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15 November 2009 @ 04:42 am
 
Title: Glory Box
Author: luster
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me but the story.
Genre: Slight AU I guess
Pairing: Toshiya/OC, Broken!Toshiya/Kaoru
Rating: G
Theme: 48. ends
Words Count: 1276
Summary: You stare at it for what it seems like hours, just staring at the pieces of pictures you manage to see between the tickets, the notes, the letters, the faded purikuras and the others things that are totally useless, meaningless to probably the rest of the world, but it means everything to you.
Comments: this is my first fic for the kaoxtotchi fanfiction challenge. You can find the master post here.
I wanted to try new ways of writting and redaction for it and this is actually my first try trying a 'you' writting.
English is not my first language and this is not betaed since I'm too lazy to start searching for a beta *laugh* so this is might be full of typos and/or grammatical errors, but please constructive criticism is always welcome because I really want to improve my english and my stories.

Also, comments are absolutely nice &hearts



You always do that, always.

When the whole apartment is quiet and sleeping and you know you won't be caught, you open your eyes and are welcomed by the darkness of your beautifully, lovingly decorated bedroom. You sigh, it's not like you have been sleeping but you're not feeling tired, but you're not feeling rested or restless, either. You don't even know, your body, your health along with your feelings is a huge mess you decided a long time ago to stop caring about. You stir slowly and move to sit down on your bed, being extremely careful that you're not waking her who, startled at first by the sudden movement right besides her, just tosses around and mumbles softly something your ears can't really get, being accompanied by the sounds of the sheets making a slow friction against her naked skin, causing the room being filled with the scent of her moisturizing cream, slowly.

You get on your feet and steal a glance of her, peacefully sleeping before you walk outside your bedroom determined to face your fears once again.

There's a box, a box you're sure no one is aware of because it's closed, key closed and the key which looks like a jewel is hanging on your neck every day, every minute, close to your heart, which is the best word you can find to describe what is locked inside that box. The said box is almost hidden behind towels and sheets and blankets and other white and soft things in the top drawer of your long corridor. Like it's protected from the world between layers of cotton. You tip toe so you can search for it and after fumbling and fighting against the fluff things which are helping you to hide it, it falls in your hands and you sigh; you sigh happily, you sigh in relief. It's still here. They're still here. He's still here.

After recollecting your treasure, pressing it against your chest like a teenager who's walking home from high school with his folder covered with boy bands pictures, you make your way to your tiny main room, to the couch and light a single light, enough light to guide you in your darkness for a minute and make you remember and longing once again.

You take the key between your fingers and with self strained emotion you let it slip into the hole, turning it once and then two before you hear a 'click' and you close your eyes for a second, or two maybe even three before letting yourself open said box, taking a deep breath while opening your eyes again, staring inside.

If someone who doesn't know him, who doesn't know you and who doesn't know the two of you together, which is unfortunately a lot of people; won't understand what it's inside said box, because it just looks like a Pandora box instead of full with hope, full with things that probably doesn't even make sense for him, but for you only.
You stare at it for what it seems like hours, just staring at the pieces of pictures you manage to see between the tickets, the notes, the letters, the faded purikuras and the others things that are totally useless, meaningless to probably the rest of the world, but it means everything to you.

After a long time just staring and breathing and staring again, you feel brave enough to start touching the so rambling box and you smile at yourself when you take between your hands a note, which probably hung out your fridge once with his messy, small and yet beautiful writing, telling you that due to work again he wouldn't be able to come back home early for dinner, you smile now and let your index finger trace over every stroke of his name's kanji and before you're ever aware of it, there's a tear, a drop falling perfectly on it, blurring your vision, blurring his name and blurring everything, just at once.

With a strength that's not yours anymore, you take numberless deep breaths; trying not to choke on your on pain, on your longing; trying not to break down for fifteenth time that week over the memories, over the pain of a break you didn't want to, a relationship never meant to be yet it was, and it endured everything, went beyond limits, and curses, and hatred and not acceptance, and it marked you deep, deeper; to the point of not being able of moving on fully, of not being able of forgetting, of forgiving.

You don't know how many minutes or even hours spend there, shaky hands covering your face, trying to regain a composure you're sure you lost and you're never going to grasp again because it's absolutely gone, it was gone the same day you lost everything. The day you lost him, your love, your sanity, your strength and your composure. Everything. When your breathing is normal and you're not shaking anymore, when your eyes stop leaking and your nose stops running, you hurry to steal another glance to the said box and you wonder what you are doing anymore. You can't really tell why are you torturing like this, almost every night, coming back to the memories to the pain, the fresh wound which is never going to close because it can't be healed, ever.

Maybe you're just masochist because you go and rummage over the box again being welcomed by more notes, postcards from places you never heard about, old and damaged Polaroid’s, wrong angled and even worst focused; where his tattooed and tiny shoulder were the main theme of them all. When you're sure you looked at everything inside the said box you close it again, the key turning around once then twice inside the hole, locked, safe; away from the curious eyes, away from the rest of the world who wouldn't comprehend and admit the beauty of every memory lying inside of it. While getting up, you turn off the tiny lamp and move around your apartment 'till you are in front of that drawer you've made the sanctuary of your life. Tip toeing you make sure the box touches the wall behind all the white clothes and you close the drawer's with the knowledge that your secret is safe for at least once night more. Just maybe once night more.

When you come back to your bedroom, a bit shaken and emotional, your skin tingling with the need of being touched and held, just because you've been doing nothing but remember him all the time you were drowning in that stupid box. You slip into your bed carefully, moving closer to the still sleeping and warm and welcoming body that is now moving towards you. She murmurs something again, but you can't really tell what it is, mostly because your mind is everywhere but that room, because in your mind is not her anymore the one who snuggles against your chest, saying your name, so beautifully, the vowels rolling against her tongue, because it's not her breath the one tingling against your collarbone, because it's not her hair brushing against your cheek, because it's not her arms the ones circling around your waist. You feel like your head is about to explode, your eyes tearing while you take her... take him... you can't tell anymore; between your arms, snuggling against the warmth that's surrounding you quickly. You let your face fall between the space of the shoulders and the neck and fighting against yourself and the demons that are tormenting you since he left your side; you try to fall asleep.
 
 
 
Jaysick_pride on November 15th, 2009 03:59 am (UTC)
omg... you wrote this?!

I read it... idk... very long ago and I was shaken to the core.

omg.

omg...

I loved it back then.

And I love it now.

Sad.

Very sad.

Nevertheless beautiful.

With a strength that's not yours anymore, you take numberless deep breaths; trying not to choke on your on pain, on your longing; trying not to break down for fifteenth time that week over the memories, over the pain of a break you didn't want to, a relationship never meant to be yet it was, and it endured everything, went beyond limits, and curses, and hatred and not acceptance, and it marked you deep, deeper; to the point of not being able of moving on fully, of not being able of forgetting, of forgiving.

I really don't know how you make this work but your words went straight under my skin. Especially those words. This image. I'm sure you know why.
breathplaying★: ♫ everlasting.aibashi on November 15th, 2009 04:08 am (UTC)
yes i did, i changed my livejournal a lot of times and ugh, i suck xDD i need to update the kaoruxtoshiya fanfiction archive but ugh.

but thank you so much really, all your comments mean a lot to meT__T; i'm so happy you found it beautiful right then and you still can do it, now.

:/
and... ikr?
dgkdsj.
ugh.

♥♥♥
Jaysick_pride on November 15th, 2009 04:19 am (UTC)
It's beautiful, indeed. That's... real. Just real. Disturbing, yes, but real and beautiful.

You're very welcome and you know it. I love your writing style, and in this fic even more. God, you have no idea how happy I am just because I found it again. I guess it was probably one of the first KT fics I read back then.

Went straight to my memories.
breathplaying★: ♫ the truth is that you're so beautiful.aibashi on November 15th, 2009 04:29 am (UTC)
i don't even know what to say, thank you so much again, really. T___T
i try hared to make my writing something decent since english isn't my first language and writing kt fanfiction is my favorite past time.

dsgjkldfs
thank you again. ♥