Author: Indigo Eyes PM
Like the shattering of a heart. Love can often be the most destructive of forces, especially unrequited love. EnjucentricRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,838 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 03-31-07 - Published: 11-22-06 - id: 3257039
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The four of them sat around the table, almost taking the shape of a family (albeit a strange one). Almost. There was the expected clinking of forks and clatter of plate, but it was otherwise silent. They were no family, and at times that was painfully obvious. For Enju, if was almost unbearable. But he hid his melancholy behind a smile. It was expected of him. It was needed of him.
Myobi stood. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to my room," She stated, pushing in her chair and taking flight (quite literally) up the stairs. From his seat, Ryoko gave her a side-long glance.
"Tat's fine. Why don't you go up with her, Ryoko? I can handle dishes," Enju said. Ryoko nodded briefly before disappearing up the staircase after Myobi. Tsugiri rose from his chair and began gathering plates as Enju ran the faucet. A blaze of color flashed outside, and Enju caught Tsugiri staring at the all-to-familiar woman who had come to be his friend. Perhaps more.
"You may go, as well, Tsugiri."
Tsugiri nodded, flashing a smile. "Thanks," Was all he murmured.
Enju backed against the counter, holding his breath. He waited patiently for the footsteps to fade and the click of the door to sound. Then he let out a shuttering breath and slid to the ground, clutching his forehead. "Damn..." He whispered, shaking. Why did this hurt him so much? He glances at the dishes waiting to be washed and took a deep breath before standing.
"He's never going to love you," Enju muttered to himself and began the monotonous process of washing the dishes.
Why couldn't he love him? Why did he always have to turn to her?! After all the misery she'd caused him? It wasn't like he owed her anything- least of all his heart. Why couldn't he love him instead? Why couldn't he-
The sickening sound of glass hitting the wooden floor dragged Enju out of his masochistic thought-process. Blinking, he took notice of the fact that the plate he had previously been watching was now in pieces on the floor. "Oh..." Enju bent down to retrieve the broken plate and let out a hiss as its jagged edges pieced his skin. He ran his hand under the water of the sink, waiting for his blood to clot. For a brief moment Enju wondered what he would think, to walk down and find him covered in his own blood, lying limply on the ground. Would he be sad? Would he care? Would he notice?
"Ryoko..." Enju sighed. What a treacherous web his heart has wound. "He calls me his friend. He is happy. Let me be happy with that," Enju reprimanded himself. He finished the task at hand without a single though of the man who haunted his mind. As he placed the last of the dishes in its proper place, he came across a glass vial containing a dark blue liquid. Enju glanced at it, remembering its purpose.
Until Myobi had repressed his memories, Tsugiri would roll in his sleep, suffering from horrid nightmares. Even when he was awake, his mind would be plagued by demons and he would fall to the ground in wild convulsion, calling out to his 'Hyura'.
Enju shuddered at the though, grateful that chapter of Tsugiri's life was over. Looking at the potion, Enju realized that this particular concoction held healing powers as well. "I'll take it up to Myobi. She wasn't feeling well earlier," He said to himself. He picked up a newly cleaned cup, filled it with water, and trekked towards Myobi's quarters.
Minutes later, the sound of glass crashing against the floor and shattering to pieces echoed through the walls. Enju stood outside Myobi's open door, the very picture of a deer in headlights. There they were-the two he wanted least to think about- shoved into his face, limbs entangled and breath heavy.
Without any of his usual grace, Enju fled from the scene, cutting hit foot on the remnants of the water glass and tumbling down the steps. Hastily, he pulled himself up and ran to his room, hoping to loose the image from his mind. He shut his door, resting against it. It was then that he noticed that he was still clutching the vial in his sweaty palm. Thoughtlessly, he down the better part of the liquid and flopped onto his bed.
Perhaps if he was desperate enough, sleep could take him away forever.