Title: Smoke and Mirrors
A/N: A short one-shot. LloydxElena.
I don't own Tegami Bachi.
Warnings: Angst.
Summary: What kind of man am I if I simply pretend to be a good friend to someone I care about? : The quiet contemplation of a young Largo Lloyd.
The slight breeze on this brisk autumn evening created the rough texture of the river. A young man with silver hair and glasses stood at the edge of the water. His gaze was cast to the other side, as if he expected someone or something to grace him with its presence. However, the longer he looked to the other end of this river, the more unsettled the expression on his face became.
He placed his hands in his pockets. The boy's pensive gaze was now redirected to the edge of the water, where his feet touched.
You're so stubborn, Elena, he thought. And I'm an idiot for not realizing that. I should have stopped you.
He closed his eyes, not taking notice to the fact that his feet were slowly dampening; the ripples of the water in the river were not strong enough to reach his feet. Slowly he removed his hands from his pockets, took his glasses off, and proceeded to seat himself in the usual style near the river.
Once again, with tears rolling down his face this time, he searched across the river.
Largo Lloyd was alone.
Having realized this, having realized that she would never again make lighthearted jabs at him, or never be angry with him for besting her in mostly everything, or even never again laugh at him for some of the outrageous things he said, he shook his head in frustration as he wept. While he wept, he deeply desired to think that the tragic accident that caused her death wasn't his fault. After all, he never directly asked her to replace the necklace she accidentally dropped into this very river. He never asked her to attempt to best him, even if that meant acting recklessly.
He never asked her to do anything.
There wasn't enough time for the two of us, he thought. In the short time I've lived, perhaps this is my greatest regret: not being able to share my true heart with a precious friend. What kind of man am I if I simply pretend to be a good friend to someone I care about?
What kind of man am I? The words of his final thought echoed in his mind as the slight breeze halted and his crying self quieted. Up until now, he only knew of the kind of person he was when she was around. He only knew of the slightly arrogant, overconfident, carefree, hard-working and content young man. The young man realized that in the same manner that she left his life, the carefree and content part of him departed.
The surface of the river no longer rippled. Instead, it took on a rather glassy appearance. He stood and walked over to the edge of the water. This time, he leaned farther over the surface so he could carefully observe his reflection.
What kind of man am I?
All he was able to see inside the reflection in the river was a young man with a very pained expression on his face, the same young man with all of his negative qualities exemplified. The longer he inspected the image in the water, the more difficult he found looking at it to be; his reflection became flushed out by newly created ripples in the surface, and the tears that clouded his eyes made seeing a greater challenge.
For a brief moment, he gave up on trying to see his reflection in the water. After wiping his eyes, he placed his glasses back on his face, and paused for a deep breath. He slowly reached into his jacket with both hands while staring blankly at the river. A cigarette in one hand and a box of matches in the other, he looked again to the other bank.
He placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with one of the matches. This very first puff he had ever taken in his life tore through his lungs, and he winced as he exhaled the smoke. The pain he felt from this initial breath seemed insignificant in comparison to the suffering he endured from having lost his dear friend. For the first time in a while, he felt alive, as though this first hazy breath symbolized some sort of rebirth. He wheezed out a slight chuckle as he peered over at his reflection in the water one final time. On this occasion, it wasn't the tears that had clouded his image. As the smoke sauntered past, he turned away from the river and started to walk towards the town again. Just before he reached the bridge, he paused, turned around briefly, and muttered an apology.
I'm sorry, Elena. This is the man I'll have to be from now on.