Author: Spirit0

Flashback

AN: Perhaps I have loose interpretations of what I was supposed to be doing, yeah? But that's okay, that's how I roll. I used Taylor Swift's "Love Story." Yeah, I went there.


He opened the door and walked into the room, his eyes to adjusting to the moonlight. Sometimes he envied those automatic lights, the electricity, of her world. But he wouldn't want to turn them on anyway, probably, because he wouldn't want to wake her or the sleeping child.

He took off his clothes and put on the boxers with the hearts that she had bought him back on her world. She liked when he wore clothes from her world, especially those button-down shirts. It disappointed him a little that she didn't appreciate his royal regalia or his everyday clothes quite the same way. But it didn't really bother him, because he liked the way she slowly unbuttoned those shirts from her world, the feel of her fingers and of her lips on his increasingly exposed chest.

She shifted when he went under the covers. He looked at her shadowed face, at her mouth slightly agape and her hair spread across the pillow. The chords coming out of her ears, the headphones. She had fallen asleep listening to her iPod again. iPod. As if this little metal device contained her soul or something, as if it was released when she played the songs or videos or whatever else. It was just another one of those contraptions from her world that he didn't understand.

He removed the earpiece from her exposed ear and put it in his own ear.

Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

It's a love story, baby, just say yes

She played this song frequently on these nights, somehow setting the iPod to repeat it over and over. "Save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel . . . we'll make it out of this mess." I can't save you, he thought. But I already said yes a thousand times, and I'll say it a hundred thousand times, a million times, however many times you need to hear it.

He pressed the top button on the iPod and paused to take in the picture. They hadn't even known they were being photographed, but he was glad, because he found that most pictures on her world were fake, fake in a different way than the portraits in his world. In this picture, one of the few pictures of them, he was kissing her forehead while her head rested on his chest and she smiled, unknowingly, at the camera. The picture disappeared after a few seconds. He turned it back on, sliding his finger across the bottom of the screen like he'd seen her do so many times before. He touched the vertical double dash line symbol that he knew would stop the song. He turned the screen off and let the contraption fall to the bed with a soft thud, wishing his thumb had caressed her lips, her cheeks, her hair, her hand, her, and not just some cold, lifeless thing.

"Hitomi," he whispered. "Hitomi, wake up."

She whined at him sleepily, angrily, but he persisted, kissing her cheek.

"Is Folken okay?" she finally whispered.

"Yes. He's asleep."

"Does he have enough blankets?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"Can you check?"

He shoved the sheets aside and walked over to his son's crib, looking down at him. He had plenty of blankets. Well, good. Van turned away.

"He's fine," he said, getting back into bed.

"Good . . ."

"I turned your iPod off," he ventured.

"Mm. You always do," she mumbled, gathering up the headphones and iPod and putting them on the table behind her.

"Why Romeo?" he whispered.

"Huh? What?"

"Why use the name Romeo? In the song."

"Oh . . ." she said, gazing at him intently in the dim light. "Well . . . There's this play called Romeo and Juliet. It's really famous. Romeo and Juliet are considered star-crossed lovers, which basically means that they're fated never to be together. They come from families that hate each other. But Romeo and Juliet, they try to be together anyway, but they die . . . It was kind of a stupid death, because he commits suicide when he thinks she's dead, and then she commits suicide when she wakes and finds him dead . . . But it's considered one of, if not the, I guess, greatest love story of all time. So . . . so, I dunno, Romeo is just a name that connotes a perfect guy. The greatest lover."

He moved closer to her on the bed, hugging her to him with one arm while his other hand rested on her cheek, his thumb moving back and forth. "So, am I your Romeo?"

"No," she said, and only her half-smile took off the edge. "I told you, I thought it was stupid. I thought it was just lust." She paused, and he didn't expect her to go on. She had already inferred that what they had was real. But he noticed that her smile had faded into a frown. "Van . . . you're so much better than Romeo." His thumb stopped caressing her cheek when he felt a trace of the wetness. "And we're the real star-crossed lovers."

He wanted to tell her not to cry, knew that's what he should've been whispering into her ear while stroking her hair, knew that he should've told her how much he loved her, how he'd do anything for her, how it would all be okay. But the implication of her words paralyzed him, like he'd been stabbed, and all he could do was close his eyes and try to stop the bleeding, wondering if the hole would slowly heal or if he'd bleed out.


Word count: 965


AN: The end was abrupt. I'm sorry. But there was a word limit. And this was simply inspired by listening to too much Taylor Swift/Snow Patrol/Coldplay. God, how do they describe feelings so perfectly?

-Spirit0