Haii thar little fangurl~
I started a new story and deleted Lilac Senses, Touch because I wasn't satisfied with it... this one's better trust me.
Because there's nothing I like more than fucking up my favorite characters lives 8D
Disclaimer: Hoshino Katsura
P.S. Written in my own way, so it's supposed to be confusing but yet understandable for us teens ^_^ ...hopefully.
When was it that he had fallen for him?
July? August? Monday? Thursday? 9 o'clock?
When, just when had his mind decided that the long-haired Asian man was the one, single person he wanted to see every day. Had to see. Must see.
Allen held his solid camera in his hand, the light relfecting off of the shiny lens as he brought the object up to his eyes, shutting one of them whilst he looked through the camera with the other. His view traveled from where has sat atop on the roof, first skimming through a few trees with rustling leaves, passing by an old woman purchasing a bag of nectarines before finally landing upon his destination; the long-haired mystery man.
His name was unknown to Allen's lips, and the best he could do was to come up with a name.
Allen snapped another shot of the man, watching his every move as he rummaged through his pants pockets, looking for his keys.
That's what was so mesmerizing about the man. He was too geniuine, too smothering to get labelled with a name worthy of him. Anything Allen would come up would be considered dirt and he'd mentally hate himself for giving his gorgeous love such a horrible name.
He had decided one day to go to the public library and look up boys names to dub his mystery man with; the procedure was very amusing to say the least. First he tried thinking of dark names, because that was the colour of his hair, but unfortunely his plan failed miserably when he came up with such names as 'Thrasher' and 'Edward Cullen'. Goddamn Twilight.
He had considered a Greek name like Elias, but it didn't quite fit his expectations, and neither did Tobias or Sven which obviously were Swedish names. Although at first Tobias seemed okay until he realized. He tried searching for a Japanese name because he was certain the man was Asian because that's what his soft features portrayed. The best he came up with was 'Hiroshi' and 'bishounen' which apparently meant 'handsome youth', and yes, the man was. Marc passed his lips once but it was too French for his liking; and once he uttered 'Marc' he immediately took a liking to the French language and flipped through the pages of a 'French to English Dictionary', creating his own sentences from bits and words.
Je ne suis pas un pingouin. – I am not a penguin.
J'ai été stupéfié par la taille de cette autruche. – I was amazed by the size of that ostrich.
Vous comme un ananas ? – Would you like a pineapple?
Le suédois vient! Ils ont des baies lingon! – The Swedish are coming! They've got lingon berries!
That last one was from an episode of 'The Simpsons', the line had burnt itself into Allen's mind at remained there, unwilling to vanish.
What would he call him then?
Finally finding his keys he brought one single key up to the keyhole and inserted the metal object into the hole, turning it at an angle before pushing down on the handle and taking his first steps through the entrance and into a world far out of Allen's reach.
Each movement he made Allen was sure to catch on his beloved camera. Not one moment would pass where he missed one of the man's actions and wondered how beautiful it looked.
That was another thing about him. Everything he did was alluring. Every breathe he took was mind-blowing. Everytime his eyes opened up Allen was stuck desperatley trying to remember how to breathe. It must be unhealthy for a teenager to feel so wrapped up in love, but he couldn't help his feelings for the unknown man. He'd been watching for... how long?
So long he can't even remember when he started, when he fell in love and when his heart would flutter when the man would by accident let his eyes wander to the roof where Allen was sitting with his little camera, snapping shots of the street life beneath him.
He was dying. He wanted to badly. So horribly. He wanted to speak with him, but his guts would never agree, they would always say it was a bad decision. It was the wrong decision.
But he'd been watching now. He'd been taking pictures now. What else could he do now?
He brought his camera once more and balanced it on his knees as he used his left hand to adjust his striped scarf around his neck, tugging on it so it wrapped around his chin as well. His mouth parted slightly open and white air could be seen floating out of his moist cavern. His crimson hand, his left hand, the one hand that had been infected and was now and eyesore to every passing person. A look of disgust crossing their faces whenever they took in the disoriented shape of his left hand, the one attached to his arm, to him.
His silver orbs were calm, soothing in a sort of hypnotic manner. His face naturally pale, not due to the cold that surrounded him but because that's the way he was. And something else he was was the red scar that slashed down his left eye, a mark of unforgiveness given to him by his late father. His shockingly white hair, different from other teenagers his age, loosening up and letting a few strands dance with the wind as the air became chilly.
When was it exactly, that he had fallen in love?
September? November? Tuesday? Sunday? 12 o'clock?
Was it the day that Cross had given him a bag of sunflower seeds and told him to grow beans because sunflower seeds stuck in between his teeth?
Maybe it was the day Allen noticed his laundry was full and went down to the Laundromat only to find that the dryer was occupied by rats having sex?
Perhaps it was the day he went to a local internet café to edit a few of his photos and got pissed at the inanimate object in front of him and gave the worst possible insult of;
"You know what computer? Your mother was a can-opener!"
Or was it the day that he had gotten more than 30 comments on one of his photos on deviantart?
Allen loved the computer. It was his one love of his life excluding his camera that he actually would spend his time on. Mainly because he uploaded his photos on the computer, edited his photos on the computer and posted his photos on deviantart on the computer. He enjoyed deviantart and considered it a world of bliss with souls full of talent posting their art, poetry and pictures. The comments he loved the most were the ones who encouraged him to take more pictures and gave him tips and examples of what he could practice on; a few people even requested certain photos which made him feel warm and loved inside. However, there were the usual people who probably were jealous of his talent or something, those people who commented their dislike of the photo and asking futile questions like 'why are you still doing this shit?' Isn't it pretty obvious you suck?'
He hated those comments.
Baisez-vous. Baisez-vous très, très beaucoup. – Fuck you. Fuck you very, very much.
A Lily Allen song.
He had so many memorable moments but only a few selected ones could occupy the emptiness in his brain, completely forgetting about his minor memories which were reminded to him by some other person who had bothered to keep the memory intact.
He let his mind trail, creating its own path in the back of his head as he jumped off his seat on the roof, heading directly towards the door. He grabbed his light blue shoulder bag in the process; the one with pink spotted bows on each side where the straps were connected, and there were several badges of quotes, remarks and a few bands that he supported and took a liking to.
His music taste was completely random, not one of his songs would match with the other and honestly, people considered Allen to be a bit… 'blah'. He didn't care that he was 'blah'. He enjoyed being 'blah'. Because in his dictionary, being 'blah' was being non-existent, and he loved being labelled as non-existent. Although, the truth be told he hated labelling and labels, he hated people being labelled as 'emo', 'prep' and 'nerd'; it all made him realize what a fucked up world they live in that actually think it would be better to categorize its inhabitants than have them live freely.
The Temptations, Sugarpie, Honeybunch.
Lily Allen – It's Not Fair
Jet... Are you Gonna Be My Girl?
Carolina Liar; I'm Not Over
Herman's Hermits ~ No Milk Today
It was all muddled up and unfocused, so bizarre and yet enticing in Allen's twisted sort of way. The only connection he saw between his songs was that, in his opinion, they were all… happy. Up-beat. Glad. Singing about something worthless, useless, shitty… and then sounding impressively joyous.
Snap out of thought.
s'il vous plait.
Spanish wasn't that bad either.
He would have to come back to the mysterious man once more another time. Some other time when he wasn't busy.
Right now Tyki was waiting.
So what you all think? Hmmmm??
Just so you know it will involve a lot of imaginative, creative, artistic things~ Like art, music, writing, photogrpahs and modeling 8D (because i'm cool like that ;D)
Just a warning, because I love this story so much I might ignore my others, so please remind me. 3 FankYEW!