your eyes ~ RUEL FAN FIC ~

Ruel's POV

Sylvie drops us off at the airport. The plane is crowded and I'm squished between Coco and Alira. Thankfully no one recognises me.

Japan is a crowded place with so much movement that time seems to move at double the speed.

Check into hotel. Play a show. Sleep. Drive. Repeat. 

We're caught up in an endless whirl of working and I don't seem to see much of Alira, which makes me feel guilty. But not too guilty- my cheek has developed a blue bruise.

On the thirteenth day we aren't playing a show so all of the team and us go out for dinner at a sushi place. Beau goes on for ages during the day about how fancy it is, so we go back to the hotel an hour early to get dressed and ready. I change quite quick, comb my hair, stare at the mirror for a while, check my silent phone, then walk out into the corridor.

Thick carpets muffle the sound of the door closing, and hushed voices come from behind the doors. I look left and right before walking down the hall to room 294. 

"Alira." I whisper, knocking. 

The door swings open but she's already walking away from it, so I'm left to face her back and walk in, hands in my pockets.

By the time I sit on the edge of her bed, she's standing at the mirror putting some large pearl earrings in. Wearing a pretty dark blue silk, fitted mini dress. Some brown woven sandals.

"You look nice." It comes out dry and without feeling.

"Thanks." She chirps. I wince at the girlish sarcasm in her voice. "And you."

I nod, bite the inside of my cheek and look at the floor.

"Where are we going again?" She asks, striding around the room, moving stuff from bag to cupboard, dresser to chair. 

"Some sushi place. I don't know."

"You like sushi?"

"I guess."

"What sort?"

"I don't know."

"Well then."

What sushi do you like then?" I ask defensively.

"Chicken. Tuna. Salmon. All of them. It's food, really, I'm not very picky."

"Why not? When you're in a position where you can be picky, and choose, why would you eat gross shit like... like salmon?"

"Because I got used to not being able to pick. Not everyone can afford to eat anything they want. That was what it was like living on the farm. Lamb sausages. Lettuce, tomato, carrot, grown in the garden, without any salad dressing. Eggs from the chickens for breakfast. Those disgusting, muddy prawns from the dam."

"You grew prawns?"

"No one grows prawns, stupid."

"Well it sounds a lot more interesting that being picky, I guess."

"No. It sucked. The lamb was from the lower grade sheep no one wanted. Lettuce half eaten by caterpillars. It sucked."

I shiver involuntarily. "Have you ever had sushi then?"

She grins cheekily, not looking at me. "First thing I did when we got to the city."

I feel guilty now, for living the way I do. I realise that there are people in our country, even state, who are doing it tough. Maybe I'm just a puss but... half eaten lettuce. Ugh.

As if reading my thoughts, she continues the sullen narrative of life on the farm. "That wasn't the worst of it. Farmers around us going broke, starving, begging at our door. They tried to shoot dad once. Caves collapsing when you climb on them. Snakes."