Title: Smokes and Ashes

Pairing: Red/Leaf

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

A/N: Well~~~ since your character can be whatever you are in the game. I guess, something like this can't be considered too OOC. And about Red...Well, I think someone named Peer Pressure is to blame. Note that something like this did happen in real life, my friend got scared with the guy that was in love with her, like she'll forever be. Haha, so they're my inspiration, oh well, enjoy and RnR please.

I meant it. Please.

Her name is Leaf, I know. Nothing's really remarkable about her—actually. Just the typical school girl. Weak at math, unbelievably strong at biology. But overall, she's nothing out of ordinary.

It's just that, if I could even tell you, there are just something I can't deny about her. I don't know what or why. I just do. I don't know why whenever I see her there all serious with her tasks. Brows knit and looking all like a genius in biology class. I just can't help but concern. Maybe jealousy, maybe something else, or maybe just the way I am.

Like I've said, there's nothing that makes her really special. But, well, there are still things that make her different. Unlike other girls, she's uncommonly silent. Sullen, if you ask me. It's quite difficult to get her cracked with that stoic look in the way. No matter how you fire her, mock her, she won't retaliate, response, you can even tell she doesn't notice at all. And the other boys have given up ticking her off by stating that; 'she's scary' or 'is she even human?' With such a terrifying scarcity of a smile in her face, it needs no words to say that she's fairly ill-disposed. So there aren't many people hovering around her, just one or two, especially that girl with orange ponytail. What's her face again? Even she has her own time to leave her for sticking with the other girls. Which she's even mostly seen with.

But we're the same, just in some way. We're the minority of the majority. Even when I think it's strange just like most people. I'm the only one that—somehow, strong enough to break the silence around her. Getting all those eerie tranquility shivered and clattered like glass. I'll shove someone to her desk while she's reading to make her sit somewhere else, peeking at her assignments while she's thinking, or sticking a sign on her back while she isn't looking. And usually, she'll yack her head off at me, screaming for a reason, as I take one of the things she'll always recklessly scatter on her desk. I've been like this to her for years; since 5th grade, and currently, we're in 9th grade. Heck, that's been awhile.

All of my attempts are success, more than enough to surprise people, to the point that people start creating imagery of me as 'the fire that burns down the forest'. A chaos that causes commotion in such a serene place which is what people say to describe her.

And it's funny. Really. Right?

My name's Red, as of the color of flames. And her name is Leaf, as of, well, leaves. That just makes pretty much sense doesn't it?

And maybe, just maybe, it could mean literally. Still figurative, But, my actions could have been beyond synonymous. It really looks like I'm a raging fire itself, and she's a cluster of dead leaves themselves. Like fire, like flammable objects. Burns and burned. Strong and vulnerable. Smokes and ashes. Myself, herself...

...Everything's just like that.

I—a small, flickering fire—just started out only as a boy who doubted, doubted, and doubted himself. I thought that sticking around people like I was their shadow would solve everything. So there were moments where I stood still for awhile, watching them, studying, learning, observing. Till I reached a conclusion that only I claimed was right. So I did what they all did; I make trouble, I cause banters, I piss someone off, anything alike. The boy next door, Blue, is a beast of them. Can't hold a candle to him at all, I guess. But he's one, one of those who have given up to vex her for her cold demeanor. And I've never felt this proud.

But then.

"Hey, Red. She's not moving," I just stare.

"Hey, you've got a nice hair 'round here..." I only watch the guy flick her hair into the front of her face and she's still all but a statue.

One of the guys in my gang nudges me in the ribs, "Red. Do something," he pleads.

I hesitate, I step closer, I raise my hand at her and stop dead.

"Red. Don't play with fire, it's dangerous."

She stares at me facelessly and stands up, slapping my hand away from her face and leaves.

"But, it's small."

It's small. Nothing to worry about right?

"It's the first time you failed. Has she finally had enough?"

I watch her disappear behind the double-doors.

"Could it be that she's no longer amused?"

I stare at where she's left.

"Her face looked even creepier than before. I wonder if she took what we did too seriously?"

"Don't go near those raked foliages! You shouldn't burn those yet!"

"It's only a few of them!"

Then it flashes. The days, the years. The past, the present. All of her faces and screams and protests. She's been burning—blazing all these times. Flaming all these years. And now she's all serene and tranquil and dark and smoldering—

"It can get bigger before you know it. So stop playing with those."

"Red? You okay?"

Smokes and ashes...

...Are those what become of us now?

I didn't have the chance to notice. I don't realize that I'm running on my feet. Out the doors. After her. Looking for any sight of her. Breathless.

'I wonder...'

I run and run and run. Trailing her shadow, her scent, her ghost.

'I wonder...'

I run while I think. I run while I search. I run while I piece the words.

'I wonder what were all these years for...'

Then I see her. I jolt, I brake, I stretch out my hand and grab her by the sleeve.

She flinches, "Don't." She yanks her hand away. Backing away, "Don't. Touch. Me."

I just stare, "Listen, Leaf. I—"

"Why are you so persistent?" she hisses, seeing me through the narrow slits of her eyes, "What have I done to you?"

Her words sting, I nearly cringe.

"...What do you want from me? What's your problem with me?" She shrivels back. Her back hits the wall behind her, clutching her hand. Voice brittle and her breaths audible.

"What have I done to you?" I step closer, "What do you want?" she stares at me as if I'm about to kill her, "Why are you always like this!?" Why am I always like this?, "Why is it that it always has to be me?" she flattens herself more against the wall, "Why!?"

Why you say?

I step even closer and she gropes the walls and stumbles and tries to escape.

'You can't go.' My palms find the wall. And soon she's the captive and my hands are the cage.

"Why you say? It's because you never look up. You never talk. You never laugh and you never seem to care about anything."

"Does it matter to you!?"

"It does." I snap, too calmly for what I intended it to be.

I look at her eyes. Dark and stained with tears. What have I done?

"Then WHY does it?" she chides, "What do you want?"

I stare at her eyes. What do I want?

"What do you want?"

What do I want...

"For all this time, what do you want from me? Just say it!"

..for all this time.

"I wanted you to stop looking at anything but that darn book you always reading. I wanted you to look less like you're an inanimate object. I wanted to make sure you're just the same as the others. I wanted to make you realize the crap others had done to you—what have I done to you. I wanted to make sure that you care—that you care about this world. I wanted to get you irritated. Wanted you to turn your head at me. To yell at me, to scream at me, to—"

I pause. And all focus are into those pools of grayness that hold unfathomable depth.

"—look at me."

That was it. It was—in fact, the thing I can't deny about her. She's always had this look in her eyes in Biology class. Her usually glazed eyes will shine alive. That was it, her grey eyes, awake and alive.

I look away.

Why...Why does it suddenly become so hot here?

"That's what I wanted from you."

I see dead leaves scorch in flames and shatter in the breeze.

"Since you never look up. You never seem to care..."

I see the flames dance and leave the ground with black.

"I just..."

I claw the wall, staring down. I ask myself, over and over again, 'What's happening? What's wrong? What should I say? What should I do? Do I want her go? Should I go away? Should I shut up? Should I keep up? What's wrong with me? What the heck is wrong with me?'

"I—," I breath, I sigh, I contemplate, "—am sorry."

I know that I'm late. I know I am. She's no longer what was her. She will look and think and see me as something she should not go near. Since I'm flame and she's flammable. She should not go near. No matter what. No matter how.

"...You can still hate me if you want." And I let her loose. She stares at me the last time; eyes dark with fear and red with rage. And as I watch her go I keep telling her,

"I'm sorry." sotto voce, she can't hear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I'm really, really sorry. Half of me hopes she hears me, half of me doesn't. Most of me tell me I'm the biggest moron in the world, and the rest mock me for not realizing it sooner.

That she'll never feel what I feel about her.