To tell the truth, I hate this character. H-A-T-E. If only I don't have anything important to do, I will observe why people adore this asdfgh#*^$ boy so much. It remains a mystery for me.
But life is a contradiction, right? So, this is it, my first Hurt/Comfort fic here. It doesn't mean I recently am bored with humor, I just feel like writing it.
Disclaimer: I never own him. Never and don't wanna.
Heiße Schokolade
It was pouring on the outside of the grand stained glass window. The dancing rain palpitated softly on the roof, then dripped to the earth's surface and absorbed through the sap. As cold as the luxury mansion looked like, it obviously felt warm inside the house. All thank went to expensive heater; the picturesque fireplace was just a simple touch for a cozy huge living room.
The bell on big cherry wood clock had rung twelve times, echoing throughout the room and being the only sound heard beside the falling clouds. The crescent moon disappeared; it had already been hiding all night. The dim tangerine light made a photographic shadow of a certain figure—the occupant of the residence. His long legs crossed while he sat on a comfy maroon chair with golden ornament on the head, his slender fingers drumming along its teak wood arm.
Dressing in navy blue satin pajamas, his broad chest was exposed a bit, illuminated by a nearby table lamp. A pair of dark blue eyes scanned the peripheral vision; a lot of king-like properties on the antique parquets, portrait photos and wall decorations on elegant wallpaper. He cocked his head, leaning against the cold window, breathing slowly that resulted in forming vapor on the glass. He pressed his ear closer, letting the chills sent to his nerves. Closing his eyes, he concentrated to the rhythm of rain; relaxing, freezing, stabbing. Murdering. He tried to process the flowing song of nature as his biological clock drifted him to sleep, a hope for this very second he had.
He didn't know how much he loathed insomnia, not because he was supposed to be flawless, but it was merely to shorten the seemingly long day. How five hours of night was precious for him, his escape to different realm. These endorphins and serotonin of his had not secreted yet; he needed stimulants to drive him in peacefulness.
So, here he was, propping his chin to his palm, his other hand lifting a cup of hot chocolate—made in Switzerland, shipped directly from the factory, made of a hundred percent fresh cocoa, processed in a very high quality method, the original taste and aroma guaranteed.
As theobromine going through his esophagus, his tongue sensing the typical bittersweet, and saturated fragrance of the beverage tickling his nose, he found himself being in between of consciousness and reverie. His lips curved a sincere smile.
Finally, he could dream, in which he could ignore hustle and bustle of life, free from cruelty of reality, two-faced backstabbers, sly friends, coercive parents, back-aching responsibilities, flaming blames, traitors, hypocrites, fake innocent faces, love and hate circumstances. He drowned tonight.
The title is Hot Chocolate in German.
Accept any form of constructive criticism. I'm still newbie to this, so... yeah. Hope you enjoy reading it :)