Luna Sea - Winter Butterflies & Evil Angels [Jinoran]
Title: Winter Butterflies & Evil Angels
Pairing: J x Inoran
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angsty drabble
Summary: For to see my depth of sorrow.
Note: Short drabble written for magdalan, while listening to Evil Angel by Rufus Wainwright.
Winters made Inoran poetic, or so he mused as he walked down the street from the metro station to the brightly beating heart of Shibuya’s shopping centre. There was music playing, coming from the big LCD screens on the towering buildings, giving off the impression they were monitoring the crowds rather than giving people something to look at. Nevertheless couples gathered to look at the televised Christmas shows, pop stars covering familiar tunes in broken English.
It wasn’t as if he had chosen to think that much deeper during the holiday season. It came as if natural, snuck in when he wasn’t looking until he caught himself in the reflection of a decorated shopping window, searching for pictures in the frost on the glass. With a sigh he watched his breath fog up more of the glass, his weary face becoming a misty figure drawn on temporary paper. He continued walking.
Three years had gone by and still Inoran found his fingers flexing in empty places during the night, trying to wrap around a wrist or shoulder, a compensation needed for his long days spent in studios. He didn’t miss consciously all the time, which was perhaps what was so bothersome about it. He felt like running through the snow and falling, but he was cold enough without doing so and far too bitter.
That Shibuya would be the place for him to run into his past and well-hidden present was something he could’ve expected, yet hadn’t seen coming. As the frost adorned every window with pale butterflies, a mere glimpse of the other man was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He followed, criss-crossing and fully aware of his panic; a fear to lose and be unknown of the expression on that face.
There was a song stuck in his head that had nothing to do with Christmas.
Tear down these monuments, he sang along in his thoughts. Bury the coat of arms and build for me a factory. His shoes were soaked, the brown mush on the streets nothing like the pristine white snow in his wishful thinking mind.
Jun wasn’t alone. If Inoran hadn’t known him any better, he would’ve said the man was never alone, but Jun was quite good at being alone. On the contrary, it was Inoran who needed others to confirm his own existence. Jun was the sun of his own universe and would have others circling him even if he chose to be distant. It was because he burned so brightly and Inoran wanted to laugh at the thought of fire.
How warm that skin would be during these days, he wanted to know once more.
The main street ended up in a spider’s web, small streets waving through skyscrapers and branching out to suburbs Inoran had never been to before. He could almost breathe in the same air now, an arm-length away from the man that had serenaded him at the age of seventeen. It almost felt forbidden to plant his shoes in the footsteps Jun’s left.
Eye contact through a shopping window and Inoran loathed the way the spell was broken and the frost looked like frost once more, butterflies no where to be found. It was too pure; the surprise on Jun’s face and Inoran couldn’t take the openly offered confrontation. He had all rights to be angry, yet he fled around the corner to block out the noise of Jingle Bells.
How a park, drawn out by human hands in a way that had nothing to do with nature, could suffice as save haven was somewhat a mystery for the man who loved the busy infrastructure of the capital more than anything. His mind was at a strange peace, gloved hands trembling like they were unable to play a guitar. His forehead cooled down once pressed against an empty cherry blossom tree.
Merry-go-round he went when hands pulled on his shoulders. He wanted to cry, so angry with the man that now faced him. Three years had etched on Jun’s face, drawn out lines he hadn’t known of before and for that he wanted to hit the other man, for taking away his freedom of watching time’s progress between the two of them. He didn’t come very far.
Jun looked at him in the same way and for a moment Inoran wondered what would happen if he would run now.
Music, he decided. Jingle Bells in the background of their cheaper-than-cheap B-film kiss; sloppy but well-aimed, strangely enough never happening at the right moments. Jun’s hands fisted his hair like he was ready for more human contact, but they were gloved just like something tasted off in the man’s mouth. This memory wasn’t his to make, this Christmas Jun wasn’t his to keep.
Not given a chance to say anything, Inoran merely thought all the things he wanted to say. Transmitted through the kiss, he could momentarily feel Jun’s tears, as warm as his own, running down his face and washing away all the reasons to reach out and keep the man. It ended, a sigh in mid-air, before Jun was gone like the frosted butterflies Inoran had come to hate and find fascinating at the same moment.
Evil angel, he thought, patching himself up as he followed the path deeper into the park. For to see my depth of sorrow, you are not allowed to follow me into this town square and then run away, he concluded, the song now somehow mixing with the opening tunes of Driving home for Christmas.
Evil angel, his hands were fists, longing to strike. With your cleft tongue.
Pairing: J x Inoran
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angsty drabble
Summary: For to see my depth of sorrow.
Note: Short drabble written for magdalan, while listening to Evil Angel by Rufus Wainwright.
Winters made Inoran poetic, or so he mused as he walked down the street from the metro station to the brightly beating heart of Shibuya’s shopping centre. There was music playing, coming from the big LCD screens on the towering buildings, giving off the impression they were monitoring the crowds rather than giving people something to look at. Nevertheless couples gathered to look at the televised Christmas shows, pop stars covering familiar tunes in broken English.
It wasn’t as if he had chosen to think that much deeper during the holiday season. It came as if natural, snuck in when he wasn’t looking until he caught himself in the reflection of a decorated shopping window, searching for pictures in the frost on the glass. With a sigh he watched his breath fog up more of the glass, his weary face becoming a misty figure drawn on temporary paper. He continued walking.
Three years had gone by and still Inoran found his fingers flexing in empty places during the night, trying to wrap around a wrist or shoulder, a compensation needed for his long days spent in studios. He didn’t miss consciously all the time, which was perhaps what was so bothersome about it. He felt like running through the snow and falling, but he was cold enough without doing so and far too bitter.
That Shibuya would be the place for him to run into his past and well-hidden present was something he could’ve expected, yet hadn’t seen coming. As the frost adorned every window with pale butterflies, a mere glimpse of the other man was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He followed, criss-crossing and fully aware of his panic; a fear to lose and be unknown of the expression on that face.
There was a song stuck in his head that had nothing to do with Christmas.
Tear down these monuments, he sang along in his thoughts. Bury the coat of arms and build for me a factory. His shoes were soaked, the brown mush on the streets nothing like the pristine white snow in his wishful thinking mind.
Jun wasn’t alone. If Inoran hadn’t known him any better, he would’ve said the man was never alone, but Jun was quite good at being alone. On the contrary, it was Inoran who needed others to confirm his own existence. Jun was the sun of his own universe and would have others circling him even if he chose to be distant. It was because he burned so brightly and Inoran wanted to laugh at the thought of fire.
How warm that skin would be during these days, he wanted to know once more.
The main street ended up in a spider’s web, small streets waving through skyscrapers and branching out to suburbs Inoran had never been to before. He could almost breathe in the same air now, an arm-length away from the man that had serenaded him at the age of seventeen. It almost felt forbidden to plant his shoes in the footsteps Jun’s left.
Eye contact through a shopping window and Inoran loathed the way the spell was broken and the frost looked like frost once more, butterflies no where to be found. It was too pure; the surprise on Jun’s face and Inoran couldn’t take the openly offered confrontation. He had all rights to be angry, yet he fled around the corner to block out the noise of Jingle Bells.
How a park, drawn out by human hands in a way that had nothing to do with nature, could suffice as save haven was somewhat a mystery for the man who loved the busy infrastructure of the capital more than anything. His mind was at a strange peace, gloved hands trembling like they were unable to play a guitar. His forehead cooled down once pressed against an empty cherry blossom tree.
Merry-go-round he went when hands pulled on his shoulders. He wanted to cry, so angry with the man that now faced him. Three years had etched on Jun’s face, drawn out lines he hadn’t known of before and for that he wanted to hit the other man, for taking away his freedom of watching time’s progress between the two of them. He didn’t come very far.
Jun looked at him in the same way and for a moment Inoran wondered what would happen if he would run now.
Music, he decided. Jingle Bells in the background of their cheaper-than-cheap B-film kiss; sloppy but well-aimed, strangely enough never happening at the right moments. Jun’s hands fisted his hair like he was ready for more human contact, but they were gloved just like something tasted off in the man’s mouth. This memory wasn’t his to make, this Christmas Jun wasn’t his to keep.
Not given a chance to say anything, Inoran merely thought all the things he wanted to say. Transmitted through the kiss, he could momentarily feel Jun’s tears, as warm as his own, running down his face and washing away all the reasons to reach out and keep the man. It ended, a sigh in mid-air, before Jun was gone like the frosted butterflies Inoran had come to hate and find fascinating at the same moment.
Evil angel, he thought, patching himself up as he followed the path deeper into the park. For to see my depth of sorrow, you are not allowed to follow me into this town square and then run away, he concluded, the song now somehow mixing with the opening tunes of Driving home for Christmas.
Evil angel, his hands were fists, longing to strike. With your cleft tongue.