Dark leather

Rain had started ticking on the glass, breaking Yme out of his pondering. Tilting his head as his eyes slid toward the clock before his head would soon follow suit, turning toward the direction, he pushed himself off his desk with his hips.

He put down the mug that had been emptied of its dark coffee that had been carefully made with precision of how he liked it.

His hand slid under the sharp rim of the clock and took it off the wall, coloured a cold grey with a blue undertone. He turned it around, and there were no batteries in it. He let out a little huff - he was getting better.

He looked over his shoulder at the glass wall that also functioned as windows to the outside world - He was not a bird in a cage, he was the cage and his patients the bird - He hung the clock back on the wall.

Folding his hands behind his lower back, he raised his chin while closing his eyes, letting the cold green shadow the clouds cast over the city fall over him.

Then, the knocks on the door behind him broke his moment of peace, his moment of connecting with the silence around him.

“Yme, are you busy with a patient?”

A deep voice with a slight tremble of age asked.

“Mhh, No, I am not, come in, please.”

Was the reply, his voice sounding a little more melodic as he turned to look at the kind and wrinkly face that pushed through the growing separation between the door and its frame.

The old man who had watched him grow from just his golden green eye to the man he was today was standing there, not as a colleague, but as his father.

The corner of his lips twitched up for a mere second as he stepped aside, the wings on the sides of his head having an occasional happy flick as he blinked faster.

The pupil of his green eye was expanding more and more with each blink, as if opening up to see more detail of this face he had learned to go by as a parental figure; As much as he was capable anyway, there was only the fabrication of what he had read in books.

“How was your working day? I hope you manage to separate the issues of your patience from your own-”

“What issues?”

Yme turned to raise his hand to an elegant hardwood coat hanger to take off his long, dark leathered coat. Slipping it onto his shoulders, his eyes remained on the old man a little longer before they eventually lost the expansion of his normal eye’s pupil.

“Adapting to humanity, you’ve been in this field for a few years now. Has it changed you in any way? You quit writing in our journal.”

“I am no longer a child. We have had that journal ever since I was five.”

The old man shook his head with pity “Hence it is so important, you can read back everything you have learned-”

“I know each page’s word; I could repeat them all if you’d like.”

That was not what he meant by reading back and learning. “Repeating it and knowing the words by brain is not the same as knowing them by heart, son. Here, take a day off tomorrow and go on a little walk.”

“I have clients tom-”

“No, I insist. They can be rescheduled. I have already called them.”

A deep, long sigh left the nostrils of the pale bird. Well, it had been a while since he had an actual day off. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt.

He had no idea what to do with the sudden free day, though, as his weekdays usually revolved around work, feeding his body with nourishing meat and blood and fighting to sleep for a mere three hours a night.

“Do you need me to give you a little list of things to do tomorrow to help you figure out what to do, son?”

“Mhm. That would be lovely.”

(...)

Driving home was relaxing; the rain hadn’t stopped. There was no need for Yme to drown out his car with classical music to keep his ears occupied. Perhaps he could create a piece of classical music that reminded him of the rain.

This thought made him grab his phone to quickly make an audio recording after letting it rest on the dashboard. 

It was about time he played his cello and winged piano; it had been at least a year since he composed something. This thought brought him what he could only assume was joy by the little rhythm his fingertips started to tap onto the black matte leather of his stirring wheel. Eventually, one hand started to trail up to a braid hanging on the left side of his head in pure white, unlike the blackened hair tied in a loose, messy knot on the right.

It had become a comfort to slide his fingertips along the ridges of the braid, but also inspiring as the smooth, interesting texture colored his usually black and white thoughts with colour, waves of blue like the ocean he had seen pictures of in kids' cartoon books.

He’d like to see an ocean one day, but there was frankly none, not in their world, which was as they were located beneath the earth’s crust.

Humanity had long evacuated the world above due to its own pollution. Now, their food is synthetic or extremely pricy if real - their sun is controlled by the government and their rain is pure sour toxins from the air pollution, all the machinery and radiation brought in their upside-down world.

Even real animals were a rarity to come by; you’re considered rich if you have a cat or dog.

Yme had a cat, a pure black little being that hated the entirety of this cryptic world, except its owner. His owner would occasionally be allowed to touch their beloved and well-groomed soft fur.

The name of this little cat was quite simple; he was called ‘Kaviar.’ Yme liked to eat this delicacy with some cream cheese and honey, so he decided to call the little critter after one of his favourite foods.

Sometimes, ‘Katviar.’

Once stepping foot into his private estate upon one of the higher layers of society, the fourth to be exact, Kaviar immediately came up to his primary source of food and comfort. Clawing his grubby little paws up the black pants of Yme, who soon scooped the little being up with one arm while the other arm was occupied, throwing his leather bag onto a nearby chair.

Surprisingly, his house wasn’t devoid of life, as many may think; he was quite the lover of dark teal and would simply run away in agony if his surroundings were of pale white. Quite displeasing to his already sensitive eyes; brightness.

Once free of the bag, he brought his hand to lightly scratch over the belly of the fluffy companion that filled the silent living room with its deep and warm purring; its engine of joy.

“Well, Katviar, have you enjoyed your long slumbers today?”

Yme asked with a little grin on his usually dull face, his eyes that were sharp and tilted up, slightly softening as he spoke to his little companion.

Katviar gave a short and quick meow before curling to show he wished to be let go of, as the coolness of the kitchen was not something he seemed to enjoy for the moment.

Yme usually kept the kitchen cold and extremely sterile, as he was prone to sicknesses and believed that a cold kitchen would keep the ingredients fresher.

What should he eat? He didn’t have the stomach that would notify him of hunger, as that feature wasn’t developed yet… Nor quite a favourite dish he’d really crave for after a long day.

He knew he liked sweetness and bits of salt here and there, but that didn’t narrow down his choices.

He still had lots to develop to get to know himself, what he liked and what he thought about things. His best source of learning would be society, but everyone liked different things, which didn’t help him much; he had no solid basis to learn from when it came to food tastes.

What didn’t help was being fed human and animal cells growing up, as that was the only thing his old man knew to feed him from the beginning of his existence as a mere clump of cells named ‘Project Y.’

He knew what the favourite food of his old man was: spaghetti with a strange custom-made oyster and truffle sauce.

He definitely knew he didn’t enjoy that one; just thinking about him could make him holler over physically. He’d eaten it so much it felt like an allergy due to built-up aversion.

Well, let us open the fridge as a first step, shall we?