As I said in my ramblings in 'The Last Face I Want To See', it's a Ruhana again.. ~_~ Can't seem to think of plots for anything else.. _ *sigh*… but that's okay with me so yeah… LOL ^_~" Writing as Rukawa this time.. I find it easier to write as him, for some reason.. o_o don't' know why… but writing as Sakuragi and all the while making sure you're not sounding too OOC is much harder to me.. anyway, at least I've tried both and now I know ^.~ Hope I'll get reviews telling me which fic is better.. ^_^ would really like to know that, actually…
Better not talk so much and just let you guys read the fic!! ^.^
Enjoy~! Hope it's not too bad.. ^_^"
One
"That'll be 770 yen."
"Un." I reply, placing the money in the driver's open palm. "Arigatou gozaimasu."
I only realize now how long it's been since Japanese has bounced off my tongue this way. As much as I hate to admit it, I miss this language more than I would have liked.
I step out of the taxi, pressing the door shut behind me and freezing at the piercingly familiar sight before my eyes.
How long has it been? Way too long. I've been away from this for way too long.
It hasn't changed much. The main building, the entrance gates – they all look the same as the broken memories I have of how they used to be. It hasn't changed much.
'Shohoku High School' – the sign on the wall reads, beaming out to me with a new, extra layer of glaze.
It's still the same old Shohoku. I exhale deeply in what strikes me as relief.
Am I really that afraid of change? I start wondering unknowingly.
How long has it been? Ten years? Nine? I'm not sure. All I know is that it's been way too long.
I hastily brush away the messy strands of hair falling over my eyes, then once again adjust the thin scarf wrapped around my neck.
I don't remember autumn in America ever being this cold. I shrug mentally. It's probably just me. I never paid attention to anything over there, how would I know?
Why am I here? I think, trudging slowly through the school gates. I shouldn't have come here. I should just leave things in the past.
But yet this feels so right. As if this is the only place where I truly belong.
It's strange how my life has turned out. I never thought things would be this way. I never thought things would ever get this … out of hand.
Why am I here? When I get back, I'll have hell to pay. I'm not supposed to be in Japan.
I thought I would be happy in America. I really did.
But it was nothing more than a waste of time.
If I had stayed here, if I hadn't left all those years ago … maybe him and I …
I blink and shake my head instinctively to try and put these thoughts out of my mind. Ten years of these disgraceful thoughts are more than enough. I have to stop this pathetic, disgusting nonsense.
Soon these thoughts will destroy me. Soon they will break down all my walls. Soon I will lose control.
His smooth, chiselled face still haunts me every night. His high-pitched, laughing voice still rings in my ears every hour of every day. And his eyes - those shining, copper-brown eyes so bright that they were almost as red as his hair.
Am I going crazy? I know I must be. It's been ten years, yet I still yearn for him with more thirst and desperation each day. I don't know why. I hate myself for admitting it, but I … miss him. And I don't know why.
Why can't I be normal? It's the first time I've ever felt this way for anyone. He's the only person who can make me feel this way.
The first time I fall for someone and my life falls to ruins. The first time someone takes my breath away and it just has to be … a guy.
Why can't I be normal?
Ten years. That's three thousand, six hundred and fifty days. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days of life that revolves completely around thoughts and yearnings for him.
How pathetic.
How stupid.
How … disgusting.
What is happening to me?
Wait till the psychiatrist hears about this, the sarcastic voice inside my head sneers. Wait till I shut her up once and for all, she and all her crap about my problems coming from my parents' death when I was barely even a kid. Wait till I put an end to all her theories by telling her this. She would probably have a heart attack and lock me in a mental institution. A self-destructive, homophobic homosexual. The voice inside my head chokes out a forced laugh.
I look around me at the falling sakura trails on the frosty autumn breeze and stop in my footsteps, spellbound by memories, reminiscences, and emotions.
The first autumn in America was the hardest. That was when I first found out that there was no sakura in America.
Sakura. Not only is it part of his name, but a symbol of every single thing about him. The way it drifts unbounded along with the wind – a perfect representation of the blind determination he carried inside him, the infectious rebellion he passed along, the way every movement of his screamed out his desire to be free, to live unbounded, to fly high without reserve. The beauty of sakura – the undying beauty like the beauty he possessed, though I don't know for certain what made him so beautiful. Perhaps it was his eyes; his sooty, shining eyes lined with thick, matted eyelashes that cast pale shadows wherever he let his gaze fall, eyes that hypnotized me so many times in the past - a past of youth, spirit and dreams - eyes that brought out so much emotion in me, emotion that I thought I had thrown into the flames long ago. Perhaps it was his hair. That blazing blaring bright red hair that rebelled against all convention and tradition, that shouted out to me about the alternate life I could be living, about the different way of life that I could choose, about the way my life could be more than meaningless monotony and expressionlessness. Or perhaps it was all these little things about him combined that cast this mystical spell on me, triggering inexplicable feelings deep inside my soul that I never thought I was capable of feeling.
I don't know what he did to me.
But now the only remainders I have of him in my life are these nostalgic, never ending memories replaying over and over again endlessly in my mind, like an old movie forever set on the 'Replay' mode.
I would give anything to have him next to me now. Anything.
But I let that chance slip away from me long ago.
There was just something about him, this vague, hidden aura of weariness about him that struck chords somewhere deep within me, some kind of tired weakness buried deep inside his copper eyes. Something deep within him that made me feel like letting go of everything then and there, running towards him and taking him in my arms, protecting him from all that he was tired and afraid of, spending the rest of my life just being his shield against the storm, telling him that everything would be all right. There was just something about him, something that I was convinced no one else knew of, something that made me yearn to protect him, to keep him safe, to stay by him forever. Maybe this was the feeling the intoxicated me the most. In fleeting moments where I caught glimpses of this weak weariness through the copper-brown depths of his eyes, I felt like he was the only thing that truly mattered. But I didn't give it much thought then. I put other priorities before these feelings I had for him and him only. How stupid.
It's funny, but I still feel this way. I still feel as if he's the only thing that truly matters to me. Now I feel this way stronger than ever before.
Regrets, regrets, regrets. Regrets are all that is left of me. If only I could return to that place in time when he was standing before me, laughing and pointing with that high-pitched, mocking voice of his. If only I had gathered up the strength to face the truth, to face him, to tell him that he was the only person I really wanted to be with. That he was the only person who was capable of casting this type of mystical spell on me, this spell that actually brought out emotions and turmoil in the monotonous flatness of my meaningless life. That he gave my world meaning. That he was my meaning. If only I had told him then.
But I didn't. And now the time for that has passed me by. Now I've lost him forever. Now all I have left are the repeating echoes of what might have been in the empty, hollow depths of my mind.
God, I miss him. I miss his smile, his childish grin that gave me the rare, unusual urge to smile myself. I miss his voice, his shrill, sincere voice layered with every emotion that struck him at any certain moment. I miss his eyes, those deep, brown depths that shimmered and shined like the brightest stars, lighting up the darkness of my life just as stars light up even the darkest of night skies.
It's funny how I chose basketball over him. Why did I do that? I don't even know. And now when I look back on my choice, I feel the remorse seeping into my skin like a merciless virus relentlessly invading my body and mind.
I wasted my whole life simply because I made one wrong choice. One mistake. It's unbelievable. Given the right circumstances, it could even be laughable.
I thought that by choosing basketball I could forget him. That by training and focusing on achieving my dreams in America I could forget about the abnormal desperation and yearning that never ceased to overwhelm me whenever the slightest thought of him cropped up in my mind. But it wasn't to be that way. Without him I couldn't do anything. I couldn't bring myself to play basketball again. I couldn't go on with life emotionlessly, just as I'd always done.
Basketball was my life. It was my only love, my only dedication. Until I met him.
It's funny, isn't it? Pathetic really. So disgracefully pathetic I just can't understand it.
And to think that I've sacrificed and wasted my whole life for someone who probably never even gives me half a second of thought now. To think I've devoted my whole life to someone who probably never even thought of me in the way I think of him.
He went around with clouds in his head. True, his naivety could be part of what allured me, but it was stupid of me to gradually begin to ignore it. Stupid of me to think that he would understand, that he would maybe object to my departure all those years ago. Stupid of me to think that there could be something more than confusion or anger in his eyes and his words when he looked at me. How hopelessly stupid of me.
I've wasted my life. All these lost opportunities, senseless assumptions, pointless imaginings … all this self-pity. What a waste of time. What a waste of life.
'I love you'. The three small words that … could have saved me. If I had said them to him then, maybe things would be different …
The silky sakura blossoms fall softly onto my face, covering my eyes for a brief moment. I hesitate before raising my fingers to brush them away.
I would give anything to have him next to me now. Anything.
A solitary tear trickles weightlessly down my cheek. It's funny - I thought I had forgotten how to tear.
I take a deep breath before I finally open my eyes, drifting sakura blossoms still swirling around me.
The outline of a figure standing before me comes slowly into view. A broad, masculine figure, a faint red light radiating softly from the dark glossiness of his hair …
I freeze immediately.
Could it be …?
I stare at the figure in shock, transfixed.
Am I really going crazy this time? Now I'm even seeing things.
The figure's eyes suddenly turn towards me, radiating with a painfully familiar copper-brown warmth.
"Rukawa?" I hear an alarmed voice call out to me.
I blink. And blink again.
Is this a dream? I think, rooted to the spot.
"Sakuragi?" I blurt out in response.
Notes: Compared to the next chapter, this chapter is really short _ Sorry about that.. I s'pose the first chapter only serves the purpose of introducing you to the setting and the narrator's perspective on life.. that is if you're writing in first person narrative – which is all I can do _" … but anyway…hope you can feel the regrets and etc… ^_~