sigh first KHR fanfic...and its been forever since I've ever written a fanfic...so, beware of poo. Because I think its utter poo. unko. unko. unkounkounkounkounkounkounkounkounko...XP
But its Hiba-chan centric etc etc etc, slight 1827 and TYL!1827...but that's it. I just felt like writing some angst while thinking of whatever my English teacher taught me in class about scenes, grammar, etc. So, I tried that stupid positive/negative changing scene, then I tried parallel structure. I think I failed. Ah well, I never really paid attention to whether or not I actually write that in my writing anyways... . '''
Disclaimer: I do not own KHR blah blah blah...nor will I ever blah blah blah...and I wish 1827 were canon.
Please read. stabs
Threads
These strings, they tie us together...
He looked at it, that red string tied around his middle finger. He touched it, thinking to untie it.
The Cloud Guardian is not supposed to be attached to anything. He is the lone cloud, helping his family in their time of need.
He was supposed to be alone, a lone cloud floating off into the vast sky. There, yet not there. He was a friend, yet not a friend. He was family...but never really family.
He didn't need one either. He liked being alone. With no one there, even in the coldest of winters or harshest of storms, he lived through them all. Alone, and no one there. And he was fine with it.
Yet, why did he agree to it? To flock around in an annoying group, looking tough and strong, ganging together so they could hide their weaknesses. He didn't need a group – he had no weakness. Then why?
He pulls on the string, freeing his finger of its bondage. It is picked up by a wind and floats away. He does not look back. He needn't look back. After all, he is a loner, the cloud, the free one with no bondages.
The next day he sees them again. They all still have that stupid thread around their fingers, laughing merrily, and that boy...that sky holding them together with his stupid kindness and warmth. He looks away, not ashamed or annoyed but of the pain of his longing to be there. Within that group. With him.
A bird flies to him, carrying a small parchment tied to its leg by a red string. Though annoyed, he takes it and he reads it.
Hibari-san,it reads you don't have to wear that thread. Just...keep it, 'kay? I mean, just because you don't wear that thread, doesn't mean you're not our friend. Our friendship doesn't exist in those threads. It's because we're friends we wear that thread. So just keep it with you. Keep it forever.
Annoyed, he snatches the thread from the bird. Friends? Since when was he friends with them? Since when was he friends with anybody? He doesn't need them. And he doesn't want them.
Laughter from the roof. They're up there again with that baby. They're laughing and fighting, like friends do. He doesn't need them... he's fine without them. But it hurts. The pain in his chest hurts more now.
The thread he keeps, keeping it save from everything, making sure it's with him at all times. He doesn't need friends and he doesn't want them. But, he thinks, maybe at some point of time, they might need him. And maybe then, the cloud would come down and lend the storm some lightning, rain some water. Or maybe he could just be with the sky, complimenting the hazy blue with a soft white, keeping it company.
Our friendship...you can't dissolve it. Not even by death...
Sometimes he hates the rain. There are days when he longs to see that blue sky again. Its vastness overtakes him for a moment, until he sees a single white cloud accompanying it.
Sometimes he hates the sun. When it shines too bright, he can't tilt his head to see its warm color.
Sometimes he hates the mist. As it blocks his view of the richness of color, leaving him in a colorless field.
Sometimes he hates storms. Even in the zenith of day, its lightning and thunder forces him inside and not let himself become engulfed by the sky.
But even so, there are days he feels as if the sky were to fall. As the petals falls to the ground and the rain spots the earth with millions of tiny little spots, he waits. He waits for nothing, for he knows whatever he is waiting for will never come for him. The sky...it will never again overcome him in its richness, it will never again engulf him in its vastness, and it will never again allow him to accompany it in its never ending task.
He releases his hands, the thread floating off into the ground. The dark wood makes no sound has it touches it. He sits, feeling the smooth surface, not even caring about the splinters covering his hand.
He is the lone cloud, alone and detached. Yet, by this man, he was attracted to. He was attracted to him by his ever so longing to reach out to the sky and to touch it. He had grabbed a hold of it, only to lose it forever.
These strings, they tie us together...