Disclaimer: Disclaimed
~~~~~~~Enjoy!~~~~~~
"Lover of Ghosts"
1: Speaking with the Dead Heart
"You are a terribly destructive force...." The voice held a eirie quality as if the speaker where not really there at all. There was the soft hush of the air conditioning in this dark room, the blinds where drawn down letting only the most dimly grasping light of mid day strike into the darkness. There was mattress in the corner; white sheets lay about it as if the sleep who it belonged was a thrasher. It was here where a warm body is; he was young and slim. Pale blond hair shimmered in the bad lighting and his aqua eyes glittered with anger.
"Shut up you!" he hissed a voice who belong to no one. This young man was wearing a brilliant red cotton shirt and blue jeans, his knees drawn to his chest and back pressed to the dark blue wall. The world around him was endless and strangling, he kept that room cold and dim.
"Oh Quatre...." The voice purred, it was hushed a masculine and spoke like a lover. "Don't be angry with me..." The blond held in his hand a frame, the glass was shattered where his fist had so franticly smashed over his own face. The long, spidering, break's left another face open and perfect.
"Trowa..." Quatre whispered in desperation, blood dripping along his fingers and down the frame to pool on his bed. Time had caught up with the little Arabian prince and found him alone and gone from his lover. The others where all very far away and even going so far to avoid each other. Politics and Honor had driven them all apart. How could he have let them all vanish away...? How could he have not been there? "...You're dead..."
"Don't be sorry Quatre.... You let me die.... But I don't hate you for it..." The voice was so soft, so touchable.
"Stop it."
"I was meant to die."
"Shut up"
"It was meant to be."
"No more!"
"It's ok you didn't save me."
"STOP!"
"So it was your fault. That's ok.... Just go on living and forget about me...."
"Shut up!" He hurled the frame across the room, the darkness swallowed it and shortly after he head it crash into the other wall. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't."
"Keep telling yourself that Love.... maybe you could get a good night sleep if you thought that it hadn't been your indifference that saw me dead."
"I am leaving!" The movement was violent, standing with such dangerous grace his past as the killer Quatre Rababa Winner of The Sandrock showed to be very close behind him. Sliding his stockinged feet into his brown shoes he came to stand his hand upon the doorknob.
"Don't leave me." the voice was painful to hear, soft and aching, "not again...don't leave me again." Warmth enveloped the blond man, leaning his brow against the door a shutter racked his slim form.
"I can't stay..." Quatre's voice was lost in the hum of the apartment.
"Please...stay. be my one true love forever! Be mine!"
"You're not Trowa."
"I am!"
"You're just a ghost."
"I am Trowa!"
"-And I cannot stay here to be the lover of ghosts.
"Lover of Ghosts"
1: Speaking with the Dead Heart
"You are a terribly destructive force...." The voice held a eirie quality as if the speaker where not really there at all. There was the soft hush of the air conditioning in this dark room, the blinds where drawn down letting only the most dimly grasping light of mid day strike into the darkness. There was mattress in the corner; white sheets lay about it as if the sleep who it belonged was a thrasher. It was here where a warm body is; he was young and slim. Pale blond hair shimmered in the bad lighting and his aqua eyes glittered with anger.
"Shut up you!" he hissed a voice who belong to no one. This young man was wearing a brilliant red cotton shirt and blue jeans, his knees drawn to his chest and back pressed to the dark blue wall. The world around him was endless and strangling, he kept that room cold and dim.
"Oh Quatre...." The voice purred, it was hushed a masculine and spoke like a lover. "Don't be angry with me..." The blond held in his hand a frame, the glass was shattered where his fist had so franticly smashed over his own face. The long, spidering, break's left another face open and perfect.
"Trowa..." Quatre whispered in desperation, blood dripping along his fingers and down the frame to pool on his bed. Time had caught up with the little Arabian prince and found him alone and gone from his lover. The others where all very far away and even going so far to avoid each other. Politics and Honor had driven them all apart. How could he have let them all vanish away...? How could he have not been there? "...You're dead..."
"Don't be sorry Quatre.... You let me die.... But I don't hate you for it..." The voice was so soft, so touchable.
"Stop it."
"I was meant to die."
"Shut up"
"It was meant to be."
"No more!"
"It's ok you didn't save me."
"STOP!"
"So it was your fault. That's ok.... Just go on living and forget about me...."
"Shut up!" He hurled the frame across the room, the darkness swallowed it and shortly after he head it crash into the other wall. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't."
"Keep telling yourself that Love.... maybe you could get a good night sleep if you thought that it hadn't been your indifference that saw me dead."
"I am leaving!" The movement was violent, standing with such dangerous grace his past as the killer Quatre Rababa Winner of The Sandrock showed to be very close behind him. Sliding his stockinged feet into his brown shoes he came to stand his hand upon the doorknob.
"Don't leave me." the voice was painful to hear, soft and aching, "not again...don't leave me again." Warmth enveloped the blond man, leaning his brow against the door a shutter racked his slim form.
"I can't stay..." Quatre's voice was lost in the hum of the apartment.
"Please...stay. be my one true love forever! Be mine!"
"You're not Trowa."
"I am!"
"You're just a ghost."
"I am Trowa!"
"-And I cannot stay here to be the lover of ghosts.