Burn
Prologue
He should have seen it coming from the start.
At first it had been the distance she began to put between them. At the time, he had thought nothing of it. She began to not answer his calls as frequently. Their conversations, usually long, now were cut short by her weak and single phrased answers and her voice sounded hesitant, as if she didn't want to talk to him, her mind drifting more and more into a place Yamato could only wonder about.
Next it had been her reactions to his touch. He swore he saw her flinch once, but she passed it off with the faulty excuse that she didn't feel well. His stormy blue eyes didn't miss the guilt and regret that lay within her crimson orbs as he backed away from her slightly, confusion written across his own features.
It shouldn't have been so hard to decipher.
She rarely gave him more than a peck on the cheek or a weak embrace. She barely spoke, her eyes wandering to look sadly to the skies. The warm look he had once seen in her gaze was dead, her eyes reflecting nothing but his own wonder as to what had happened. And as time dragged on, he knew he had to let her go; it was written all over her pained features.
It wasn't like he hadn't confronted her over it, he had tried. But every time he managed to corner her, she found an excuse to change the conversation, to leave, or simply didn't answer.
It shouldn't be this hard.
Her gaze pleaded for him to let her go. And whether it was out of revenge for her own cowardice or his own fear of letting her go, he turned face and tried to act as if nothing had happened.
Anger began to well within his hardening heart.
The concerts she had attended ritualistically to watch him play now held no more meaning when he sang of love. Every time he would look down at her and every time she would stare right back, her gaze as empty of love for him as her beating heart of life.
I should have known all along.
It shouldn't have been a surprise to him really. He had seen it coming a mile away.
So why does it hurt?
He found them by mere coincidence. He really hadn't meant to walk out of practice to play "errand boy" so to speak.
Why him, of all people?
A bagful of assorted candies, each handpicked for the picky members of his band. In his other hand was clutched a water bottle that was half empty. Or was it half full?
I'm so stupid.
The alleyway was narrow, dark, and certainly less than comfortable for any type of activity of any means. The ground was dry and there was trash littered around their sneakered feet. A few shoots of thin grass blades were scattered about, being crushed mercilessly by the pair currently trying to be swallowed by the shadows during their passionate encounter.
Please stop my heart.
Yamato Ishida stood watching for a moment, the water bottle that was being swung idly now limp at his side. The sweat that had lined his temple from the adrenaline on stage seemed to dissipate, a cold shiver running up his spine as he stood rooted to the spot.
Please.
He didn't turn away; he didn't flinch. He didn't even bother to stop them. He simply stood, his gaze becoming darker and emptier as piece by piece, his heart was taken apart completely.
I never did understand you.
And then as simply as he had come, he turned, the bag in his grasp making the slightest of noise.
But it had been enough.
He heard her gasp of alarm, and out of the corner of his eye noticed them pull away from each other. His best friend, her "affair", stood still from shock, watching as Yamato simply walked away.
Click.
His shoes hit the pavement in a soothing rhythm.
Click.
A choked sob.
Click.
Silence; the sound of their shock.
Click.
The sound of the lock released; the sound of the gate as he closed it behind him as he entered the school without a second thought. The sound of his sanity finally snapping.