Aizawa Tachi (ask_concentrate) wrote in faithingravity,
Aizawa Tachi

a walk through the valley of death

A little boy ran through the sunshine filled streets of Kyoto, dressed in a black school uniform and tiny sneakers, blue backpack slung over his shoulders. A black, poofy bunch of hair sat upon a big, round head, and expressive brown eyes blinked through the curtain of his bangs. A black cap sat upon his head, backwards, tamping down the out of control hair. Pattering his way through the dusty streets of his neighborhood, which was basically just a few houses and businesses, he finally stopped at the door of a rather run down, wooden house, kicking his shoes off awkwardly and sliding the door open.

The breezes smelled like summer, of dry, dry dirt and warm sunshine-and within the little boy's heart, he rejoiced-because that meant that there wouldn't be too many things to do, and more time to laze about and play with his rabbits.

Bag down upon the wooden floor, he closed the door behind him and went in seach of his mother and father. His mother stood in the kitchen, washing vegetables for dinner in a tub, and his father-oh, wait...his father was at work. His mother raised brown eyes to look at the little boy, and a welcome smile appeared on her lips. She had the black hair that the child did, long, bound up into a bun, and she wore a light, pink summer kimono, always a woman of tradition. She was young-in her early twenties, and the wrinkles of age hadn't touched her face.

"Okaasan, ne!" The little boy pounced on her with dirty arms and filthy clothes, and even though it dirtied her kimono, she did not shove him away. Dropping the vegetables down into the cool water of the tub, she hugged his tiny, slim form with wet arms and hands, taking off his cap and undoing his jacket, letting him slip out of the buttoned clothes so he could be cooler.

"You're so dirty! What did you do all day?" Combing her fingers through his hair, she straightened the windblown strands away from the little boy's face. He smiled at her and didn't answer as he squirmed his arms out of his sleeves, tossing them aside. She affectionately, with a mother's love, kissed him on the nose. "Let's bathe you, get yourself so messy after school..."

I never thought about living much.

The classroom was empty, save for the young man standing at the front of the class. Rather short, still tender from his first outshoots of puberty, the slender teen adjusted his glasses, wincing painfully as his legs ached from growing pains. The small room was built like an auditorium, like a seashell, with padded walls so that the music composed within wouldn't disturb the outside world.

This place was like his sanctuary.

Brown eyes peered through the thick lenses of his glasses, black hair messily strewn over his eyes, overshadowing them as he read the notes on the page in front of him.

The floor was carpeted, with plastic seats stuck to the floor with bolts. Music stands sat in the corner, and a closet sat next to them, full of the instruments that could create the most glorious of sounds-if played properly, that is.

The room smelled like plastic and metal and sound. The young man picked up a piece of chalk from the board sitting in front of the class, and he began to write notes upon the green surface. Fingers coated with pale powder, he parted his lips as he concentrated, the smell of the chalk causing him to sneeze twice.

The notes walked themselves out through his mind in a symphony of sound, washing through him as he matched them to the words of a song-he could hear the flutes, the violins, and with his mind, he accompanied it with the sounds of the voices he knew could work in perfectly harmony. A faint smile appeared on his lips. He had been acclaimed as a musical genius within his school, the best-but the praise was only given to him by those who couldn't understand.

Those who could, knew that he had a gift, but had not reached the height of his potential.

He hummed softly as he worked, a soft baritone voice purring through his throat. Working like this was soothing, easy, something he was familiar with. He could forget the incessant essays, the pages of math, the science labs-and he could concentrate on one thing, creating the most appealing sound possible. And when he came out with something beautiful, he knew that he had succeeded.

Lost in his thoughts, someone watched him from the doorway of the auditorium. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin-tall, much taller than the young musician, slender, relaxed.

Aizawa Tachi. That was my name-no, that is my name. I never thought about living as much as I thought about dying. As much as I thought about the release.

The kisses upon his lips were soft, tenderly demanding, biting, gentle, passionate. Blonde hair, sweat, blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, the scent of his skin. Wet, sweat soaked sheets and blankets tossed down on the floor. Nothing-no one-had ever mattered this much. No one could make him complete this way. No woman, no girl with perfumed skin and long hair, lips slicked with gloss and tight clothes-could make him feel as if he were tasting a bit of heaven.

Bitter. The flavor tasted like the aftertaste of a lime, sticky and acidic. A woman tasted like that.

But Ma-kun...Ma-kun tasted like honey.

And Tachi was addicted.


I'm sorry. I never...did enough...

I'm dying. I know I am. I can feel it.

I don't want to fucking die regretting this entire thing!


"Shit...he looks really bad."

"Crushed leg and arm, weak vital signs...we'd better get him to the hospital, ASAP." It hurt. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, his legs hurt, his arm hurt-breathing hurt. Wheezing in a breath, he gagged up blood and vomited. "Oh, fuck..."

"Pull him out."

"T-there's so much..."

"Shut up, rookie! He's going to die if you just stand there!" He felt someone slide his arms underneath his own with a fresh spike of pain. Metal scraped against metal as something was moved-but he couldn't open his eyes. He felt sprinkles of rain fall upon his face, washing away a thickly wet substance, as he was settled down on the asphalt.

So this is what it feels like to die.

"We're losing him! Give him more oxygen, hook him up to a machine-we're going into surgery now." Tachi began to not really feel anything at all. The pain was numbed away, gone, and he felt as if he were sinking..."...put him on some morphine, and we're going to have to put his leg back together. The shrapnel severed a major artery..."

Darkness felt nice, warm, welcoming, but he kept on jerking himself back to the voices around him, trying to feel the pain, trying to feel as if he were living...

...he knew who he was living for. He knew who he was trying to live for.

But he was going to walk away from him. Ma-kun was going to turn his back on him and walk away into the world of money and music and girls-and Tachi would become an afterthought.

I deserve it.

Even if Ma-kun decided to turn away, Tachi knew that he at least wanted to see his face again.

Now you know his stupid fucking desperation.

Even if it were on the magazines. Even if it were on the television. Even if Tachi had to be alone.

You walked away from him. If he walks away from you, all you can do is bite the fucking bullet...because how can you be so hypocritical?

Tachi understood.

Understood...everything. How could he not give something and expect it in return...?

And, as he was sucked down into the depths of a morphine-induced sleep, he wished he could burn down the walls of his self-induced prison.

And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
'Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight...

Lyrics from "Iris", by the Goo Goo Dolls

[[urf. that sucked. XDD hope everyone least...a little...o_o;]]
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