IMPORTANT NOTE LIKE YEAH.
Please do read this in either 1/2 or 3/4, depending on your screen size/resolution.
I'd like to tell you upfront that this fic is a really obvious deviation of Miss Razer's work because she is the cause of all this. I was inspired by her most recent fic and thought that hey, maybe this could work. At first, I had no idea how to end this, but I thought that I could make 'Tomorrow' a series of unrelated oneshots with a similar theme. So, yea; here it is. And to those who are wondering what I meant by 'she didn't have tomorrow,' she died. But since the oneshots are unrelated, she's well alive here. This is quite long, I must warn you, but I worked hard on this. (lol one seating is hard for me okay)
I most certainly did not read this over, a great mistake I actually dread to commit. See, this is what makes me a really big hypocrite. If (ever) you review, kindly pinpoint errors you spot or you would like me to work on so that I'll know. I didn't really see anything wrong while writing this, so if you're kind enough and you just love me so much, please leave a review. :)
I'd like to dedicate this one to -sera-chan011-. Just because I love her like yeah. Go read her stories! :D
In his mind, he could always pretend she was his.
Those little fantasies he conjured up while he's asleep? Yes, those dreams of his—he could always pretend that she was smiling her usual angelic smile to him instead of him; that he would always be able to hold her as if she was the most fragile and valuable object in the world, like his own little diamond; that he would be able to muster up the courage to hold her hand every now and then, like what he did in reality. He could always pretend, that somewhere along the lies he told himself, that she did truly feel something about him. But, no. It was just too farfetched—not only in reality, but in his dreams, as well. He couldn't bring himself to imagine all those. The reason, he was not exactly sure of, but he knew that there was something about all of it that concerned her happiness.
Ah, yes, that's it. She was happy with him. He knew that he couldn't be selfish when it was her felicity on the line—and he couldn't gamble with it at all. Ignorance was indeed bliss for him at this moment, and so was masochism, he admitted to himself with a small chuckle. The sight of her with him was also quite masochistic; so was seeing her right now walking along the straight aisle that seemed to separate him from her.
You may wonder, though, what exactly was wrong with that. She was alone, not with him or anyone else, for that matter, but still there was something so big in its entirety that made it all feel so wrong; so out of place; so much of a conspiracy—a great big lie that he would tell himself every now and then.
And then he remembered: it wasn't him; it was the guy beside him.
The soft melody created by the clashing of his fingers with the keys of the piano echoed all throughout the hall, just like the hollow voice of the priest who stood before everyone present. He looked up from where he was and saw that she had finally lifted her veil, revealing her golden eyes which shimmered against the light from the chandeliers above and a few of her red tresses that framed her face. Oh God, he thought, she was more beautiful than ever! And just with that mere thought, he became distraught, causing him to press the wrong keys to whatever he was playing.
Well this was quite awkward, he had thought again to himself. He slowly brought up his head to face the small crowd who became silent after the obvious shift of key. He took a glance at the bride who appeared almost unfazed by it, and was instead giggling almost inaudibly to herself—though you could see it with her lips. She looked at him and smiled; he melted again—it was as if she liked breaking his heart every so now and then when she would imply that he would have to wake up again and face the fact that she was his, not his.
She diverted her gaze to the priest and nodded, her lips still having that playful expression on it. If only he was the one in front of her right now, the one who was going to have the right to call her his ever-so lovely wife. But no, he lost to him, of all the people; he certainly did not expect that she would have fallen for him, the oh-so brilliant but stoic ice prince of the academy. Huh, what were the chances of that happening? Small, he thought, but he proved to have stood a great deal of a chance, didn't he?
He started to play again, still with desolated thoughts. How could he overcome it, he didn't really know—he believed that she was his only solace, but now that she's being taken away from him, he wasn't so sure anymore. And speaking of what he wasn't so sure of, he also wasn't sure of what exactly was happening right now. But for sure, he wished that all of this was still his imagination playing with him, another trick his mind was playing on him; most of all, he wished that he would wake up all of a sudden to face his ceiling and see the sun rising from his window.
He breathed and waited.
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest bellowed with a huge grin plastered on his aging face. But then again, did he have a reason to not be happy for the newlywed couple? Was it not only him who was bitter about it? The other concour contestants were over her and attended with some girl they were seeing. He was left alone to battle her affections with the ice prince, and he lost. But bitterness wasn't always a bad thing, right? It may just be a way to show others that in life, there's such a thing as 'I still love you, but I don't want to care anymore.' And he, most certainly, did not want to care at all—which was quite like avoiding the inevitable.
"Aishiteru, otto. Eien ni, tsuneni." She announced so loudly to the guy in front of her, her bridegroom. The small pool of people gasped lightly and awed at her words. But he, he didn't expect this—for his whole world to instantaneously come crashing down by a few words muttered by the woman he knew he loves. But it hurt, he knew, too much for him to handle, to carry. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't at all strong enough—figuratively speaking, that is; the façade he put up outside wasn't the same inside, if it wasn't obvious enough.
And the reception wasn't so nice either since he mostly saw the two dancing with and smiling at each other. He wondered almost every second, though, what if it was him instead who was able to capture her heart? That nice thought was enough to encourage him every time before, but when they announced their engagement, he felt as if he lost all hope. She didn't really lead him on, but she still surely made him think that he had a chance—and a big one, at that. And he felt as if she had betrayed him by not telling him earlier about her and him. The worst thing about being lied to is knowing that you weren't worth the truth, he knew; from what he had finally concluded, he wasn't worth it.
He walked out of the venue, his senses a bit impaired because of the alcohol he had drank. He had not bothered to bid the rest farewell, including the newlyweds. No, he was too bitter. He walked by the sidewalk and saw small dots of lights swerving across him, his vision fooling with him once again. He ran a hand through his green locks and sighed. If only, he muttered to himself, he was not blinded by his infatuation with the red-headed violinist—then maybe he could have been spared from all this suffering inside.
But no, he was blind. The last thing he saw, though, was a pair of bright lights speeding to him. And he knew, more than anything in the world, he would be waking up tomorrow.
Note: Aishiteru, otto. Eien ni , tsuneni. = I love you, husband. Forever and always. I think. Please correct me if I'm mistaken.
And before you go on with your routine, I would like to announce that I'm starting my own Project 365. If you don't know what that is, go look it up; if you want to see the pictures, my homepage link is my flickr account. I hope I'll be able to finish this, really. Wish me all luck! :D