Lily: This is a oneshot written for Hibari several months ago...So it might not be as good. D:
Hannah: Trololol, who cares?
Lily: D: I do.
Hannah: Anyways, Disclaimer: Lily and I do not hold anything in this fanfiction except for the OC mentioned and the storyline. :D Too bad Hibari's not ours.
Lily: I would be scared if Hibari were yours.
Hannah: :D Reviews please?
xxx
Remember...?
The times we played house, with you as the husband, and me the wife? I was so happy, that plastic ring with the glass diamond on it on my left hand's ring finger. We were married, and your mouth was always in a smile as we imagined our son, our daughter, our dog, our cat, our hamster, our canary, and our shark. Where the shark came from, I don't know, but we were happy. Playing house when we were four.
When I was sad, you would sit by my side and stroke my hair, my back, whisper comforting things in my ears with your still-childish voice and sit there until my sobs slowly dried up into little sniffles. I would then look at you and you wouldn't flinch because of my ugly face, with the whites' of my eyes are all red and the snot dripping from my nose. You would just smile and your blue-tinted silver gray eyes would be warm. Warm like the water from our tub when our mothers would wash us when we were two. Warm like yourself when you hugged me close to you. I was warm, you were warm, both of us shared that warmth.
What happened...?
Now, you're older, I'm older, none of "playing house" happens anymore. You pulled the ring off my finger, called it an "herbivorous, stupid ring," and stomped it to the ground. It broke in two, and I felt sad. Didn't you say we would get married? I guess in your eyes, our son, our daughter, our dog, our cat, our canary, and our hamster all died. The shark probably escaped. You always said he was smart enough to break out. The house is cold, when we are sixteen.
Now, when I'm crying, you say blunt things that make me want to cry some more. I'm asking you, when did you change so much? You don't stroke my back anymore, you don't whisper nice things in my ears, you don't comfort me anymore, because you're older. You call me crying, "a disgrace to even herbivores" and I don't realize you're calling me worse than trash. I cry again, and this time, it's harder. I guess I'm a bother to you now.
Your smile isn't a smile anymore. It's a frown, and I don't like it on your face. But I don't say anything and you probably don't aim to change it. I glance at your eyes, expecting to see blue-tinted silver gray, warm eyes, but I'm shocked to see it's cold. Cold and dark and full of dislike. Slanted. They're telling me that you hate me. I believe them. Gray slate, that's what it reminds me of.
to us...?
Still, I can't help but blush when you stride by, your scent like a reminder of long buried memories to me. Maybe beacuse of my fond memories of you, I'm still attached to you. I'm sure you don't have those fond memories anymore, but I do. And I treasure them. I remember the angelic smiles, and the warm eyes, and the comfort you gave me, and the times we played house. I remember them all. But...
Do you remember...?