![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psithurism) wrote2011-06-25 10:37 pm
Reborn! fanfic: Some Other Beginning's End.
Author: Miles
Rating: PG
Paring: Gen.
Warnings: Transgender themes, Underage smoking, Vague writing.
Summary: We create ourselves, not out of words or stones, but from the dreams of tomorrow and the truth in our lies. Gokudera and a trip into the future to find himself now. FTM!Gokudera.
Notes: Gah, transfic. I'll put this on the list of things I don't write enough of. Sorry for out of character Gokudera, i haven't written him in ages.
When he opens his eyes, the smoke has lifted, but the sonic boom still echos in his mind, deep and resonant and sweetly pulling at every fiber of his being like siren song. The room in which he finds himself is nothing he knows, yet it takes only one look out the window for him to recognize the way the sun glimmers off the hills to realize he is back in the country that, for all he has lived out most of his life there, never felt like home.
(He's not sure that home is a place anymore, but a feeling of simple closeness and a memory of acrid smoke.)
Still, the world outside is beautiful and for now he has nothing but time. His mind spins algorithms and plans, but there is nothing that will take him back any more quickly than the constant, heart beat tones of his wrist watch. He takes a deep breath, letting the lycra of his binder cut into his chest, the slight ache grounding him, before releasing it and walking over to the window. All it would take is a gentle push for the mechanism to engage, but he has never been gentle, never had the patience or the wish to be anything other than himself, and as such throws open the framework to let the panes shake in their holds.
Wind rushes the room, soft and inviting, (nothing like the storm that he is and this is just another thing that lets him know he doesn't belong) and bids the papers collected haphazardly throughout the room to dance. He allows the space to reach an equilibrium before roughly digging in his pockets, needing something know amidst this faerie tail seeming future. The cigarette is lit in a practiced motion and he takes a deep breath before letting it out, outside air pressure sucking away the remnants. The smoke makes him jittery, still, like every cell of his body is moving in tandem, yet his head is clearer for it all and he chances another glance around, for what subordinate would he be if he did not bring some news from this foreign decade.
In the vast expanse of white notes that have puddled on the floor, he notices something, just a splash of unfamiliar color against the monochromatic scale of paper and floor. His hand closes around the edges of the photograph and he sets his eyes to examine every face. It is of the group of them, all in deep black and formal wear, yet still clinging to their same disgruntled expressions of personality. He himself is placed to his boss' right, one hand resting on that thin shoulder not harshly like he will soon be lost, but like he knows that he no longer has to try to have that place. The him that appears in the picture is different too, older, more handsome, and he admires the way this person's back is straight with pride and the way his clothes fall loosely at the chest.
And it's over then, in a blink he's back on the harsh black streets of Namimori, with people there to call him 'Gokudera-kun' in warm voices and the knowledge that someday those won't just be pretty words.
He clutches the paper tightly in his hand, tight enough for it to crease and ruin, but that is alright for now, because it is still a future he can create if he only tries hard enough.
He is home.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject