pairing: Rukawa x Sakuragi
extra notes: for the RHR mailing list theme project – theme #05: Wistfulness
Occasionally, Sakuragi would pause; his right hand that clutched the black ink pen would hover hesitantly over the white paper crammed with unruly scrawls. The usual office bustle would erode into oblivion, and time ceases.
Yet in reality, the rest of the world would hasten on eagerly, too consumed by urbanism and driven by material. Many a times before, Sakuragi had caught himself staring down at the busy city streets through his cloudy office window that half shrouded by grey blinds. His cynical eyes could only see snatches of blue, black and white. At those moments, his ironic distaste was a welcomed bitterness, much unlike the cold tasteless coffee in his magenta-colored mug.
And in this void, there was only motionlessness.
Rukawa found his eyes drawn towards an original Haruki Murakami novel, on the rare occasion when he was in a bookstore. He remembered the unlikeliest rough hands thumbing through the pages of Norwegian Wood, the immersed gleam in those brown eyes, which absorbed him in return. He thought, perhaps, he could almost feel that same spring breeze that ruffled the red, and the delicate cherry blossoms that wafted through the air.
But then a superficially pretty girl came along and latched onto his left arm, one of the flirtatious, convenient types he could remember neither face or name of. She dragged him towards yet another boutique, while she blabbered on excitedly about the new fluffy top she just purchased from the flashy store across the street, dinner plans and the latest celebrity gossip.
And all he could hear was mind-numbing silence.
He would wake up abruptly at three in the morning, his breaths random and quick, and he could only see darkness. His thoughts would dart rebelliously back to the couple of years where a reassuring warmth beside him would lull him back to peace. Each time, he would recall a brunette who would wordlessly tug him closer, half-opened indigo eyes opaque with sleep and the faint scent of jasmines.
And like how he accepted his night blindness, Sakuragi honestly believed that he was gradually learning to get by with this painful loneliness.
It was a quiet summer morning that saw Rukawa lacing up his basketball shoes in his spacious apartment, preparing to head out for the day’s training. He stared, like every other day, at a faded, dog-eared high-school graduation photograph he never got down to framing. His fingers traced a particular figure, and he was once again riveted by recollections he never wanted to renounce.
And subconsciously, he wondered what time it was in Japan, before realizing he no longer knew the difference.