I just keep getting idea after idea for stories. And there all LavixAllen. Not that's a bad thing, ke ke ke. No one knows how much The Spill Canvas inspires my writing. Seriously. I only get ideas when I'm jammin' out to them. Probably because all of their songs are about love, loss, heartbreak, and sex :D. Eh, I'm emo :P Oh, and the part about 'he looked like a rabbit when he would chew his food' is actually the way my friends describe the way I eat. And I thought it fit Lavi perfectly, and again: ke ke ke. As always, R&R and constructive crit. are welcomed.
Fate is an elegant,
She loves salting my wounds
Yes, she enjoys nothing more
I bleed confidence from deep within my guts now
I'm the king of this pity party with my jewel encrusted crown
That's all he was. That's all he was supposed to be.
He wasn't like normal therapists, though.
He was always casually dressed. Faded jeans, usually black, torn converse sneakers with signatures of his friends and bands he had met, he had both ears pierced and would wear a gold hoop in each, a blue head band, a slim-fit shirt of one of his favorite bands or video games, and black cross on a long silver chain that hung half-way down his chest.
But what stood out most about him was his vibrant crismon-colored hair. It would always stick up in various, awkward positions, like he had just rolled out of bed and didn't bother to comb it. He had a few stray strands that would loosely fall over top of his head band and cover most of his right eye. He would always get offended when people would ask what hair-color product did he use on his hair. He would puff his cheeks out in frustration and insist that it was his natural color. I thought it was adorable.
Everything about him was adorable.
And when I say everything, I mean every last little thing he did. His smile. His laugh. His emerald orbs. His slim, somewhat feminine, figure. The way he would naw on his bottom lip when he was deep in thought. The way he would furrow his brows when confused. The way he would subconsciously twirl his hair inbetween his fingers when something was bothering him. The way he would bite his nails when nervous. The way he puffed out his cheeks when frustrated. How his ears would turn a little shade of rose when embarrassed. Down to the way he looked like a rabbit when he would chew his food.
Perfect. Beautiful. Amazing. Wonderful. Fantastic. Those are just a few words to describe him, though they would never be enough to fully express him.
Though I knew it was wrong and I knew nothing would ever come of it. Therapists weren't allowed to form intimate relationships with their cilents. I figured it was just a crush that would quickly fade. Puppy love if you will. Then my feelings started to grow. They transformed into something much more than just a simple crush.
I had fallen in love with my therapist.
The snowy-haired young man sat in an unbearably uncomfortable wooden chair, his elbow propped up on one of the arm rests, head bent and resting on his palm. He had been waiting an hour now for the receptionist to call his name for his appointment. It was close to ten in the morning and right now all he wanted to be doing is to be laying in his bed asleep.
He mentally cursed his guardian for making him come. His exact words were; 'You need some fucking help. It's been nine years and you're still mourning the lost of your adoptive father. You're twenty! You need to go find yourself a woman, get laid, live a little. Not staying cooped in your room all day, moping around like the idiot you are. I'm getting you a damned therapist.'
Now, Cross Marian's not a heartless man. Er, well...he's not as heartless as he seems. He actually cared for Allen. He just chose to display it differently. Being a good friend of Mana's, he was the only one who would take Allen in after he passed. Cross wasn't the best person to live with. He was deeply in debt and would have Allen get jobs to work it off. And once Allen made enough to catch his debts up, Cross would blow all his hard work and put himself back into debt. Though it annoyed Allen that he had to work to pay off Cross' debts, he never complained. Cross did provide him with food, shelter, and a place to lay his head down everynight.
So, that's why Allen Walker was sitting in the lobby of Bookman & Bookman Jr. Therapy. Not that he hated the fact that Cross made him get therapist. He hated the fact he would now have to get a second job to pay for it. Therapists weren't cheap and this place was no exception. Though the Bookmen were one of the top therapists in the city, they were also the most expensive.
Allen groggily got to his feet and trugged his way towards the door leading to the therapist's office. He opened the door and looked around the room. It was painted a deep red with dark brown wooden floors, making the room somewhat dark. There were dimly lit lamps scattered across the room giving it some light. In the middle of the room was a lounge. Allen had seen enough movies to know that that was where he would be laying, telling the therapist all his problems. And a few feet away from the lounge, was an over-sized armchair. Sitting in the armchair was a tall, thin, crismon-haired man, scribbling on a clipboard. Hearing the door open and close, he ceased his writing and looked. Smiling, he got to his feet. Walking towards Allen, he out strecthed his arm for him to shake.
"You must be Allen Walker. I'm the therapist you'll be meeting with today, Lavi Bookman."