(no subject)
Aug. 7th, 2010 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaHe liked to walk on the beach because it gave him the illusion of freedom. The surf crashing cold on his ankles, the wide open horizon, and the endless ocean. Byakuran could ignore the isolating cliff faces that surrounded his villa and forget that the endless ocean surrounded his little island prison. As far as prisons went it was nice, he could sleep as long as he wanted, he could eat what he wanted (within reason) and he could make requests that were generally granted. Like his daily requests to walk on the beach. His jailers had been leery at first but once they were assured he wasn’t about to summon a tsunami to carry him out to see they grew used to the jaunts.
When he walked on the beach, and despite how nice his jailers were it was one of the few ‘freedoms’ he actually had, Byakuran tried to face East. To the East was Japan. To the East was... him. Or at least, that's where Byakuran thought He was. The day Byakuran woke from an afternoon nap, sweaty from more than the heat, with memories that weren't his swimming in his head all he could think about was *Him*. Even when the men in black suits and even blacker cars had showed up and shuttled him out of his house Byakuran had thought of Him. Irie Shouichi, was what the memories had called him, a face, an enemy, a man who had given up all he had known to stop Byakuran's 'unspeakable evil'. 'Shou-chan' was the name that rolled off Byakuran's lips at night, loose cotton pants pushed out of the way, the sheet tangled around one leg, the window open to catch the salty scent of sea air.
‘Shou-chan, Shou-chan, Shou-chan.’
While Byakuran used to dream of futuristic landscapes now he dreams of green eyes, auburn hair, the faint filtered strains of indie music.
He plans to request a meeting. Not now, not soon, but eventually. He’ll ask to meet Irie Shouichi and if they allow the meeting he’ll bring Shou-chan to his beach.
They’ll probably say no.
The only thought that consoles Byakuran as the foam crashes over his black shackle is that the ocean is large and that maybe, on some beach in Japan, Shouichi is letting the waves wash over his ankles as well.
When he walked on the beach, and despite how nice his jailers were it was one of the few ‘freedoms’ he actually had, Byakuran tried to face East. To the East was Japan. To the East was... him. Or at least, that's where Byakuran thought He was. The day Byakuran woke from an afternoon nap, sweaty from more than the heat, with memories that weren't his swimming in his head all he could think about was *Him*. Even when the men in black suits and even blacker cars had showed up and shuttled him out of his house Byakuran had thought of Him. Irie Shouichi, was what the memories had called him, a face, an enemy, a man who had given up all he had known to stop Byakuran's 'unspeakable evil'. 'Shou-chan' was the name that rolled off Byakuran's lips at night, loose cotton pants pushed out of the way, the sheet tangled around one leg, the window open to catch the salty scent of sea air.
‘Shou-chan, Shou-chan, Shou-chan.’
While Byakuran used to dream of futuristic landscapes now he dreams of green eyes, auburn hair, the faint filtered strains of indie music.
He plans to request a meeting. Not now, not soon, but eventually. He’ll ask to meet Irie Shouichi and if they allow the meeting he’ll bring Shou-chan to his beach.
They’ll probably say no.
The only thought that consoles Byakuran as the foam crashes over his black shackle is that the ocean is large and that maybe, on some beach in Japan, Shouichi is letting the waves wash over his ankles as well.
