Mokuyoubi
Aki's always had this special sort of aura about him. You interact with him for five minutes and you find yourself drowning in his passion or his anger or his adulation to love and sex.
The announcement shook the supernatural community like an earthquake. Some didn't heed it it, believing their government too benevolent to enact that sort of tyranny. But Aki knew better.
He studies the note like it's written in a foreign language. The scrawl is perfectly familiar to him, but the words don't make any sense. He turns it over, as if expected it to have some sort of caveat on the back. When nothing but blank paper meets his gaze, he turns it back around and stares at the words written in purple gel pen: 'You're gorgeous.'
It's a simple offering, a small paper crane left on the dresser amidst medications and jewelry. But it's enough. He turns it over in his hand, all the carefully pressed lines and folds showing Crow's careful touch.
He didn't expect it to be spiked, but he can't say he's complaining. Life's always a little more fun tilt-shifted, with his emotions running wild and a grin barely contained on his face. And besides--it gives him an excuse to kiss the nearest stranger.
It's like a sickness engulfing him, a black, sticky mess of hatred that he sinks down into and becomes part of. And some day, there will be nothing of him left--just the spiraling depression going ever downward.
He's been 'round the globe and back more times than he cares to count. But really, this is the only place for him. With the breeze in his hair as he leans over the bridge to watch the fish lazily swim about, he breathes in the scent of cherry blossoms and finally feels at home.
He steps to the edge, wings flared in the chilling night. The city snarls below him, packed with lights and rumbling with smoke and footsteps. He steps back once, twice--stops. Then, with a running jump, his feet hit the edge, and he soars.
It's sweet as hell, and I try not to gag on the burning sensation in my throat. He's staring at me with anxious eyes, and after a moment I manage a half smile and say, "If I liked cake, it'd be great. Really." It's not exactly what he wants to hear, but it's the truth nonetheless. Look, I'm doing my best here.
I couldn't tell you the latitude or longitude of the place, but I know this place. I've been here before--in a dream, fucked up as that sounds. There's something in the feel of stone as I brush my hand against the wall, something in the sharp tang of the air--it's familiar. I don't have a damn clue where we are, but I know it.
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writing since 2013 · 17 entries · 16 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Baekhesten showed up.
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