Heartblood
Title: Heartblood
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bela/Farin
Summary: One day, everyone has to face their mistakes.
Feedback: is the nourishment for every artist and I dearly hope I won’t starve. Just tell me what you think about the crap my sick little mind has come up with, I won’t eat you^^
Beta: Julie
~+~oOo~+~
The spaciousness of the sterile white room, cold as steel, causes claustrophobia. There is no movement in the air, and the chill goes deep- to the core.
He stands in the middle of the room, a conspicuous black stain in the pale hell of glass and steel; the polished surfaces reflect the soft winter sun, blinding him.
He moves to the far end of the room, his heavy steps disrupting the silence; the noise rings in his ears.
He slowly approaches the figure sitting in a metal chair, who is still as stone. This one blends in perfectly, with his pale skin and hair, and white shirt that he wears in spite of the cold.
He stops within the reach of the chair; thoughts flitter through his head, making it hard to think. It would be so easy to extend his hand and turn the chair around, to face the consequences of the mistakes he'd made.
Tentatively, he lays a hand on the slim shoulder before him, his other hand clutching a wine glass, threatening to break it. The figure jerks away, panic and defiance gleaming in his broken blue eyes.
"Jan, I..."
"Never touch me again."
At that, the memories come back, the memories of that evening, the night he destroyed the thing dearest to him.
He can't stand looking into the eyes he’d broken, and instead stares at the black tips of his boots, prominent against the cold white tiles.
The chair creaks. He still doesn't look up as heavy steps ring in his ears, as Jan leaves.
The glass Bela had been clutching glides out of his suddenly lifeless hand, and hits the floor, shattering- like his heart.
Blood.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bela/Farin
Summary: One day, everyone has to face their mistakes.
Feedback: is the nourishment for every artist and I dearly hope I won’t starve. Just tell me what you think about the crap my sick little mind has come up with, I won’t eat you^^
Beta: Julie
~+~oOo~+~
The spaciousness of the sterile white room, cold as steel, causes claustrophobia. There is no movement in the air, and the chill goes deep- to the core.
He stands in the middle of the room, a conspicuous black stain in the pale hell of glass and steel; the polished surfaces reflect the soft winter sun, blinding him.
He moves to the far end of the room, his heavy steps disrupting the silence; the noise rings in his ears.
He slowly approaches the figure sitting in a metal chair, who is still as stone. This one blends in perfectly, with his pale skin and hair, and white shirt that he wears in spite of the cold.
He stops within the reach of the chair; thoughts flitter through his head, making it hard to think. It would be so easy to extend his hand and turn the chair around, to face the consequences of the mistakes he'd made.
Tentatively, he lays a hand on the slim shoulder before him, his other hand clutching a wine glass, threatening to break it. The figure jerks away, panic and defiance gleaming in his broken blue eyes.
"Jan, I..."
"Never touch me again."
At that, the memories come back, the memories of that evening, the night he destroyed the thing dearest to him.
He can't stand looking into the eyes he’d broken, and instead stares at the black tips of his boots, prominent against the cold white tiles.
The chair creaks. He still doesn't look up as heavy steps ring in his ears, as Jan leaves.
The glass Bela had been clutching glides out of his suddenly lifeless hand, and hits the floor, shattering- like his heart.
Blood.