The Reality of Dreaming
For sometimes it was better to believe that the dream was true than to know that in reality, it is all a dream.
As one Gokudera Hayato looked in the mirror, seeing his perfectly pressed suit, immaculate hair, his well perfected appearance, he wondered, only half sarcastically, whether the cracks were easy to see or not.
He laughed to himself, a nasty self-loathing sound that did nothing to reassure his ego. Of course they weren't visible.
But as long as no one noticed them, then it didn't matter. As long as Juudaime never noticed them, then all would be well. He could never let Juudaime see those cracks of his. It would let Juudaime down immensely, ruin his image, ruin the trust Juudaime had in him, and he would never, NEVER want to lose what he had here.
Life had always been a bitch towards him, and it seemed like it was never going to stop. It was forever giving him things only to take them away again, and Gokudera was a fool for letting himself fall into fantasy time and time again. He wished that the world was a better place than it was, but sadly, that would never come true. Not for him.
Or at least, that used to be true. But now he had a solution.
This was a habit just as deadly as drugs or alcohol, something society turned its back on, but hey, he was in the fucking mafia, who gave a shit? He hated himself for using the mafia as an excuse when it was generally the hand that Life threw in his face, but it was who he was and it seemed there was going to be no changing that.
Gokudera looked in the mirror once more, this time seeing nothing except the cracks and sighed. He knew he was going through another dark day, but there wasn't a lot that could change his mood right now. So he span sharply on his heels and strode out of his room, down the corridor to a door that was getting increasingly familiar. After a soft knock he opened the door and stood in the middle of the room, not looking at the room's owner and only current occupant.
"…I'm tired." He mumbles, fists opening and closing at his sides.
Tired... of life... of reality... of everything.
The man before him looks him up and down, eyes finally alighting on his face where he saw every single crack as if they were red ringed. He couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips. So the pitiful one had come again. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even move other than to uncross his legs. After all, this had to be Gokudera's choice, he had to make every single move, initiate every single meeting.
Gokudera stood there quivering, staring at the floor unseeingly, mind racing, asking whether this was the right thing to do. It was like looking at the crook of your elbow or into the bottle neck and thinking- is this worth it?
Yes, it is.
Gokudera crossed the room in unhesitating steps, socked feet padding across the carpet, and dropped to his knees by the foot of Mukuro's chair.
He hated himself for this.
His buttocks hit the floor, his hips and torso twist to face Mukuro's legs.
He hated the world for doing this to him.
His arms rise up to rest crossed on Mukuro's lap, his head comes down to rest against his arms and Mukuro's knee.
He hated Mukuro for ever doing this in the first place and getting him addicted.
"Sleep Hayato. Sleep and dream."
Heh, 'dream'. But he knew, the bastard, they both knew, that this was quickly becoming reality.
So Hayato closed his eyes and fell.
Phantom Hitman 1412
First Published: 19 October 2013