AN. This is something new I'm going to try, because I've been obsessing over My Chemical Romance's first album and can't let go of this song. This story is going to part of an independent yet interlaced series of stories – cross your fingers – based on the song Demolition Lovers. Oh, this is either AU or set after the entire series. Your call, and no spoilers.
For the fanfic100 challenge on LiveJournal. Prompt: Independence
in mine, into your icy blues
And then I'd say to you, "We could take to the highway"
With this trunk of ammunition too, I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets
Intoxication, Sometimes Delusion
Tamaki shifted restlessly in the front seat, drumming his finger, but not to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Kyouya found it disconcerting, but paid it no mind.
The road unrolled itself, gleaming gray under his headlights, contrasting the darkness as they went along.
The air was cold outside, a pleasant cold. Tamaki would've poked Kyouya incessantly until he gave in, and with a groan, roll the top down of his car. The gentle whirring would've been such music, such a simple joy. He'd scream the joy of his youth to the wind as it flicked his hair in every which way, while Kyouya played upbeat songs. Was that a smile playing on the side of his face? Oh! But in this cloak that the night provides, he'd be grinning.
Indeed, they would've manifested the ideal of the world: Young, rich, beautiful and in love.
But it wasn't a convertible, and Tamaki couldn't find a reason to scream.
A familiar sound made its way into the car, that evil whining sound that haunted Kyouya even more than it did Tamaki, though Tamaki, being Tamaki, was more prone to the dramatics of their situation.
Tamaki turned to watch the police cars catch up to them with glazed saucer eyes. Kyouya just pulled out a handgun and shot at them blindly, his eyes never leaving the road before him as stepped on the gas and zoomed forward.
He shot at the darkness for good measure, and made a turn at a corner that led to an unfamiliar place.
They weren't your typical youth who found drag racing fun. They both found it pointless, a stupid way to get a rush. Furthermore, they were used to being chauffeured around, or driving at a leisurely pace at, say, some boardwalk with a beautiful view of the beach.
But they learned to adapt.
After all, you can't be handsome sixteen-year-old boys with bright minds and secure futures living in high-class Japan when you're roughed-up seventeen-year-old runaways fighting for survival in urban America.
The only thing that doesn't change, they realized, is one's intoxication, sometimes delusion, on love and being in love.
Young and in love. That's what everyone wants to be, right?