Koisuru Boukun belongs to Takanaga Hinako
Wow, its been a while since I've typed that :|
Inspired by a prompt on livejournal that I read some time ago. I forgot who wrote them and where to find them.
Im really sorry about that because there were some really good ones. So if you guys find some tyrant prompts on livejournal let me know so I can give credit where credit is due.
Also largely inspired by the song Sorry by Buckcherry (although I dont really like them, the song has been stuck in my head)
I know I'm going to regret posting this...
There was something eerie about the darkness. Something wrong. For once, it felt like it didn't belong. But it was all he knew.
A small creak to the left made all his sense jump. Suddenly he could smell the antiseptic. He could taste something bitter. He heard the creak again, making him curious. He could feel—and he used that to find his eyes. As they slowly opened and focused, he held his breath.
The light was painful. New. As was the face now in the middle of his vision. New, but not entirely unfamiliar.
He recognized some of the features—the long straw-colored hair, highlighted with silver; the deep honey eyes which seemed to hold some sort of dark humor, hidden behind smudged glasses; the grim set of his mouth—yes, these were all very familiar. Others were less so, like the angle of his jaw or the way his hair fell in his eyes. It was as if he had seen this person before, perhaps in a dream, but never talked to him. Did he know him?
The man stared at him, waiting for…what? His had his head resting in the palm of one hand, and an expectant expression. Morinaga decided this would be a good time to get to know who this man was.
"Excuse—"he wasn't used to using his voice, and it cracked. He coughed, clearing his throat and tried again. "Excuse me, but…uh, who…who are you?"
The man raised his eyebrows as if he were surprised and turned away. Morinaga grimaced. How rude.
"Do you know where you are?" His voice was irritated, as if he was trying not to explode.
Morinaga was a bit alarmed, but he took a look around the room. He was sitting on a bed (a very uncomfortable one); the rude man was sitting in a plastic chair. The floors and walls were white and there was a small window built in, although the shades—also white—were drawn. In one corner was a bunch of machinery. There was a table next to the bed with a bottle of pills on it. "A hospital?"
The man looked back at him with a surprisingly patient expression. "Yeah. That's right."
"Okay," Morinaga drew out the word, unsure. "But who are you? Why are you here—wait why am I here?" The thought suddenly occurred to him. He had no idea why he was in a hospital. What was wrong?
The man chuckled. It was humorless, sarcastic. "You really don't remember anything do you?" He sighed then stretched his arms above his head, the joints popping audibly. Morinaga wondered how long he had been sitting there. It seemed as if he had been asleep since the beginning of time. He couldn't remember anything. Nothing specific anyways.
"You may not remember but you…" and he turned his head away, staring at the blank wall. "You used to love me. Before the accident, you loved me."
Morinaga swallowed loudly, not believing this stranger. "What accident?"
"The accident that almost killed you," the man whispered, placing his face in his hands. "And it's all my fault."