[Fic] Wilted Orchid - Aoi/Uruha - 1/1
Title: Wilted Orchid
Chapters: 1/1
Author: Translated from Italian by
x_okuribi
Genre: Angst.
Ratings: PG
Pairings: Aoi/Uruha, hint of Aoi/Kai
Synopsis: The worst way of missing someone is sitting next to them while knowing you’ll never have them.
Comments: I’ve just translated this fic from Italian. The real author’s not here on LJ so I post it up for her.
He had messed up, for the umpteenth time.
He was currently sitting on the wet pavement, among shreds of what had previously been a vase and withered flowers which now needed to be replaced.
The orchids he bought just a few minutes ago were still delicately wrapped in the light blue paper the florist used to make a small bouquet, and sat on the table next to a pair of scissors.
He loved orchids.
He nibbled on his bottom lip and started picking up the various pieces of cyan porcelain, decorated with small and bright-green leaves, scattered almost everywhere on the snow-white tiles.
The water was dampening his knees and thighs, but he decided to ignore it; he just wanted to get the cleaning done so that he could go back to cooking.
What was the use in busying himself so much anyway?
A silent tear quickly slid along his cheek, but he didn't notice it until he felt it’s slightly salted taste while it died on his lips. He dried it off with the back of his hand, calling himself an idiot repeatedly before going back to his task, hoping to be fast enough.
Vain hope it seemed, since not even a minute later the faint sound of the lock being unfastened informed him the other inhabitant of the house was back.
And he was still in such a pitiful condition.
He scrambled to stand up, gathering most of the fragments in one hand and helping himself off the floor with the other, but he slipped, hitting his knee and thus drawing the newcomer's attention, who hastily ran in the kitchen.
«Kouyou, what the hell have you done?»
The blond turned his head just a little, lifting it so that he could meet the other's cold and severe gaze, which was studying the mess he had been able to make of the kitchen, dwelling particularly on the flowers lying atop the table.
«I'm sorry, Yuu... I turned around for a second, and-»
The other cut him off with a dismissive wave and an annoyed huff, tucking a strand of jet black hair behind his ear.
He had gone wrong; he had made a pathetic fool out of himself in front of him once again, when he just wanted to make something nice for the dark-haired man, who hadn't so much as looked at him for months now.
Still kneeling in the small pool of water and rotten leaves, he tried his best to hold back both tears and sobs, forcing himself not to look even more ridiculous than he already was while he nervously scratched his cheek.
«I'll go take a shower, » Yuu began, taking a couple of steps further into the room to reach the door looking on to the corridor, «It's freaking hot out. »
He walked on, kicking a piece of vase and exhaling audibly; Kouyou didn't even have the courage to say anything in return.
«Clean up this shit, please, and do it fast, or you'll screw up the dinner as well. » With that he disappeared in the hallway, leaving him alone.
Again.
Alone with his ill-restrained weeping, alone with the memories of the days when they were really happy, when it was just the two of them. Those days he ached to bring back, in vain though.
Every single time he tried to do something nice for Yuu he just ended up mistaking, putting even more distance between the two of them. Kouyou still hadn't learned, though. He didn't want to learn nor did he want to give up, although he was well aware that any of his efforts would ever pay off.
He wanted to live in the fairytale in which he was still loved back, even if just to a minimum, finding in it the strength to carry on and wish he could revert to happiness with the person he cared for the most.
In Kouyou's mind, he was at fault for letting Yuu progressively drift away from him; and he kept reaching out to him with all his might, but the more he extended his frail arms towards him, the more his beloved faded into darkness.
After getting up and having thrown the old flowers in the bin along with the remnants of the vase, he wiped the floor clean in order to spare himself another pitiless fall and then busied himself with what preparation he had left for dinner, just as he was told.
He was weak.
He had always been, but in Yuu he had found someone he could lean on, a hand always ready to catch him whenever he fell.
He was weak because he couldn't stand his ground, because he persisted in wanting to pursue a relationship that was rotten right from its very foundations, because he let someone interfere more than they were allowed to.
Yutaka.
The one who had always helped him, who convinced him to confess, who was up and ready with some piece of advice and a huge grin of encouragement to lift up his spirits whenever he felt down.
Kouyou realized everything the night in which he smelt some different and yet painfully familiar kind of cologne on Yuu; the latter obviously denied everything, reprimanding him for being so silly and dragging him to bed afterwards, to have the usual loveless sex that slowly replaced their old loving nights.
He started to search for some kind of proof, his suspects driven further by Yuu's strange behavior, and when the sad, violent truth finally came crashing down on him, he couldn't for the life of him find the smallest bit of courage to make the first move and face the other. Instead he just put up with it for months, repeatedly recollecting every bit of his shattered soul just like he'd done with the earthenware piece of furniture, and reattaching them quite badly.
Again.
He pretended not to know though, desperately trying to try and bring back to life something that was long gone and passed.
Yuu came back just as he finished cooking and preparing the plates for both of them. He sat wordlessly, sparing a quick glance at the fresh flowers, which were now accommodated in a stark white flowerpot.
Kouyou stared at him for several minutes, crestfallen and distraught: he understood, but he would never acknowledge it. Never.
What was left of their us, were just a bunch of beautiful memories that were meant to walk out on.
«The worst way of missing someone is sitting next to them while knowing you’ll never have them.»
Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez
Chapters: 1/1
Author: Translated from Italian by
x_okuribi
Genre: Angst.
Ratings: PG
Pairings: Aoi/Uruha, hint of Aoi/Kai
Synopsis: The worst way of missing someone is sitting next to them while knowing you’ll never have them.
Comments: I’ve just translated this fic from Italian. The real author’s not here on LJ so I post it up for her.
He had messed up, for the umpteenth time.
He was currently sitting on the wet pavement, among shreds of what had previously been a vase and withered flowers which now needed to be replaced.
The orchids he bought just a few minutes ago were still delicately wrapped in the light blue paper the florist used to make a small bouquet, and sat on the table next to a pair of scissors.
He loved orchids.
He nibbled on his bottom lip and started picking up the various pieces of cyan porcelain, decorated with small and bright-green leaves, scattered almost everywhere on the snow-white tiles.
The water was dampening his knees and thighs, but he decided to ignore it; he just wanted to get the cleaning done so that he could go back to cooking.
What was the use in busying himself so much anyway?
A silent tear quickly slid along his cheek, but he didn't notice it until he felt it’s slightly salted taste while it died on his lips. He dried it off with the back of his hand, calling himself an idiot repeatedly before going back to his task, hoping to be fast enough.
Vain hope it seemed, since not even a minute later the faint sound of the lock being unfastened informed him the other inhabitant of the house was back.
And he was still in such a pitiful condition.
He scrambled to stand up, gathering most of the fragments in one hand and helping himself off the floor with the other, but he slipped, hitting his knee and thus drawing the newcomer's attention, who hastily ran in the kitchen.
«Kouyou, what the hell have you done?»
The blond turned his head just a little, lifting it so that he could meet the other's cold and severe gaze, which was studying the mess he had been able to make of the kitchen, dwelling particularly on the flowers lying atop the table.
«I'm sorry, Yuu... I turned around for a second, and-»
The other cut him off with a dismissive wave and an annoyed huff, tucking a strand of jet black hair behind his ear.
He had gone wrong; he had made a pathetic fool out of himself in front of him once again, when he just wanted to make something nice for the dark-haired man, who hadn't so much as looked at him for months now.
Still kneeling in the small pool of water and rotten leaves, he tried his best to hold back both tears and sobs, forcing himself not to look even more ridiculous than he already was while he nervously scratched his cheek.
«I'll go take a shower, » Yuu began, taking a couple of steps further into the room to reach the door looking on to the corridor, «It's freaking hot out. »
He walked on, kicking a piece of vase and exhaling audibly; Kouyou didn't even have the courage to say anything in return.
«Clean up this shit, please, and do it fast, or you'll screw up the dinner as well. » With that he disappeared in the hallway, leaving him alone.
Again.
Alone with his ill-restrained weeping, alone with the memories of the days when they were really happy, when it was just the two of them. Those days he ached to bring back, in vain though.
Every single time he tried to do something nice for Yuu he just ended up mistaking, putting even more distance between the two of them. Kouyou still hadn't learned, though. He didn't want to learn nor did he want to give up, although he was well aware that any of his efforts would ever pay off.
He wanted to live in the fairytale in which he was still loved back, even if just to a minimum, finding in it the strength to carry on and wish he could revert to happiness with the person he cared for the most.
In Kouyou's mind, he was at fault for letting Yuu progressively drift away from him; and he kept reaching out to him with all his might, but the more he extended his frail arms towards him, the more his beloved faded into darkness.
After getting up and having thrown the old flowers in the bin along with the remnants of the vase, he wiped the floor clean in order to spare himself another pitiless fall and then busied himself with what preparation he had left for dinner, just as he was told.
He was weak.
He had always been, but in Yuu he had found someone he could lean on, a hand always ready to catch him whenever he fell.
He was weak because he couldn't stand his ground, because he persisted in wanting to pursue a relationship that was rotten right from its very foundations, because he let someone interfere more than they were allowed to.
Yutaka.
The one who had always helped him, who convinced him to confess, who was up and ready with some piece of advice and a huge grin of encouragement to lift up his spirits whenever he felt down.
Kouyou realized everything the night in which he smelt some different and yet painfully familiar kind of cologne on Yuu; the latter obviously denied everything, reprimanding him for being so silly and dragging him to bed afterwards, to have the usual loveless sex that slowly replaced their old loving nights.
He started to search for some kind of proof, his suspects driven further by Yuu's strange behavior, and when the sad, violent truth finally came crashing down on him, he couldn't for the life of him find the smallest bit of courage to make the first move and face the other. Instead he just put up with it for months, repeatedly recollecting every bit of his shattered soul just like he'd done with the earthenware piece of furniture, and reattaching them quite badly.
Again.
He pretended not to know though, desperately trying to try and bring back to life something that was long gone and passed.
Yuu came back just as he finished cooking and preparing the plates for both of them. He sat wordlessly, sparing a quick glance at the fresh flowers, which were now accommodated in a stark white flowerpot.
Kouyou stared at him for several minutes, crestfallen and distraught: he understood, but he would never acknowledge it. Never.
What was left of their us, were just a bunch of beautiful memories that were meant to walk out on.
«The worst way of missing someone is sitting next to them while knowing you’ll never have them.»
Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez