Close, oh so close
His body is pinned like a moth, leaving a mark on the dust . He sprawls out on the floorboards, the cold hardwood pressed against his cheek. Atobe doesn't remember how long he has been there. The scent of ambergris and aloeswood wafted to him from the floor, and he presses his ear to the end of the planks of wood, dreaming of hearing something.
There was no sleep for him tonight. There is no waking.
It was all gone, and sometimes he wished that he would remember what it was like to have something again. Anything.
(Certainly, he had it all – a trophy wife, a son to carry on the family name, he had done everything that was expected of him. Didn't he?)
A gentle wind stirred from the serene windows, and the heat became less overbearing. He felt the hard floor press up against his chest, his ribcage struggling to sustain breath.
Layers of thin gauze lifted from the long open French doors and gently caressed his cheek, the swish almost sounded like a whisper, almost sounded like him.
Soot blows from the empty fireplace. The day is drab, and the night threatens to repeat. His shoulderblades had already begun to ache, and he welcomes the pain.
Then he feels ridiculous, and he doesn't know why – as if somebody is watching him. His brain does not rationalize.
When he finally pulls himself up from the floor, the layers of disturbed dust had already settled, and he wonders if the house had tried to swallow him, had tried to let him feel something again for once in his life. He would never have done it. He would never leave this place.
There is a large mirror on the wall, and as he sits up, he sees his own reflection in it. The same ruined handsomeness, the same eyes of sapphire and skin of pale pink roses, those alizarin lips, and wasted beauty he had known before. His face was no longer icy perfection. The crystalline exterior had been breaking and he was alone.
He closes his eyes, and hears his whisper again. Hears all those whispers, together, gentle, and familiar – if he tried he could almost feel their touch. He leans back, and his lips part, he could feel his kiss, and then he wishes he never has to see his reflection again.
A/N: Atobe this time. It's really true. The more you like a character, the more you feel like torturing them. Isn't that true? xD Leave a comment/review and I'll luff you forever!