"Mesh"
Title: Mesh
Chapters: drabble (1/1)
Author: phantom_hime
Genre: Romance, slice of life, drama
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Pairings/Characters: Aoi/Uruha
Synopsis: "But that's not what you're here to do,"
Comments: Written in 15 minutes in the middle of the night, enjoy. Comments are greatly appreciated!
The TV is droning on in the corner of the dark room, but he’s not listening nor watching. The smoke from the half-gone cigarette between his fingers is curling up in a complex dance he doesn’t wish to understand, and he closes his tired eyes.
He might as well just die on the spot.
But that’s not what you’re here to do.
He’s just a normal guy. He’s not supposed to have a purpose like this. But still, here he is and he doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he could ask someone, someone who could tell him, “it’s okay, you don’t have to do this. You can go home and continue doing what you’ve always done, just forget about this.”
But there’s nobody here.
He knows he has to figure out what to do by himself. He knows that he actually knows what to do, deep down. He just can’t muster up the strength to open that closed -but unlocked- door.
He knows he can’t fail, because that’s not how it’s meant to happen. He knows he will succeed, if he just finds the strength.
Then why are you still here?
Why isn’t he on his way to fulfill his task, instead of just sitting on the white, expensive leather couch, bent over with his arms resting on his knees. His cigarette lies on the floor now, slowly burning a hole in the luxurious cream-colored carpet he’s already dirtied with his old worn, red Converse.
How long has he been sitting here? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to. He leans back against the couch with a sigh, running a hand though his ebony black hair. Obsidian eyes stare at plain white walls and at the gloomy grey world outside the closed window.
He always did have a sense of convenience.
His abandoned coffee cup is still sitting half-full on the kitchen table. The newspaper he reads every morning is laying open, telling everyone who pays attention to it stories about muggings and traffic accidents.
Uruha always puts his cup in the sink and the newspaper in the recycling bag.
Uruha never leaves a single drop of coffee left in his simple white porcelain cup.
Aoi knows that Uruha isn’t here anymore. That’s why the coffee cup is not in the sink, and the newspaper not in the recycling bag. That’s why the cold coffee left in the cup has a thin membrane from the milk Uruha always puts in his coffee.
He stands up from the couch, and lights up another cigarette. The grey sky is expressionless in its glare.
Aoi knows Uruha’s gone.
And that’s why he has to bring him back.
Chapters: drabble (1/1)
Author: phantom_hime
Genre: Romance, slice of life, drama
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Pairings/Characters: Aoi/Uruha
Synopsis: "But that's not what you're here to do,"
Comments: Written in 15 minutes in the middle of the night, enjoy. Comments are greatly appreciated!
The TV is droning on in the corner of the dark room, but he’s not listening nor watching. The smoke from the half-gone cigarette between his fingers is curling up in a complex dance he doesn’t wish to understand, and he closes his tired eyes.
He might as well just die on the spot.
But that’s not what you’re here to do.
He’s just a normal guy. He’s not supposed to have a purpose like this. But still, here he is and he doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he could ask someone, someone who could tell him, “it’s okay, you don’t have to do this. You can go home and continue doing what you’ve always done, just forget about this.”
But there’s nobody here.
He knows he has to figure out what to do by himself. He knows that he actually knows what to do, deep down. He just can’t muster up the strength to open that closed -but unlocked- door.
He knows he can’t fail, because that’s not how it’s meant to happen. He knows he will succeed, if he just finds the strength.
Then why are you still here?
Why isn’t he on his way to fulfill his task, instead of just sitting on the white, expensive leather couch, bent over with his arms resting on his knees. His cigarette lies on the floor now, slowly burning a hole in the luxurious cream-colored carpet he’s already dirtied with his old worn, red Converse.
How long has he been sitting here? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to. He leans back against the couch with a sigh, running a hand though his ebony black hair. Obsidian eyes stare at plain white walls and at the gloomy grey world outside the closed window.
He always did have a sense of convenience.
His abandoned coffee cup is still sitting half-full on the kitchen table. The newspaper he reads every morning is laying open, telling everyone who pays attention to it stories about muggings and traffic accidents.
Uruha always puts his cup in the sink and the newspaper in the recycling bag.
Uruha never leaves a single drop of coffee left in his simple white porcelain cup.
Aoi knows that Uruha isn’t here anymore. That’s why the coffee cup is not in the sink, and the newspaper not in the recycling bag. That’s why the cold coffee left in the cup has a thin membrane from the milk Uruha always puts in his coffee.
He stands up from the couch, and lights up another cigarette. The grey sky is expressionless in its glare.
Aoi knows Uruha’s gone.
And that’s why he has to bring him back.