Stargazing

Title: Stargazing
Part: Prologue/?
Pairing: Kyo/Die
Rating: PG (for this part)
Summary: I don't know what made me think of you. When it all boils down to it, I don't think about you much.


I don't know what made me think of you. When it all boils down to it, I don't think about you much. Usually just a passing thought- wondering what you are doing, or how the weather is there. Whereever you are now. Sometimes I just sit there and long to see you. But don't get confused, I don't miss you.
I don't miss you, really.
It feels odd to write that. Maybe there is a part of me that 'misses' you. Though I'm not familiar with that part of me that has anything to do with you. Are you familiar with the part of yourself that I exist in? If not, that's okay. I wouldn't blame you really- I'm just an ordinary guy, stuck in this town.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get out of here. There is this feeling that I get, boiling in the pit of my stomach when I lay in bed at night- this feeling that I'm just not meant to be here. I'm sure you don't want to know that much about me.

Tonight I had my first beer.
But no, that's not what made me think of you. I don't know exactly what it was. Maybe some cosmic force blowing and pushing its way into my brain. A force above my control that compelled me to write this letter. Anything is possible, but I'm sure that's not the case here.

I'm getting uncomfortable.

You know, I saw you the other day. Wednesday, I think. At least I thought I caught a glimpse of your long hair as you chatted away with some beautiful woman. You stood at a distance though, only smiling politely now-and-then. Family? Friend?
Forgive me if that wasn't you. My eyes play tricks on me lately.
Maybe I do miss you.

That would be crazy, huh?

Even if it were you, I still would have kept my distance. Eyeing you through my sunglasses; watching your movements down to your fingertips squeezing their pink tips into the confines of your blue-jeans. I'd stand there and hope you wouldn't be offended if I just passed you by. What would I have to say to you anyway?

Sometimes, while I'm laying in bed- before that feeling begins to surface in my stomach- I imagine what our conversation would be like.

I would approach you nervously, like a school-kid; you with your large Dior glasses and flush pink lips- you would look shocked and feign a smile. My heart would begin to flutter, maybe at your intense beauty or maybe from my anxiety.
Your skin is so white that it's almost transparent, it's perfect. For some reason you have a thin layer of powder brushed over your face- probably to cover whatever flaws you imagine that you have.
"Nice to see you."
You'd say.
(It would be awkward, the air between us tense and thick.)
I'd reply, "You too. How are things?"
I would be staring- watching your shoulders shift through your t-shirt. You'd be avoiding my eyes with your own- your glasses are so dark, but I imagine you would be staring at my feet the whole time.

"Same as usual," you'd take a side step, a fake smile on your lips, "I'm doing some shopping, say, it was nice seeing you but I have to get going."
Then, your hand would come up briefly as you waved and before I could say bye- you would briskly walk away. I'd watch you until your body became obscured by distance.
Every time I play that scene over in my head it never changes. You always seem so uninterested. Toying with your hair as you try to look at everything but me. But, hell, it's okay. I'm just an ordinary guy.


I've decided not to send this to you.
Tomorrow is your birthday and tonight I'll lay in bed and have one of our imagined conversations. I hope it changes tonight.