How Soon Is Now?: Jim Morrison
Swollen eyes, bloodshot to the point of almost bleeding, focus on the starkness of the grey sky that peeks in through the cheap cotton curtains covering the windows. There is no sun today. It is dreary and cold outside, making everything look charmless and ugly in the violently harsh light.
A curlicue of smoke curls around the blood-red hair that moves ever so slightly as another drag is taken from the cigarette held loosely in the pale white hand. It seems that today has finally caught up with the emotions that he has had no choice but to accept and make his own.
//I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and heir of nothing in particular//
He was as stark, as empty and as lifeless as the pale cold light that was slipping into his Spartan room. Nothing was really his anymore. He had no actual life of his own. His whole being was centred around his legacy of guilt. He was the one that lived, only to be so bloodied because he simply didn't know what it was like to have a life no controlled by anyone.
He often wondered, after he had done his crying and bleeding behind closed doors, what it would be like to live. To love. To actually have emotions without being tied up and torn by the sharp wires of guilt, shame and helplessness that held him strung up like a bloody marionette that dripped blood onto the clean porcelain floor of life. To live. To have emotions that were delicate like the bohemian glass his mother had, rather than the distortions of broken, jagged glass he seemed to only be able to produce.
//You shut your mouth how can you say I go about things the wrong way I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does//
He took another drag off his cigarette and blew out the blue-tinted smoke out before he tightened the loose bandage around his forearm. He had promised himself that he wouldn't slice himself up anymore, but that promise, like many others before it, had fallen to the wayside. He had promised himself that he didn't need anyone. Didn't need to feel anyone's hands on his face, his body. Didn't need to have someone to curl up to in the silent mornings.
He was wrong. He needed to feel all of that. Needed to be acknowledged in that passion, however silent he was about it. He didn't know how to go about it, since he had been torn apart from the people that could have taught him about voicing and pursuing his needs. And now, he was behind a wall of ice that he couldn't seem to function without. He hated it, but he was glad of it's protection, since it helped deflect the more hurtful remarks of his team-mates.
//I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and the heir of nothing in particular//
The bandage fixed, he then got up from his desk and walked over to his bed and flopped down on it. He had never felt so empty as he did today. So needy and so stripped. It was a strange emotion, since he also felt as if he was the most worthless, most pathetic, yet most important being on the planet at that time, simply because of the excruciating pain that he was feeling at that point.
//You shut your mouth how can you say I go about things the wrong way I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does//
He wished he could have yelled at him, with his coolly contemptuous emerald eyes when he had cooly told him that love was a grace Aya Fujiyama had the grace not to require. A grace that wasn't even deserved by someone made out of pure ice. That had hurt. Yohji had no right to say who it was that needed love in the world. He was only mortal. Was it wrong to want to have someone need him, want him?
//There's a club if you'd like to go you could meet somebody who really loves you so you go, and you stand on your own and you leave on your own and you go home, and you cry and you want to die//
He ground the cigarette out the minute that the door creaked open. Narrowing his eyes, he reached for the katana he kept beside the bed. He had just gotten his hand around the hilt of when he saw that it was just Yohji coming into his room, a look of both understanding and contrition on his face as he walked up to Aya's bed and sat down uninvited, his eyes holding Aya's own.
//When you say it's gonna happen "now" well, when exactly do you mean? see I've already waited too long and all my hope is gone//
Cool fingertips brushed against his hand as they gently pried the sword from his fingers and placed it on the night-stand to be forgotten for awhile at least. Aya sat still, his eyes devoid of any emotion as he watched Yohji's hands push back the loose sleeves of his shirt to reveal the bandages around his forearms. Aya looked at Yohji and mentally prepared himself for the disgust he believed he would see in the forest-green depths of Yohji's eyes.
Yohji's eyes gave him back no emotions. Or maybe all emotions at the same time, since the grey light had just hit him full in the face, making the statement on his face anyone's guess. He smiled briefly though, before he pushed the sleeve all the way up the pale arm, revealing yet another bandage wrapped around the crook of his elbow.
With a deft move, the bandage was undone, layer after layer of gauze was slowly peeled off to reveal seven angry slashes on the white flesh that gaped open, leaking blood once more from having the gauze pulled away. Aya hissed softly, making Yohji glance at him briefly. Aya shook his head and slightly moved his hand, indicating that Yohji should continue doing whatever it was that he was planning to do. He was curious, an emotion that over-rode the definite pain of being alone and miserable and made him susceptible to anything that the lanky blonde would want to do right now.
With a soft smile playing on his lips, Yohji leaned forward and put his lips to the gashes, making Aya shiver with the light touch. His shivering increased even more when he felt the warm moistness of the other man's tongue on his arms carefully lapping up the blood that pooled there. A moan escaped his lips as Yohji moved to lie against Aya, his mouth still clamped onto the silent man's arm as he sucked the wound clean.
//You shut your mouth how can you say I go about things the wrong way I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does//
Smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling, half an hour later as they lay quietly in each other's arms. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't normal. But at least there was emotion behind it. At least one wire had snapped. Not a whole lot to expect, but it was a start.
Finis.