it led me to you [kaho/sano kazuma]
angel maker
Kaho/Sano Kazuma for Rei
She sees everything and nothing at all.
Her eyes are wide open the moment he steps into the laboratory, breath coming in quick gasps (of surprise, of wonder, of pain, of being alive) much like that of a fish out of water, and they are also the first things he notices. It is the first thing many notice about Cherries, their eyes are, so they tell him soon enough. But really, it wasn’t more so the color of her eyes, but the lack of it. They also tell her that for all that she is, she cannot see, she cannot be programmed to see.
They were like glass, a pair of pale, pale eyes with a sort of fogged over grey, and if you looked closely enough, you could see the wires and circuits behind the windows, explosions of light and amazement and the universes to come. (And a constant reminder to him that no matter how alive, how beautiful, how human she seemed to be, she would, and should never be one.)
“Sano,” her lips form his name, dark tresses falling over her eyes as she reaches for him, fingers ice to the touch as she trails them over his face, as though by touching him perhaps she would memorize the map of his features. Or at least, that’s what he likes to think, a romantic notion to what she was doing with no apparent reason.
So he closes his eyes and names her after summer (when clearly, she is everything but July warm and all he feels is steel and winter and industry, smokestacks and cheap factories) as she takes a step forward, gears whirring and eyes staring off into a space she doesn’t see but feels with every wire and circuit and fiber of her being.
Her name is Kaho. Kaho. Kaho. He likes the feel of the syllables against his tongue: Ka-ho, summer sails, and the way her hair flutters where there is no wind and she is serious for a moment before her eyes break out into laughter. He likes it when she laughs with her mouth open, her never seeing eyes closed shut, and he would hear bells, as clear as day, ringing in his ears.
“My name is Kaho. I am the Truth Teller. You will protect me until you find my sisters in name only. I will die otherwise.” She cannot die, however. That much he is certain of-for when one is not human, for when one does not have a soul to lose, for when one does not have a heart to beat, how does one die?
He has the strangest fascination with her and words are not enough. “You love her too much,” Okada Masaki chides, running a comb through her long, dark hair, brushing stray strands away from her cheeks flushed pink. Kaho tilts her head slightly, not understanding, but smiles anyways, leaning into the other man as he kisses the top of her head.
Masaki is bold, far bolder than Sano would ever be. One needs to be bold, to be loved in return, but he cannot be such a person. Instead he sleeps with her at his bedside, for she does not sleep, and keeps her closer to him than Masaki would ever have dared to. For a long, long moment, there is peace to be had and warm summer winds.
But they bind his arms. They corner her to the edge. They laugh as Masaki lays still, so still that his heart beats quick and loud in his ribcage. “My name is Kaho. I am the Truth Teller. I have twelve sisters by name. They will find you and destroy you. You will not have me.” And she falls, without the grace of a prima ballerina, plummeting down down down into the depths unknown. Her eyes had been looking straight at him, though the words, he thinks, were not meant for him. He thinks he almost sees her smile that smile of hers, but then she is gone.
“My name is Kaho. You are Sano. I see you that have kind eyes.”
a brief explanation of the sakuran universe: cherries are gynoids programmed for certain functions, seemingly impossible functions. such functions might include the mundane, such as hacking, inhuman strength, to the extraordinary, such as absolute command, and seen here, the ability to discern fact from fiction.
from the unfinished notes pertaining to this project from four years ago, a government agency funded the creation of such gynoids. the brain behind the project goes mad, scattering twelve of his thirteen creations across dystopian japan, and government agents--some no older than fourteen--are sent to retrieve them. they are not the only ones after them, however. the thirteenth gynoid remained at the institute until an incident which she is lost and her protectors vanished.disclaimer: this is purely fictional. any coincidences with things in real life, dead or alive, coincidental or not, are for fictional purposes only.
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