White Dream;
Title: White Dream
Genre: AU
Pairing: Aoi/ Uruha
Rating: PG-13?
Disclaimer: Truth be told, I own them now. I adopted them against their will and they are now my older-than-me sons.
Summary: It still captivated me as to how their pale feet had not a trace of mud or debris on it
Comment: Idea came from; no where. Just sittin' in my room, Friend is watching Disney Channel up on my bed so... Just random. Comments are nice, let me know if there should be a second part. If not, cut-offs are awesome and they leave you to decide what happens. And great thanks to my beta
another_jane for dealing with my stubborn-ness and non-co-exsisting relationship with tenses <3
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The background noise of the static from the television is the only thing I ever hear now besides the birds singing outside in the mornings, or the cicadas screaming for a mate in the summer afternoons. Sometimes I hear the people outside my door, their shoes shuffling on the tile floor as they carry trays of food, books, and an occasional guest or two.
I never have guests. I never invite them. Before I was taken here by my parents years ago, I told them I never wanted to speak to another person again. And to this day I have yet to have to break that oath. Some might say it is a lonely life I lead, but I know there is always someone to talk to in my dreams. Strike up a conversation with whoever I create for that night; sometimes seeing others more than once, but, something always changes. As if they too are growing up.
Even so, I like the quiet. It is calming, relaxing. It leaves me to myself; here I can think all I want; discover new things by reading, draw pictures on the frozen winter windows. The employees tell me I can leave whenever I want, but I don’t want to. I like it here. I grew up here; wearing my solid white outfit day in and day out; never having to bother about keeping up with stupid trends. White is such a calming and tranquil color. It represents innocence, commitment, purity. Every color coincides with something in this world. Red, with hatred, blood, and murder.
The other residents here consider me insane because they want to break free. But me? No. I want to stay. Sometimes I leave my room; maybe once or twice a year, but that is it. I don’t like the outside world. It isn’t safe like it is here. I wouldn’t be left alone like I am here. I wouldn’t be understood because of my dreams like I am here. My journals would be meaningless out there, unlike here. Every day, every dream, I write it. As a record of my “progression”, or that was how it was phrased years ago. Now I just do it as a hobby. I read back sometimes, years ago, months ago, even days ago, just to see- to remember those dreams.
With a calming sigh, I rest my head in my arms. Looking out the window always grows dull as twilight sets in. My eyelids are heavy with sleep as always. Taunting me by fluttering open and closed, tricking me into resting my head, knowing as soon as my eyes were closed, I would be whisked away into a world that only I could understand.
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The sound of rain tapping on my window was what caught my ear. It was dancing outside with the wind, begging me to come out and play. Every cold tear drop rolling down my window pane is pleading me to awaken, and so I do. I sit up and look out to the dull forestry outside the window. The deep grey and blue sky is an everlasting backdrop for the pines that stretch so high into the sky. The soft mist that lingers around those trees will always hold a cold welcoming for my pale skin and gently wrap around my body, hiding me deeper in the darkness.
But as I look further out the window, I see the mist breaking apart slightly. A slightly pale figure is walking out of it, dressed purely in white with bare feet that have no traces of dirt. The slim feet, where the ankles were covered by white cloth, drew upwards like a painting, adding legs.
The person keeps walking, taking slow and steady graceful steps like a dancer. The feet are moving forward on the muddy, wet ground at an angle; toes out and parallel, each moving in front of the other at a steady rate. Heel-toe, leg over leg. Such a graceful way to walk. And each step so delicate, as if the person is afraid to ruin the dirty mass of mud beneath their feet.
I am captivated by their pale feet that have not a single trace of mud or debris on them, or how the back of the pant legs are not dirty brown from the mud or a soft gray from the water. As they come closer and closer I am finding myself incapable to tear my eyes away from the figure.
As the knees bend and keep moving, pale fingers that swing softly become visible. Cuffs on a solid white shirt appear on thin shoulders. He is close enough now for me to see the buttons on his shirt. It looks much like my own, but the top three buttons running from his heart to his neck, are left open. Pale skin, flawless and dazzling, seemed to glow with the mist.
My eyes trace over the opened choker covering his thin neck. Strands of honey blonde hair hang around his neck, flowing downward near his exposed chest where the second button should have been. Those two long strands are the only ones that length. The rest is short, and amazingly dry. But what stunned me the most, hypnotized me, and enchanted me was his face.
Never before has my mind created something like this. He is so feminine, but masculine at the same time. Luscious, plump, and pouty lips. The corners of his mouth tug downward, as if forever retaining a small frown. His nose has a small arch, but it is so proudly centered on his face that it seems to grace the masterpiece of all artworks. Two dark and indifferent eyes. shining brightly against the moonless night meet mine.
He seems so sad behind those brown orbs, cast down, as if memorizing his every step. Then they flicker up to me, our gaze is held for a mere second before he closes his eyes. He opens them half way and remains looking down. That is the only glimpse I catch of his eyes, but it is enough for me to stand up quickly, knocking my white wooden chair over.
By now, I realized this was no longer a dream. I could never think up someone as angelic as him on my own. This isn’t a dream. It is real. As I look back out my window, I see him walking towards this place, towards this hospital. I am afraid if I take my eyes off him he will be gone. But I do, and run to my large door. It is always unlocked, they never fear me leaving. I run out and down the darkened halls. I turn down one corridor that leads to the woods, and as I ran down the corridor. I saw him. Still gracefully making his way towards me, just outside the door.
I have never felt like this before. I want out. I want to see him again. But in person to feel his cold wet skin. To talk with him. To finally talk to someone. And with that thought; I fling open the doors.