A/N: Uhm...ok, don't ask me where this came from cuz I have no idea. Someone said CLOCKS was sad and bittersweet. This one is just plain bitter. And I think it may be a little confusing as well. You really, really have to pay attention with this one. I wrote it at 4 a.m suffering from sleep deprivation and a bad mood, so you'll excuse me if it sucks bad.
Also, there's a bit of bad language, OCC and adult situations. This is YAOI, if you don't know what that is, then what the heck are you doing reading YNM fanfiction?! Go read something else!!
This is not mine, it's Matsushita Yoko's. I don't have anything worth a sue and this is just for fun.
Enjoy!!!
PARALLELS or
BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE
I don't know when or how it's started. God knows I dreamed about it for a long time; laying alone at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how would it be.
You know what they say. Careful with what you wish for, it just may come true.
Though I may not remember how things got to be the way they are now, I don't have any trouble recognising that it's about to happen again. It's always the same; he walks in and, without a word of acknowledgement to me or what we're about to do, takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table.
And I know I should stop this; should ask him to leave. But for the life of me, I can't. All I can do is comply; walk to his side and let him wrap his arms around me.
How could I even think about stopping him, when these nights keep me going during the days that follow? All addictions hurt you sooner or later, and yet you can't let go of them.
-------------------------
I wonder if he knows. I'm almost certain he does, and that's why I keep deluding myself in thinking that this is not as wrong as I know it is.
Not that I ever cared much about what's right and what's not. I still don't. But even for someone such as myself there is a sense of loyalty; that one person that stands by your side no matter what; a line you know you shouldn't cross.
He's that line to me. And yet I keep crossing it.
He knows this isn't about love; he knows that every time he kisses me as passionately as he does, I close my eyes and imagine someone else's lips. Every time I touch him, undress him, taste every inch of his body; he knows I've let myself get lost inside an illusion.
It's not love what keeps driving me into his bed every night, but the need for a placebo and he knows that. Still, for his sake, I indulge myself and bury my fingers in his long, silky hair, taking in *his* scent, before I let myself go completely.
No matter what, he's still beautiful.
------------------------------
At first I thought he wanted to see my face while making love because he was trying to hide what was already painfully obvious to me. But with time I realised that it's not for me that he does it, but for himself.
I no longer try to lock eyes with him; no longer try to convey all my love and pain in one gaze with the hope that he'll find it in his heart to love me back. Because I know that if I dare open my eyes, I'll find his tightly closed.
I suppose that this way he can just close his eyes and not acknowledge that he doesn't want to see me. But I don't really care. I know he's making love to him while he fucks me; and I don't care.
I'm making love to him, and that's enough for now.
He remains quiet as our rhythm increases. I must say I admire his self-control. I always have. There are no whispered endearments, no I love yous, so easy to be said in a moment of rapture, whether they be true or not. Nothing to feed any deluded hope on my part once he leaves.
Because I know he'll leave.
And so I keep quiet as well; guard whatever dignity I have left and make sure I don't add to his guilt. He shouldn't feel guilty about this. It might seem like he's using me, but it's the other way around. I too let myself go and pretend. Pretend that he doesn't want my eyes to be purple; pretend that he doesn't loath my hair. I pretend.
---------------------------
Why does it get harder and harder to pretend?
I know I don't love him; could never love him. For what it's worth, I'm not even sure I love Tsuzuki.
I'm not sure I'm even capable of such a feeling anymore.
But each night it gets harder to leave. Each night I stay a bit longer, hold him a bit tighter; once I've taken what I wanted from him, I should just leave and- if only for a day- forget it ever happened. I don't want to hurt him further; lead him on.
It's almost funny to hear myself thinking like this. He's not stupid; he knew very well what to expect of me when he decided to remain my friend. So why does it feel so wrong to hurt him now.
I never had a problem with hurting him before. Not when I told him I'd never see him again that night in Kyoto; not when I started using him as a sex toy. Why now?
And suddenly, as I watch him giving his back to me to hide his pained expression, I get the urge to run my hands through his long hair, through his back. I want to kiss him and thank him and tell him that I *do* care about him. That though I can't keep Tsuzuki out of my head, he means so much more to me than my amethyst eyed obsession.
But I don't. I just stare at him pretending to be asleep for a bit longer and rise from the bed. The window is open and I stare at the night sky, wondering whether I should do as I feel like doing and stay, or just leave, like I know I should.
------------------------
Even with my back to him, I know he's standing next to my window and it takes every ounce of will power in me not to turn around and stare at him.
I don't want to think about his reasons for staying after it's over. He's probably just tired. Maybe he wants to use the shower and doesn't know how to ask. It could be anything. But I, as hard as I try not to, can't help to hope he's staying for me.
But I know tomorrow we'll pretend again. Pretend that we're friends; that we're not hurting each other so much. Maybe we'll even ignore each other.
And then Tsuzuki will appear, smiling brightly because he knows what it's like to be in love and he's lucky enough to have his feelings reciprocated. And he'll smile at him and chat with him and I'll see the longing in his eyes.
And then Hisoka will come and take him away, and I'll see him crumble again and that will be enough for me to welcome him into my bed the next night, and the next night, until one of us can't take it anymore.
003 stares at me with concern and I flash her a reassuring smile. There's no need to worry. For now I'll play along; take whatever happiness these nights provide and hope.
It's all I have left.
~OWARI~
A/N: In case you're still confused (which is very likely) This fic wasn't Muraki/Watari, even though it's told from their points of view.
Hope you liked it, if not understand it. Please read and review!!
Ja ne!
Also, there's a bit of bad language, OCC and adult situations. This is YAOI, if you don't know what that is, then what the heck are you doing reading YNM fanfiction?! Go read something else!!
This is not mine, it's Matsushita Yoko's. I don't have anything worth a sue and this is just for fun.
Enjoy!!!
PARALLELS or
BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE
I don't know when or how it's started. God knows I dreamed about it for a long time; laying alone at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how would it be.
You know what they say. Careful with what you wish for, it just may come true.
Though I may not remember how things got to be the way they are now, I don't have any trouble recognising that it's about to happen again. It's always the same; he walks in and, without a word of acknowledgement to me or what we're about to do, takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table.
And I know I should stop this; should ask him to leave. But for the life of me, I can't. All I can do is comply; walk to his side and let him wrap his arms around me.
How could I even think about stopping him, when these nights keep me going during the days that follow? All addictions hurt you sooner or later, and yet you can't let go of them.
-------------------------
I wonder if he knows. I'm almost certain he does, and that's why I keep deluding myself in thinking that this is not as wrong as I know it is.
Not that I ever cared much about what's right and what's not. I still don't. But even for someone such as myself there is a sense of loyalty; that one person that stands by your side no matter what; a line you know you shouldn't cross.
He's that line to me. And yet I keep crossing it.
He knows this isn't about love; he knows that every time he kisses me as passionately as he does, I close my eyes and imagine someone else's lips. Every time I touch him, undress him, taste every inch of his body; he knows I've let myself get lost inside an illusion.
It's not love what keeps driving me into his bed every night, but the need for a placebo and he knows that. Still, for his sake, I indulge myself and bury my fingers in his long, silky hair, taking in *his* scent, before I let myself go completely.
No matter what, he's still beautiful.
------------------------------
At first I thought he wanted to see my face while making love because he was trying to hide what was already painfully obvious to me. But with time I realised that it's not for me that he does it, but for himself.
I no longer try to lock eyes with him; no longer try to convey all my love and pain in one gaze with the hope that he'll find it in his heart to love me back. Because I know that if I dare open my eyes, I'll find his tightly closed.
I suppose that this way he can just close his eyes and not acknowledge that he doesn't want to see me. But I don't really care. I know he's making love to him while he fucks me; and I don't care.
I'm making love to him, and that's enough for now.
He remains quiet as our rhythm increases. I must say I admire his self-control. I always have. There are no whispered endearments, no I love yous, so easy to be said in a moment of rapture, whether they be true or not. Nothing to feed any deluded hope on my part once he leaves.
Because I know he'll leave.
And so I keep quiet as well; guard whatever dignity I have left and make sure I don't add to his guilt. He shouldn't feel guilty about this. It might seem like he's using me, but it's the other way around. I too let myself go and pretend. Pretend that he doesn't want my eyes to be purple; pretend that he doesn't loath my hair. I pretend.
---------------------------
Why does it get harder and harder to pretend?
I know I don't love him; could never love him. For what it's worth, I'm not even sure I love Tsuzuki.
I'm not sure I'm even capable of such a feeling anymore.
But each night it gets harder to leave. Each night I stay a bit longer, hold him a bit tighter; once I've taken what I wanted from him, I should just leave and- if only for a day- forget it ever happened. I don't want to hurt him further; lead him on.
It's almost funny to hear myself thinking like this. He's not stupid; he knew very well what to expect of me when he decided to remain my friend. So why does it feel so wrong to hurt him now.
I never had a problem with hurting him before. Not when I told him I'd never see him again that night in Kyoto; not when I started using him as a sex toy. Why now?
And suddenly, as I watch him giving his back to me to hide his pained expression, I get the urge to run my hands through his long hair, through his back. I want to kiss him and thank him and tell him that I *do* care about him. That though I can't keep Tsuzuki out of my head, he means so much more to me than my amethyst eyed obsession.
But I don't. I just stare at him pretending to be asleep for a bit longer and rise from the bed. The window is open and I stare at the night sky, wondering whether I should do as I feel like doing and stay, or just leave, like I know I should.
------------------------
Even with my back to him, I know he's standing next to my window and it takes every ounce of will power in me not to turn around and stare at him.
I don't want to think about his reasons for staying after it's over. He's probably just tired. Maybe he wants to use the shower and doesn't know how to ask. It could be anything. But I, as hard as I try not to, can't help to hope he's staying for me.
But I know tomorrow we'll pretend again. Pretend that we're friends; that we're not hurting each other so much. Maybe we'll even ignore each other.
And then Tsuzuki will appear, smiling brightly because he knows what it's like to be in love and he's lucky enough to have his feelings reciprocated. And he'll smile at him and chat with him and I'll see the longing in his eyes.
And then Hisoka will come and take him away, and I'll see him crumble again and that will be enough for me to welcome him into my bed the next night, and the next night, until one of us can't take it anymore.
003 stares at me with concern and I flash her a reassuring smile. There's no need to worry. For now I'll play along; take whatever happiness these nights provide and hope.
It's all I have left.
~OWARI~
A/N: In case you're still confused (which is very likely) This fic wasn't Muraki/Watari, even though it's told from their points of view.
Hope you liked it, if not understand it. Please read and review!!
Ja ne!