this is a project i'm working on for the livejournal community 30kisses. the idea is to write a short fiction for each of thirty specified themes, and each has to somehow involve a kiss (the themes can be found at the lj community). izumixmeroko is my OTP, so of course i chose to write for them. the 'kisses' will be in no specific order (this one is #06 according to the themes list), all will feature our favorite puppy and bunny shinigami, and likely won't be part of any continuing storyline. enjoy!
full moon wo sagashite and all related characters belong to arina tanemura, and not me (read: don't sue me).)
(theme 06 - 'the space between dream and reality')
-the space between-
The space between dream and reality lingers somewhere nearby, an empty void he has been trying to cross most of the night. He slips and slides, fumbles towards half-imagined figures of light and sound, grabbing blindly with tiny fingers. He wonders when his hands became so small, if they were always that way: stubby fingertips, dirt crusted under untrimmed fingernails, and reaching out for something, someone; anything, anyone.
He sees himself now, or some near-forgotten version like him because what he sees is a shivering huddle of a child, a six-year-old shock of blond hair and yellow eyes. His mother rages in the next room, the crashing and breaking and the frustrated wails of her midnight breakdown are little diluted by the paper-thin walls. His child-form covers his ears, squints closed his eyes and prays, begs, pleads for the noise to go away, for all the screaming and crying and hurting to stop.
And then it is quiet.
Izumi is vaguely aware of his surroundings now; the tousled sheets and upset of his bed, the dark claustrophobia of his tiny room, the cold beads of sweat on his forehead. His throat is dry and he speaks in a rasped whisper when he calls her name. She doesn't answer, and he doesn't know why. He tries again. The silence is oppressive in response; the absence of her voice echoes against the walls and fills the room. He cannot remember why she does not answer, or why her pillow next to him is untouched; he cannot remember the last time he held her, cannot remember the last time she whispered his name while he ran his hands through her hair; cannot remember the last time he kissed her and tasted her sweet strawberry mouth, cannot remember the last time she said she loved him. It dawns on him then that he lost her a long time ago, and he knows, knows that he lost her to some place he can never follow. He thinks on this until the pain of reality mingles with that of memory and at last he retreats into sleep, hoping to find her hidden somewhere between the nightmares.