Solitaire
A dark one-shot on Asaba's POV on life, girls and Arima. Based on reading books 10-16 of the manga (ahehhe) May be alittle inaccurate, but hey I really like him and hope he turns out with an interesting background story and a happy ending!!!! ASAPIN YOU'RE SO COOL!!!
Disclaimer: I don't own Karekano, its characters etc.
I'll be the first to say this to him.
"I'm happy for you."
It had always been this way, since the first time we met. It took time to see through his charade, it was so much more than a flimsy act; eventually I came to understand the essence behind that handsome face and honorable status. Somehow I'd know these things, these feelings, that torment a person from inside out. So it may be, different circumstances, different people, but the emotions and the human spirit continue to suffer from the same disease in this day and age, and somehow, I once thought I owned the pain. I owned the loneliness. It was mine only to bear; no one else could understand, no matter how sympathetic the pretty faces and how comforting their touch.
Yes, I need the comfort, just to get by. A careless yet potent combination of charisma, good looks and a gentleman's poise equated to 'a heaven-sent gift for the fairer sex'. Ah. But of course. I've always been known as a stereotypical pretty boy, with the flawless hair (it took time, believe it or not) and killer personality, girls naturally swooned at my feet. It's only natural—I treat females with the respect they ought to have, and such friendships have taught me much. In the past I may have been ravenous for female attentions and fawning; these days I've toned down, maybe 'cos of Arima's disapproval of how frivolous I can get. But to clear a few assumptions, let's just say that 1) Though I may fit the bill as a playboy, I never date two or more girls at a time 2) I don't lie to every girl I meet 3) The clincher: it's not the skirts I'm really after.
It's a fair exchange. I've gone out of my way to make sure I never hurt a female's feelings; the ones I go a little further with always seem to understand that although I try my best to make them happy, there's more to my life than a girlfriend. Stunning females are as effective a distraction as drink and drugs, but I dislike both methods of numbing the senses, such things f***ed up your life and made everyone suffer. Coincidentally, true love is suffering too, isn't it?
I'd rather play a fleeting game where I can be cruel to be kind and thus avoid causing such afflictions to people around me and myself.
As Sakura once commented, not all girls were gorgeous, and the ones who were truly deserved to be worshipped. If 'worship' was defined as flirting and cajoling with them on a frequent basis then it was fine by me. But nowadays I rarely brought airheads home—it would be difficult to keep a friendship after the eventual breaking up. Sooner or later conversation died, even as friends, so I'm not attracted to empty vessels, however attractive the exterior. If I did, it would be one of those unbearable nights whereby I really can't get through without listening to someone breathe, with that soft femininity, against my cheek.
A sweet, gentle breathing. I'll always that remember she was very, very beautiful, more as a faded impression than a clearly delineated memory. In her arms everything was alright to me, even though they weren't to her. On her deathbed, she was ethereal. I love looking into the mirror because her bright brown eyes sparkle at me every time.
These nights scare me the most.
In the past he too feared such moments. I could tell from the look in his eyes, the confusion and pent-up frustration melting into a streak of self-destruction because of lack of strength and guidance. There was so much on those shoulders, all the kendo training in the world wouldn't have held them up. I did for him exactly what I had always wanted other people to do for me: be my rock. Listen, skip the advice and judgements. Always be open for help, and oh yeah, treat the girlfriend with respect. However immature, intelligent or kickass she was (such traits did coexist, surprisingly). That took a bit of work, especially after an initial showdown when we first touched each other's raw nerves, but she's lovable when it comes down to it. I mean, she had to be right?
What a capable girl. She helped him fly, even with the broken wings.
I wonder when I'll ever get there. Break the chains, overwhelm the sadness and reach the dream.
Those dark ebony orbs glanced at my direction, acknowledging my comment. I shot him one of my rare, genuine grins, just to show him that everything was fine. Familiar floppy dark strands dancing in the breeze that coursed through the school garden. Now he was watching my back, like I had watched his.
Unspoken trust.
Arima. How do I start? He's the type of guy who makes you go 'Wow' at first glance. It almost makes me laugh thinking back, when the possibility of us becoming enemies competing for popularity stakes remotely existed. Anyway, it was a smart move deciding that he could help me grow in recognition and status. Boy, he's helped me grow, whether he knew it or not. I knew the person behind the mask, because I had one too, and he'd never know this: because his mask was so perfect, it was only more obvious to me that his problems sunk precariously deep. Entrenched in the sub-consciousness, and his psyche was whittling away under his mother's oppressive shadow, the childhood trauma and the worst of all the blood flowing through his veins. I accepted this fact a long time ago—you could deny everything in the world, all the theories, even the scientifically proven facts, but you could never deny blood.
And so he accepted it. Got on with life, the glorious future that shone for someone so superior.
On one hand I was proud of him. I'd grown to feel for him, an intimacy he may not publicly admit, but we were kin, in some way. There are things you can understand without words, and the truly essential is invisible to the eye.
On the other I knew I was alone, again. More than just best friends? Maybe it wouldn't be so in the future anymore.
Didn't matter what anyone, even Yukino, said about always being there for me. They couldn't see through me, just like they hadn't penetrated Arima's predicament until things blew up. Yes, the pain was mine. My dear father gave me nothing but material wealth and a cool apathy, this laidback emptiness that drew me away from people.
But I won't be like him.
I won't go around screwing other females while telling some sad girl that I loved her.
I would never say those three words to anyone.
I won't….
Arima was still staring at me. He saw it.
The pained expression on my face evaporated instantaneously, vanishing like a ghost from my lightly tanned visage.
I flipped the mental switch, leaping off the ledge onto the grass where the cute motley crew had been having lunch. "Why the electrifying stare, my dear Arima?" I cooed, sidling up close to him in an exaggerated display of affection. Miyazawa Yukino cocked an eyebrow as I smirked in her direction. "Having second thoughts about your girlfriend again? With me around I can understand why…"
Again, the expected outbursts produce public entertainment as I get the mandatory whack across the head and the usual repartee.
It looks like I'm playing solitaire now, Arima.