SUMMARY: A door. That was what had sealed his fate for eternity. A perfectly carved, elegant, white, pristine door. A goddamn door.

DISCLAIMER: Skip Beat is not mine - yet. Please Read and Review. :)


.

.

A door. A perfectly carved, elegant, white, pristine door. A piece of wood that he could easily break if he applied enough force.

.

.

A door. It was the only thing that stood between him and her. Just a goddamn door.

.

.

It was what he had told himself over and over again, for the past fifteen minutes, as he stood just outside her door. It was the very line he told himself yesterday, and the day before that, as he tried to muster the courage and bring his hands to knock. It was the same line he used every time he finds himself standing back in the exact same spot - unsure, wavering, hesitating - frustration building up because he was never those things. And yet here he was - hands sweating, gut wrenching, knees shaking - just because of a door.

.

.

It was just a door. He told himself yet again, breathing deeply, and swallowing an imaginary lump in his throat. This time, I would knock, he told himself, as he tried to muster enough courage to do so.

.

.

Yet, before he could, he was pretty sure the door was not 'just a goddamn door' anymore.

.

.

"Ren! Hurry! Yashiro-san's probably already waiting! I told you we should not have stayed up late -" he heard her voice from the other side, and then a decidedly masculine laugh, followed by silence, and incoherent mumbling.

.

.

He stood there, rooted on the spot.

.

.

In a split second, the door, the only thing standing between him and her, had spelled his apocalypse.

.

.

A door. That was what had sealed his fate for eternity. A perfectly carved, elegant, white, pristine door. A goddamn door.


AUTHOR'S NOTE:Well, what do you know. Another Sho-fic. Haha. Is it obvious I don't like him? But honestly, this is brought about less by my antagonistic feelings towards Sho and more by the music I listen to in my current mood and state of mind. And since writing is my way of healing a broken heart, well, this came about.

I have this thing about knocking, where I feel queasy, and unsure whether I would still be welcomed by the people on the other side. It's not that I give them a reason to not welcome me back, but well, sometimes, you'd do something annoying unconsciously. Yep, that's how I rationalize my paranoia on knocking. Cause my loved ones, still, thankfully, welcome me back. Maybe it helps that I bring snacks. :)

Anyway, please tell me what you think. Because, personally, I think it's pretty rough writing. *sigh* Thank you in advance. :)