A/N: This is a short Suzaku-centric fic that I typed up while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's "Brothers on a Hotel Bed."
He Lives Inside
he would wake up with bloodshot eyes, green irises dimmed to nothing more than mere candlelight, regarding everything yet seeing nothing all at the same time.
on december nights, he would dream of pink haired princesses, of luminescent smiles, of white knights atop steeds and lavender dresses bloodied black and blue.
(he had to remind himself that the fairy tale was long gone, long over, that that chapter in his life had long since come to pass.)
he would look at the mirror, at the reflection of a boy that he does not recognize, a metaphor for a barely contained lie hidden beneath a black cape and a faceless mask.
on midsummer mornings, with his skin drenched in sweat, he would think of violets and purples blooming in empty sockets, of raven black hair growing upon a proud head.
(he will always try to scream, though try as he might, words always did stick to the hollow of his throat, choking him, telling him, that crying his heart out was blasphemy, a fervent prayer that would go unheeded.)
he would look at his hand, at the tanned surface that had twice taken a life and he would say goodnight and leave everything behind.
End
A/N: Thanks for reading and I'd really like to hear your thoughts about it. Too corny, too sappy? Please review…o_O