Blossoms on the Wall
By Kay
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah... I own 'em all, baby... ::grins:: Or not.
Notes: Kensuke. Odd. Sad, I guess. ^_^;;; A product of midnight babble again- but this time... I HAVE A _PLOT_! ::gasps::
Scary, isn't it? ^_^
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The white men came to ask about you again.
Today, sometime when the sunlight through my window came in through the bottom, and it drifted along the smooth edges of the floor's horizanal meeting with the wall, drifted and danced. That was your sun, love, and I remember it everyday to call you from it. I really have tried to remember, you know, but it just takes that reminder of daylight... until I see your face...
But as the light was going against the room, creeping up the wall as the day went on, striking through the small window, they came. The men. The strange men, on time as usual, just as the sun was leaving the floor and rising as high as my knees go when I kneel beside it. You know those men- the crazy ones, with odd facial expressions like fake stone, and clipboards they tap on their palm when I can't help them.
They always come, and they always, always ask questions. About you, mostly. Their white, shining coats dragging on the floor, messing it, as they smile at me with those polite, fake stone smiles. I hate them sometimes.
But sometimes it's nice to have company.
Either way, they came to ask yet again. And I told them, I showed them eagerly what you told me a few days ago about how spring was coming because the grass was peeking up from the dark, musty earth to catch the sunlight. You had laughed, that silly and brilliant laugh of yours, that sparkled in my mind and made me laugh, too. You showed me spring through my window.
The men didn't seem to find it funny, though. They frowned- they always frown, always- and marked it down with their stubby pencils on their loud clipboards. The ones they tap on their palms. Yes, those.
I also told them that you were coming to visit tomorrow, too. That's what you told me, anyway, my amai- you remember, of course. But they didn't like that, either. They say you're a horrible influence on me, that you worsen my sickness with your cheap thrills. I don't think they understand us, amai, not the real, true us. You know, me and you. The real ones.
Oh, don't make me explain it again! You know, the real, real you. The one that smiles brightly all the time and tilts your tanned face to the sun when you feel lonely so it warms you up. And the real you with those rich, dark chocolate eyes that are like some window to the soul, showing the hot fire and gentle compassion you so violently claim you're own. That's you! Hai, that's you!
Don't shush at me, love, I'm just telling the truth. And I don't care if anyone hears me- let them do whatever they want to do. You're not supposed to be here, anyway, so don't blame me for anything that you might let out!
Alright... hai, I'll be quiet. Sigh, sigh, sigh. That's not fair- you're not playing the game right. We're supposed to... oh, fine. I know you can't stay for very long, where on earth do you go when the night falls? It's as though when the sun fades against the very ceiling top you fade with it, like a shadow tearing from the darkness.
Where do you go, my amai? Where do you run?
Is it nice outside still? Are those blossoms in the large park still blooming out, the petals turning soft pinks and blue violets? I remember the day we walked there, just the two of us, while the sun set in the distant horizen and turned the sky a beautiful array of orange fire and red pink light as though the paint had been brushed over a canvas with tiny fingertips. That was the day you held my hand for the first time, back when we were younger, and plucked a single violet blossom from a tree. Then you tucked it gently in my hair, and smiled impishly.
'Violet blossoms for violet eyes- they match,' you whispered. 'In colour and beauty, Ichijouji-san.'
I still melt thinking about it- the blushing, the long talk we had after that statement. Or, rather, the short talk and long, comfortable silence that followed a relieving outburst of revelation. I believe that was the day we finally became more than friends, when I allowed myself to take pleasure in the way my heart sped up a million miles an hour whenever I saw you. Even now, I still take pleasure in imagining the blossoms on my wall.
Yes... I love you, too, my amai.
It's a strange sense in this room- I can never quite tell what day it is until I manage to catch one of the strange men's attention for a second. Then they look at me with some pity- pity! Can you believe it, love? Why should they pity me, of all people? I'm safe, and I have the greatest treasure in the universe- I have *you*. You and only you. It's my most precious lifeline, you know.
Violet blossoms tucked in silk blue hair.
I miss it. But there are those days when you bring me the blossoms and I swear I can faintly see them on my wall...
Thank you, love.
The sun beams are creeping up my wall again, creeping and creeping like little dancers on a vertical stage. I'm sure it must almost be time for lunch, and I can't wait until I'm brought it, because then I can sit down and chat with you while we share the delicious fruit I recieve. I know you love kiwis, so I'll try to save some for you, unless of course they don't have those today. They might have peaches or something, which wouldn't make you very happy but there's not much I can do to change the menu. I believe the strange white men find it disatisfactory that I don't eat the kiwi, but leave it for you.
I remember the many times we've had lunch together. I know you do, as well, because I can just see the little laughing grin that's spreading slowly through your face like a rainshower of light. Eating with you was always... interesting, to say the least. You had an odd appetite, my amai, I won't doubt that- after all, you did work incredibly hard at soccer and needed your energy that I found so boundless.
Remember the day I came home after my finals? Our apartment was suspiciously empty as I walked in earlier than expected, (and in doing so, ruined your surprise.) The lights in the hall were dimmed oddly, and there were sounds from the dainty kitchen we had through the next door.
I can't forget the image I saw as I peeked in, shock covering my features gracefully. There you were, an angel covered from head to toe in flour, gloves shoved aside so you could work with your slender hands. Your normally bright cinnamon red hair was dusted in numerous items of sugur and vanilla, your face bowed to the counter in fierce concentration over the porcelain bowl of batter. One hand elegantly touching the wooden spoon sticking out from it, only moving to reach up and pull a strand of burgandy hair behind your ear as you studied the recipe card in front of you and proceeded to talk to yourself.
And you were wearing an *apron*, my amai. God, I would have laughed if you hadn't spoken first.
'Tsp? Tsp? What on earth is a tsp?!' you asked in confusion, your dark eyebrows scrunching together. Your eyes suddenly came to meet mine in surprise as I laughed, a geniune, unadultered laugh I hadn't gave in weeks.
We had fun in the kitchen that night.
But I couldn't tell the strange men that, now could I? They might laugh at us, and I hate it when that happens. It makes me angry, burning a rage deep inside. Haven't they ever been in love with an amazing person?
This place scares me sometimes, my amai. The people here are so lifeless, like puppets wired on broken strings, doing only what they're told. They laugh at me, too, sometimes.
Sometimes I laugh at myself.
I suppose I'm not that funny, though, am I? You're acting so different now, love, why the sudden mood change? Weren't we having fun remembering the good, golden moments? I still love you, even though you have so many business trips to go on or whatever it is that you do. I don't need to pry- I trust you. But sometimes I wish you'd visit me more often, so I could show you around outside my sun room.
Did you know the others come to see me sometimes? Takeru, your old best friend and rival, still comes with his new wife Miyako. I think she's expecting soon, because her normally flat stomache has expanded slightly in that way that only women carrying child can do. He puts his hands on her stomache often, as well, as though trying to protect the parcel inside. And they smile. They tell me things are okay, and not to worry, because I'll be well soon.
Once Takeru asked about you. Where you were. But I couldn't answer.
Hikari comes, too, though not as often. I think she doesn't like me when I'm tired, because I tend to get a little confused about where I am at the moment. I plead with her to come back more, but she says she can't handle this unless Takeru is here. Once I told her that you could come with her, so that we'd all be together again, and she seemed to relax. She smiled weakly and said that would be nice, maybe.
See? I'm making progress.
Iori comes more than anyone, being the reliable friend he is. Once we overcame our obstacles, you remember how great of friends we became. Sometimes he says he went to your house, but there was no one home so he had to leave quickly. I think you just wanted to be funny and play a joke, and hid in your bedroom so you wouldn't have to answer the doorbell.
Or maybe you just weren't home.
It makes me sad, thinking of our apartment as an empty one. It was so full of love and life during the time we lived together, like a brilliant sunrise that wouldn't fall behind the clouds. We had our few fights, and our many make ups. The holidays always being the best, because I could lay down with you on our dark sofa and wrap my arms around your waist tightly. I remember the scent of your hair- Herbal Essence, the nice scented kind that made me relax- and how I would bury my face in your warm neck. We would stay there for hours under the holly decorations, comfortable to breath and hold each other forever.
'The best gift I have this season is you, Ken-chan,' you once murmered. I kissed you on the forehead, and closed my eyes, feeling the exact same way as you.
Those were the beautiful moments, the ones I can't stop playing in my mind like a VCR. They get staticy sometimes, especially when those strange men come and do things to me. The strange white men with the clipboards they tap against their palms. With the pills and the fake stone smiles and voices.
They scare me, my amai. Come take me out, please.
Well, I mean, I know you're here, but you never seem to want to take me with you when you leave. You run your fingers through my hair, and smile sadly, haunting eyes searching my own desperate gaze. And you never let me kiss you anymore, love, why is that? I used to adore touching you every chance I could get, and now my lips are dying to reach yours.
I've been without that touch for to long.
And... come back, oh god, I need you... don't leave me here! Don't fade again, it's not time! It's not fair, damn it!
It's like a dark well that won't stop becoming an endless, deep prison- gray shadows moaning and clutching the molded stones of onyx like a demon, and god I can't live without you to light that up. To scare away the monsters- *don't go*! Please... please...
*Don't leave me, Daisuke!*
I love you... don't leave me... I love you, my amai...
My amai...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ken Ichijouji collapsed on his knees in complete disrray as he sobbed brokenly and openly, burying his face in his hands in his agony. The room was utterly silent except for this, as was the hall beyond it, just as cold.
After a moment, scattered footsteps and a hushed voice was heard as the door to the room slid open. The blue haired young man didn't even bother to look up, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, weeping hard. A plump, fair haired woman quickly reached him, kneeling down and pressing a hand forward onto his shoulder.
"Ken? Are you okay?"
"He left me again! He left me, he left me," wailed the violet, teary-eyed patient. "Daisuke, no, come back- bring him back!"
"I can't do that, son," the woman said sadly, pressing his shoulder tightly. "Are you listening, Ken? I can't do that. You know why I can't, too."
He clutched at her white uniform fabric suddenly. Agonized, painfilled eyes of the most jeweled blue she'd ever seen stared at her. "Bring him back, damn it!"
"I can't, honey," she said softly. "Daisuke Motomiya is dead."
"No! NO! *Bring him back*!"
And Ken Ichijouji fell back, sobbing helplessly and holding himself, against the cold wall where the sun had disappeared above the cieling of the mental institution.
The sun died.
And the blossoms on the wall screamed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bwahahahahahahahahaaa!! ^_^ Yes, I have finished another fic! Heh... poor you... anyway. It actually did make sense, because not once outside of Ken's mind did I have proof that Daisuke was alive. If you notice, it's all guess work.
... actually, you all probably got what was going on from the very beginning, but oh what the heck.
^_^ THE END
By Kay
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah... I own 'em all, baby... ::grins:: Or not.
Notes: Kensuke. Odd. Sad, I guess. ^_^;;; A product of midnight babble again- but this time... I HAVE A _PLOT_! ::gasps::
Scary, isn't it? ^_^
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The white men came to ask about you again.
Today, sometime when the sunlight through my window came in through the bottom, and it drifted along the smooth edges of the floor's horizanal meeting with the wall, drifted and danced. That was your sun, love, and I remember it everyday to call you from it. I really have tried to remember, you know, but it just takes that reminder of daylight... until I see your face...
But as the light was going against the room, creeping up the wall as the day went on, striking through the small window, they came. The men. The strange men, on time as usual, just as the sun was leaving the floor and rising as high as my knees go when I kneel beside it. You know those men- the crazy ones, with odd facial expressions like fake stone, and clipboards they tap on their palm when I can't help them.
They always come, and they always, always ask questions. About you, mostly. Their white, shining coats dragging on the floor, messing it, as they smile at me with those polite, fake stone smiles. I hate them sometimes.
But sometimes it's nice to have company.
Either way, they came to ask yet again. And I told them, I showed them eagerly what you told me a few days ago about how spring was coming because the grass was peeking up from the dark, musty earth to catch the sunlight. You had laughed, that silly and brilliant laugh of yours, that sparkled in my mind and made me laugh, too. You showed me spring through my window.
The men didn't seem to find it funny, though. They frowned- they always frown, always- and marked it down with their stubby pencils on their loud clipboards. The ones they tap on their palms. Yes, those.
I also told them that you were coming to visit tomorrow, too. That's what you told me, anyway, my amai- you remember, of course. But they didn't like that, either. They say you're a horrible influence on me, that you worsen my sickness with your cheap thrills. I don't think they understand us, amai, not the real, true us. You know, me and you. The real ones.
Oh, don't make me explain it again! You know, the real, real you. The one that smiles brightly all the time and tilts your tanned face to the sun when you feel lonely so it warms you up. And the real you with those rich, dark chocolate eyes that are like some window to the soul, showing the hot fire and gentle compassion you so violently claim you're own. That's you! Hai, that's you!
Don't shush at me, love, I'm just telling the truth. And I don't care if anyone hears me- let them do whatever they want to do. You're not supposed to be here, anyway, so don't blame me for anything that you might let out!
Alright... hai, I'll be quiet. Sigh, sigh, sigh. That's not fair- you're not playing the game right. We're supposed to... oh, fine. I know you can't stay for very long, where on earth do you go when the night falls? It's as though when the sun fades against the very ceiling top you fade with it, like a shadow tearing from the darkness.
Where do you go, my amai? Where do you run?
Is it nice outside still? Are those blossoms in the large park still blooming out, the petals turning soft pinks and blue violets? I remember the day we walked there, just the two of us, while the sun set in the distant horizen and turned the sky a beautiful array of orange fire and red pink light as though the paint had been brushed over a canvas with tiny fingertips. That was the day you held my hand for the first time, back when we were younger, and plucked a single violet blossom from a tree. Then you tucked it gently in my hair, and smiled impishly.
'Violet blossoms for violet eyes- they match,' you whispered. 'In colour and beauty, Ichijouji-san.'
I still melt thinking about it- the blushing, the long talk we had after that statement. Or, rather, the short talk and long, comfortable silence that followed a relieving outburst of revelation. I believe that was the day we finally became more than friends, when I allowed myself to take pleasure in the way my heart sped up a million miles an hour whenever I saw you. Even now, I still take pleasure in imagining the blossoms on my wall.
Yes... I love you, too, my amai.
It's a strange sense in this room- I can never quite tell what day it is until I manage to catch one of the strange men's attention for a second. Then they look at me with some pity- pity! Can you believe it, love? Why should they pity me, of all people? I'm safe, and I have the greatest treasure in the universe- I have *you*. You and only you. It's my most precious lifeline, you know.
Violet blossoms tucked in silk blue hair.
I miss it. But there are those days when you bring me the blossoms and I swear I can faintly see them on my wall...
Thank you, love.
The sun beams are creeping up my wall again, creeping and creeping like little dancers on a vertical stage. I'm sure it must almost be time for lunch, and I can't wait until I'm brought it, because then I can sit down and chat with you while we share the delicious fruit I recieve. I know you love kiwis, so I'll try to save some for you, unless of course they don't have those today. They might have peaches or something, which wouldn't make you very happy but there's not much I can do to change the menu. I believe the strange white men find it disatisfactory that I don't eat the kiwi, but leave it for you.
I remember the many times we've had lunch together. I know you do, as well, because I can just see the little laughing grin that's spreading slowly through your face like a rainshower of light. Eating with you was always... interesting, to say the least. You had an odd appetite, my amai, I won't doubt that- after all, you did work incredibly hard at soccer and needed your energy that I found so boundless.
Remember the day I came home after my finals? Our apartment was suspiciously empty as I walked in earlier than expected, (and in doing so, ruined your surprise.) The lights in the hall were dimmed oddly, and there were sounds from the dainty kitchen we had through the next door.
I can't forget the image I saw as I peeked in, shock covering my features gracefully. There you were, an angel covered from head to toe in flour, gloves shoved aside so you could work with your slender hands. Your normally bright cinnamon red hair was dusted in numerous items of sugur and vanilla, your face bowed to the counter in fierce concentration over the porcelain bowl of batter. One hand elegantly touching the wooden spoon sticking out from it, only moving to reach up and pull a strand of burgandy hair behind your ear as you studied the recipe card in front of you and proceeded to talk to yourself.
And you were wearing an *apron*, my amai. God, I would have laughed if you hadn't spoken first.
'Tsp? Tsp? What on earth is a tsp?!' you asked in confusion, your dark eyebrows scrunching together. Your eyes suddenly came to meet mine in surprise as I laughed, a geniune, unadultered laugh I hadn't gave in weeks.
We had fun in the kitchen that night.
But I couldn't tell the strange men that, now could I? They might laugh at us, and I hate it when that happens. It makes me angry, burning a rage deep inside. Haven't they ever been in love with an amazing person?
This place scares me sometimes, my amai. The people here are so lifeless, like puppets wired on broken strings, doing only what they're told. They laugh at me, too, sometimes.
Sometimes I laugh at myself.
I suppose I'm not that funny, though, am I? You're acting so different now, love, why the sudden mood change? Weren't we having fun remembering the good, golden moments? I still love you, even though you have so many business trips to go on or whatever it is that you do. I don't need to pry- I trust you. But sometimes I wish you'd visit me more often, so I could show you around outside my sun room.
Did you know the others come to see me sometimes? Takeru, your old best friend and rival, still comes with his new wife Miyako. I think she's expecting soon, because her normally flat stomache has expanded slightly in that way that only women carrying child can do. He puts his hands on her stomache often, as well, as though trying to protect the parcel inside. And they smile. They tell me things are okay, and not to worry, because I'll be well soon.
Once Takeru asked about you. Where you were. But I couldn't answer.
Hikari comes, too, though not as often. I think she doesn't like me when I'm tired, because I tend to get a little confused about where I am at the moment. I plead with her to come back more, but she says she can't handle this unless Takeru is here. Once I told her that you could come with her, so that we'd all be together again, and she seemed to relax. She smiled weakly and said that would be nice, maybe.
See? I'm making progress.
Iori comes more than anyone, being the reliable friend he is. Once we overcame our obstacles, you remember how great of friends we became. Sometimes he says he went to your house, but there was no one home so he had to leave quickly. I think you just wanted to be funny and play a joke, and hid in your bedroom so you wouldn't have to answer the doorbell.
Or maybe you just weren't home.
It makes me sad, thinking of our apartment as an empty one. It was so full of love and life during the time we lived together, like a brilliant sunrise that wouldn't fall behind the clouds. We had our few fights, and our many make ups. The holidays always being the best, because I could lay down with you on our dark sofa and wrap my arms around your waist tightly. I remember the scent of your hair- Herbal Essence, the nice scented kind that made me relax- and how I would bury my face in your warm neck. We would stay there for hours under the holly decorations, comfortable to breath and hold each other forever.
'The best gift I have this season is you, Ken-chan,' you once murmered. I kissed you on the forehead, and closed my eyes, feeling the exact same way as you.
Those were the beautiful moments, the ones I can't stop playing in my mind like a VCR. They get staticy sometimes, especially when those strange men come and do things to me. The strange white men with the clipboards they tap against their palms. With the pills and the fake stone smiles and voices.
They scare me, my amai. Come take me out, please.
Well, I mean, I know you're here, but you never seem to want to take me with you when you leave. You run your fingers through my hair, and smile sadly, haunting eyes searching my own desperate gaze. And you never let me kiss you anymore, love, why is that? I used to adore touching you every chance I could get, and now my lips are dying to reach yours.
I've been without that touch for to long.
And... come back, oh god, I need you... don't leave me here! Don't fade again, it's not time! It's not fair, damn it!
It's like a dark well that won't stop becoming an endless, deep prison- gray shadows moaning and clutching the molded stones of onyx like a demon, and god I can't live without you to light that up. To scare away the monsters- *don't go*! Please... please...
*Don't leave me, Daisuke!*
I love you... don't leave me... I love you, my amai...
My amai...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ken Ichijouji collapsed on his knees in complete disrray as he sobbed brokenly and openly, burying his face in his hands in his agony. The room was utterly silent except for this, as was the hall beyond it, just as cold.
After a moment, scattered footsteps and a hushed voice was heard as the door to the room slid open. The blue haired young man didn't even bother to look up, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, weeping hard. A plump, fair haired woman quickly reached him, kneeling down and pressing a hand forward onto his shoulder.
"Ken? Are you okay?"
"He left me again! He left me, he left me," wailed the violet, teary-eyed patient. "Daisuke, no, come back- bring him back!"
"I can't do that, son," the woman said sadly, pressing his shoulder tightly. "Are you listening, Ken? I can't do that. You know why I can't, too."
He clutched at her white uniform fabric suddenly. Agonized, painfilled eyes of the most jeweled blue she'd ever seen stared at her. "Bring him back, damn it!"
"I can't, honey," she said softly. "Daisuke Motomiya is dead."
"No! NO! *Bring him back*!"
And Ken Ichijouji fell back, sobbing helplessly and holding himself, against the cold wall where the sun had disappeared above the cieling of the mental institution.
The sun died.
And the blossoms on the wall screamed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bwahahahahahahahahaaa!! ^_^ Yes, I have finished another fic! Heh... poor you... anyway. It actually did make sense, because not once outside of Ken's mind did I have proof that Daisuke was alive. If you notice, it's all guess work.
... actually, you all probably got what was going on from the very beginning, but oh what the heck.
^_^ THE END