What hurts the most, was being so close...
WHO: Yoite {erasemeaway}
WHAT: A Garnet Vision of Yoite's grim future...
WHERE: The Bat-house!
WHEN: Mid-morning
Most days were lost to Yoite; he spent much of his time asleep now from the heavy doses of pain medication that kept him comfortable. A stranger in Clark and his brood's house, he found himself strangely welcomed. Giselle seemed intent to bring more stuffed animals in to join the ones that rained from the sky, and the dozens of stars that Fuko had showered on the boy for good luck and good health. The boy named Stevie had even taken to chatting with him occasionally, and the beautiful woman named Cassandra, whose voice was rare, but nice to hear. To most of his well-meaning visitors, though, he was an inert form on the bed, a few wires leading from his wrist to an archaic machine that monitored his blood. His breathing was labored and thick, and a grimace occasionally marred his peaceful features.
Hours, maybe even days would pass before he would stir from tranquil slumber enough to sip an offered drink, swallow soup or blink sightlessly at another syringe. He spoke little lately, and his voracious appetite thinned with his body. He seemed to have quietly given up at some point. Eyelashes barely fluttered at a comforting touch, and it had been a very long time since he had worked up the energy, much less the motivation to smile more than a curl to the end of his lips out of sympathy.
It was only a matter of time, he knew, before he would simply slip away and not rouse. He waited for it. He expected it. He prayed for it to come soon.
However, one afternoon as he tipped his head toward the warmth of the window, a very different sensation occurred. He found himself standing; unpained and uninhibited, in a snowy bank. He was not cold. He could see. Hear. Smell. He gazed at his hands in wonder, still dressed in the colorful pajamas that Fuko and Molly both had insisted on for him. Had he died?
"Come on," gasped a familiar voice, "We'll make it, we'll make it..."
Yoite didn't want to look behind him. He didn't believe the sound, though he knew it all too well- the lilting, adolescent voice of Rokujou Miharu.
"It's okay, I've got you," Miharu's voice sounded near breaking, emotional.
Biting his lower lip, Yoite slowly turned, his bare toes not disrupting the snow beneath him. And there he was. There they were. Miharu... and himself, draped across Miharu's back, struggling to stand, in his familiar black trenchcoat and scarf. He watched himself collapse into a heap in the snow, and Miharu dive to catch his arm, to cradle him enough to prop him against a low railing.
"Miharu?" He asked, stepping toward the pair.
They paid no heed to him, their chests heaving and billowing bursts of steam into the winter air. His eyes flicked over his body. It was rotten, and it seemed as if one of his feet had gone missing in a fray. Yet... He saw himself smile. A warm, genuine, heartfelt smile that made his blinded blue eyes twinkle as he nestled himself against Miharu, as they had so many times in Yukimi's apartment.
"Live for me..." His other self breathed, smile intact, "You have to live. Right now, I'm just happy you're thinking of me...."
Yoite raised his blackened fingers to touch his own face as warm tears streaked by his smile. The world seem to rush, bleeding into watercolor lines and shapes, melting into the walls. The snow vanished and he and Miharu sank into a shapeless, colorless puddle. All at once, everything slammed into focus- the Kairoushou's headquarters. He was wearing his coat. His familiar leather gloves coated his hands like a second skin.
Lines of Kairoushou shinobi lined his path, a path that somehow, he knew Miharu was on the other side of. Though they approached him with weapons, they moved slowly, as if they were sluggish puppets, their faces twisted in rage.
His own voice spoke in his mind, as familiar as his skin or his eyelashes, but filled with a power he did not recognize.
"I want to go back to where Yukimi is," the voice said, soft at first, and then firm, strong, as if bubbling hot, "I want to help Miharu!"
The warriors fell around him like a house of cards, their bodies warped from Kira. Miharu stood amongst them, a saint in the parted sea, his little feet thumping the floor without a sound as he ran- his bangs peeled back from the rushing air. His eyes were wide and his smile bright as he called his name. The name that Yukimi gave him. The name that so many whispered now as they stood by his bedside, the name that Molly had accompanied with, "I love you." The name that Miharu now cried, as if he were offering praise to God, arms outstretched for him.
"Miharu." The broken Yoite whispered.
"I'm allowed to decide!" The voice in his heart shouted, so much like his own, yet- "I found myself!"
Miharu's arms, so slender, like being embraced by tree branches, encircled his waist. Yoite gasped a sob and crushed him close. The boy's heart fluttered so close to his. He could smell him, feel his warmth and the soft locks of his hair and his fuzzy hooded sweatshirt. He was there, he was right there, locked in the crook of his arms.
"I'm not Sora," The voice said, "I am Yoite! I've decided!"
The world blew apart again- and Miharu vanished from his arms like the tide washing the sand from the shore. The snow returned. He stood before himself, broken and weak. He stood before a creature that wore his face and held his blue eyes, but smiled so truly that the world seemed to stand still for him. Miharu gently secured his scarf around them both, snuggling their bodies closer together.
"Your okinomiyaki were warm, and made me happy," he breathed against Miharu's neck, blood dripping from his mouth.
"That's good, Miharu said, gently resting his cheek against Yoite's hair, "I'll make them for you again..."
"Yes... make them..."
A sigh. Peace; peace at last crossed his features, and then...
Light. Blinding, holy- the ground was covered in crisscrossing kanji, stretching itself across the earth and the trees, trailing across Miharu's face-
The ground shook. Everything tore apart.
A small apartment. Yukimi? Miharu? Yoite found himself seated before them, curled in his characteristic knot. Where were they? One of Yukimi's sleeves hung limp by his side. When did he- Yukimi interrupted his thoughts.
"Oh." Yukimi said, "I'm lonely. That's what this feeling is... Because you erased someone..."
The fragile heart inside Yoite's chest nearly stopped. Erased. Miharu had granted his wish. He had wiped his existence from time, from the future, from the past. A thousand emotions burst from inside. Relief. Joy. Peace... The only thing he had lived for since he was a child had been accomplished. And then...
Sobs. Not his own. There, crouched before him, jaw dropped and face contorted in agony, was Miharu. He wept, unashamed of how ugly his face had become from his tears. His whole tiny body was racked with sobs, and he shook like a leaf.
"Miharu?" He called, trying to embrace the boy, "Miharu! It's okay! You did what I asked..."
He just wanted to hold him like before- bundle the boy close against his chest and cradle him, reassure him that what he did was the right thing. But his digits simply passed through him, like reaching through water. Miharu continued to weep, tears soaking his reddened cheeks and making him waterlogged. He wailed, not minding the volume of his voice.
"I'm empty," He cried, "I'm empty..."
Tiny hands clutched at the fabric over his heart, as if he would tear the sweater away completely.
"I'm empty here..."
Yoite laid a hand over Miharu's, mouth agape. Even erased, even wiped from history, he still held a piece of Miharu's heart. He still caused him pain. Alive, dead, existing, vanished, the one who made him aware of his own heart would be in pain.
"MIharu..." Tears pricked his own eyes, "Miharu, I'm sorry-"
Pain. Pain rocked his body.
Darkness.
Soft quilts, a familiar plush rabbit tucked under one arm, a star-shaped cushion propped behind his head, thick quilts, the familiar wires, and a racing heart that threatened to burst at any moment. He was back in Rivelata, back in the little house that he had then shelter in for months now. Yet Miharu's warmth beside him lingered, and then vanished into the sea-salted air.
WHAT: A Garnet Vision of Yoite's grim future...
WHERE: The Bat-house!
WHEN: Mid-morning
Most days were lost to Yoite; he spent much of his time asleep now from the heavy doses of pain medication that kept him comfortable. A stranger in Clark and his brood's house, he found himself strangely welcomed. Giselle seemed intent to bring more stuffed animals in to join the ones that rained from the sky, and the dozens of stars that Fuko had showered on the boy for good luck and good health. The boy named Stevie had even taken to chatting with him occasionally, and the beautiful woman named Cassandra, whose voice was rare, but nice to hear. To most of his well-meaning visitors, though, he was an inert form on the bed, a few wires leading from his wrist to an archaic machine that monitored his blood. His breathing was labored and thick, and a grimace occasionally marred his peaceful features.
Hours, maybe even days would pass before he would stir from tranquil slumber enough to sip an offered drink, swallow soup or blink sightlessly at another syringe. He spoke little lately, and his voracious appetite thinned with his body. He seemed to have quietly given up at some point. Eyelashes barely fluttered at a comforting touch, and it had been a very long time since he had worked up the energy, much less the motivation to smile more than a curl to the end of his lips out of sympathy.
It was only a matter of time, he knew, before he would simply slip away and not rouse. He waited for it. He expected it. He prayed for it to come soon.
However, one afternoon as he tipped his head toward the warmth of the window, a very different sensation occurred. He found himself standing; unpained and uninhibited, in a snowy bank. He was not cold. He could see. Hear. Smell. He gazed at his hands in wonder, still dressed in the colorful pajamas that Fuko and Molly both had insisted on for him. Had he died?
"Come on," gasped a familiar voice, "We'll make it, we'll make it..."
Yoite didn't want to look behind him. He didn't believe the sound, though he knew it all too well- the lilting, adolescent voice of Rokujou Miharu.
"It's okay, I've got you," Miharu's voice sounded near breaking, emotional.
Biting his lower lip, Yoite slowly turned, his bare toes not disrupting the snow beneath him. And there he was. There they were. Miharu... and himself, draped across Miharu's back, struggling to stand, in his familiar black trenchcoat and scarf. He watched himself collapse into a heap in the snow, and Miharu dive to catch his arm, to cradle him enough to prop him against a low railing.
"Miharu?" He asked, stepping toward the pair.
They paid no heed to him, their chests heaving and billowing bursts of steam into the winter air. His eyes flicked over his body. It was rotten, and it seemed as if one of his feet had gone missing in a fray. Yet... He saw himself smile. A warm, genuine, heartfelt smile that made his blinded blue eyes twinkle as he nestled himself against Miharu, as they had so many times in Yukimi's apartment.
"Live for me..." His other self breathed, smile intact, "You have to live. Right now, I'm just happy you're thinking of me...."
Yoite raised his blackened fingers to touch his own face as warm tears streaked by his smile. The world seem to rush, bleeding into watercolor lines and shapes, melting into the walls. The snow vanished and he and Miharu sank into a shapeless, colorless puddle. All at once, everything slammed into focus- the Kairoushou's headquarters. He was wearing his coat. His familiar leather gloves coated his hands like a second skin.
Lines of Kairoushou shinobi lined his path, a path that somehow, he knew Miharu was on the other side of. Though they approached him with weapons, they moved slowly, as if they were sluggish puppets, their faces twisted in rage.
His own voice spoke in his mind, as familiar as his skin or his eyelashes, but filled with a power he did not recognize.
"I want to go back to where Yukimi is," the voice said, soft at first, and then firm, strong, as if bubbling hot, "I want to help Miharu!"
The warriors fell around him like a house of cards, their bodies warped from Kira. Miharu stood amongst them, a saint in the parted sea, his little feet thumping the floor without a sound as he ran- his bangs peeled back from the rushing air. His eyes were wide and his smile bright as he called his name. The name that Yukimi gave him. The name that so many whispered now as they stood by his bedside, the name that Molly had accompanied with, "I love you." The name that Miharu now cried, as if he were offering praise to God, arms outstretched for him.
"Miharu." The broken Yoite whispered.
"I'm allowed to decide!" The voice in his heart shouted, so much like his own, yet- "I found myself!"
Miharu's arms, so slender, like being embraced by tree branches, encircled his waist. Yoite gasped a sob and crushed him close. The boy's heart fluttered so close to his. He could smell him, feel his warmth and the soft locks of his hair and his fuzzy hooded sweatshirt. He was there, he was right there, locked in the crook of his arms.
"I'm not Sora," The voice said, "I am Yoite! I've decided!"
The world blew apart again- and Miharu vanished from his arms like the tide washing the sand from the shore. The snow returned. He stood before himself, broken and weak. He stood before a creature that wore his face and held his blue eyes, but smiled so truly that the world seemed to stand still for him. Miharu gently secured his scarf around them both, snuggling their bodies closer together.
"Your okinomiyaki were warm, and made me happy," he breathed against Miharu's neck, blood dripping from his mouth.
"That's good, Miharu said, gently resting his cheek against Yoite's hair, "I'll make them for you again..."
"Yes... make them..."
A sigh. Peace; peace at last crossed his features, and then...
Light. Blinding, holy- the ground was covered in crisscrossing kanji, stretching itself across the earth and the trees, trailing across Miharu's face-
The ground shook. Everything tore apart.
A small apartment. Yukimi? Miharu? Yoite found himself seated before them, curled in his characteristic knot. Where were they? One of Yukimi's sleeves hung limp by his side. When did he- Yukimi interrupted his thoughts.
"Oh." Yukimi said, "I'm lonely. That's what this feeling is... Because you erased someone..."
The fragile heart inside Yoite's chest nearly stopped. Erased. Miharu had granted his wish. He had wiped his existence from time, from the future, from the past. A thousand emotions burst from inside. Relief. Joy. Peace... The only thing he had lived for since he was a child had been accomplished. And then...
Sobs. Not his own. There, crouched before him, jaw dropped and face contorted in agony, was Miharu. He wept, unashamed of how ugly his face had become from his tears. His whole tiny body was racked with sobs, and he shook like a leaf.
"Miharu?" He called, trying to embrace the boy, "Miharu! It's okay! You did what I asked..."
He just wanted to hold him like before- bundle the boy close against his chest and cradle him, reassure him that what he did was the right thing. But his digits simply passed through him, like reaching through water. Miharu continued to weep, tears soaking his reddened cheeks and making him waterlogged. He wailed, not minding the volume of his voice.
"I'm empty," He cried, "I'm empty..."
Tiny hands clutched at the fabric over his heart, as if he would tear the sweater away completely.
"I'm empty here..."
Yoite laid a hand over Miharu's, mouth agape. Even erased, even wiped from history, he still held a piece of Miharu's heart. He still caused him pain. Alive, dead, existing, vanished, the one who made him aware of his own heart would be in pain.
"MIharu..." Tears pricked his own eyes, "Miharu, I'm sorry-"
Pain. Pain rocked his body.
Darkness.
Soft quilts, a familiar plush rabbit tucked under one arm, a star-shaped cushion propped behind his head, thick quilts, the familiar wires, and a racing heart that threatened to burst at any moment. He was back in Rivelata, back in the little house that he had then shelter in for months now. Yet Miharu's warmth beside him lingered, and then vanished into the sea-salted air.