DISCLAMER Blah. Don't own YYH. Lyrics belong to Coldplay.
WARNINGS Erm… take this fic how you wish. Possible shonen ai hints.
beauty and battle lust
They stand in the ring.
They are both beautiful in the dim lighting. A mix of savage and elegant beauty, perfection stands there, posed and ready to fight. The coliseum is empty but for each other, and the cheers and jeers go unheard.
His mind is filled with thoughts of death and plans and fatal blows. Hatred, confusion and fear are reflected in vibrant green eyes. The other is probably undeserving of such hatred, but he can't bring himself to care.
He feels familiar. He knows he's never seen this man before in his life.
He wonders, amidst brutal thoughts, what would happen if he chose not to fight and instead give in to the subtle suggestions---
Violet shows lust and anticipation, and something indescribable and deep.
The whistle blows. Only one will make it out alive.
--
Fighting is an art.
They have both mastered it; and it is splendid to behold as they weave between the blossoms. The green glints gold like some priceless treasure found in the dirt, and as the scarlet streaks with silver it's like a lost Atlantis has been discovered.
This is worth the life of a thief.
The end of the world approaches.
--
He dreams of a dead man.
He dreams of delicate, pale fingers. It's unthinkable that one who has mercilessly slaughtered so many should have such fingers.
He wakes, and he can still feel it on his skin.
--
The tournament is over.
He doesn't forget things, though. He relies far too much on his mind to forget anything, a curse when there are things you don't want to remember.
He remembers a man driven by sadness and insanity, and he remembers spoken words and touches full of promise of things that never came to be.
---
Your lovely hand
Has slipped away,
And there is nothing left to say
And we were born
Of yellow sand
There is no plan
There is no end.
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