Cliché
by mistsplash
He had always complained about their talk of fairytales and fantasies; he had always shot down any dreams they had about princes and sunsets and magic. He had always mocked those stupid chick-flicks they watched. He had always intoned that he knew exactly what was going to happen, which usually resulted in a pillow being chucked at him from across the room.
Simply said, Tai Kamiya was not fond of anything cliché.
He knew that there were always two roads, both of them painfully obvious, that the characters of the cursed cliché could meander down.
The first path was the simple, overused, highly unrealistic scene of a sickening declaration of love. Said scene was usually made even cheesier by a passionate kiss to seal it.
The second road, the slightly darker but obvious all the same road, was often used as a supposedly dramatic finish to a movie or book that had already been injected with surplus drama. Bluntly put: one of the characters (usually the main character or their lover) ended up dead. It was made obvious by excessive foreshadowing, yet girls seemed to lose themselves in tears whenever such a scene appeared.
Honestly, Tai preferred something more action-filled, something with weapons galore and minimum romance—or maybe a movie about sports.
So, then, how did he find himself in love with his best friend? He didn't know; he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to know, either. All in all, he was stuck in some sort of movie, a colorless, bland, deathly cliché movie.
And maybe it was just some feeble working of his imagination, but for a moment, he thought that she'd loved him too. He thought they could start it like a cliché and end it like a cliché, as two best-friends-turned-lovers. He had actually been convinced that they could become more than just Tai and Sora.
He was wrong.
Her rejection had hurt, it had hurt like hell, but he wouldn't show that. He was the hero in this stupid movie known as his life, and he was not going down as the bad guy, as the jealous, overprotective best friend. He wouldn't let her see the hurt.
He had encouraged her. He had encouraged her to go on and leave him, just like a good guy would—because good guys are selfless people.
Every touch had hurt more than the realization that he was being rejected. Deep down, he was just as selfish as anyone else, but he couldn't—wouldn't—let her see that. He was the supportive, smiling best friend; he couldn't give up that role over something stupid like rejection, no matter how painful.
Tai Kamiya really did hate clichés.
In reality, there are no clichés. There are no happy endings and special moments. In reality, your best friend won't love you back, no matter how hard you try, because life is just cruel like that—taunting you with joyous images and promises, only to let you fall in the end.
Author's Notes:
I'm on the verge of hating this story, but it's not as bad as other things I've written, so whatever. I'm not a huge fan of angsty-Tai, because it's so not Tai, but eh. Reviews are love.