I kind of wrote this in Physio lab because I was done with my work, there was like half an hour left and the professor just wouldn't let us leave and I was all alone with no friends there. *rolls eyes* So it's weird and short and I'm not even completely sure what it is. One of my friends said I should go ahead and post it so I did.
On the plus side...
I'm sorry but there is no plus side to this. It's just bullshit. I warn you this before hand.
On that happy note, I hope you enjoy said bullshit. :D
"Empty"
If you asked him, Kamamoto would tell you his best friend was Yata Misaki.
And he knew, if you asked Yata, his answer would be Fushimi.
Always Fushimi.
Always, with tears glistening and trembling lips.
Fushimi - the name was almost a synonym for pain itself at this point.
Pain, hurt, deceit, betrayal.
Traitor.
Kamamoto could tell you things. Things no one else knew because they never knew where - or when - to look. Little points that seemed minuscule in the grander scheme of things but were in fact, far more important than the image you saw, taking a step back.
After all, was it not the smallest puzzle pieces that came together to form a bigger picture?
These were things you'd miss were you not aware on who to focus on.
Yata. Fushimi.
You did not think of one without the other.
Two immensely different beings, complimenting each other in ways no one else could.
Red. Blue.
Blue. Black.
Bruises. Cuts.
One, a wild crow, aiming high for the sky, reaching limits and then breaking through them. No restraints, no chains.
The other, a caged wolf. Prowling inside, injured, waiting, bidding it's time. Fighting for it's freedom, teeth bared, allowing no one near.
You couldn't just replace the presence of one in the other's life - he of all people would know.
After all, when Fushimi had walked out, Kamamoto had tried - tried so hard - to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. To put Yata back together again.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't and it hurt.
Hurt to see Yata hurt but he couldn't take it away, couldn't remove the shards which were cutting in so, so deep.
He couldn't let the wounds heal and eventually become scars, couldn't let those scars fade.
Because there were none.
There were none - but there was pain.
There was nothing - but it hurt.
There was no Fushimi - but that's all there ever was.
Because somehow, Fushimi had set himself ablaze and yet Yata had been the one burnt.
And Kamamoto knew that there was no cure. No way to soothe the ache. Not with the traitor aggravating the wounds all the time, giving them no chance to close. Infecting them so badly that Kamamoto wondered whether it would ever heal. Deft fingers, scratching on a ruined red, raking over a charred mess of flesh and friendship. Every time Fushimi bled from the blackened mark, Yata's eyes were the ones that shed the tears.
Fushimi didn't break Yata. He didn't destroy their little world.
No.
He just took his half and left.
Had he destroyed what they had once shared, Kamamoto knew he could have fixed it, fixed Yata. It would take time, but he knew they could have done it. But Fushimi had taken it away, leaving nothing to mend.
How do you fix what didn't exist anymore?
Fushimi had left him to deal with an incomplete Yata. Because when there was no Saruhiko, there was no Misaki.
Wait, that was wrong.
When there was a Saruhiko, there was a Misaki.
You would miss it.
A quick glance would reveal smiles, laughs and a fire, burning brighter than the sun. Eyes that sparkled and shined, gleamed and burned.
But Kamamoto had known those hazel eyes before anyone else so he saw. He saw how they dimmed out when everyone looked away, saw how they were not always bright because he was happy.
Saw how they always, always drifted to a corner - lingering for a second too long on a stool that seemed as lonely as the one who used to occupy it.
Fushimi had taken the wild crow and locked him in a cage.
There was no release - no escape.
That's when the helplessness came crashing through. There was nothing he could so - nothing to act as an anesthesia to relieve him from his agony. Nothing to help him move on.
There was a void in place of Fushimi inside of Misaki - an abyss that he nor anyone else could fill.
They could try; they had tried but no avail.
You can't fix what wasn't broken.
And Yata Misaki wasn't broken.
He was empty.
Before you all totally call me out on the bullshit, let me leave a friendly reminder: half an hour - no friends.
Good day, I'll be over there trying to formulate a SIDE: BLUE, because lets face it, how am I going to do that?
*shadows whispering* Go attend that class again.
No. Not happening. I rather kill myself thank you very much.
Okay enough of this useless monologue no one cares about. I'm out.