My fist slammed into the wall, missing by and inch, sailing by, the wind ruffling the fine hairs on his cheek, and smashing into the glass behind him. The sound of falling shards of mirror filled the air with the sound of chimes as they tinkled on the tiled floor. I knew I was in pain, but it was far off, a distant buzz in my mind, barely heard over my heavy breathing. My blood staining the grey wall, drawing lines down the bare cement like scarlet fingers, it dripped among the shards of mirror, tainting them with crimson, the drops reflecting and smearing their perfect circles, it almost looked like a scattering of flaming stars in a silver sky. It was so beautiful that it didn't fit in with the scene, the dirty tile floor they sat on, and the flickering fluorescents that lit it were to dim for such beauty.

This is in-san-ity,

The man stared at me, his green eyes like tourmaline, his pale flesh like cream, and those rose buds of his lips. Beautiful. I couldn't help myself, my finger slowly unclenched, the strength leaving them so quickly that it left me feeling hollow, used up, but those eyes held me up. They never strayed from mine, and I knew if they broke from mine for even a second, I would fall, my body hitting the floor hollowly like a puppet which sting have all been cut at once without hesitation. I felt my knuckles lift from the cement, and for a moment the buzzing overwhelmed my ears and I felt my head swim. But the gaze didn't let me, so I didn't. Instead of letting my hand drop, I felt it move, I watched almost detachedly as my fingers curled, cupping the cheek of the man, a second ago I want to hit. The touch was soft and the cheek strangely smooth and cool, the pale white of his skin contrasted to the tan and calloused skin of my own, and the ripped knuckles stained the alabaster with its tears, dirtying it. But the man still lent his face into my palm, smearing the scarlet almost as if he wanted to rub the vivid hue into his own colourless cheek.

This doesn't make sense me,

His eyes burned into mine, the colour to vivid in this dull world of monochromic and shades of shadows, it was almost as if he wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn't work so he had to throw the words from his eyes at me, forcing them into my head. It felt my mind go for a second, the room focusing suddenly, and tilting dangerously, the shadows stretched pulling into hands and claws and long skeletal grasping fingers, tugging at my hair, the fabric of my clothes at my face. Like they wanted to tear me apart, piece by piece, tearing me to ribbons, unraveling me, and twirling the ribbons like a maypole staked in hell, demons dancing around it and singing curses like songs. But the shadows left, and the room focused again, but I stared into the eyes of the devil once again.

You're making my thinking hazy,

Even though my vision was clear, I felt my thought dimming, blurring. The pictures not so clear, memories running together, and twisting until I could no longer make sense of them, forgetting whether the man before me was an angel or demon, I was starting not to care. The buzzing also started to fade, taking the sensations in my limbs with it; I could no longer feel the cheek pressed against my palm, only the faint radiating cold reminding me it was there. My breaths slowed as well and it was quiet with in me. I felt myself fading.

Making me all kinds of crazy,

I could no longer feel angry, no longer remember why. I almost felt giddy, as hysteria bubbled within me, I tasted blood in my mouth as I stifled the giggles and titters, but a few escaped, and they echoed in the hollow room, and it felt like it was filled with phantoms, laugh at me.

Don't you know, don't you know,

The green eyes continued to stare, and I felt a blind rage, I didn't know why, my thoughts echoing emptily, bouncing around in my skull, reducing everything to white noise. It blurred out the sound but I stilled heard an angry voice shouting through it.

What you do to me,

I realized it was my own, it was screaming, cutting the static like a knife through gauze, spitting and cursing at the creature that stood in front of me, gazing lovingly at me, concern on his lovely features.

Don't you care, don't you care,

I wanted to yell, scream, kick, run away, leave, flee, saving what I had left in my damaged skull, but I count move, my limbs immobile like they were strung on taunt strings.

You're killing me,

I could no longer from coherent thoughts, even my emotions were twisted and garlanded growing into each other like the roots and bark of a twisting oak. Fear. Anger. Apprehension. Disgust. Affection. Hate. Love.

Why won't you, why won't you

I felt tears gathering in my eyes, the agonizing jumble of thought and emotions, swirled and scraped the inside of my skull raw, and I could almost imagine the blood flooding my brain, drowning my conscious in red.

You set me free,

I felt a sob break through my chapped, bloodied lips, tears streaming down my face freely. I caught a brief flash of surprise and shock in the eyes opposite, I could faintly hear a voice calling, but it could barely feel. I knew distantly I had collapsed but the mind was unable to feel enough to tell my body otherwise. If I could have I would have heard the crunch of glass beneath me, the hysterical voice above me crying out a name over and over, I would have felt the cool hand on my face; the sweet breath against my ear; tasted the soft lips crushing on mine again and again. And heard a voice, like a song, singing to me, I love you, again and again. I would have felt all this if I had still been alive.

Because I'm only a slave to your insanity.

Arthur sat on the floor of the bathroom; legs crossed, a blond head in his lap, long slender fingers slowly brushing against the short locks, gently easing out the tangles. He had said the spell earlier and it should be fine, he'll be fine. Trying to ignore the still, unmoving chest, he stood and gently lifted the much bigger man in his arms, with an unsettling ease and grace. The man gazed at the adolescent in his arms, the face peaceful, it was almost as if he was sleeping, but Arthur knew better. The boy was dead. He knew that but he didn't care.

He hadn't care the first time he had gazed into those incredible blue eyes, when he had heard that laugh and felt his warmth radiating through his own cold body warming it to the core, like he could never imagine. He didn't care when he had first seen the scarlet scrawl hovering above that blond head, marking him, and like a sword hanging by a string, it fell and killed the boy beneath it. But that didn't stop Arthur; because the boy belonged to him, he was all that he had ever desired in his long life and he would not surrender him to anyone, not even death.

So Arthur brought him back, he didn't care that he was dead, didn't care that his memories fade, that his mind was tortured by demons, that he could no longer sleep because of the memories of his own death haunting him as nightmares. He didn't care, because when Alfred broke form his insanity, when his fear and anger faded, he was still there, those moment when his mind would clear, and he would touch Arthur so gently he wanted to cry, he couldn't bear to let these go. To let him die, to set him free, like the last fading petal of the summer roses that fall like drops of blood, twirling like dancers and dropping onto the reflective surface of the water, swirling and carrying them away, taking the last beauty away from Arthur and leaving him to his wintered world. He couldn't.

With his concentration on not jostling the boy unnecessarily, Arthur did not notice the tears on his own face, sliding down his cheek, mingling with his lover's blood that still stained his cheek, dying the tears scarlet. As they dropped off of his chin, it landed on the skin of the boy he was carrying, the scarlet drops staining the pale dead flesh, like scarlet stars or ruby roses. Marring the perfect white forever.

So if you don't understand it the story goes like this, Arthur is a super natural being, I don't know which so take your pick, and he meets and falls in love with Alfred who is a human. They are happy for a while but Alfred being a human dies unexpectedly in an accident. Heat broken Arthur uses his powers to try to bring him back, he succeeded in resurrecting Alfred but he isn't all there and the resurrected Alfred eventually falls into madness, forgetting Arthur and going into uncontrollable fits of rage and confusions. But Arthur is still unable to let go, and ever time Alfred dies again, instead of just leaving him, he continuously resurrects him, even as the pieces of the man he loves are falling away, he still cling to the rare show of affections that shows the love they once had, and Arthur clings onto those last pieces of colour as the world fade to grey and winter is all around him, he is still holding onto his dying spring flower, the petals falling off and being slowly swept away in the mirrored current of life.

Depressing, I know, I think I got a little abstract in the description, but you get the point, and that's why I keep referring back to red on white and silver/mirrors, it's not because I have a weird obsession with blood and broken glass, it's a metaphor for the situation there in. I don't write the exact ending, this being a one shot, but you can pretty much guess there won't be much of a happy ending, or maybe there is, who knows, it could still work. Well thanks for reading this overly dramatic and confusingly abstract story. And have a day ~toramo