Blurs

Blurs.

Everything was a blur.

First they had talked and then he ran away, scream and cry, just like a spoiled baby, and then he was talking to Riku- (was it Riku? He wasn't sure, because it looked like everything was melting and it was all going down in flames) and he shut himself up in his room, remembering (no, don't remember, don't remember a thing) remembering his eyes (how they were that gorgeous, perfect shade of blue, like the tippy-top layer of the ocean, where it sparkles and shines), and his hair (like silk; soft and beautiful and when it hits the light at a certain angle it would suddenly shine in a million shades of gold), and his skin (light, pale skin, untouched, the color of ivory—).

He remembered all of it; how he'd hug him, with feather-light touches, brushes, kisses, whispers, and then he'd murmur "I love you" and smile that sweet, sweet, so unbearably innocent smile—

Lies.

And then he pushed him away and broke his heart; shattered it into a million tiny pieces and scattered them so that it would never become whole again. Left him as soon as that redheaded monster batted his eyelashes. (Just a fling, such a fool for believing it was more, of course he didn't deserve someone so beautiful and perfect and angelic and—)

-Butno, no, no, he's not perfect; he just breaks peoples' hearts; not an angel, but the Devil...

And he reached for the knife that had lain in his dresser drawer for months without being disturbed (because he'd been getting better, he really had, he hadn't felt the need to do this in ages) and slowly grasped the blade with his hand, watched numbly as it cut into the skin and shed drops of thick, red blood (and he knew it hurt, but the pain was so far away and the screams were so soft, and he couldn't hear anything but the rushing in his ears), and the knife bit into his hand again, straight line, down the wrist, feel the skin tear, watch the blood seep down your arm, onto the floor and drip, drip, drip, no emotions, just pale shadows dancing on the walls.

Then when he finally went to bed his dreams were bathed in Darkness, so, so different from the usual Light, full of screams and cries and laughing redheads and ruby eyes glaring out of the body of his angel. (There was so much fire, and it was covering his skin; covering the walls, spreading over everything, leaving only ashes behind.)

When he woke up, sweating, hands scratching at scabbing cuts and scars, he curled up in his bed sheets, whispering to himself over and over and over, crying inconsolable tears, ignoring his brother who stood outside banging on the door screaming, What's wrong with you? I don't even know who you are anymore! Remembering all the (fake, fake, unbearably fake) memories and how his blond-haired, blue-eyed angel was nothing but a

Demon.