Untitled - Tora/Hiroto [ficlet]
Title: Untitled
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Warning/Disclaimer: AU, angst, self-harm
Word Count: 726
Comments: tingedwords wanted something darker today.
The morning light is hard to feel against the chill of a winter night. The bitter cold of life itself. There isn't any light in this room, only plastered walls and a sealed exit. Rolling out of bed Tora pads upstairs and into the kitchen, out of the basement to start a cup of coffee. The little things, small habits that had somehow managed to cling to them as the years slowly dripped by kept him sane. Years smoother and more insignificant than they'd been before. Like the burnt umber drops of coffeed water accumulating in the pot, they slipped by, unproductive, unwanted, unlived.
Sighing, Tora filled two mugs watching the stars. The other would be up soon. If there was anything about this life Hiroto enjoyed, it was the untired nights spent staring at the sky, watching the big dipper slowly slip under the horizon and the clouds unfurl purple to light to sun that made the younger's eyes burn.
Under the moon his skin shone ivory, smooth and flawless, marked only by the swirls of blue ink and a shimmery dusk as he maneuvers his way to their bedroom. At the bottom of the steps Tora leans against the wooden railing, bringing a cup to his nose while he watched the other sleep. The steam feels gentle on his chin, tendrils of heat coaxing and sinking into his skin.
He inhales and drinks, savors the muffled taste before that too is gone. Hiroto likes coffee. Or rather he used to. He used to love early mornings where he could sit and wait eagerly for the kettle to finish its gurgle and pop, so he could fish out a weathered strainer and mix up a cup from carefully ground beans. Now Hiroto simply clutches his cup and cradles its warmth. Inhales it for hours and even months, until the java has evaporated into rings in his mug and Tora's forced to bring him food because he won't eat. Now Tora wishes he could turn back time and maybe, just maybe, do things differently. Now Tora hopes things will change.
Hiroto is silent on the bed.
Tora knows he's awake, can tell after all these years the slightest slightest catching of the other's breath when he's dreaming.
Hiroto dreams of times before. Times filled with healthy golden skin and eyes damp with tears of joy. He dreams of happiness and wakes up with that haunting look in his eyes.
The days are getting just as hard for Tora.
"Hiroto?"
Silence.
"Pon."
All he receives is the same faint breathing and then he smells it. Copper. Salt. Tang. A sickening taste on his tongue that coffee could only hide for so long.
The mugs shatter on the basement floor as Tora rushes to their bed. Porcelain clinks and untasteable flavors cool and sink into the concrete, staining the bare floor.
"Not this again," Tora breathes, face distraught despite all the times he's seen this; all the times he's had to change the sheets, each time a darker color to hide the stained mattress beneath.
Hiroto doesn't move, simply watches Tora's hurried approach with glazed eyes and a decidedly apathetic face.
Hands shaking, Tora lifts a pale arm up. It glows in the fluorescent lights, a deathly blue tint painted in flowing rivulets of deep stark red. He hisses at the burn of his palms, pulls out the silver daggers Hiroto's shoved clean through his wrists.
"Please Pon, no more. I love you, I wanted us to be together, forever." The older man whimpers at the taste of blood on his lips, licking the cuts closed and watching both their wounds heal. "I thought you understood."
He chokes on the words, pulling the other into his arms, heedless of the bloodied sheets and red-damp limbs as he cuddles and clings to the last piece of his sanity.
In his lap Hiroto doesn't stir. His eyes focus unmoving on the wooden foundations of their house, the splintery outlines of the basement. His home. His cage. His world. He can't remember the last time a sunrise didn't hurt, what being warm felt like. What it meant to be alive. All he can see are Tora's tears, dripping like the burnt umber in their coffee pot every morning. Tears tinged a deep red Hiroto wasn't sure he ever wanted to begin with.
A/N:
Untitled angst for Suzy that might turn into a bigger, better fic. I hope things get better soon♥
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Warning/Disclaimer: AU, angst, self-harm
Word Count: 726
Comments: tingedwords wanted something darker today.
The morning light is hard to feel against the chill of a winter night. The bitter cold of life itself. There isn't any light in this room, only plastered walls and a sealed exit. Rolling out of bed Tora pads upstairs and into the kitchen, out of the basement to start a cup of coffee. The little things, small habits that had somehow managed to cling to them as the years slowly dripped by kept him sane. Years smoother and more insignificant than they'd been before. Like the burnt umber drops of coffeed water accumulating in the pot, they slipped by, unproductive, unwanted, unlived.
Sighing, Tora filled two mugs watching the stars. The other would be up soon. If there was anything about this life Hiroto enjoyed, it was the untired nights spent staring at the sky, watching the big dipper slowly slip under the horizon and the clouds unfurl purple to light to sun that made the younger's eyes burn.
Under the moon his skin shone ivory, smooth and flawless, marked only by the swirls of blue ink and a shimmery dusk as he maneuvers his way to their bedroom. At the bottom of the steps Tora leans against the wooden railing, bringing a cup to his nose while he watched the other sleep. The steam feels gentle on his chin, tendrils of heat coaxing and sinking into his skin.
He inhales and drinks, savors the muffled taste before that too is gone. Hiroto likes coffee. Or rather he used to. He used to love early mornings where he could sit and wait eagerly for the kettle to finish its gurgle and pop, so he could fish out a weathered strainer and mix up a cup from carefully ground beans. Now Hiroto simply clutches his cup and cradles its warmth. Inhales it for hours and even months, until the java has evaporated into rings in his mug and Tora's forced to bring him food because he won't eat. Now Tora wishes he could turn back time and maybe, just maybe, do things differently. Now Tora hopes things will change.
Hiroto is silent on the bed.
Tora knows he's awake, can tell after all these years the slightest slightest catching of the other's breath when he's dreaming.
Hiroto dreams of times before. Times filled with healthy golden skin and eyes damp with tears of joy. He dreams of happiness and wakes up with that haunting look in his eyes.
The days are getting just as hard for Tora.
"Hiroto?"
Silence.
"Pon."
All he receives is the same faint breathing and then he smells it. Copper. Salt. Tang. A sickening taste on his tongue that coffee could only hide for so long.
The mugs shatter on the basement floor as Tora rushes to their bed. Porcelain clinks and untasteable flavors cool and sink into the concrete, staining the bare floor.
"Not this again," Tora breathes, face distraught despite all the times he's seen this; all the times he's had to change the sheets, each time a darker color to hide the stained mattress beneath.
Hiroto doesn't move, simply watches Tora's hurried approach with glazed eyes and a decidedly apathetic face.
Hands shaking, Tora lifts a pale arm up. It glows in the fluorescent lights, a deathly blue tint painted in flowing rivulets of deep stark red. He hisses at the burn of his palms, pulls out the silver daggers Hiroto's shoved clean through his wrists.
"Please Pon, no more. I love you, I wanted us to be together, forever." The older man whimpers at the taste of blood on his lips, licking the cuts closed and watching both their wounds heal. "I thought you understood."
He chokes on the words, pulling the other into his arms, heedless of the bloodied sheets and red-damp limbs as he cuddles and clings to the last piece of his sanity.
In his lap Hiroto doesn't stir. His eyes focus unmoving on the wooden foundations of their house, the splintery outlines of the basement. His home. His cage. His world. He can't remember the last time a sunrise didn't hurt, what being warm felt like. What it meant to be alive. All he can see are Tora's tears, dripping like the burnt umber in their coffee pot every morning. Tears tinged a deep red Hiroto wasn't sure he ever wanted to begin with.
A/N:
Untitled angst for Suzy that might turn into a bigger, better fic. I hope things get better soon♥
Archive