Another emo Loveless poem-type thing. One day, I'm going to write something happy for this pairing. Any roads, I don't own Loveless, never have, never will. Which is excellent, because I can't draw to save even a snail.
Never
There were no feet pawing the ground in front of his desk drawers.
No face leering in the window.
No blood sinking into his carpet.
But that wasn't the point.
There were no words he didn't want to hear.
Just the rhythmic seconds on his digital clock drifting through his ears.
Not like he missed him.
But that wasn't the point either.
Where was he, on this chilly July night?
Tucked up with those bastard Zeros?
Whispering sweet nothings into their fuzzed ears.
Or was he alone, finding empty company in the waning glow of his sixth cigarette?
Getting closer, but that wasn't the point either.
The truth was; he needed that creepy dickweed.
Couldn't sleep without him.
Had no idea how he'd managed all these years.
Needed some kind of contact; in the soft blimp of a message on his phone or a dull rapping on his window.
The point was, he wanted that man.
Furled and snoring, nose snuffling into the crook of his neck.
Wanted to wake to those calm eyes.
Needed some reciprocal proof, something to prove that it wasn't a lie he'd fallen for, but that diabolical deity.
Damn Soubi.