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random ficcage
Mar. 5th, 2008 04:48 pmLove is like smoke, Yuki thinks to himself.
Curls of white-grey cling to his fingertips, warm and somehow substantial, moving across his skin on a breeze that none of the rest of him can feel. He watches the cigarette burn down to the filter, feels his hand grow cold again as the smoke vanishes into his apartment. Nothing lasts forever, he supposes to himself, and he considers lighting another... but he hardly smoked the first, and when he raises his hand to his face the smell still lingers there, just slightly bitter.
The resemblance is uncanny, really. He wonders if other people can smell it lingering on him, weeks after he's kicked Shuichi out of the apartment. Weeks after he claimed to feel nothing... but he knows better, and isn't ignorant enough to think no one's noticed. Especially since all this time, he's been unable to sleep. He blames it on the sugar -- there are three empty cake boxes on his kitchen counter, just since the weekend. Tohma means well.
Yuki lies back and stares at the ceiling, at the still-dissipating cloud above him. By the time the knocking starts at sunset, the whole apartment is thick with smoke. Yuki tells himself that's why his eyes are watering. He stands, lights another cigarette as he crosses to the door, and this one actually makes it to his mouth. "Tohma, I'm sick of----" Except it isn't Tohma standing there. "Go away."
"No. I'm never going away. No matter what you do or say, Yuki, that's what love is, that's why I---"
"Go. Away." Smoke curls from the burning stick of nicotine between his fingers. It floats into the hallway and disappears. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. Your ignorance gives me a headache."
He slams the door in Shuichi's face, crosses the apartment to open a window and air the place out, and wonders if maybe this time will finally be the last. It had better be.
After all. He's almost out of cigarettes.
Curls of white-grey cling to his fingertips, warm and somehow substantial, moving across his skin on a breeze that none of the rest of him can feel. He watches the cigarette burn down to the filter, feels his hand grow cold again as the smoke vanishes into his apartment. Nothing lasts forever, he supposes to himself, and he considers lighting another... but he hardly smoked the first, and when he raises his hand to his face the smell still lingers there, just slightly bitter.
The resemblance is uncanny, really. He wonders if other people can smell it lingering on him, weeks after he's kicked Shuichi out of the apartment. Weeks after he claimed to feel nothing... but he knows better, and isn't ignorant enough to think no one's noticed. Especially since all this time, he's been unable to sleep. He blames it on the sugar -- there are three empty cake boxes on his kitchen counter, just since the weekend. Tohma means well.
Yuki lies back and stares at the ceiling, at the still-dissipating cloud above him. By the time the knocking starts at sunset, the whole apartment is thick with smoke. Yuki tells himself that's why his eyes are watering. He stands, lights another cigarette as he crosses to the door, and this one actually makes it to his mouth. "Tohma, I'm sick of----" Except it isn't Tohma standing there. "Go away."
"No. I'm never going away. No matter what you do or say, Yuki, that's what love is, that's why I---"
"Go. Away." Smoke curls from the burning stick of nicotine between his fingers. It floats into the hallway and disappears. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. Your ignorance gives me a headache."
He slams the door in Shuichi's face, crosses the apartment to open a window and air the place out, and wonders if maybe this time will finally be the last. It had better be.
After all. He's almost out of cigarettes.
