starsandspears
Valentine's Day was a bit of a wasted holiday on Yukito, honestly. Though, it wasn't as if he was going to be one to refuse the constant deliveries of chocolates, most wrapped in foils displaying their cheap brand name quality, some going as far out of their way to import Belgian chocolate to impress the student council president. He accepted all of them the same, more looking forward to going to the student council room and eating all of the sweet delicacies to himself. Sure, the chocolate bought from Walmart really wasn't as good as the Belgian chocolates, but it was chocolate all the same.
His friends all gave him chocolate as a joke, playing along with the rest of the school as they used Valentine's Day to fawn over the school's idol, and the one that Dracen gave him stood out the most in the pile of chocolate. A number of heart shaped chocolates contained inside a plastic bag neatly tied together with a red ribbon sat at the top of the pile and he remembers Jasper telling him that Dracen had made the handmade all the chocolate himself.
Yukito had little expectation for those chocolates, but the moment he popped one in his mouth, he couldn't help but let out a soft groan at the taste, the way the chocolate so gently melted on his tongue.
"Cheeky brat," he laughed quietly as he reached for another one of those chocolates. "Looks like you've one won this one."
The sound of the door slamming coincided exactly with the thunderclap outside that pierced through the night. He huddled inside his closet, praying that SHE wouldn't find him, that she would leave him alone, and eventually the storm would end.
There was never such luck.
Observational diary - Day 231:
He's still scowling.
I said I was sorry too. I didn't even think it was going to be a big deal that I tried putting bows in his hair. But I wasn't really sorry, of course. He did look good in them. Not like he believed me at all in the slightest. But it's alright, I think. I do it all the time, and eventually he forgives me. I just kind of wish he'd forgive me sooner rather than later. Then I could start spending time with him. It's so tiring him watch him be with other people -- he scowls less when he's with other people besides me, which is completely wrong.
At least he doesn't know that I keep this logbook. Then he might really keep up that scowl on his face when he looks at me.
Most of the time, Yuki had no idea why Luke was in love with him.
What did he have to offer to someone who was already so perfect, flawless, someone who really could have almost anyone else he wanted. It was no secret that Luke was the type who was popular with the girls, so what was the point, then, of Luke sticking with someone who had nothing of worth to give him?
Of course, Luke always knew the answer, of the fact that Yuki had something that only he could give to Luke, and no one else.
Underneath whatever bright smiles and flirty laughs he had, there was always the subtle, burning anger, rage, and wrath that was always only just so barely constrained by what he showed to everyone on the outside - not a facade, no, never, but there was always the darker side to Luke that terrified him.
And somehow, Yuki could effortlessly make all that anger recede. Any moment Luke could feel the wrath threatening to rip apart the chains keeping it just barely at bay, Yuki would simply reach over and touch Luke's arm, and suddenly it was all gone. As if the anger had shrunk away and become quiet once again.
It was the perfect kind of offering, in Luke's opinion, because it wasn't even something that Yuki was conscious of. But it was important to him, and it didn't really matter to Luke if Yuki couldn't offer anything at all. Everything else came unconditionally, and that was what mattered. Not what they could constantly give and take from each other, but just the comfort of knowing that they were there.
Perhaps it would have been a kinder sort of mercy if Syaoran had accepted a death penalty from the Council. Of course, none of the sentences would've been quick and painless; they would have to put on a show to deter anyone else from rising up against them. Public beheading, burning, perhaps impalement -- either way, it was likely that some part of Syaoran's desecrated body would end up propped on a spike as an example, a warning to anyone else that would dare disrupt the peace.
Aisling couldn't accept that kind of horror. As Syaoran and the Council had "negotiated", she could almost see the scenes flashing before her eyes. Closing them wasn't even necessary. It made her blood run cold and her stomach churn, her heart stop and her head dizzy. She couldn't imagine it, didn't want to imagine it, didn't want to see the person she had come to treasure more than her own self to be destroyed beyond repair, gone -- dead.
Perhaps it would have been kinder, to know that he was gone and free from any sort of brief suffering he would experience rather than accepting a fate that would ultimately lead to the same end, but the path would be slower, more painful, and when Aisling thought about it she forgot to breathe because she couldn't even begin to try and fathom what would happen to Syaoran.
Neither fate was for him. Should be for him.
She tried to plead with him, let herself be taken the same way, to be left behind with Syaoran (after all, wasn't the traditional marriage vow "'till death do us part?"), but he only gave her a silent, pleading look. It was the kind that he used when he wanted Aisling to stay in bed just a little longer, when he wanted to have just one more cookie from the plate, when he wanted just one more kiss. It was the kind that she couldn't resist.
And so she let him go. But she could still see the more merciful image burning behind her eyelids -- of a serene face and limp body spiked on iron stakes.
Aisling always believed she was cursed. There was something about the poisonous words that could come out of her mouth that could come true -- whether it was a matter of seconds, days, months, years, even... it didn't matter. She was cursed. Even if she didn't mean it, even if it was just a joke, even the worst things could come true.
That's why she kept her mouth shut about everyone else, that's why she only said things that were positive, for the fear that anything less than that could come true and come back to knock her down more than they had before. (She didn't want to kill anyone else she never wanted that)
That's why she kept her mouth shut about her insecurities about Syaoran. (What if one day he realizes that he doesn't like me? That I'm not good enough for him? What if he leaves? What if, what if, what if...)
It hurt to keep it inside, Aisling hated to keep it inside, but she always managed to suppress the urge to say anything out loud. (Which, ironically, she always encouraged the rest of her crew to speak their minds, after all, "It's healthy to, and it doesn't help to keep anything inside.") She kept up her smile, kept her chin up, and tried not to think about those dangerous thoughts while she snuggled up against Syaoran's side. Anything so that he wouldn't suspect anything was wrong, so he would never ask, and so she would never have the urge to let those words spill out and come true. And of course, Aisling could never tell him about her curse.
Because who would ever love a cursed being once they knew the truth?
It was strange, how little parts of their lives became so minutely integrated with each other's lives in only a few short weeks. Whether it was Aisling's faint smell of fresh flowers and newly baked cookies that now always seemed to hang in Syaoran's room, or the dozens of Polaroids of Syaoran that were messily pinned to the wall of Aisling's bedroom wall, or the number of apple juice boxes that had steadily begun to fill space where they hadn't previously in Syaoran's pantry, or the way boxes of tea that had somehow snuck their way into Aisling's kitchen cabinets, or how Syaoran made sure to clean up the messes his friends made in his house after they hung out (just in case if Aisling happened to drop by later), or the way that Aisling spent just a few minutes more in front of the mirror than she really had to fixing her hair, or the way that every time their phone buzzed for a few, anxious seconds they hoped it would be the other, or even how at exactly 11pm Syaoran texted Aisling goodnight and how exactly 5 seconds later she would reply with a heart...
Or maybe it was simply just the way that it was always supposed to be. It was natural that way, and maybe that's why it was so easy for them to fall into this rhythm, to be so acutely in tune with the other, to not mind the tiny changes in their lives that didn't feel like changes at all...
They weren't really changes. They were just things that had been missing before, but had easily woven with the rest of their life -- complete.
"I actually don't really like tea that much," Aisling said with a tiny regretful smile on her face as Syaoran set a cup in front of her.
"O-oh, really? Well, I could make you something else, if you'd like, I didn't know... -" he replies, somewhat hastily, and there's an expression of worry on his face. Aisling knows what it is, and it makes her smile seeing at how earnest he's trying to please her. It's too endearing, she has to admit, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to reach over and wrap her arms around him.
"Don't worry," she laughs, picking up the cup and taking a tiny sip. "Just for you, I think I might like it."
He wallowed in the feeling of the drug -- the long, numbing sensations that let his troubles almost slip away. The pain at his chest disappeared and the grief faded away, and was replaced by the feeling that was brought by the drug. It was secret, something special and only to him, even though he always felt worse when the effects faded. He was left with the cruel reminder that what he was really looking for, and longed for, was already gone.
Calling Levi as his boyfriend was weird. It wasn't exactly like that, really, Jesse always thought, but Levi wasn't exactly just a friend either. Friends didn't go around sleeping in the same bed and kissing each other in the morning when they wake up, and friends didn't cuddle like there was no tomorrow and friends didn't get frisky when the sun went down. When Jesse said "I love you," there was always a weight behind it, and if they were friends, that wouldn't exist. But boyfriend was a weird thing to say. And he couldn't figure out why.
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writing since 2015 · 11 entries · 11 days shown up
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