under the blanket | By : anarchyhostage Category: Dir en grey > General Views: 900 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Dir en grey. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
title: under the blanket.
author: anarchy_hostage
fandom: Dir en grey
length: one-shot
pairing: you’ll see
comments: my first completed fanfic, be gentle
warnings: deathfic
under the blanket.
I kiss the silvery white scars on his snow white wrist, carefully, lovingly. I don’t want to judge him for his actions though I can’t understand them either. He smiles at me, weakly, but smiles anyway.
The scars are tangled up with more fresher ones, some more healed than the others but all clearly there. I can practically taste the coppery flavor though I know the most recent wounds have stopped bleeding a while ago, the stench lingering there is just my own imagination, right?
“I’m sleepy.” he declares. I sigh and hug him tight, get up from his bed, tug him in and leave the room to let him sleep, maybe it’ll help. As I reach the door I hear a small cry.
“Leave the door little ajar…please?” the not so silent plea makes my heart tighten a bit and I leave the door slightly open after I decide I should let him sleep alone, at least for a while.
I spent the night on his couch, watching some shopping channel.
‘…..buy two vacuum cleaners get one free only today get this dog trimming set get a cat free buy abkingpro get the sexy abs you’ve always dreamed of get a better life giving your money to us no guarantee it will work but more money to us and you get an extra set of this and that……’
I must’ve fallen a sleep because the television shows only statistics the next time I open my eyes. What’s the time? 3:45. Funny. I laugh a little but it doesn’t sound right. The room muffles my voice and sends shivers down my spine.
After a minute I yawn, stretch my arms to get rid of the tension sleeping on the couch causes, and after that I promptly sweep my glass off of the table. Cursing I try to catch it like I’d be some sort of a superman. I’m not. Fortunately the glass doesn’t break but it does clatter loudly on the wooden floor.
Shit.
I don’t want to wake him up now.
I wait for a second, is he awake now?
No sound.
I pick up the glass and place it quietly back on the table.
No sound.
He usually snores a little.
No sound.
No sound.
I’m fully awake now. I have to go check on him.
Now!
I hurriedly tiptoe on his room. All dark. I don’t dare to turn on the lights so I continue my tiptoeing to the window and pull the curtains aside. The sickly glow of a half moon sets it’s eerie light in the room casting shadows after shadows, everywhere. I can’t decide whether I should pull the curtains back. Finally I decide to leave them open. Just in case he wakes up and I don’t want to scare him lurching around in the darkness.
I see him sleeping. He must’ve been exhausted because he’s sleeping so quietly, curled up in to a small ball. So small though I know he’s a grown up man. I smile. I know that but he’ll always be the small boy I first saw him. I sit down on the edge of his bed. His face peeks from the mess of raven black hair and he looks so serene. I can’t help but to touch him, just a little. I swipe the stubborn fringe away from his eyes to get a better look of his beautiful face. I jump back. His skin is ice-cold.
Ice-cold?
I take a deep breath and touch him again. Still so cold. I grab him by his shoulders and turn him so he’s now facing me.
Nothing.
He doesn’t wake up no matter how hard I shake him, no matter how loud I yell his name in to his pierced ear. No matter what, he’s just still and cold.
And then I see the new cuts. Deep and gaping open like hungry mouths. Vertical mouths, horizontal mouths, every direction. I wonder if I’d draw two small dots over each cut would they be happy mouths or sad mouths? I trace the biggest cut, wound, with my fingertips. The crimson blood seeping out is still warm though his body is cold. I lift my hand and put my fingers on my lips tasting the salty, irony flavor of him. So much like the other taste but not even remotely like it.
I put his other hand on his side and pull his blue comforter over his head. I sit on the edge of his bed, holding his other hand.
Ice cold.
The trees outside his window cast shadows over us creating an illusion that the blanket over his face moves lightly in sync of his breathing. I watch closely.
False hope.
I sit on the edge of his bed, holding his other hand, for what seems to be an eternity. The first rays of the coming day penetrate the darkness as I finally let go and slowly get up. Now it’s me who’s ice-cold but I don’t even notice.
I walk to the living room, sat on the familiar couch and pick up a pack of cigarrettes laying on the table next to my glass. I put one in my mouth and lit it with shaking hands. As I inhale the first puff of smoke I realize that this is the first time I do this. I always preach about it to them but now I start to understand why they smoke so much. It has this calming effect so no wonder they do this so religiously, especially before the show. I inhale deeply but start to cough, With watery eyes I crush the stick to the ashtray and decide it’s still not my thing.
I walk back to the bedroom door. His body lays still under the blanket. I can hear the faint sound of traffic, it’s officially morning and another day of work.
I don’t know what to do. I usually do but not now. Is there some kind of instructions on how to act when something like this happens? Does something like this usually even happen?
I go back to his living room, pick up my cell phone and dial your number.
“Hi… it’s me… I… he’s… please just…” I’m in loss of words and I let the small device slip from my hands. It lands on the ground with a small thud and I can hear you yelling to me. I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone and answer, I just listen to your familiar voice on the other end.
“What’s going on? Talk to me!! I know you went to him last night so just.. Stay there, we’re coming. Stay there!”
I hear the panic in your voice, you’re not used to this, the way I’m acting, I know but I just can’t bring myself to pick up the phone and answer.
Instead I pick up the cigarettes and the lighter and head once again, to his room.
I lean against the light blue wall and put a cigarette to my lips. I imagine how I look right now, expressionless face and a quick flash of living light when I lit the stick. It still makes me cough but at least I have something to do. I slid down on the floor next to the door and stretch my arms over my knees. I sit there and watch as the smoke slowly, slowly, slowly drifts upwards making beautiful pattern in the air before it dissolves and vanishes on it’s way to freedom. I rest my head on my arms and slowly drift away into a sweet oblivion.
I snap back to what’s left of my reality when I feel the hot burn against my fingertips. I let out a small moan but don’t let go of the butt. The glow slowly dies and I let the remnants of it drop on the floor. I stare in front of me not really seeing anything but his bed and the clothed figure on it.
I sniff a little.
There’s a knock on the door and an angry-sounding shout.
“Come on Shinya! Let us in.. what’s happened? Where’s Toshiya?”
I feel something wet on my cheek, I lift my hand and touch it, bring my fingers to my lips once again.
Salty.
I sit hunched on his bedroom floor as you, my three remaining best friends come storming in after you’ve found the spare key he insisted you should have in case of an emergency.
“It’s such an irony., did you know that?” I manage to say as you realize the scene in front of you.
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