Danse Macabre

a short drabble.

Faceless figures danced on the off-white walls; the figures he knew quite well. He was well acquainted with these beings, seeing them at midnight when he couldn't sleep. They always seemed to give him advice, whispering poems and songs to keep him teetering on the brink of insanity. But tonight, they were gone, replaced by walls that remained deadly silent.

The moonlight entered his room, its mother-like embrace seeping in through the motionless walls. Kyouya Ootori sat on his bed, murmuring to himself. He often glanced at the walls, hoping to see his figures leaping and playing and mocking him. He hoped. He despaired.

"Kyouya." A soft, mellifluous voice shattered the silence. "I'm sorry."

The weight of reality came crashing back down. She was gone. Gone and would never come back. Gone like all the meaningful people in Kyouya's life. Her apologies wouldn't mean anything to him. Nothing meant to him now. He fell down the rabbit hole and there was no way back up. No way back to sanity. No way back to the life before Haruhi Fujioka.

Cold grey eyes scanned the walls—there still were no shadows. No stars dotted the heavens. No glimmering of the moon's soft glare tonight.

"I'm sorry, too."

Sorry that Tamaki had to be your knight in shining armor while I was just the dragon in your fairy tale. Sorry that I was brought up to play god among men. Sorry that I never had the right cards to being with. Sorry that my life was not an empty canvas but already a painting created by Father. Sorry that love was just a word to me.

….Until now.

A soft sigh escaped pale lips and grey eyes finally closed. Somewhere, a candle lit up and the shadows started dancing once more.

Disclaimer: Ouran is not mine.