Chapter Text
An innocent life was once lost through a beautiful tragedy. A life that was born at the wrong time with circumstances that were out of his control. A person who stood straight and tall for something he believed in and paid the ultimate price for it.
An innocent life that was born in the wrong place and at the wrong time, taken at the raw age of 19.
It was deemed an "accident". People gave their sympathies and condolences to the fallen one's family who was distraught over the loss of their beloved son, but the lover he left behind knew better.
You see, they tried the hide the fact that their son was only attracted to men. It was something he hid for the majority of his life. With a family as renowned as his that had a reputation to keep and at a time when being a homosexual was extremely frowned upon, he kept it to himself. It was something he planned to take to his grave until he fell for a boy, a ballerina who danced his way through life.
The pale beauty sat among the people clad in black, appearing more lifeless than the man laying in the casket. The only indication that he was still alive was the shallow breaths and the red-rimmed eyes.
He had long stopped crying, opting to just entertain his own thoughts. In his need for a distraction, unwanted ones that rarely surfaced invited themselves. He blinked once, then twice, the only movement that showed that he wasn’t a mere statue of a person.
The boy was an orphan. Having a hard upbringing and moving up the ranks of society by mere talent and hard work for being a dancer was the only thing he was known for. Dancing kept him alive, it put food on the table and gave him a sense of purpose. With no one in his life, no family or friends, he put his blood and sweat into it.
The dancer never had an ounce of power in his dreary life, but he never felt so helpless.
He watched as the strangers and close relatives mourned for his lover. Mourning for the loss of a good person that everyone loved, but he knew half of these people were only sucking up to the couple. He watched as the family put up a mask, pretending that they weren't the ones who planned it.
He didn't miss the side-eye glances, he didn't miss the hate they emitted, and he especially didn't miss the soundless "this is your fault" amidst the tension that will forever run through his mind
He felt the sickness that settled on his stomach but he paid no mind when the only thing on his mind was that the love of his life was dead.
The dancer trudged through the dewy grass, his bare feet the only ones dragging and guiding him until he felt the disturbed soil underneath.
His body was draped with the finest clothes he had. A luxury that was rare for him, reserved only for a few times when he needed to wear anything other than rags.
The night was calm. The only light was from the streetlamp that barely illuminated the trees where the cicadas sang. An unusual occurrence.
Perhaps they knew what will happen.
He took one look at the ground. A body lies beneath his feet, it was someone that was supposed to be beside him, alive and well. Making jokes that force out a laugh from the silver-haired boy and teasing him until his pale skin turns red from all the blushing. Showing him a side that he, himself, barely knew and repressed.
In the private clearing under the shade of the evergreen tree where the fallen one lies, the ballerina danced.