cafe_coimbra | [Fic] Kazethyst

haha, i'd forgotten that i'd written this one. good thing i went digging in my archives today.

Lilac

The curtain is made of cheap material, but it’s a rich purple, and he loves that color. It’s the color of royalty. It’s the color of his birthstone. It’s the color of her eyes.

She was his best friend. The first person to see him, the first to bother to look for him when he wasn’t around, the first to be able to recognize his approaching form from far away simply by the way he walked. It wasn’t so farfetched that she became his first love as well.

So though many know his name and face now, and the moment they all waited for him (in fact all that shields him from the world is that flimsy, makeshift curtain), it is for her that he would wait.

And he would have done anything and everything for her. He spoiled her, really; he strived to know her inside out so as to be perfect for her in every way – friend, confidant, protector. On some level, she sensed his feelings. She knew him that well as well, after all. But, looking back, he’s not sure she understood their depth, even after he told her outright. Perhaps she just dismissed them as those of a schoolboy crush. Perhaps she had to … because she didn’t return them.

He can feel the anticipation of the crowd through the fabric. He’s not ready; he never is. He feels like throwing up. The familiar sensation of a cold sweat breaks out on his back. He tries to take a deep breath, but it’s shaky. He decides to flop down onto the floor, right where he is in the middle of the stage, with the crew still bustling about with the equipment.

He’s over it. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, he muses that there’s some consolation in the fact that while he doesn’t have her, no one else does either; he’s secretly jealous of anyone who gets close to her. Then he feels like a selfish jerk. But the thing is, he actually had succeeded in becoming the perfect guy for her… the only one who knows exactly the right thing to say to her, in the right way, in the right place, at the right time. And what’s most ironic is that they’re not together because of something that is, ultimately, out of his control – simply being who he is. And so, she’ll just never think of them that way, and he just keeps trying not to again. Life goes on.

He retrieves a cigarette packet out of his pocket, fishes out one that’s half crumpled and lights it, taking a slow drag. He hears someone come to stand beside his head, and his brother’s upside-down face comes into view. He tells him he’s nervous. His brother nods. He understands. His brother is a man of few words, and every little action speaks volumes. If he nods, it means he understands. Thanatos closes his eyes.

He suddenly realizes that he’s never written a song about her. And then he realizes he’d never try. First of all, it’d be a useless attempt, because he wouldn’t even know where to begin expressing himself, much less how to finish it. Secondly, he’s scared. What if she realizes that it was her?

Or worse,

what if he realizes that it still is?

Opening his eyes, he realizes that his brother is holding out a hand to him to help stand him up. It’s time to sing. He reaches.