How Long Since – Mukuro Rokudo & Chrome Dokuro
How long has it been? Eyes fluttered beneath goggles, the same despair flooded him senses. Just how long has it been? Five? Ten? Twenty? He couldn't keep track anymore, his body was deteriorating, his senses growing dull, his mind disoriented. Just how long has it been since he was free? To do as he wished, to see everyone around him full of life? Did they miss him? Did they even remember him, after all he did to crave him name onto their skin, was it just cosmetic?
She hadn't seen him for so long; the last of his messages was broken, bleak, unlike him. But she still held it close to her heart, just like every other thing he had given her. It was a treasure of hers.Just how many nights had it been since? Her hand clutched onto the ruffles of her blouse, just where her heart would have been. She wasn't dependant on him anymore; she could create illusions that rivaled his best, even at a mediocre level. But it never mattered, because he always ranked over her life, her values, her own feelings.
He heard them speaking. Them, his captors. Number 1-0-5-6-9 was his new name. What was his old one? Was he a number just as now? Did he have a family, friends, people who cared for him? Or was he born in a tube and was due to die in one as well?
She sighed; finely manicured fingernails tapped the wooden surface of the table. How long until the attack? It was dangerous, so very dangerous. To attempt a score in which the chances was definitely not in their favour. Still, she had pushed for this, even if she knew of the definite consequences, she had to do this. She couldn't leave him there anymore. She couldn't, no, they had to win, both him and her. They had to.
For the first time in uncharted years, he was blessed with an escape. A dream towards uncertain reality. Though unknown, he couldn't help but to let his lips quirk slightly. Anything was better than living with the practiced ease of conformity. It wasn't living at all.
Her eyes widened at the size of the obsidian cylinder, just one of many. Could she do it? Would she break the one barrier separating him from her?
One step closer.
He thrashed, something was drawing closer, something familiar. What was it? Who was it? Were they here for him? Who were they? He only wants out, out of this place, out of the darkness. How long was it since light shone on him? How many years?
One hand stretched.
She paused in front, ragged breathing as she pressed her hand upon the tinted glass. Tentatively, her left reached out, touching the cylindrical cell.
Two hands reached.
Fishing out a trident, one without much combat ability but with much sentimental value, her hand drew back, and like the rubber band shooters children used to make, the weapon collided with the offending material.
What was this? This sensation? For the first time in many, he felt a prickling sensation, one that made him want to curl up and hold himself tight. He felt the mask taken off. So long had it rested upon his face that it felt like a part of himself. He shut his eyes tightly, unwilling to see what was to come.
Fingers hesitated, curling back.
Her hands ran across his delicate features, fifteen years and he was still so beautiful. No, not beautiful, he had no life. But he was beautiful, and she was sure he would become beautiful in due time. Her fingers traced over his jaw line, still pointed and sharp without a stubble to be seen. His nose was still so straight, almost regal, almost. His mouth was open, sucking in deep breaths, unaware of his surroundings. Her hands landed on his eyes, shut so tightly. Did he not want to see her? They twitched. His eyelids twitched, as if he was fighting against himself.
Last time he had opened his eyes; there was nothing, just a prick of a needle and the pain of the aftermath. Should he take the risk? Did he have the right to? He was just an experiment waiting to be put down for all his failures. He was 1-0-5-6-9, nothing more, nothing less. Call it intuition, but he desperately wanted to reach out to something, to open his eyes to see something longed for, something wanted, something needed. He could hear a voice calling for him, light and wispy, it called. Who? It was a name, his name? He had a name? It became more pressing, more urgent, louder, gripping, until he could hear the name clearly.
Mukuro-sama.
His eyes flew open, cerulean clashed with lilac before he was lost in fields of violets,
"Chrome?"
Four hands held.
.
.
.
A/N: I... like totally hope you got this fic! And O-M-G I feel so angsty after writing this! Like weird, huh?
...Alright, I'm so very very sorry that you had to hear me rant like that, i'm still a child so, doing stupid dares is all part of it... =__="
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this ficlet of mine. Yes, I am a review whore, so I want to rake them in... in other words...
REVIEW MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Please and Thank you's
...oh yea... also, I have NEVER used so many he s and she s in my entire life for a slightly less than two page story... : D