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HIGH SCHOOL AU(sical)
Jan. 28th, 2020 02:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
easytoread[(I don't have baby icons, forgive me!!)
He lost track of the days he'd spent at home since... the incident. Since then, he'd stopped going to school and was making preparations to move far, far away. Or at least, he should have been doing so, but often enough, he found it a difficult task to muster the energy to do anything at all. He'd hide in his room, surrounded by boxes— some packed, others as disheveled as himself. He'd pull the covers up over his head and do all sorts of unproductive things: sleep, just lay there, cry.
But sometimes, he would put the TV on, just to have any sort of noise to drown out his misery. News, variety programs, daytime dramas— the content didn't matter. So long as it provided a distraction from his racing thoughts.
Today, he sits again in this fashion, huddled in his blanket and watching (but not really watching) whatever comes on. The show finishes, and a movie follows— a romance drama, which is the last thing he wants to see. He starts to fumble a bit for the remote, and the movie begins without his permission. Not sure at all what he's done with the stupid remote, he reluctantly rises from the bed to turn it off manually, but he finds that his finger stops just shy of the power button.
This actor... kind of... resembles him.
Which, of course, is only more reason to shut it off at once, but he doesn't do it. He can't bring himself to do it. His finger trembles and his eyes start watering again as he slowly lowers himself to his knees. Maybe there isn't really any resemblance; maybe his mind— or, more accurately, his broken heart is playing tricks on him. But it's like being able to see him again, one last time. It would be a form of closure, perhaps, since he's not strong enough to see it from the man in question himself.
That's a weak excuse, too, and he knows it as he swats at the idea in his mind, but he sits himself back at his bed, nonetheless, watching as if in a trance. There's such a strange mixture of emotions in his heart: hurt, resentment, jealousy, hope, denial, love... and something he can't quite place.
Their time together was like a movie, too. It came together like a miracle, and then it was over too quickly. Why did it have to end the way it did? Look, even the relationship in this film is crumbling. Maybe life is just like that, after all. There's no such thing as fairy tales.
Realizing that his resentment has started to overtake any enjoyment... or rather, enlightenment that he might otherwise gain from the film, he takes to his feet once more to silence it once and for all. As he stands once more, the heroine of the film cries out, "You've never even once told me that you loved me!"
He freezes again, staring with a strained and yet knowing look, one of camaraderie. He feels a tiny pang of guilt, as if he's wished this upon her somehow, but in reality, she's just another victim of what life really is. At least she's fictional, he thinks.
"Haven't I?" replies the man. His voice sounds confident, but his expression looks as broken as Ritsu's. "I've been saying it every day since the day that I met you. I say it with every move I make, with every kiss. I've always been clumsy with words... But I suppose, even so, there are some things where actions just aren't enough."
Clumsy... No, that couldn't—
Could it? He stares on at the screen; whatever unfolds next, he can't say. The words have dulled into a ringing in his ears. The vision becomes blurry; it's then that he realizes he'd started to cry again. But he can't shake the feeling that maybe... he was too hasty. Maybe he should have listened— maybe he should have asked. Heat rushes to his face just for considering it... considering going to see him. His pride and embarrassment are overwhelmingly holding him back, but an equally strong force inside of him is so desperate to hear such words. As if that's really possible...
He throws his blanket aside. He changes clothes, into his gakuran as most everything else is packed away. He's not really moving consciously... His head is clouded, and his heart is throbbing like crazy, but he gets ready and he heads outside, the first time in days. The sunlight is harsh, or at least too bright for him after having spent so much time in darkness with only the TV for light. He hesitates again, clarity seeping through his muddled senses to tell him to give it up and turn back, but he presses on, one slow step at a time until he reaches... Saga's place.
Why did he bring himself all the way here...? What is he expecting to be any different? He supposes he can't possibly be crushed any further, though that thought isn't of any comfort to him. He should... turn and go. It's not too late. The words he wants so badly to hear— they won't be said simply because he wants them to be. The dark thoughts creep back in; he lowers his head and his expectations.
But all the same, that self-doubt and fear is holding him in place now. Though he wants to turn tail and run away, he's lost the ability to do so. His eyes are fixated on the floor before him, on the thin line that breaks the bottom of the door and its threshold. Is he even home...? He should ring the doorbell, but he just can't. He's spent all of his mental energy in coming here, but now that it's the most important part, he can't bring himself to complete it.]
He lost track of the days he'd spent at home since... the incident. Since then, he'd stopped going to school and was making preparations to move far, far away. Or at least, he should have been doing so, but often enough, he found it a difficult task to muster the energy to do anything at all. He'd hide in his room, surrounded by boxes— some packed, others as disheveled as himself. He'd pull the covers up over his head and do all sorts of unproductive things: sleep, just lay there, cry.
But sometimes, he would put the TV on, just to have any sort of noise to drown out his misery. News, variety programs, daytime dramas— the content didn't matter. So long as it provided a distraction from his racing thoughts.
Today, he sits again in this fashion, huddled in his blanket and watching (but not really watching) whatever comes on. The show finishes, and a movie follows— a romance drama, which is the last thing he wants to see. He starts to fumble a bit for the remote, and the movie begins without his permission. Not sure at all what he's done with the stupid remote, he reluctantly rises from the bed to turn it off manually, but he finds that his finger stops just shy of the power button.
This actor... kind of... resembles him.
Which, of course, is only more reason to shut it off at once, but he doesn't do it. He can't bring himself to do it. His finger trembles and his eyes start watering again as he slowly lowers himself to his knees. Maybe there isn't really any resemblance; maybe his mind— or, more accurately, his broken heart is playing tricks on him. But it's like being able to see him again, one last time. It would be a form of closure, perhaps, since he's not strong enough to see it from the man in question himself.
That's a weak excuse, too, and he knows it as he swats at the idea in his mind, but he sits himself back at his bed, nonetheless, watching as if in a trance. There's such a strange mixture of emotions in his heart: hurt, resentment, jealousy, hope, denial, love... and something he can't quite place.
Their time together was like a movie, too. It came together like a miracle, and then it was over too quickly. Why did it have to end the way it did? Look, even the relationship in this film is crumbling. Maybe life is just like that, after all. There's no such thing as fairy tales.
Realizing that his resentment has started to overtake any enjoyment... or rather, enlightenment that he might otherwise gain from the film, he takes to his feet once more to silence it once and for all. As he stands once more, the heroine of the film cries out, "You've never even once told me that you loved me!"
He freezes again, staring with a strained and yet knowing look, one of camaraderie. He feels a tiny pang of guilt, as if he's wished this upon her somehow, but in reality, she's just another victim of what life really is. At least she's fictional, he thinks.
"Haven't I?" replies the man. His voice sounds confident, but his expression looks as broken as Ritsu's. "I've been saying it every day since the day that I met you. I say it with every move I make, with every kiss. I've always been clumsy with words... But I suppose, even so, there are some things where actions just aren't enough."
Clumsy... No, that couldn't—
Could it? He stares on at the screen; whatever unfolds next, he can't say. The words have dulled into a ringing in his ears. The vision becomes blurry; it's then that he realizes he'd started to cry again. But he can't shake the feeling that maybe... he was too hasty. Maybe he should have listened— maybe he should have asked. Heat rushes to his face just for considering it... considering going to see him. His pride and embarrassment are overwhelmingly holding him back, but an equally strong force inside of him is so desperate to hear such words. As if that's really possible...
He throws his blanket aside. He changes clothes, into his gakuran as most everything else is packed away. He's not really moving consciously... His head is clouded, and his heart is throbbing like crazy, but he gets ready and he heads outside, the first time in days. The sunlight is harsh, or at least too bright for him after having spent so much time in darkness with only the TV for light. He hesitates again, clarity seeping through his muddled senses to tell him to give it up and turn back, but he presses on, one slow step at a time until he reaches... Saga's place.
Why did he bring himself all the way here...? What is he expecting to be any different? He supposes he can't possibly be crushed any further, though that thought isn't of any comfort to him. He should... turn and go. It's not too late. The words he wants so badly to hear— they won't be said simply because he wants them to be. The dark thoughts creep back in; he lowers his head and his expectations.
But all the same, that self-doubt and fear is holding him in place now. Though he wants to turn tail and run away, he's lost the ability to do so. His eyes are fixated on the floor before him, on the thin line that breaks the bottom of the door and its threshold. Is he even home...? He should ring the doorbell, but he just can't. He's spent all of his mental energy in coming here, but now that it's the most important part, he can't bring himself to complete it.]
