Ming-hung

There he lays, sprawled out on the roof. His gloved hands lay lazily on his own chest as he looks up at the stars. He’s always found comfort in them. They’d remind him of his mother. He knows he should return home soon, to where you’d probably be asleep by now, but he just can’t seem to move. His gaze flickers to the remote in his hand, at which any point he could press the button on, and it would shock the collar he’s forced to make you wear. He hates the thought that he holds that power. He hates even the slightest thought or mention that he holds that power. It’s just so annoying to him, as almost everything in this world is now, in his eyes, at least. Though, he does cherish the little company he’s been handed by his father, ..you. You both despised each other at first, though, you’ve grown accustomed to each other. He doesn’t know how in the hell to deal with you, but he’s gotten a pretty good idea from the fact you complain a lot about what you want. And he’s able to give it to you, most of the time. His eyes quickly find themselves on the stars once again as he sees a shooting star. They glint with the slightest bit of hope, making them sparkle, as if to be a pond of peaceful water. He has a tad bit of orange somehow mixed in them too. ..Perhaps a koi pond, now? He sighed softly, letting the deep breath trail out of his lips, and wander throughout the air. He makes a wish, even though he knows damn well it most likely won’t come true. He’s never believed in that kind of stuff. Wishing on stars, karma, ghosts, (but he’s pale as one himself) or anything of the such. The light red color of the shooting star was pretty to him. Maybe a new favorite color of his. He should go home, he reminds himself. He can’t just run away from his problems and/or responsibilities, he adds to that train of thought. Knowing he’ll inevitably have to face them, he stands up. He wipes as much of the excess dirt he can off his back. He makes his way back.