(no subject)
Title - Strength
Chapter- Drabble
Author - Mugimugul
Genre- Romance?
Rating - Pg-13
Warnings - …^^;;; none
Pairings - Uruha/Aoi
Disclaimers - Sad to say, but I own nothing. (except the story).
It didn’t make sense- it never did. He couldn’t see why people always said that about him; why they looked like they actually believed in it as those empty words- those lies- cruelly left their mouths. Because they couldn’t have… Because he was certain he didn’t own that attribute; certain he was nothing like they said. Strength. You’re such a strong person… I really wish I could be more like you.
But how could anyone see him as such? Because he’s never felt that in him, never felt anything less than weakness and fragility. If he’s ever had to appear strong, maybe… maybe it was because he never had a choice. Maybe, deep down, he had wanted to cry, to scream, to be weak… wanted to be saved.
But how could he have? When he had lost his parents, his house, the life he owned- when he had lost everything… When his younger siblings were screaming and crying, weeping and shocked, how could he have allowed himself the privilege of sorrow? He had to be strong; strong for his frightened siblings and that innocent infant- the people who trusted in him, who needed him. It wasn’t- hadn’t been- a choice; he didn’t have the chance, the decision to make. Instead, he stood firm, wrapped the younger children up in his arms, and carried them away from the scene; to where he could keep protecting them, to where they wouldn’t have to be separated by foster care and orphanages. Because they were all he had left; they needed him as much as he needed them, and he was not about to let them be snatched away. So he took them away, continuously walking further and further away from their ruined home, mind fixed on anonymous destinations, never stopping- he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop till they reached what he deemed safe- didn’t stop as the children slept soundly in his weary arms and he had to drag his bleeding feet through the crisp patches of frost white snow; didn’t stop when his vision blurred and his head swam from exhaustion- on and on, he trudged through the unfamiliar streets, always, always searching, always hopeful for the glimpse of a personal haven, of a sanctuary he could finally rest his battered frame.
Didn’t stop… He swore never to stop- never let them get him, get them. But they did- in a more vicious, brutal body of a ruffian gang; surrounded him, laughed and spat as he squeezed his eyes shut against the rain of beatings on his lithe figure, his body used as a shield for the children- they needed to be protected; protected against the cruelty, the wrath of this harsh society. Then it came- a voice, smooth and gentle- from the hollowness of the streets it came, and the pain was halted as footsteps filled the air. Save me… But still, he couldn’t stop, so he pushed himself off the ground, wobbling unsteadily as he reached for the other children, attempting to continue on his unending voyage- only to find the gritty roads rushing up to swallow him as he stumbled forward weakly, body finally failing him, and he feels the pressured panic rising in him, because he can’t stop. Not till they were safe.
But he never hits the ground, doesn’t manage to, because strong arms suddenly catches him around the waist and he’s supported in a warm embrace, that voice- the same voice- soothingly whispering that it’s ok, and everything’s going to be alright, and he can stop now.
He stops- because he finally can stop now; now that he’s found it- his sanctuary, in the form of a honey blonde angel; now that he’s saved and he knows- just knows- that everything will be alright.