2016.
Satoru.
I'll pick a red flower and give it to you,
I'll put it in your hair.
That red flower, red flower in your hair,
blooms and sways like the sun.
I'll pick a white flower and give it to you,
I'll put it in your hair.
That white, white flower on your chest,
blooms and sways like the moon.
Her voice meandered through his ears as she sang. It was like a prayer, like the choir of hundreds of angels singing to a god he only knew when he was with her. His head rested in her lap, her soothing hands tracing tiny rivulets in the white locks of his hair, lulling him to sleep. Cherry blossoms fell around them, recalling the first day he saw her back in school, and when she smiled at him, he could swear he was floating.
Red flower sways in your hair
with kind smiles.
White flower sways on your chest
with a kiss from your beloved,
with a kiss from your beloved.
He'd give his life to make this moment last for a lifetime. She looked angelic, beautiful, ethereal. The embodiment of pureness, the telltale of Heaven in her dazzling, honeyed-eyes. He wouldn't mind dying now in her arms, for he was made for her, and she was made for him. His hands reached out to touch her face, and his world spun around when she started fading like water through his fingers.
In his dream, Gojo Satoru remembered that nothing lasts forever.
When he woke up, all that surrounded him was the loneliness of a bitter and bleeding reality.
***
"Such a pain."
The white-haired man ruffled his hair out of boredom, stepping out of his king size bed, totally naked. His feet dragged him to the panoramic window in his penthouse's bedroom, tearing a lazy yawn out of his lungs before the shape in his bed started moving.
"Good morning," the brunette said behind him. But he didn't turn to her, simply answering what he always did when morning came after every one of his one-night stands. Barebutt in all his glory, he sighed, his eyes looking through the glass down to the Aoyama streets, as the woman awaited with a tiny smile on her smeared lipstick lips.
"Gotta make a call. Please, close the door when you leave."
His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. The lady couldn't say it didn't sting, but she knew any woman could expect more from the great Gojo Satoru but a night of great sex, no strings attached.
Nonetheless, she dared to dream. To dream of making him fall for her.
She wasn't the first to dream, though.
None of them knew it was pointless.
"I'll leave my phone number on—".
"Take it," he muttered, scornfully. "I don't want it."
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
The dying song
कल्पित विज्ञानHer voice meandered through his ears as she sang. It was like a prayer, like the choir of hundreds of angels singing to a god he only knew when he was with her. His head rested in her lap, her soothing hands tracing tiny rivulets in the white locks...
