Title: Someday
Author: Akane Arihyoshi
Disclaimer: I might as well own it. What could you do about it? You're just a fangirl.(/boy)
Warnings: This isn't exactly a happy read.
It was just a mutual sort of screwed up amity, but it was all we really had. It was never enough, but it was the best we could do, and it never meant anything, but we had the comfort of knowing that we wished it meant something, and that was almost as good. That was all we ever had, and that was all I ever dreamed I wanted.
Just someone to share this with. Someone to talk to. Someone who knew.
It's not easy to live this life. Not easy to know what I know. And he did, and he knew, and he shared it with me until it wasn't all that bad anymore, and I fancied that maybe if I had the chance I could really love him someday.
Not now, never now. Then was the dreams of tomorrow. Yesterday was the hopes of today. Now never had a place. Never now, not now. Now was incomplete.
Instead we dreamed of the morrow. But at the same time we didn't. We knew pretty easily that then would never come, and now was all we had, but we didn't even have that, because now didn't exist. It never had.
We'd been cheated out of now by the past.
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I never wanted it to happen like this.
And I never quite understood how I knew that, but I knew I had had dreams of love, somewhere far off in the past, a space in my head that wasn't even mine anymore, but somebody else's, and I had borrowed it maybe, just for a little while, to really know what it meant to be somebody.
That wasn't a feeling you often got here.
Then I met him, and things changed. I don't really see how they changed, and to all appearances they really didn't, but I feel like they did, as if anything I think means something. I didn't want him to be it, my vision, because he really could never be it, but he was it, and I took it.
He was my love, my god, my saving grace, and none of those things. But he was mine. I took whatever I got without complaint. Save for the future, pennies a day, and hope maybe someday. Maybe someday. Maybe back then, maybe later, never now.
Now means I can't love him.
Maybe someday.
But someday was ruined by yesterday.
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Someday, I say, we'll be happy and loving and caring. We'll have a house in a pretty world, flowers growing in the gardens, and in so many colors it pops your eyes out of your head just to see them. We'll talk to people and have them talk back, and say 'Howd'ye do?' (really, we will) at the neighbors and people that pass down the street, and we'll really truly love each other.
And he'll say yes, that sounds about right, and then we both think, but what do we know about any of this? and we know that we don't. We're quiet for awhile, but then we fight. Fighting, fighting, it's better than anything. We can feel pain, and when I stumble and he swings, I can feel the hurt he caused, and it's a striking thing, being caused a feeling because of another person. He made me feel. And it may not be love, but something like it has just occurred, and that's the next best thing. And then we keep going, and sometimes I can see something like light in his eyes.
But then when I turn to look it's gone.
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I'm a killer, and so is he. And it never bothered us at all until one day we realized it should, and it did. But it was just a fleeting moment, and then we didn't care anymore. We've done so much, and so much of it horrible things, that maybe it's sort of a blessing we don't care. Maybe not. Maybe it's a curse, and we used it wisely. Maybe none of us will ever care, never care, because caring is pain, and pain is weakness, and weakness is death.
Some of us felt. They died.
Is that a risk I'm willing to take for him? Sometimes I say yes, and sometimes, most times, I say no. No it's not. But I think sometimes that it would be nice if I could. If there wasn't any consequences. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to really trust him.
Sometimes.
Not all the time. Just sometimes.
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Fire burns. And some burns heal, and some don't. Burns to your skin work their way to a healing, but they scar. It'll always be there, that scar, you'll always have it. It'll never go away.
That's how I feel about him sometimes, when I really stop to think about him. He's a scar from my past life that won't seem to go away no matter how I prod at it. And I suppose I don't really want him gone at all. I want him to stay here with me, but it's only because I'm selfish and I hate it when my things are taken away from me. I figure it was a lesson I forgot to learn in my childhood, that far off memory. That scattered dream.
And god, maybe I knew him in the last life. Maybe me and him were children together in some bloody suburb, pushing each other on the swings in some outrageously painted playground. So how did we get here? How did we end up like this?
Hell, do I even care? Well, not about me, maybe.
I don't like it when other people take my things away from me.
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He has red hair that shines.
It's beautiful, really, maybe. Shocking and bright and so, so out of place in this kind of world. But then we'll go somewhere else, like, god, I don't know, the Pride Lands or something, and I'll take a look at him and I'll kind of stop and think "It fits." Because, sure, there, it does.
I don't know why, but it's kind of soothing. The color clashing with the green acidic tones of his eyes and the pink of his skin, the black of the cloak. It's comforting. Maybe it was my favorite color, that red, back when I was somebody, when I mattered. But god, it's bright red.
But then I look again, and no. It's not soothing, because it's all wrong.
And I look again and it's the color of blood.
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It's dark outside.
It's always dark outside.
And sometimes, inside, it'll be lighter, it'll be just a little bit brighter than the darkness outside, but it's fleeting, because everything here is dark.
The places are dark. The people are dark, and the hearts are darkest, barely in existence.
This world wants to return to the darkness. I can feel it sometimes when I stop and feel the world turning. When I really stop and try to get in tune with the place I am. But it scares me so much that I don't do it often.
And then one time, I told him. I told him what I thought about it, and he didn't scoff at me, or laugh at me, but no, he listened, and he agreed. And it was nice, nice of him, even though he really didn't care. He didn't care at all, but he said he did, because he knew I cared, and that was enough for me.
A little courtesy goes a long way here.
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It's not a trust thing. I don't trust him worth shit, and he doesn't trust me either. It's hard to put faith in someone when you've never felt faith before. He keeps things from me, and I keep things from him, but there will be these moments when we'll slip, and he'll be stoned and he'll forget that we're not really human, not really in love, and he'll tell me something he's held onto for awhile. And then sometimes I don't see him for days, because he's destroying evidence. Because now that I know I can screw up everything, tell someone his weaknesses, mess up his whole life. It would be so easy.
And he's right not to trust me, because in the end I'm heartless and callous and I would betray him. But there's always the knowledge that we wish we weren't like this. Maybe that's what keeps us together in the very end.
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We'll be sitting together on the clock tower, having scared off the locals from this part of town, watching the perpetual sunset and sunrise and he'll turn to me and say, I wish I was in love with you. And he'll mean it, and I think, maybe that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me. And I'll say it back to him, and he'll nod and act like it's trivial, because it is, it's trivial. It's nothing, just some words that pretend to mean something. And someday, maybe someday, they'll mean something.
And I start to think, maybe someday, someday far off, when we get that nice house in that nice world, live together like lovers and wave to the locals instead of scaring them away, and someday when we can live again, I might rephrase the words, I might use them differently, but here I have what I've got, and that's all someday anyway.
Maybe someday I could really love this boy.
A/N: And that's all I have to say on he subject of Akuroku.
Have a nice Akuroku Day.
Review if you read, please.
~Akane