~Kagerou da ne~
Warnings: shounen ai-ish, late night writing, short
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Night, with its star-speckled sky and pale moon, flowed through the open window where a small boy leaned against its sill and stared into the void. Light made his large, beautiful eyes sparkle, but the effect was lost on the child's brooding expression. Silent in his dark room as he gazed outward, Naoe Nagi drifted slowly in his state of weary long-borne depression. Dark hair lifted slightly by a cold wind, he felt himself an extension of the blackness. Schwarz. Suddenly, he turned to glare at something also on his windowsill: a small vase, containing a single white flower.
Seeing it sitting there destroyed his calm relative peace. Eyes burning, the telekinetic threw the eyesore outside to plummet and smash on the ground below. For a twisted second, he entertained the thought of doing the same thing to the giver of the pale blossom, but shaking his head, he turned away from the outside world and walked into his small sleeping quarters. He didn't have time to think tonight, nor ever if it could be helped. It was late; he was going to take a shower and go to bed.
Typically, the hot water ran out as soon as he had taken out the soap, but Nagi barely reacted. It didn't really matter if it was comfortable; he was going to bed, anyway. Stepping out, he grabbed his appropriately small towel and dried off. He reached for the shirt he'd been planning to sleep in, but stopped. *_That_ shirt... it's not really mine...* Thankful it was too late, or perhaps early, for his coworkers to be awake, he crept back into his bedroom and pulled out a different shirt.
Making sure his door was locked, as always- even before then- he laid down, closing his eyes and listening to the vague nothing noises that made up the local sound of a solitary night. A few minutes later, as he stared at the ceiling in his pitch-black existence, it occurred to him how unlikely sleep was then or ever. *Why today?* he thought. *Why...?*
Hadn't they been happy? Hadn't they been- weren't they in love? Why, _why_ did it have to matter who they were or what kind of people they were or how old they were... It was so damn stupid. Nagi hadn't said a thing to anyone since then. He was sure Schuldig had known; he'd known all along. Perhaps Farfarello knew; the German seemed to tell him everything. Crawford hadn't known; if he had even suspected, there would have been hell to pay, but even that hadn't stopped the fifteen-year-old.
None of that mattered anymore. It was over; that much had been made clear. The whole thing was just another wound, one more pain to fade away and leave only a scar. A hollow half-smile twisted the troubled boy's lips as he thought of himself as his equally (albeit physically) scarred fellow assassin. Well, he had one more reason to loathe the world; Crawford would approve of that. *You were my last connection... and now you'll only be one more push towards the end.*
His eyes half-closed, knowing better than his mind just how tired he was. *I loved you... I _love_ you! Why?* he thought, pleading with the emptiness he knew all too well. *Pathetic,* he reprimanded himself. *It had to end eventually... forget him and move on.* He slid finally into sleep, uncertain, lost, weak, and whispering, "Omi..."
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Yeah, that's actually it. Sorry... I warned you it was short! Just a bit of RL slipping in there...
~Neko4~
March 2002
Warnings: shounen ai-ish, late night writing, short
-----------------
Night, with its star-speckled sky and pale moon, flowed through the open window where a small boy leaned against its sill and stared into the void. Light made his large, beautiful eyes sparkle, but the effect was lost on the child's brooding expression. Silent in his dark room as he gazed outward, Naoe Nagi drifted slowly in his state of weary long-borne depression. Dark hair lifted slightly by a cold wind, he felt himself an extension of the blackness. Schwarz. Suddenly, he turned to glare at something also on his windowsill: a small vase, containing a single white flower.
Seeing it sitting there destroyed his calm relative peace. Eyes burning, the telekinetic threw the eyesore outside to plummet and smash on the ground below. For a twisted second, he entertained the thought of doing the same thing to the giver of the pale blossom, but shaking his head, he turned away from the outside world and walked into his small sleeping quarters. He didn't have time to think tonight, nor ever if it could be helped. It was late; he was going to take a shower and go to bed.
Typically, the hot water ran out as soon as he had taken out the soap, but Nagi barely reacted. It didn't really matter if it was comfortable; he was going to bed, anyway. Stepping out, he grabbed his appropriately small towel and dried off. He reached for the shirt he'd been planning to sleep in, but stopped. *_That_ shirt... it's not really mine...* Thankful it was too late, or perhaps early, for his coworkers to be awake, he crept back into his bedroom and pulled out a different shirt.
Making sure his door was locked, as always- even before then- he laid down, closing his eyes and listening to the vague nothing noises that made up the local sound of a solitary night. A few minutes later, as he stared at the ceiling in his pitch-black existence, it occurred to him how unlikely sleep was then or ever. *Why today?* he thought. *Why...?*
Hadn't they been happy? Hadn't they been- weren't they in love? Why, _why_ did it have to matter who they were or what kind of people they were or how old they were... It was so damn stupid. Nagi hadn't said a thing to anyone since then. He was sure Schuldig had known; he'd known all along. Perhaps Farfarello knew; the German seemed to tell him everything. Crawford hadn't known; if he had even suspected, there would have been hell to pay, but even that hadn't stopped the fifteen-year-old.
None of that mattered anymore. It was over; that much had been made clear. The whole thing was just another wound, one more pain to fade away and leave only a scar. A hollow half-smile twisted the troubled boy's lips as he thought of himself as his equally (albeit physically) scarred fellow assassin. Well, he had one more reason to loathe the world; Crawford would approve of that. *You were my last connection... and now you'll only be one more push towards the end.*
His eyes half-closed, knowing better than his mind just how tired he was. *I loved you... I _love_ you! Why?* he thought, pleading with the emptiness he knew all too well. *Pathetic,* he reprimanded himself. *It had to end eventually... forget him and move on.* He slid finally into sleep, uncertain, lost, weak, and whispering, "Omi..."
--------------
Yeah, that's actually it. Sorry... I warned you it was short! Just a bit of RL slipping in there...
~Neko4~
March 2002