Fic - Kasen
Title: Kasen
Character/Pairing: Gaara-centric, implied one-sided GaaTema and GaaKan
Word Count: 950 exact
Warnings: None really, besides the pairings
A/N: A songfic based on Onitsuka Chihiro's song infection.
These nights, Gaara didn’t go out to kill anymore. There was no need to now, for he just killed twice the number he usually did during the day. Instead he simply crossed his thin arms on the small kitchen table and laid his head upon them. All night he stared down at the wood grains below him, barely breathing, almost as if he were…dead.
That was his only refuge for that feeling, something worse than anything Shukaku could do to him. Perhaps it was a pitiful attempt for trying to escape it, but while he was here, at least he could forget. Especially now, since it was getting worse and worse each day…
One night, just as Gaara walked into the kitchen to begin his routine, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. No, nobody was here this late. But still, the footsteps grew louder and louder until the figure of Temari appeared in the hall.
Gaara breathed in, and stared down at the floor; no, no, it couldn’t be her. But it was.
Defensively, he raised his head back up again to look at her and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Gaara could see the fear well up in her eyes as she answered. “I-I’m just m-making sure that you’re a-alright.”
He knew that she was lying between her teeth-why would anyone care for a monster like him? Yet, there was a part of him who desperately wanted it to be true.
And with the thought came the first bit of that horrible feeling, the thought of “I need to say something good in reply.”
No, he did not, did not, did not. He breathed in deeply again, breath shuddering as he exhaled
“I-is there s-something wrong?”
Just behind her, in the shadows of the hallway, stood Kankurou whispering, “No, turn back before he slaughters you!” but his eyes giving a glance of pity. Pity for him…
For that moment, Gaara wished that he could have just a tiny part of that bond they two had. No, no he didn’t. Or did he? Why was he starting to doubt himself now?
Then there he was, staring at the floor, his breathing strained. Then he turned his head up one last time and growled, “No… No!” clutching to a chair for support as he felt his legs giving in right below him.
Deathly afraid of stirring up his anger, Temari backed up, before running down the hall, crying. But the feeling didn’t go away and continued to sink deeper and deeper into him, like a disease. Using the last of his strength, Gaara ran into his room and slammed the door, his heart pounding audibly in the silence.
Taking refuge in one of the shadowed corners of the unfurnished room and hugging his knees close to himself, he asked, “Why, why, why…?”
Why had this just happened? These sort of fevers had been happening more often now, but it had never been this bad. Then he realized it.
Because he had almost felt loved, truly loved…and the feeling was from them.
They were the only people on earth he didn’t just want to kill, because they were the only ones that didn’t completely treat him as a monster. Yes, they were deathly afraid of him, but they bore their suffering in silence, grudgingly going along with him without complaint about their position, even though he made their lives hell. Sometimes, they’d look into his eyes and actually look to see what was in there without their faces completely recoiling into disgust
Perhaps they didn’t do much and what they did do was all was imagined, anyways, but it was enough to make him think that they were worth living. So at first, he was just that, tolerant of them. He went through the usual motions of making threats, but he never acted upon them.
Then, over time, the feel gradually turned into a liking. For some unfamiliar reason, he wanted to get closer to them, to have them acknowledge him just a bit more, to even have them love-
No. He didn’t want that. Only he was supposed to love himself, not anyone else. But it was all right, because it was all imagined. So he let it persist, letting it grow and grow until it was now almost like some feverish obsession.
Now, whenever he wasn’t thinking about killing, his thoughts would inexplicably drift to thinking about his siblings and how nice it’d be to actually have them extend a hand out so he could touch them…and surely there would be the same remnants of warmth that he had remembered from long ago. Then, when he’d look at them, he wanted it even more, to be loved, but he knew that he would never receive it.
Ever. He never wanted it in the first place.
But he had almost received it, just now, or whatever his mind had twisted it out to be. He couldn’t deny it anymore: he wanted to be loved by someone.
And with that realization came a horrible shock, because it was against everything he existed for. “No, no, no,” he whispered.
It had been such a long time since this feeling, such a long time since he thought he had gotten his emotions perfectly controlled, but they had just been masked underneath his heart.
At that moment, he brought his hand up to his chest and felt that same heart begin cracking, and the shattered fragments glitter underneath. He asked himself, “When…when was I ever so weak?”
Gaara knows he has to wake up from this living nightmare of his.
(Other people describe this as being in love…)
Character/Pairing: Gaara-centric, implied one-sided GaaTema and GaaKan
Word Count: 950 exact
Warnings: None really, besides the pairings
A/N: A songfic based on Onitsuka Chihiro's song infection.
These nights, Gaara didn’t go out to kill anymore. There was no need to now, for he just killed twice the number he usually did during the day. Instead he simply crossed his thin arms on the small kitchen table and laid his head upon them. All night he stared down at the wood grains below him, barely breathing, almost as if he were…dead.
That was his only refuge for that feeling, something worse than anything Shukaku could do to him. Perhaps it was a pitiful attempt for trying to escape it, but while he was here, at least he could forget. Especially now, since it was getting worse and worse each day…
One night, just as Gaara walked into the kitchen to begin his routine, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. No, nobody was here this late. But still, the footsteps grew louder and louder until the figure of Temari appeared in the hall.
Gaara breathed in, and stared down at the floor; no, no, it couldn’t be her. But it was.
Defensively, he raised his head back up again to look at her and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Gaara could see the fear well up in her eyes as she answered. “I-I’m just m-making sure that you’re a-alright.”
He knew that she was lying between her teeth-why would anyone care for a monster like him? Yet, there was a part of him who desperately wanted it to be true.
And with the thought came the first bit of that horrible feeling, the thought of “I need to say something good in reply.”
No, he did not, did not, did not. He breathed in deeply again, breath shuddering as he exhaled
“I-is there s-something wrong?”
Just behind her, in the shadows of the hallway, stood Kankurou whispering, “No, turn back before he slaughters you!” but his eyes giving a glance of pity. Pity for him…
For that moment, Gaara wished that he could have just a tiny part of that bond they two had. No, no he didn’t. Or did he? Why was he starting to doubt himself now?
Then there he was, staring at the floor, his breathing strained. Then he turned his head up one last time and growled, “No… No!” clutching to a chair for support as he felt his legs giving in right below him.
Deathly afraid of stirring up his anger, Temari backed up, before running down the hall, crying. But the feeling didn’t go away and continued to sink deeper and deeper into him, like a disease. Using the last of his strength, Gaara ran into his room and slammed the door, his heart pounding audibly in the silence.
Taking refuge in one of the shadowed corners of the unfurnished room and hugging his knees close to himself, he asked, “Why, why, why…?”
Why had this just happened? These sort of fevers had been happening more often now, but it had never been this bad. Then he realized it.
Because he had almost felt loved, truly loved…and the feeling was from them.
They were the only people on earth he didn’t just want to kill, because they were the only ones that didn’t completely treat him as a monster. Yes, they were deathly afraid of him, but they bore their suffering in silence, grudgingly going along with him without complaint about their position, even though he made their lives hell. Sometimes, they’d look into his eyes and actually look to see what was in there without their faces completely recoiling into disgust
Perhaps they didn’t do much and what they did do was all was imagined, anyways, but it was enough to make him think that they were worth living. So at first, he was just that, tolerant of them. He went through the usual motions of making threats, but he never acted upon them.
Then, over time, the feel gradually turned into a liking. For some unfamiliar reason, he wanted to get closer to them, to have them acknowledge him just a bit more, to even have them love-
No. He didn’t want that. Only he was supposed to love himself, not anyone else. But it was all right, because it was all imagined. So he let it persist, letting it grow and grow until it was now almost like some feverish obsession.
Now, whenever he wasn’t thinking about killing, his thoughts would inexplicably drift to thinking about his siblings and how nice it’d be to actually have them extend a hand out so he could touch them…and surely there would be the same remnants of warmth that he had remembered from long ago. Then, when he’d look at them, he wanted it even more, to be loved, but he knew that he would never receive it.
Ever. He never wanted it in the first place.
But he had almost received it, just now, or whatever his mind had twisted it out to be. He couldn’t deny it anymore: he wanted to be loved by someone.
And with that realization came a horrible shock, because it was against everything he existed for. “No, no, no,” he whispered.
It had been such a long time since this feeling, such a long time since he thought he had gotten his emotions perfectly controlled, but they had just been masked underneath his heart.
At that moment, he brought his hand up to his chest and felt that same heart begin cracking, and the shattered fragments glitter underneath. He asked himself, “When…when was I ever so weak?”
Gaara knows he has to wake up from this living nightmare of his.
(Other people describe this as being in love…)