list), I might expect myself to be breaking down in the middle of the story, somewhere, when I really put too much of myself into it. But then, yeah, it is all up to you if this should or should not continue. So here, I’ll leave you this nice, spacey blank comment form down below in which you can tell me what you think.
PS: It's fact that one night, Aoi did write a song and sent a message to Ruki telling him about it, but Ruki didn't reply (that heartless bastard DX). I forgot which interview that came from, but I couldn't get it off my mind.
PPS: And uhh… I was just wondering --> click here and if you know anything, please tell me, whatever it might be.
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