C is for Contortion and Coadjutant
Title: C is for Cheating
Author: Kyuu [masochiistic]
Pairing/Band: Teruki(An Cafe) x Bou (ex-An Cafe)
Rating: PG-ish
Warning(s): ...Cheating.
Info: Miku just knows he isn't what Bou wants.
Disclaimer: ..haha. No. :|
Notes: Took a while to come out but.. Here's letter C.
Past Letters: [A][B]
“I love you,” he whispered, but I knew he didn’t mean it.
I knew when I held him, it wasn’t my arms around him he was thinking of.
Of course I wasn’t supposed to know about what he did on his Saturdays when he didn’t answer his phone -that’s why it’s called cheating, after all- but with Kanon and him subtly pointing out things to me, I understood.
I understood that Bou’s eyes didn’t twinkle anymore when they rested on me, and instead I could see him searching, searching for someone not me, and I knew he was looking for him.
Teruki.
It made sense why he stayed late for band practices, not coming home till long after I had left, as well as Kanon. Kanon, I knew, simply because I’d called him numerous occasions, questioning where my Bou was, but Kanon usually said the same thing: call the band room number. And, more then once when I had gained the courage to call, Teruki had answered, and if I didn’t know better I’d say he was, ah, breathless.
And I wasn’t him, nor would I ever be, and Bou seemed to have a difficult time understanding this, as there wasn’t much I could do right. If I lit a candle, Bou always seemed to be behind me, where I could hear him sigh softly and mutter that the one I had chosen was the bad candle, the one that would burn out in two minutes, even though I knew it was his favorite. I’d cook his favorite dinner -always something spicy- and he’d look at it and ask where the wasabi was.
And then there was our one-year anniversary.
I knew he’d forgotten when he came home at twelve, happy and bubbly, and actually looking more cheerful then I’d seen him in weeks. But when I also saw he was empty-handed, I also knew.
I knew I was not what he wanted.
But I hadn’t also just expected him to take his stuff and move in with someone else in a day, either. I hadn’t realized he’d had so little stuff in our apartment. Had he been gradually moving his stuff out, or had he not really had much to begin with?
But even with him gone, the only noticeable thing missing was the picture from the picture frame that had once held an image of the two of us, him in my arms, my smile genuine as his wide.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised when I saw the remains in the paper shredder.
Author: Kyuu [masochiistic]
Pairing/Band: Teruki(An Cafe) x Bou (ex-An Cafe)
Rating: PG-ish
Warning(s): ...Cheating.
Info: Miku just knows he isn't what Bou wants.
Disclaimer: ..haha. No. :|
Notes: Took a while to come out but.. Here's letter C.
Past Letters: [A][B]
“I love you,” he whispered, but I knew he didn’t mean it.
I knew when I held him, it wasn’t my arms around him he was thinking of.
Of course I wasn’t supposed to know about what he did on his Saturdays when he didn’t answer his phone -that’s why it’s called cheating, after all- but with Kanon and him subtly pointing out things to me, I understood.
I understood that Bou’s eyes didn’t twinkle anymore when they rested on me, and instead I could see him searching, searching for someone not me, and I knew he was looking for him.
Teruki.
It made sense why he stayed late for band practices, not coming home till long after I had left, as well as Kanon. Kanon, I knew, simply because I’d called him numerous occasions, questioning where my Bou was, but Kanon usually said the same thing: call the band room number. And, more then once when I had gained the courage to call, Teruki had answered, and if I didn’t know better I’d say he was, ah, breathless.
And I wasn’t him, nor would I ever be, and Bou seemed to have a difficult time understanding this, as there wasn’t much I could do right. If I lit a candle, Bou always seemed to be behind me, where I could hear him sigh softly and mutter that the one I had chosen was the bad candle, the one that would burn out in two minutes, even though I knew it was his favorite. I’d cook his favorite dinner -always something spicy- and he’d look at it and ask where the wasabi was.
And then there was our one-year anniversary.
I knew he’d forgotten when he came home at twelve, happy and bubbly, and actually looking more cheerful then I’d seen him in weeks. But when I also saw he was empty-handed, I also knew.
I knew I was not what he wanted.
But I hadn’t also just expected him to take his stuff and move in with someone else in a day, either. I hadn’t realized he’d had so little stuff in our apartment. Had he been gradually moving his stuff out, or had he not really had much to begin with?
But even with him gone, the only noticeable thing missing was the picture from the picture frame that had once held an image of the two of us, him in my arms, my smile genuine as his wide.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised when I saw the remains in the paper shredder.