A short Hardrock fanfic by Jessie
Soft charcoal-black hair bushed across his forehead as the wind rustled about him. There was something absolutely liberating about letting himself go, wild and unchecked. It was these times, when he was alone in an unpopulated desert, that he could release the pent-up frustrations within him.
The others would never understand. How could they? None of them had the same hunger for everything, for just plain being alive… And none of them were forced to extinguish the same passion, for the sake of control. Ryo's fires were allowed to burn freely, only further feeding his power. He was the decision-maker. He was the one everyone relied upon. He never needed to learn the art of suppressing himself.
"One note personality." Harsh. "Dependable as a rock." No, Shu Rei Fuan wasn't allowed to have more depth than that. Stone doesn't possess a heart, a soul. A rock never cries.
Had his yoroi doomed him to a loveless existence? Yes, he was a bachelor. A frikking swinging single. It wasn't as though he'd been given a choice in the matter; Samurai Troopers weren't allowed love lives.
He hated to be associated with his title these days. His struggle to contain his increasingly volatile personality seemed to be faltering. It was as though his true self had been encased deep within his yoroi, hibernating until the day he could proclaim himself free of his duty. That day didn't seem to be coming anytime soon.
His fist curled into another command for destruction as his feelings of helplessness compounded. He was trapped by his own destiny. Helpless sand dunes fell before his absolute fury, one after the next. Why couldn't anybody see the true him, the real Shu hidden behind the jokes and the food? Perhaps he did too good of a job masking his emotions…
If he were to die tomorrow, who would mourn him? Really and truly mourn, rather than shedding a few meaningless tears at the times it would be expected of them…? These boys he'd called "friend" for so long, those who he would gladly give his life for… How much did they truly mean, aside from a simple representation of what he yearned so desperately to escape? To escape, to truly escape, he'd have to leave them behind.
Of course, that was an imaginary scenario. There is no escape from destiny. He was going to stay in the rut he called existence, until the day of his death. He emitted a low growl, stepping away from the desert, beginning his trek to the place he begrudgingly referred to as "home". As he turned into the wind, slight sparkles were blown away from his cheeks.
They must have simply been sparkles.
Stone doesn't cry.