Snow (By: Madame Lunaris)
Disclaimer: I don't own TeniPuri, Scrubs, Gravitation, House, Ouran or whatever the hell I'm writing about.
Note: Yeah, I'm back. I've never actually been gone. I just... haven't been writing. ANYWAY... sad story that doesn't make sense.
Shishido Ryou hated the snow, because snow always tries to make everything look peaceful and pure, when really... it isn't. Snow makes everything look beautiful, calm and... right. When really, it wasn't.
Ohtori Choutarou loved the snow, every time it did, he would just stare into space for hours, reading or writing or just thinking about the things that were meant to be. Or wasn't meant to be.
He said that the snow is like a canvas, so white and clean and symbolizing the cold end, the closing on the paper that you've already drawed on, mucked up. And spring is the new picture, where everything is lively and just the opposite of winter. But still beautiful.
For a little while, Shishido believed that.
You see, Choutarou had been an optimist, whilst Shishido looked on seeing the miserable. Together they made reality, pain and pleasure, happy and sad. For awhile it had been perfect.
He would never forget that winter's evening.
There was the laughter and happiness and the cheer from everyone, nothing could have gone wrong. And then it did, cause who ever was up there hated them, hated happiness, hated anything that caused it.
And when the blood had been spilt on that white, cold canvas, Shishido thought it looked... pretty. He knew then that all the happiness was just a mask, a cover from the great pain that the world didn't want to feel.
Sometimes, though, when he saw the snow... he could hear Choutarou and his happiness, so lively and beautiful...
Choutarou reminded him of the snow.
And that's why he hated it.
And then a small hand would work it's way into his dreams and the snow colored hair and honey hues would be back, and he wanted it to stop.
- - -
Atobe Keigo knew that ever since Ohtori Choutarou died, Shishido Ryou had been far from stable. He would look at the white walls of his room and draw on it, telling the story of how it ended, and how it never began. Paintings of a beautiful silver-haired somebody that no longer existed, and the hatred caused by pain.
He couldn't do anything, he knew, everyone knew...
Three months later, Shishido Ryou was dead.
- - -
Shishido Ryou
September 29th-February 14th
Because life was harsh, but you held on.
It was ironic, and nothing hurt more than knowing that the gravestone was lying.
JiNotes: I love it when stories don't make sense... Really, I do. I don't know what posessed me to do this, but Holy Krad...