Fanfic: Black Swords and Coffee; He Smiles
Title: Black Swords and Coffee; He Smiles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 831
Summary: A reality encased in dreams, the memories that aren't yours.
Author's Note: I posted this just now as my second entry in the au100 community but I posted this on Fanfiction.net about a week ago. ^0^
It’s as if you can see the years of your life in his eyes. Not just the past and the events of the present but all the ‘could be’s and the ‘will be’s that life can hold.
But it’s impossible.
The dream ends.
Your alarm clock goes off.
And another day starts without knowing who he is.
“It’s like…” you stare into your cup of coffee. Pale brown mixed with too much cream and sugar reflects your face.
“It’s like I know him and he knows me but I don’t really know him…” you stammer through that short sentence but it means so much to make him understand, to make him see.
He pushed his cup of black coffee forward.
“So you want to break off this engagement all because of a dream.”
His deep voice already echoes his disapproval; you don’t want to look up and see it written on his face. You force yourself to nod. He sighs and folds his hands carefully on the glass tabletop.
Carefully. Carefully crafted hands of pale ivory and calculated muscles ripple up his forearms.
He really is a handsome man, refined and cultured because of his upbringing on the rung of the highest social ladder. Surprisingly he chased after you. The whole courtship was… uncomfortable. Like there was something wrong with this entire thing, something off-kilter, something… devious.
Your mother and father smiled upon this match while ignoring your uneasiness, saying it was a blessing from God.
Your brother didn’t put it so nicely.
A kidnapping, he said right to her fiancé’s (now ex-fiancé) face, a goddamned kidnapping.
You bite your lower lip and then force yourself to stop. He hates it when you do that. It makes you look immature, he said.
“I’m…”
“I know you’re sorry,” his voice rumbled like thunder in the distance. You slowly pull off the engagement ring and place it placidly on the glass table.
“Sousuke…”
He stands up, elegant hands flat against the glass, “Keep it.”
When you finally muster up the courage to leave the café and pay the coffee bill, the waitress says with a cheery voice, “Oh, the man you came in with paid already!”
How embarrassing.
It rains.
The office is already empty. You quickly check that you have everything and push your chair back. It makes a loud screech and you blush even though no one is there to hear.
Your footsteps echo through the hallways as you make your way outside the school.
In your memories, there are the images of your high school life:
Bike rides through the park, pillow fights with girlfriends at sleepovers, your first kiss at the swing set just outside your house.
But somewhere else, there are strange memories that you’re not quite sure are yours:
Battles with swords and spirits, people dressed in weird clothing, friends bound together not only by the same sort of classes in school but by war and loyalty.
These images were constantly changing, kaleidoscopes of color and strange combinations of food. But always at the center of the odd images, there he was, the smile on his face a little awkward, forced.
You step out into the rain, safe under your umbrella and begin to walk.
You’ve passed by here more than a thousand times. And each time, you’re sure something important was supposed to happen here, something that changed the way your destiny bled.
The slope slid down to the river in a hill of green. The bridge lights up, pinpoints of white and green against a blood red sunset.
The river is orange, the color of his hair.
You pause.
You open your bag to grasp the ring, that 3 carat diamond ring, and cradled it in your palm.
There was once a time, a moment when you looked into the shining depths of that diamond and saw your future. You saw a large, flourishing estate with high, imposing black iron wrought fences and butlers and servants at your every whim. You saw Sousuke traveling to faraway places like Hong Kong, Moscow, London, and Paris without your knowledge. You saw yourself, surrounded by only the best things, the most beautiful things, and hating every second of it.
You would die behind those gates.
Your very breath would freeze and when his hands would reach out to touch you, you would break.
The ring is dazzling in the setting sun and the harsh bite of the platinum band stings. You overturn your palm and watch as the ring drops, drops, drops…
It barely makes a splash as it falls into the river.
That night, in your dreams, he tells you that he’s sorry. Sorry that he was too weak. But next time, he’ll get stronger. He’ll, for sure, protect you.
You wake up in the middle of the night, the smell of sulfur and the shine of his dark sword blinding your senses.
But you realize:
He’s not real.
He can’t be.
But you believe him anyway.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 831
Summary: A reality encased in dreams, the memories that aren't yours.
Author's Note: I posted this just now as my second entry in the au100 community but I posted this on Fanfiction.net about a week ago. ^0^
It’s as if you can see the years of your life in his eyes. Not just the past and the events of the present but all the ‘could be’s and the ‘will be’s that life can hold.
But it’s impossible.
The dream ends.
Your alarm clock goes off.
And another day starts without knowing who he is.
“It’s like…” you stare into your cup of coffee. Pale brown mixed with too much cream and sugar reflects your face.
“It’s like I know him and he knows me but I don’t really know him…” you stammer through that short sentence but it means so much to make him understand, to make him see.
He pushed his cup of black coffee forward.
“So you want to break off this engagement all because of a dream.”
His deep voice already echoes his disapproval; you don’t want to look up and see it written on his face. You force yourself to nod. He sighs and folds his hands carefully on the glass tabletop.
Carefully. Carefully crafted hands of pale ivory and calculated muscles ripple up his forearms.
He really is a handsome man, refined and cultured because of his upbringing on the rung of the highest social ladder. Surprisingly he chased after you. The whole courtship was… uncomfortable. Like there was something wrong with this entire thing, something off-kilter, something… devious.
Your mother and father smiled upon this match while ignoring your uneasiness, saying it was a blessing from God.
Your brother didn’t put it so nicely.
A kidnapping, he said right to her fiancé’s (now ex-fiancé) face, a goddamned kidnapping.
You bite your lower lip and then force yourself to stop. He hates it when you do that. It makes you look immature, he said.
“I’m…”
“I know you’re sorry,” his voice rumbled like thunder in the distance. You slowly pull off the engagement ring and place it placidly on the glass table.
“Sousuke…”
He stands up, elegant hands flat against the glass, “Keep it.”
When you finally muster up the courage to leave the café and pay the coffee bill, the waitress says with a cheery voice, “Oh, the man you came in with paid already!”
How embarrassing.
It rains.
The office is already empty. You quickly check that you have everything and push your chair back. It makes a loud screech and you blush even though no one is there to hear.
Your footsteps echo through the hallways as you make your way outside the school.
In your memories, there are the images of your high school life:
Bike rides through the park, pillow fights with girlfriends at sleepovers, your first kiss at the swing set just outside your house.
But somewhere else, there are strange memories that you’re not quite sure are yours:
Battles with swords and spirits, people dressed in weird clothing, friends bound together not only by the same sort of classes in school but by war and loyalty.
These images were constantly changing, kaleidoscopes of color and strange combinations of food. But always at the center of the odd images, there he was, the smile on his face a little awkward, forced.
You step out into the rain, safe under your umbrella and begin to walk.
You’ve passed by here more than a thousand times. And each time, you’re sure something important was supposed to happen here, something that changed the way your destiny bled.
The slope slid down to the river in a hill of green. The bridge lights up, pinpoints of white and green against a blood red sunset.
The river is orange, the color of his hair.
You pause.
You open your bag to grasp the ring, that 3 carat diamond ring, and cradled it in your palm.
There was once a time, a moment when you looked into the shining depths of that diamond and saw your future. You saw a large, flourishing estate with high, imposing black iron wrought fences and butlers and servants at your every whim. You saw Sousuke traveling to faraway places like Hong Kong, Moscow, London, and Paris without your knowledge. You saw yourself, surrounded by only the best things, the most beautiful things, and hating every second of it.
You would die behind those gates.
Your very breath would freeze and when his hands would reach out to touch you, you would break.
The ring is dazzling in the setting sun and the harsh bite of the platinum band stings. You overturn your palm and watch as the ring drops, drops, drops…
It barely makes a splash as it falls into the river.
That night, in your dreams, he tells you that he’s sorry. Sorry that he was too weak. But next time, he’ll get stronger. He’ll, for sure, protect you.
You wake up in the middle of the night, the smell of sulfur and the shine of his dark sword blinding your senses.
But you realize:
He’s not real.
He can’t be.
But you believe him anyway.