[fic] Wishful Thinking - 1/1 - allusions to RuSaki
Little Earthquakes, Part 05/25
Chapter Title: Wishful Thinking
Author: kupipuu_x
Theme: II.05 Film
Claim: Sakito (Nightmare)
Pairing(s): allusions to Ruka x Sakito
Genre: angst
Warnings: angst
Summary: Another break. The solitude that won't last.
Comments:
II.01 Butterfly | II.02 Origami | II.03 Sunglasses | II.04 Bandana
Another break. Band members scattering to the wind for the holidays.
Sakito's come to enjoy it. The solitude that won't last.
The light's not sticky like it was back in early summer, but it still creeps across the hardwood like so much milk, thinned out, watered down, sour.
Even so he doesn't have the heart, or maybe it's the energy, to draw the shades. Staring idly as the sickly winter light casts the room in dull greys.
Around him are scattered photos and negatives, film long developed, amber and black silver grains. Memories spilt across the worn wood in dull fortitude, clinging to timelessness in a changed world.
He fingers the worn edges, frayed like the corner of the fabric about his wrist.
The smiling faces taunt him, one in particular that makes him wonder if when they'd made the decision to keep their own separate apartments if perhaps the other hadn't already known they'd not last, that unlike the photos, their relationship, could not stand the test of time.
The room is cold and empty, like the box that housed the photos.
Vaguely, Sakito wonders why he holds onto them still, placing them back in their container and putting it back on the shelf.
Chapter Title: Wishful Thinking
Author: kupipuu_x
Theme: II.05 Film
Claim: Sakito (Nightmare)
Pairing(s): allusions to Ruka x Sakito
Genre: angst
Warnings: angst
Summary: Another break. The solitude that won't last.
Comments:
II.01 Butterfly | II.02 Origami | II.03 Sunglasses | II.04 Bandana
Another break. Band members scattering to the wind for the holidays.
Sakito's come to enjoy it. The solitude that won't last.
The light's not sticky like it was back in early summer, but it still creeps across the hardwood like so much milk, thinned out, watered down, sour.
Even so he doesn't have the heart, or maybe it's the energy, to draw the shades. Staring idly as the sickly winter light casts the room in dull greys.
Around him are scattered photos and negatives, film long developed, amber and black silver grains. Memories spilt across the worn wood in dull fortitude, clinging to timelessness in a changed world.
He fingers the worn edges, frayed like the corner of the fabric about his wrist.
The smiling faces taunt him, one in particular that makes him wonder if when they'd made the decision to keep their own separate apartments if perhaps the other hadn't already known they'd not last, that unlike the photos, their relationship, could not stand the test of time.
The room is cold and empty, like the box that housed the photos.
Vaguely, Sakito wonders why he holds onto them still, placing them back in their container and putting it back on the shelf.