I don't know why I made this, but, hey, I did, so . . .
Please. Do enjoy.
-m16-
"This place is boring."
I looked up from the book I was pretending to read, and stared monotonously at him, like I always did since he came here.
Of course this place was boring. He had me as a companion, and, unless you get the wrong idea since you haven't been with me as long as he did, I'm not the most exciting companion there was. Nope. I'm just plain, damn bland, and I'm proud of that. He should know that. We've known each other for a long, long time.
Yet, here he was, complaining that this place was "boring".
"Hey, peasant," he taunted, looking at me with a smile. "Go do something entertaining for the prince."
"Like what? Strip in front of you?"
"That can be considered."
He laughed maniacally yet softly, as if he intended that smile to scare me.
Well, let me just tell all of you that it did.
It scared me to the bones.
Not because it was scary.
Rather it scared me because I may never see it again.
"Ushishishi . . ."
"I don't want to," I replied, opening the book to a random page. Anything to conceal my unwavering fear and loneliness with a mask of nonchalance and blankness.
"You dare refuse a prince?" he asked in a mock tone. His hands trembled to lift a knife. I actually found myself staring at the silver metal, seeing—and, in the least sense, hoping—that it does fly off his hands and penetrate through my body, and make me bleed.
I bleed to know that he's alive to cause me to.
"Shishi, the prince is tired," he announced, wearily dropping his hand down to his side, and then coughed. A cold, hard, and loud cough. A cough that echoed through the room, towards my deafening ears. It felt excruciatingly painful, the way the sound waves hit themselves through my veins, towards my wheezing heart.
I wanted to die then and there.
"Damn," he heckled when the coughing stopped. I watched his failed attempts to move himself in a much comfortable position. He was hindered by the numerous machines that surrounded his sorry being. I can tell that he wanted to knock them all off, and free himself.
He wanted to be victorious against all odds.
No one can ever restrain him.
Again, he looked at me with the same smile.
"Hey, peasant," he called out hoarsely. "Come here."
I stared at him blankly.
"Come here," he said a little sternly.
Still, I stared at him blankly.
"I said 'come here'!" He cried aggressively. I wanted to throw the book at him, and run away. He had no rights to order me around. I may be a peasant. I may be no royal blood like how he claims himself as. I may not be what he thinks is rightful to stand up to him, but I will never be his slave.
He has no need for a slave.
"Come here." Evidently, his voice dropped on the fourth invitation, and still, I looked at him blankly. He looked somehow desperate to have me near him, but still, I didn't give consent.
No matter how many times he called, I won't come near.
"Hey, Froggy—"
"You don't need me to come near," I told him. "I can hear you from where I sit. My ears are not deaf to not be able to understand what you have to say, though, I know that it will be something meaningless as always."
"There are some things that the ears cannot hear from far away," he replied unexpectedly. I looked at him, eyebrow arched, but he had already looked away, towards the ceiling.
"Bel, I . . ."
"Call me 'Senpai'," he interrupted without looking at me.
"You're not my . . ."
"I said call me 'Senpai'!"
"Senpai, you're too loud and stubborn. Please stop before I call that lady in white and have you sedated another time."
"Do that and I'll have her sedate you, too."
"You can't do that."
"Of course I can, 'cause I am a . . ." He coughed again, and I just watched him with bleak eyes. I wanted him to know that I didn't care, because that was what I wanted to feel.
I wanted an illusion that will show the both of us that he has nothing to leave here in this world. He can die, and no one would care. That will make parting much easier.
I wanted him to die right now before he feels too connected to this reality.
"Fran . . ."
"Call me 'Froggy'," I found myself mumble out of surprise. I was supposed to bring that back when I saw him give me a mischievous smile. It connoted that there's nothing more I could say. He was going to call me by that stupid nickname all my life.
The stupid nickname he gave me when he was lonely from another.
"Peasant," he said. "I'm hungry."
"So?"
"So, you get me something to eat."
"You're not allowed to eat, remember? Besides, it's not like you would hold the food in. You get to have one measly bite, and, soon, you pour out all your insides. It's very disgusting to watch, you know."
"This time would be different," he reassured me. Funny. How many times did he promise me that?
"No," I refused.
"Get me a peach mango pie from the canteen. The food here isn't edible."
"Didn't you hear me? I said no . . ."
"I want it here in five minutes . . ."
"You're not getting it."
"Oh, come on . . ."
"Still no . . ."
He thrashed lightly on his bed, as if he was a spoiled child deprived of his petty wants. I could've laughed, but I couldn't.
"That won't work on me, Your Highness," I told him.
"What if I called you Fran from now on?"
"Not a chance."
"But, I'm craving for a peach mango pie right now!" he complained. "Fuck it, if only I wasn't trapped here in these putrid manacles, then I would've achieved what I wanted! I hate this! I really, really hate this!"
I watched him thrash around in frustration. Perhaps, later on, he'll find himself too tired to move a muscle, and perhaps sleep away the frustrations. However, that he didn't do. I endured about twenty minutes of deafening silence as I waited for him to say anything. He didn't. I looked towards his bed, and he was still breathing. Heavily. I stretched out my neck to see his face, and, still, I couldn't see anything.
Soon, I stood up and walked towards him. His eyes were still hidden underneath his soft blond locks, but, I saw it. A lone tear trickling down his pale, almost thinning face.
Was he crying from not being able to get that stupid peach mango pie he craved for? No. That's not it. Belphegor will never cry for anything dense. Although, if that is not the case . . . then what is?
"Fran . . ." he muttered, before he moved his head towards my direction. "Say, do I look like I'm crying?"
My heart skipped a beat.
He called me "Fran" again.
This was the second time.
"Yeah," I answered. "You look stupid."
"Heh, I'm not crying, peasant. I don't know where that tear came from."
He had to lie such an unbelievable lie. How stupid can this act get?
"You really want that peach mango pie?"
He nodded enthusiastically.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I love it," he replied, as if my question was a stupid one. "It's hard on the outside, yet so sweet and alluring on the inside. I love how it surprises me when I get the first bite, and watch how the creamy substance flows out of it."
So, even in this state, he was still willing to discuss about gore with anyone who dared to listen, huh?
"That's disgusting," I told him. He laughed, and I felt his eyes fall on me.
"You're like a peach mango pie, you know that?"
"Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?"
"The decision befalls on you, most probably. All I'm saying is that you're like a peach mango pie."
"Okay, so first I'm an amphibian, and now, I'm a piece of pastry . . ."
"You should thank me for telling you that."
"Right . . ."
"So, are you getting me one?"
"Let me think about it first . . ."
Of course I didn't. I just stole that moment to have at least a short moment of eye contact with him. He was surprisingly silent that time, and I was a bit worried in a sense, and yet, I did nothing. Soon, I couldn't take it and reached out my finger to touch his cheek. He gave out a groan, but, other than that, nothing.
He fell asleep.
I sighed, and went back to my seat. When I picked up the book, it suddenly dawned on me that I'll only be boring myself to death if I stay here all alone with a book I've read and reread for about five times. I needed to leave this place for the time being, and besides . . . I was hungry.
The canteen was almost empty, save for a few people I don't care about. I stared at the clock, and found that it was already eight in the evening. Evening has finally come upon me, and I hadn't realized. How long was I sitting there and watching him do nothing but complain?
I wasted my time, and I know it.
"Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?" the lady in the counter greeted. I looked up at the menu, and couldn't decide myself. Soon, a certain item caught my attention.
A peach mango pie.
I had to smile.
"I'll have that," I told her, slightly pointing at the picture. Then, a funny thought passed through me.
"Actually, make that two."
This is just going to waste, I thought as I stared dubiously at the two pieces of custard-filled pastries. Honestly, I have no idea why I bought them in the first place, but, there was something about it that called for me.
And, another thing . . . Why did I buy two?
I gave out a shrug as I tore one open, and took a bite.
For a moment there, I froze.
It felt weird.
I pulled it off of my mouth and watched the filling flow out of it. Why did I find this quite entertaining? It was as if I wanted to laugh and . . . eat more . . . As if I had this peculiar connection to this . . .?
"You're like a peach mango pie, you know that?"
He called me a peach mango pie, and, still, I have no idea why. Yeah, I know I mentioned that it sounded like gore, but, how come when I look at this, it made me feel different?
Hard on the outside . . .
Was he talking about my monotonous frontage that always left him irritated and annoyed? That sharp tongue of mine that had nothing to say but insults that he seemed to hate?
Yet so sweet and alluring on the inside . . .
Could it be possible that he saw through me and this façade I laid before him? Does he now know that deep inside, I have started to care for him? Is he aware that I treat him now as someone precious to my heart, even though we're now nothing but comrades . . .?
My feet began dragging me back to the room. Perhaps, I should stop thinking about such trivial things before I loose it. After popping the whole pie into my mouth, I turned to the corner, only to be pushed out of the way by rushing doctors. I watched them hurry themselves as they ran the hallway, and soon, I found myself muttering.
"Don't turn left," I hissed, fixing my eyes at the room where I came from. Although, like how one of Bel's knives pierced itself through my chest, fate played a bad trick on me, and the doctors turned left.
"Oh no . . ." I sprinted towards the room and found the doctors moving here and there. They were shouting, and doing things I couldn't see. I wanted to come near, but my feet wouldn't move in my will. They stayed there, frozen, forcing me to watch this scene with eyes wide open.
I watched the lady in white push two contraptions towards his bare chest, and how he bounced up. She did it again and again, and every after that, she'd watch a nearby screen intently, as if she was trying to see something she can't miss.
Soon, the same lady laid up her hands and stopped her assistants. She raised her arm and stared at the watch, and grimly walked out, leaving the others to wrap the familiar body in a white cloth, depriving me to see his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, touching my shoulder as she passed by me. I didn't respond. It was almost as if I couldn't hear her.
Come here . . .
At a snail's pace, I moved my feet towards the room, brushing through the others who were exiting with the same grim faces. Some of them seemed to say something, but I didn't hear it. All I could hear was senpai calling for me.
Come here . . .
I stopped, two feet away from the bed. This was as far as I could go without doing anything. If I stepped even closer, goodness only knows what I'll do.
With a heavy heart, I raised the peach mango pie—untouched and unopened. He requested for this, and I have brought it to him.
His beloved peach mango pie.
"You said it won't be a waste," I mumbled robotically. "You said that this time, it was different."
I love how it surprises me when I get the first bite, and watch how the creamy substance flows out of it.
Tears fell down my dull eyes towards the cold ground, to where the piece of pie had fallen without a fight. I resented looking at him, and so, I resorted to land my eyes at the pastry.
Poor, little peach mango pie.
It would now be left as a waste.
-FIN-
Wow. I feel like I'm craving for some peach mango pie . . .
Please review while I go buy myself one :D
LoveLots~