#kuraimiaka

He swore that he’d never fall in love again.

               It was a chore, it was tedious, it only left him hurt and upset and broken, and he didn’t need that in his life, not anymore. Last time he fell, he could’ve sworn they were the one, and only ended up being hurt in the end.

               He’d been hurt enough in his life now to know that doing something as absurd as falling in love was an absolute, 100% no-go.

               He already couldn’t comprehend it as is – it was strange, and odd, it made him feel happy and sad and confused all at once – he didn’t like the confliction, maybe that was the reason why he was so cold towards him, why he shied away from his affection, why he shunned him, why he could never bring himself to saying “I love you”—

   . . . Because he didn’t love him, right? At least not romantically, right? It was purely platonic, if anything at all (or, at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself on a daily basis).

               Even so, he knew he was lying, and he was good at that, always dropping one not-so-pretty lie after the next, all those times he said, “I hate you,” “I can’t stand you,” “go away,” “you’re so annoying,” — lies, lies, lies. One after another, never-ending. Lies, lies,lies.

               Maybe he felt guilty for his incessant lying and abuse. Maybe he did it in hopes that the boy would eventually give up on him (he already did, he just didn’t know that). Maybe he just didn’t want to believe that he had fallen, again, and that he had fallen hard.

               In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he felt anymore. He didn’t want to go through this cycle again, he didn’t want to risk going through the suffering and the heartache again, but he didn’t want to hurt him, he didn’t want his feelings to go unreciprocated, he didn’t want to be the cause of his pain—

               . . . Because he cared, right? He really, truly did, at the bottom of his heart, he cared, and he loved him, but there was something holding him back. There was always something holding him back. Always, always something.

               It was still that fear of getting hurt, that fear of everything turning out to be one huge mistake in the end.

               I don’t want to hurt you this much. I didn’t want to hurt you at all. I didn’t know. Please, please, I love you, I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.

               He wanted him to know that he cared, and that he loved him, he didn’t want to hurt him, he never wanted to hurt him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from being cold, emotionless, harsh. Maybe it was a defense mechanism.

               He wanted him to know that he didn’t hate him, he could never hate him, he’d always care for him and his feelings weren’t unrequited, but he knew he wouldn’t ever fully believe that.

               Don’t listen to me . . . we’ll always be . . . so perfectly happy . . .

               Sometimes, he thought, maybe this was worse than falling in love.

He wasn't quite sure what made him want to believe that their relationship was healthy. 

   Maybe it was the boy's touch, which he craved so, so desperately. Maybe, it was those rare times when the boy showed him his soft side -- he didn't shy away from him, he wasn't afraid to let him know that he cared (although sometimes, it almost felt like pity). Maybe, it was the fact that he didn't see himself as "good enough," "adequate," or "worth something," so it was only natural that the boy saw him the same.

   Maybe he liked the bitter taste of those rough kisses left on his lips. Maybe he liked their occasional late-night rendezvous, which had always left him wanting more. Maybe he liked the empty feeling the boy left in his already empty heart, especially when he went through his periods of absolutely despising him again, sometimes for no apparent reason.

  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so fucking much, I can't stand you, why don't you just leave? You'd be doing everyone a favor!

   Hah, he'd laughed to himself, almost painfully, sounding like he was forcing it. You're right. I would be doing everyone a favor. I'd be doing myself a favor, as a matter of fact.

   Maybe, just maybe, the shredded remains of whatever "relationship" they had left and whatever little bit of "hope" he had left for it was enough to make him keep on living (if you could even consider him "alive" anymore).    Whatever his reasoning was, he wasn't completely sure. Who in their right mind would subject themselves to such emotional wear-and-tear? Maybe he wasn't in his right mind. He'd surely believe it.

   But, at the end of every single day, he supposed he deserved it. Every last bit of it. He deserved the pain and the suffering and the torture, he had brought it all on himself. Who would love someone like him? He wasn't even a "someone" anymore, he was a thing. Blood no longer pumped through his veins, and his heart was at an eternal standstill. He had the misfortune of being a walking, talking, corpse -- and some days, he wished for someone, anyone, to put him out of his misery, to just let him die. The sweet embrace of death had to be better than this constant agony and self-loathing and slow self-destruction, right?

  Anything had to be better than that, right?

   Even so, when he thought he was surely at his breaking point, that he couldn't take it anymore, and that he should just end it all right there and then -- he was there for him, every single time, to pull him away from the edge, to love him and care for him, to make sure that he was okay -- and that, that was the reason why he continued putting up with such emotional distress, even if it wasn't a good one, it still sparked a light in his cold, dead heart, it made him feel a little more alive, and it rekindled that small hope that maybe, just maybe, he actually loved him.

   Hey, are you alright? Were you crying? You look upset. Talk to me.

   Despite every single one of his flaws, despite every little insensitive or ignorant thing he may have said or done to him, that, that was enough to make him want to keep going.

/Hey, if I agreed to try and hate you, wouldn’t you try to love the me that’s beyond caring about your feelings?/

                “…what do you want?”

                “Nothing…why do you always assume I want something?”

                “Because you never willingly come and talk to me unless you want something.” his petite looking face formed an unpleasant looking grimace on his lips as he glanced over at the taller blonde, raising a single eyebrow. They hated each other, of course, why would he come over here just to be here?

                That was preposterous.

                “…hmph. I could fuck you up again instead, how does that sound?” he rolled his eyes with an irritated frown, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms folded together, occasionally dusting off his shoulders as he carefully observed the smaller blondes reactions and movements.

                “Tch…whatever.”

/The “he” that needs you is now gone, “he’s” not here anymore. At all./

                “Why should I care, anyways…you said you were gonna do it again sooner or later. Because you want me dead still, don’t you, hm…?” he glanced off to the side, blinking as his eyes slowly drooped to the ground, the faintest traces of hurt in the dull red and blue orbs.

/It hurts, you know?/

                “Yeah, but if I killed you I wouldn’t have anyone to mess around with anymore…hmph.”

                “…sure.”

                “Tch, it’s true. Don’t go thinking I like having you around or anything…that’s stupid.” he huffed in an irritated type of tone, staring off to the side as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Your days are still fucking numbered…and have been ever since the day you first possessed Eri.”

                “Whatever you say…Kurai.” he frowned again, rolling his eyes before shooting the blonde a cold, near emotionless stare.

/If only you had the ears that I have, then I would sing you a song from the bottom of my heart. But would you?

If only you had the heart that I have, then I would flood you with all the love that I have. But would you?/

                “I’ll be waiting for that day, then. Because I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

                “And why not, hm…?” the blonde glared at him before walking over, roughly gripping the shorter boy’s chin and tilting his head upward so that he would look him in the eyes.

                “You don’t scare me.”

                “I should.”

                “But you don’t.”

/Today, I don’t need to reach your deafened ears, and I don’t need to try and fill your empty heart./

                He frowned and released the boy from his grip, turning away as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “Whatever.”

                “See…you could’ve done something there but you didn’t. Therefore…I don’t believe you.”

                “Fuck off.”

                “Tch.”

“Maybe because the power got knocked out and it’s the middle of goddamn November, in a huge rainstorm…?” he hissed in reply, rolling his eyes before noticing the boy’s obvious pain and distraught, an evil smirk appearing on his lips.

“What’s the matter…? Too cold for the little pyro?”

“Sh-shut up…”

“You’re dying, aren’t you…” he continued to prod him on, leaning closer to the freezing blonde spirit who turned his head away in response, shutting his heterochromatin eyes.

“…yes. Isn’t th-that just great news for you hmm…?”

“It’s the best thing I’ve heard all day, honestly.” his smirk grew as he folded his arms, turning away from him.

“I would’ve rather had killed you myself though…”

“…I feel sooooo fucking loved. Wow. Was that supposed to make me feel better, o-or are you just venting out all your thoughts about me b-before this freezing cold ends me?”

“Maybe both.” “Fucking moron.” “Little prick.” “Mmn…” he let out a soft whimper as he rested his head against his knees again, his eyes shut tightly as he listened to his own mellow heartbeat, as it rose slowly in his chest before falling again, the beats gradually becoming further and further apart as time went on. He always thought if he died, it would be by Kurai’s hands, if he had to die anyways. He never wanted to go, not like this. “…Kurai.” “What?”

“…if it’s any consolation, I w-would’ve rather died by your hand, anyways.”

“…hmph.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment before slowly blinking his cerulean orbs, his smirk slowly fading. He then sighed before walking into another room and grabbing a couple blankets, dragging them back into the living room and dropping them onto the floor. He then sat down, glancing at the boy.

"C’mere."

"…what are you doing."

"Trying to keep your scrawny ass alive. Now are you gonna come here or are you gonna sit there and become a pyro popsicle?" he didn’t know what exactly came over him, what even drove him to helping the other spirit, he hated him with all his heart, mind, body and soul.

Yet here he was, inviting him to cuddle in a heap of blankets just to keep him alive.

Sheesh.

"…mmh." he stared at him with an emotionless expression before slowly and painfully getting up from his spot, his petite yet toned limbs visibly shivering as he hesitantly made his way over to the fellow spirit, sitting down next to him.

The other then wrapped the two blankets around the both of them, huddling (hesitantly, albeit) closer to the smaller blonde as he glared off to the side.

"…there."

The pyro blinked slowly and stared at him for a few moments, still with his emotionless expression. He then finally gave the tiniest hint of a smile as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before resting his head against his chest.

"…thank you. Even though I know you’re probably only doing this to kill me yourself later."

"Partly, yes," he teased, a hint of a smile on his lips as well.

"Moron…"

"Prick."

He rolled his eyes before shutting them again, blushing softly as he remained silent for a few moments before speaking again.