Title: Blue Highlighters
Author: Broken Music Box
Rating: PG13
Summery: Angsty. One-shot.
A/N: Completely open. Can be anyone. Take your pick.

You don't notice that every time you leave your sanctuary, the light dims, do you? You don't know that each time, you fade a little. You just sit back, deal the cards with a little more force than needed, and smile lop-sidedly. Not that it's your smile- just the one you've adopted for the place and circumstances you're in now. You know why I see this? I used to be your sanctuary- the one you turned to when you were about to break, and I'd turn and fight them all off, with my sword and paper armour, and you'd admire me all the more for not getting burnt.

God damn it, it hurts. It hurts like I'm killing myself, my world- like I'm killing you. You tell me about who ever it is now, when you do remember me and place small shows of affection on what you last knew me to be. Because I'm changing too, you know. But of course you know. Each time you recall your old savior, you pull me apart and analyse what you see, so you can tell what to say and do. That becomes the template, so you don't accidently over-step all the new lines in the sand. But you do, and I don't do a thing. I sit and say how wonderful they must be, to save you from yourself. And it hurts.

I actually remember the first time I accidently disobeyed one of your unspoken laws. I try not to do it anymore. Ever.

You hurt me, but I care. Why? Yes, why. I don't know. All I know, is I'm still here. Here, watching you slided towards your death, at your own hand. Really, I'm just here to make it easier. To prolong your suffering a little longer. You know what? I'm glad your hurting. I'm glad it hurts. You know why? Because every time you asked me if I was okay, and I said yes, I was lying. And you knew. I just wish you'd realize, I'm not o-fucking-kay. I realize that you're not okay. And you know it. You also know that I lie to you, simply to prove to myself that I can. And you smile, and laugh.

Occasionally, I hear you singing. You sing to all the depressing songs, they ones that everyone else sings along to but has no idea of what they mean. You know, and you sing all the louder. I try and sing and you smile indulgently and stop singing, leaving me to battle on my own. It's not enough to sing those songs, without you. What I go through isn't enough. It's only you that makes it enough. I can tell you can read me like a book. I just wonder, how torn and frayed are the pages? How much of your writing is there?

You're pretty when you cry. Not that you do. But I've seen you when someone throws water on you, and I think you'd look pretty if you cried. Beyond pretty. Beautiful. Not that you aren't already. Remember when you jumped out the second floor window? You landed on your feet. When I jumped out after you, I broke my ankle. I cried. You watched, a detatched look on your face. After, you told me I shouldn't cry. So I didn't. And you patted me on the head and left. You're always leaving. Why, for once, can't you stay?

Now, I long for you to hold the sword and wear real armour, that I know would look so good on you. But I know you're never going to, so I hope one day you'll tell your new partner about the one who was by your side for the longest. The one who you swapped places with, and how you made it easier for me to exist. Me, the one who you got tired of defending and left me to fend for myself.

At night, I dream of puppets that dance without strings. Puppets that laugh and taunt me. And one that sweeps me up so we can dance, and shows me how to play the game that you play.

You know what? I didn't even realize we had switched roles.

Owari-