Disclaimer: Characters, not mine. Song, not mine. The only thing that is mine would be this fanfic and the account that's posting it.
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"It's fine to stop it if it's a delusion"
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Your heart beats painfully inside your chest, beads of glistening perspiration form on your brow as you break into a cold sweat. Slowly, you slide down against the white wall, shivering a bit as soon as your feverish skin makes contact with the almost painfully ice cold cement. Soon, you find yourself raising your knees and wrapping your arms around them. The tile floor provides as much heat and comfort as the wall. Everything in the bland white room provides the same feeling of acceptance.
None.
You lift your head and stare blankly at the ceiling, strands of hair falling out of place. "I want to..."
Your eyes start clouding up, your breath hitches and you start feeling constricted. The white walls feel as if they're slowly moving towards you, boxing you in. You bury your head between your arms. "I want to..."
The claustrophobic sensation closes in on you. You want to cry, but your throat feels hoarse. Unnaturally dry. You can almost feel your bones growing brittle and turning to dust. You try to laugh at your sudden paranoia, but it comes out as short, harsh coughs. You never thought gagging on air was possible before, not until today.
Or was it tonight?
You can't tell anymore.
The room continues closing in around you. Your eyes are watering already, but you still feel painfully dry. You bite down on your tongue, and in a minute or so, a coppery taste fills your mouth. You swallow and yet you still feel dry. Unnaturally dry.
You start to feel bile rising in your throat.
This time, you were able to laugh. It sounded strained, but it was still passable as a laugh.
You screw your eyes shut, a few drops manage to escape and slowly fall down your face. You release your grip around your legs and let both them and your arms fall down. You snap your head up and let that same harsh laugh out.
You open your eyes, murky pools of blue look around the room.
Slowly, you stand up and walk towards your bed. Plain white sheets, plain metal frame. You lie down and stare back up at the ceiling.
You don't feel claustrophobic anymore.
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"It's fine to forget it if it's a fantasy"
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Everything is in its place. The sun is out and the skies are clear. The grass is a vibrant green and spots of different colors accentuate the park in the form of different flowers sprouting around.
You look around and notice children running around. You relax and listen to their voices.
Their cheerful voices.
Laughing.
Singing.
Living and being happy.
Then, you finally notice something's off. You look around, trying to pinpoint what's giving you that coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Everything is in its place.
Everything was in its place.
You notice that the children you were watching had no faces. And their once joyful voices started turning into pained screams.
Your eyes widen at the sudden realization as you quickly clutch your stomach. You stumble, but luckily before you fall over, you manage to keep yourself up with the help of a nearby tree.
You close your eyes and block out the shrieking, you continue gripping tightly on the tree, fingernails digging painfully deep into the bark.
You slowly open your eyes, fear nagging at your insides. You look around again.
A sigh of relief barely escapes your lips.
Everything is in its place. You smile and look around again, ingraining the scene in your memory.
At least, you think you were.
You wake up and remember nothing of it.
You smile again and look around. A bitter smile; there was no need to ingrain this setting, it's one you'll have to live with until your last breath.
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"It's fine to erase it if it's an illusion"
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You sit up on the bed. Your hair sticking out at odd angles and your eyes still being invited by gravity. You shake your head, forcing yourself awake before standing up. You look around the plain white room again.
Will anything change if you close your eyes?
For the better?
For the worse?
Either would be preferable. The same scene was getting tiring. You tense after realizing that this was how it will be.
Always.
The feeling of isolation would forever accompany you. Permanent loneliness.
A bitter smile as you walk towards the door. Clutching the metal knob, you slowly turn it and open the door. You're greeted by a palette of white. The bitter smile remains on your face as you walk away from your room.
It was your room, wasn't it?
Or was it a prison cell?
You don't bother with the difference anymore, it was getting tiring.
Wearing the same over-sized white shirt, you trudge down the hallways. The sound of bare feet slapping against tile echoes around the empty hall. You stop in front of another white door.
You turn the knob and go inside. Folded up neatly on top of the cold tile counter next to a white vase were clothes. Clothes prepared especially for you. The fabric was a bland white. You feel like barfing at the sight of it.
You slowly remove the shirt and your undergarments, leaving them on the floor. You push the shower curtain away and step inside.
Slowly, you turn on the faucet and let the cold water cascade on you. You wish you were able to shiver.
You close your eyes as you reach for a bottle of shampoo and wash your teal locks.
You continue bathing lethargically for almost half an hour.
You turn the faucet off and reach for your towel hanging on the shower curtain rod. You wrap it around your torso and grab another towel to dry your hair.
You set the used towel on the floor and pick up your discarded clothes. As you walk over to put the clothes in the hamper, you notice something.
Inside the once empty vase was a bright red rose.
You close the hamper and turn to put on your freshly made garments.
The flower inside the vase has wilted.
You finish donning the white strapless dress and head for the door.
The vase was empty again.
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"It's fine to misinterpret it if it's the truth"
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You walk down the hall further. Still barefoot, the sounds of your steps bouncing off the walls.
A few more minutes and you reach another door. This time, you feel reluctant. You hold your breath as you slowly twist the knob to open the door.
After what felt like an eternity, you finally see color.
Real colors. Ones that you can touch.
But even then, you couldn't.
You let out the breath you've been holding and finally notice the man wearing a black suit, long violet hair tied into a ponytail, standing next to a pitch black limousine.
Your blue eyes make contact with his, their color obscured by the shades he was had on. He nodded as acknowledgment and held the door to the limousine open.
You slowly descend down the few steps. A pair of white flats lay there. You pick them up and put them on before continuing towards the open door.
Once you make it inside, you nod at the man, muttering a quite thanks beneath your breath.
He nods back, this time his shades falling down the tiniest bit. You note that his eyes were a dark, almost purple, blue.
You also note that there was an unfamiliar emotion swimming in his irises.
Despite being able to finally leave that wretched white prison, you feel confined.
It was only a temporary leave, regardless on whether or not you perform up to his standards.
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"It's fine to stop it if it's sympathy"
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During the entire duration of the ride, neither of you exchange words.
As you near your destination, you begin to realize what it was you saw in his eyes.
Your stomach churns at the thought and you feel venom slowly making its way up your throat.
Fear.
He was afraid.
He was afraid of what you were about to face.
He was feeling fear, for you.
You, who has slowly been rendered to feel nothing.
He was concerned for you.
He only met you this day, and yet, he didn't want anything to happen to you.
It wasn't concern.
It was pity.
Pity, for the young girl sitting behind him.
You, who has slowly been rendered to feel nothing.
You feel spite for the man.
Whether it was genuine concern or simply pity, it didn't matter.
It made you feel helpless.
It made you feel hatred for yourself.
Stop. You want to yell at him to stop feeling sorry for you.
But you can't.
You're too tired.
Maybe...
You really are helpless.
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"It's fine to misinterpret it if it's friendship"
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You finally reach your destination. The vehicle pauses briefly in front of the large wrought iron gates, a guard comes to check if everything's as it should be. The purple haired man rolls the window down as the guard pops his head inside. Once he makes sure that your presence was indeed there, he pulls his head out and gives his buddy the signal to open the gates.
They slowly creak open, and the limousine is driven inside.
You stare out the window and look at the lavish gardens.
Intricate topiary.
Exotic flowers.
Realistic sculptures.
It was a truly revolting design.
The vehicle stops in front of a mansion. Large, and foreboding. That was how you saw the building.
The purple haired man opens his door and goes outside. He walks over to your door and opens it for you.
You stand up and prepare to walk inside the garish front doors but you feel something stop you. The purple haired man tightens his grip on your shoulders.
"I'm sorry that I'll never be able to understand", he mutters loud enough for you to hear before letting go.
You smile. It was sincere enough this time and you mutter a quick "thank you" back.
As you walk towards the front doors, you hear him mention his name. Thank you, Gakupo-san..
The doors are slowly pulled open from inside, and you're greeted by a line of maids and butlers. All of them bowing down as the show respect.
To hide spite.
You keep your face straight as you walk towards the lavish staircase. You hear their voices echo behind you in greeting.
"Welcome back, Hatsune-oujo".
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"It's fine to forget it if it's aspiration".
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You were young that time.
You were happy that time.
You were alive that time.
You were free that time.
You were able to cry freely that time.
You were able to truly smile that time.
You were able to truly laugh that time.
You were able to feel that time.
As you make your way up the steps, you only remember of that time.
That time, you wanted to be happier as you grew older.
You promised yourself that.
Promises are easily broken.
As you push the doors the the study, as you remember it, open, you are greeted by a man standing up and glancing over at the window.
His features are harsh, sharp, defined. He has the same teal hair as you, the same blue eyes as you.
And soon, you will have the same cold heart as him.
You don't flinch as you walk inside and let the doors slowly slam shut behind you.
"Hello, father".
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"It's fine to kill it if it's affection."
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- end -
Author's Rant: A one-shot, to finally kill the plot bunny. Song: Spring Snow Sanatorium, Producer: Waka
This fic isn't based on an interpretation of the song or anything deep like that. No. The song was just inspiration for this one-shot. But I'm guessing about half of you that read this already know that. I was just clarifying.
This one-shot is somewhat related to CULTURE: Liberalization Ward. But, you can read it stand-alone since it's oh-so perfectly vague-y. Review if you want, or just read. And be like a ninja or something.