A moment too long
They live in a monotone world of gray lies, where the only things to grasp at are the little moments that last a little too long. Canon-compatible Itasaku.
(Enjoy, GoGoFruitFruit. Even though you don't like this kind of writing too much...)
To those that are confused, the first and last sections, (in italics) are connected.
The lie they live are shades of gray,
where the only things to cherish are each other and
the few empty blurs of color
that accidentally end up in this world.
His lips fall on hers gently, and she knows, he knows, (they both know, but they is too strong and too impossible a word for him and her to grasp) that this is completely and unimaginably wrong, yet it does nothing to stop the flavor of cherry lip gloss to linger in his mouth, for a moment too long.
She wonders briefly what being a them might feel like, because she knows in this barren and cold excuse for life she will never get to experience it. Experience; she has had too much. Too much experience of gray and despairing betrayals.
He wonders briefly why (whywhywhy) his life has turned into nothing but a haze of pink, green, and black lies. The lies curl themselves over the pink and green he is beginning to consider another life he owns, until slowly, but surely, they are completely encased.
Together they are monochrome, and apart they are worse. A pitch black twist of falsehood and solitude layered over each other to create a hated excuse for a human, and a too-bright-but-dulled kunoichi with too many deceits that are carefully spun and fabricated into a murky and depressing tapestry of life.
Her cherry lip gloss lingers a moment too long with the rim of her shot glass, filled with Sprite, (curiously enough) as she lowers it from a sip. Her too-bright-but-dulled green eyes blankly stare down at the table for a few hazy moments, before she sets the glass down. She watches as a bubble emerges from the shiny depths of the liquid.
It bursts.
She empties her glass.
His long locks of black (meticulously cared for, a fact only a blur of pink and green knew) are billowing behind him in the harsh breath of wind and his target is in sight, but the slight figure with the green too-bright-but-dulled eyes lingers in his cruelly sharpened mind a moment too long. He flicks the kunai with ease, not a single emotion crossing his pale face as it cleanly pierces the man's heart. He watches the blood drip from his mouth.
Red.
It's another color he's well acquainted with.
He and she both know this monotone lie both are living is nothing more than an illusion to keep the truth away. She knows the truth must be prettier, slightly more colorful than the shades of gray that this lie is made up of, but she also knows he is the sun she orbits (ironically enough, he is the pitch black one that seeks the light) and if this lie is shattered she will shatter too. He knows she is desperately clinging to this false world, and he also knows that, hopefully (a word avoided, because it doesn't hold any meaning for him and her) in their next life of gray there will be the spark of truth blended in it.
Truth. In this world, a word cherished. (Because it doesn't show up too often, does it.)
The clouds are separating outside but the storm still lasts a moment too long, the moment that his and her life is placed in, but when the lone ray of sunshine peeks through the light doesn't dawn on them.
Because they live in a world where the sunrise was just out of their grasp, and the darkness was all they've ever known.
This is his and her life, where there is nothing but the moments that linger a little too long.
But it's a world they have lived for too long
where monochrome is their daily schedules
and where dawn
is a word forgotten.