Story: Memories and Their Pitfalls
Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica and make no money from the writing of this fic.
Summary: Akihito has decided he and Misaki need to move to a bigger, better place. Misaki doesn't know how to let go of a place that has held so many memories. Misaki doesn't know how to let go. What can Akihito do to help?
Chapter 1 - Snapshots
Orange, Misaki thinks, is the colour of nostalgia.
The winter is almost at an end now. It is that time of the year when the weather is cool and beautiful; when winter gently slips away and heralds that haunting time before spring sets in.
The cherry tree is laden with cherry blossoms, coloured golden by the late afternoon sun. There is a soft wind today and standing out in the balcony of Usagi Akihiko's apartment, Misaki thinks it is a bitter-sweet wind, reminding people that time is brief, that time passes and nothing remains the same.
It is the day after Akihiko announced that he and Misaki would be moving soon, to a bigger, better apartment. Misaki had immediately protested but when Akihiko insisted, he had quieted down, having no real reason to give as to why he didn't want to move.
Truth was, this apartment was more of a home to him than even his and aniki's home. That house is laden with memories, sweet but far too painful, and the lingering wait of lonely, grieving days and nights. This apartment is where he and Akihiko had begun their relationship, where Misaki discovered what it was to be happy. This place, that began as an unconscious, then conscious escape has now become the only home that he wants. Any new apartment that they move to may be bigger and better but it wouldn't be home, it wouldn't have the enticing fragrance of first love and epiphanies, of time spent in happiness and anguish – this apartment holds memories – real, strong-coloured memories that are laid out lavender and amber on this late afternoon.
Misaki never wanted to forget, so here, he is with a camera in hand, determined to take as many shots as possible to keep alive the memories that he holds so, so dear.
He takes many snaps, zooming in and zooming out, from various angles, of various things – a particularly beautiful, sunlight-golden leaf, that balcony across from there strewn with old, dried leaves, the bright blue sky and the light green leaves against it – but even as he does, he knows that he cannot capture the way the wind seems to sway his heart like that leaf on the mango tree, the way the smell of his shampoo blends seamlessly with the atmosphere and imprints that moment in his mind.
The evening reminds him of things coming to an end, of an era closing and he doesn't want it to. There is too much that has happened, too much that he holds dear.
He briefly debates refusing to move, of letting Akihiko know just how he felt, but he rejects the idea. He didn't want to make him unhappy, especially since the older man was the one whose money was running the place. Akihiko had probably made all the arrangements; he didn't want to be a bother.
Misaki lowers the camera and for a moment, just allows the wind to just wash over him. So much is lost, after all, when we try to capture something that is not meant to be captured, when we try to stop the flow of time, of resisting change that is inevitable. Time passed and life moved on, much as he didn't want it to, much as he wanted to wrap that moment around himself forever when Akihiko held him in his arms and refused to let him go.
The leaves of the tree are rustling gently and somewhere, a bird chirps. Over all that, there is the sound of vehicles passing outside and the distant sound of children playing, shouting to each other.
This is what home is – familiar, amber sunlight on the road that he himself has watched being paved, the new, fresh green leaves on that tree that was trimmed last year, but has grown back beautifully since, that dusty car that has stood on the road as long as he remembers, the dried flowers on that new shop that used to be something else but Misaki can no longer remember what, that old garden there that he vowed never to set foot in after they cut down the trees in the renovation, that hawker calling out his wares as Misaki has heard him do as long as he can remember, that small, beautiful red and white bungalow over there that is a whispered reminder of times that were, as the elderly still reminisce about wistfully, that yellow building over there that used to be a dull, inconspicuous colour, that huge white building next door that looks like it does not belong there, like it was thrust into a scene where it does not fit.
And the setting sun twinkles from behind the leaves of a tree and Misaki can see the white sky slowly beginning to glow yellow – it will be orange soon, and then black.
The late afternoon sunlight has died down to a soft glow- Misaki can no longer see the rays of the sun on the road although a few leaves of the mango tree are still glowing with the fading light.
Misaki remembers that brief time when the evening air smelled sweet instead of vaguely painful, when the heaviness of the orange sunlight was lifted till his heart was as light as the leaves that fluttered in the breeze, when the future was now, in a few hours. Misaki wonders why people resent spending their lives in one place, watching the seasons change in the same home, for years and years.
He never could figure out what was so great about change.
A/N: This is going to be a short story with only one or two more chapters.
Have you ever felt the way Misaki feels? If you have, what was it that made you feel better?