This fic is taken from both the anime series & the manga that have been released. This chapter is told a great deal from Risa's point of view, as if you were viewing her thoughts & seeing through her eyes.
Warning: For those who know/want to know the series, male/male love is alluded to/mentioned, in this fic & also the series itself, so if you don't like that, DON'T READ THIS! For I LOVE it!
And, no, for those that are wondering/dreading/being violently sick, I am NOT a fan of the Risa/Satoshi pairing. In my books it don't easily work for a shitload of reasons, I am simply doing a "what if" fic following the material given at the end of the TV Anime series. Things are hinted at that I wanted to play with… So I am…
(This fic is unedited/beta-ed!)
I own nothing… such a pity…
.—
Chapter 2: Silence
Moonlight streamed through huge mullioned windows that wrapped around the room, bathing its massive innards in shadows. Dominating the vast hardwood floor was a bed, low to the ground and luxurious, on which to languish in splendor: spread with white cotton sheets, it was the epitome of comfort, to be enjoyed to the fullest without question.
Aside from the bed the room was utterly devoid of clutter. Everything was in its place, tucked away, rolled away, folded or simply put out of the way of either wandering feet or wandering eyes. A pair of matching night tables and a lone chair graced the room for nothing else was either needed or desired by its owner.
As the moonlight shifted with the weaving branches outside, the shadows cast within the room changed and morphed into creatures out of hell and legend. Though they were nothing but tricks of the darkness. They played with a silhouette framed in the center of the window: a chair unlike any other, poised as if half alive, rising out of the back of its seat, a pair of wings, those of Angels, yet these were parodies of each other. One was irreparably broken, the lattice of the framework naked in its ruin, the other was whole, its grace a mockery in its completeness. In its entirety, its color of bone: old and dry.
This was not a seat for pleasured ease but a seat of power, ambivalent at rest, a tool waiting for use. In slumber only
Nothing moved or breathed, the room was still. Not even the air stirred. The atmosphere hung heavy with the smell of sex and sweat, unrelieved by open door or window; the essence of feeling that likewise swam in the room was not that of fulfilled passion but festering pain, it clung to the walls like residue and tainted the air like acid.
I lie here on a bed, spent of passion. I have given all, all I can give and it wasn't enough…
When truly loving someone you give yourself utterly, it's not something done by choice, it simply happens; often without our conscious knowledge, often we don't even know until it's too late. You can't want to love someone and find that love born from nothing, it either is or isn't, it can't be forced.
Love is a strange thing… as we are.
To be expected, perhaps
It is different in all of us: some take it lightly, some don't; some love easily, some don't; and some love utterly… most don't. To love someone else to the exclusion of all others can give one the greatest peace, if that love is returned. When it isn't—then things have no balance and the person who loves will be lost.
You love another. I know this
You are lost.
I am sorry…
.
TBC…
Flame me,
Fuck me.
Kiss me,
Hug me!
Send 'em up,
I'll eat it up!
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snicker
(I love doing this…)