And she was there, right in front of him, wings unfolding from her shoulders and scattering feathers. They brushed his face as he fell, and he closed his eyes, turning his face upward to soak in the radiant light that she carried with her.
“Niichan . . . do you remember me?”
“I . . . no . . . I don’t.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. His eyes remained closed; the image of her was burned into his vision. He did not need to look in order to see.
“It’s better this way,” she said. “The memories might hurt if you had them, and I don’t want you to hurt.”
“Don’t you hate me?”
“Why would I hate you?”
“I killed you.”
She laughed, softly, and it made his skin both tingle and crawl at the same time. He was inexplicably frightened, and he wanted to get as far away as he possibly could. Yet he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot where he stood.
“I know. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” //
Fuuma sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. He wiped sweat off his forehead, despite the fact that he felt freezing, and hugged the blankets to his chest. Seishirou stirred next to him but didn’t wake. The house was silent except for the very quiet sound of a clock ticking. Fuuma looked up at it in the dim light from outside and saw that it was about half past three in the morning. He didn’t think he was going to get more sleep, at least, not right away, so he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen.
A hot mug of tea made the chilled feeling go away, but he couldn’t deny the uneasiness that still seemed to linger in the air.
Was that a dream? Or was it . . . something else?
He stopped in his sister’s doorway and looked in. He knew almost nothing about her. All he really knew was that she had a bizarre fondness for the color pink, and he had killed her. Not much to know about a person.
He wasn’t sad that she was dead, not precisely, but he didn’t really know how he was supposed to feel about it.
Even in his dreams, he didn’t remember her.
~~~~
Kamui glanced up as the door to his room swung open, puzzled. It was far too early in the day for Keiichi to be there for his after school visit, but Subaru had already come and gone; he probably wouldn’t be back until around dinner time. Kamui was somehow not surprised to see Fuuma bound into the room with his seemingly endless energy. “What are you doing here?”
Fuuma immediately gave him a hurt look. “What, I’m not allowed to visit my friends?”
Kamui looked around, pretending to peer into every corner. “Funny, I don’t see any friends of yours in here.”
“Cute, Kamui. Very cute.” Fuuma pulled over a chair and sat down.
Kamui resigned himself to being visited, seeing as Fuuma didn’t look like he’d be going away any time soon. “Well, forgive me for saying so, but you didn’t really seem to have any interest in me, other than the possibility of getting into my pants.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Fuuma said, still sounding hurt. “Oh, hey, I brought you something.”
Kamui had noted as Fuuma walked in that he was holding one hand behind his back, and was caught between irritation and amusement as Fuuma offered him a popsicle. “You never quit, do you.”
“Nope, and it’s the best form of innuendo in the world,” Fuuma said cheerfully, waving the popsicle in his face.
Kamui sighed and accepted it. He peeled back the wrapper to see that it was red. Cherry, of course. He fought the urge to shove the popsicle up Fuuma’s nose and licked at it gingerly. Fuuma had one of his own; it looked to be grape.
“How did you know I was here?” Kamui asked, after a long moment of silence.
“Lucky guess,” Fuuma said.
Kamui gave him a look.
Fuuma laughed. “No, I ran into your friend Keiichi-kun yesterday. He had just left here, so I figured it out from a few things he said. Getting yourself into trouble, Kamui?”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” Kamui said, sounding rather listless.
Fuuma’s eyes tracked over to the bandages on Kamui’s arm, but he said nothing about them. Instead, he rather abruptly changed the subject. “I dreamed about Kotori last night.”
“Oh?” Kamui asked, unsure of how he was supposed to reply to such a total non sequitir.
“Yeah,” Fuuma said. “It was weird . . . like she was actually there, talking to me.”
Kamui shrugged. “Well, she was a Dreamwalker. Theoretically, she could do that. You know, if she wasn’t dead. And even dead, who knows? Kakyou talked to me after he had died.”
Fuuma licked thoughtfully at his popsicle. “I guess. I didn’t know that, though. I don’t know anything about her. I didn’t even remember her when she was standing right in front of me.”
Kamui was eating his popsicle as quickly as possible, to minimize the amount of innuendo involved. As a result, he was developing a severe case of brain freeze, and it was making his head ache. “If I know anything about Kotori, it’s that she would want you to be happy, even after everything that happened.”
Fuuma considered that for a minute. “Thanks,” he finally said.
Awkward silence sat between them for a minute.
“Fuuma, why are you here?” Kamui asked softly. “Without the bullshit this time, please.”
“I’m not really sure,” Fuuma replied thoughtfully. “Just to talk, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I like Seishirou a lot, but he’s probably the most self-involved person on earth. It’s not really his fault; it’s just the way he was raised. But even though I’ll let him whine about his problems until he’s blue in the face, he gets a bit techy when I try to whine about mine.” He managed a dry smile. “And I don’t really know many other people, what with having no memory and all, so you seemed like a good idea.”
Kamui sighed. “What did you want to talk about?”
Fuuma frowned momentarily. “Tell me about my family.”
Kamui nodded slightly, understanding. Fuuma had somehow accepted that, for whatever reason, his memory was never going to come back. It only made sense that he would want to know as much about them as he could, and Kamui was the only person alive who had known them. So he told him, talking for almost an hour, giving Fuuma every scrap of information he could dig up about his parents and Kotori.
“Thanks,” Fuuma said, when Kamui finally seemed to be done.
“Feel better?” Kamui asked.
“Yeah, a little.” Fuuma had long since finished his popsicle; he flipped the stick across the room into the garbage can.
Another long silence followed.
“Why’d you do it?” Fuuma finally asked.
“What, this?” Kamui replied, gesturing to his bandaged arm. At Fuuma’s nod, he gave a small frown, considering the question. “Because . . . my life sucks.” He let out a weak laugh. “I’m so tired of being alone, or hurt, or . . . I’m just tired.”
“It just seems funny,” Fuuma said. “I mean, after everything else you lived through, why now?”
“Not sure, really,” Kamui said, looking away. “I guess everyone has a breaking point, though. Maybe I just finally got to mine.”
“So if you and Subaru don’t get along, why do you live together?” Fuuma asked curiously.
“Because I love him,” Kamui said quietly. “And he needs me.”
“That’s not really a reason,” Fuuma replied.
Kamui shrugged. “I guess not, but it’s enough of one for me. What about you? You’re sleeping with an assassin who’s sixteen years older than you.”
“Former assassin,” Fuuma pointed out. “All he does these days is mope.”
Kamui rolled his eyes. “That didn’t answer my question, you know.”
“Of course it didn’t. What did you want to know? Why I’m sleeping with him or why I’m living with him?”
“Both.”
“Hm . . . I’m sleeping with him because he’s hotter than hell and good in the sack. No, make that great.”
Kamui closed his eyes. “Thanks for the information overload.”
“I’m living with him because . . . he really is a great guy. It’s just that nobody knows. I mean, he’s funny, and intelligent, and handsome, and when he thinks nobody’s looking you can sometimes catch him being a nice guy. He’s just fun to have around, I guess, and he didn’t really have anywhere to go. I don’t love him in any sense of the word, but I like having him around. It’s odd . . . I like being on my own, but I don’t like being alone. They’re two very different things, you know.”
“Yeah,” Kamui said. “I know.”
“You really hate him, don’t you.”
Kamui shrugged. “Well, he’s fucked Subaru up beyond repair, so that doesn’t exactly put him on my list of favorite people in the world.”
Fuuma considered that for a minute. “Are you trying to save Subaru?”
Kamui thought about it. “Yeah. That’s probably the best way to put it.”
“Like you were trying to save me?” Fuuma asked softly.
Kamui nodded, and said nothing.
“But I guess it didn’t work,” Fuuma said thoughtfully. “It’s weird, though. It’s like I’m a whole new person now. Not goody-two-shoes Fuuma or psycho-killer Fuuma. Just . . . me. Monou Fuuma.”
“Raving slut,” Kamui said, unable to resist.
“Well, sure,” Fuuma said with a smirk. “But better that than psychotic, right?”
“I’m not sure about that,” Kamui said.
“You’re just in denial about how much you want me,” Fuuma replied.
Kamui was silent for a long second, then looked away. “Don’t joke about that, Fuuma. Okay? I loved you . . . I really did. But I had to let you go, and it’s over. It won’t be happening again.”
“Why not?” Fuuma asked. Not persuasively, just curiously.
Kamui paused. “I guess Seishirou couldn’t tell you how it ended, because he was gone by then.” He explained what had happened at the Final Battle, though with much less emotion than had been present when he’d explained it to Subaru. Time had dulled the wound enough for that. “See what I mean? We can’t be together. Whoever came up with the phrase ‘twin stars’ was wrong. Twins are allowed to be together; they’re supposed to be. We’re like matter and anti-matter. When we touch . . . the world explodes.”
Fuuma said nothing.
“I had to stop loving you,” Kamui said in a dull voice. “So I did.”
“If you loved me, how did you love Subaru?” Fuuma asked.
“Not sure, really,” Kamui said. “It’s this thing I do that I hate myself for. It’s like I have two halves, and both of them need to be satisfied. One of them wants to be in love with a kind, gentle, wonderful person, and the other half wants an asshole who hurts me all the time. When I was in love with you, and letting you hurt me, I had Subaru. And back then, before Seishirou died, he really was kind and gentle. And now he’s . . . not. Anymore. So I have Keiichi.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “God, I’m fucked up. I think this probably means a lot of awful things about me.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Kamui sighed. “Remind me next time I get into a conversation like this of how singularly unsympathetic you are.”
Fuuma shrugged. “What am I supposed to say, Kamui? You’re fucked up, it’s a well-known and documented fact. About as well-known as the fact that I’m a slut. And now we move on with our lives.”
Kamui looked thoughtful for a minute. “Do we really?”
“Well, I fully plan on it,” Fuuma said with a shrug.
Silence for a minute.
“Fuuma? Can you still see people’s Wishes?”
Fuuma looked slightly surprised. “Still? Man, I thought that was a quirk that had happened when I’d gotten knocked on the head.”
“No, you could do it . . . well, as soon as you went psycho, as you so aptly put it. Maybe you could do it before then, I don’t know. You never mentioned it.”
Fuuma paused thoughtfully. “Well, yeah, I can. I hadn’t mentioned it because I didn’t want anyone asking me. I mean, just telling people what their true Wish is, that’s cheating. People are surprisingly unaware of their heart’s desire.”
Kamui sighed. “This sort of negates my next question.”
Fuuma snickered. “Actually . . . with you it’s easy, because your Wish doesn’t really help you out at all. You just want to be happy. You don’t care who it’s with or anything. You just want to be happy.”
“Terribly self-serving of me,” Kamui murmured.
Fuuma shrugged. “Almost everyone’s true desires are self-serving. And I think you probably have the right to want a little happiness. It’s funny, though . . . you and Keiichi-kun have the same Wish.”
“He wants to be happy?”
“He wants you to be happy.”
Kamui looked away.
“Poor Keiichi-kun is terribly tormented,” Fuuma continued cheerfully. “On the one hand, he wants you to be happy, and he honestly wants that more than anything else. But he also wants you to be his. And he’s not sure the two can ever happen at the same time.”
Kamui still said nothing.
“But you want to hear about a fucked up wish, you should take a peek into Seishirou’s head sometime. He’s so confused he doesn’t know his ass from his elbow; he hasn’t got a clue what he really wants.”
“Good to know,” Kamui said dryly. He paused, then asked, “What about you?”
Fuuma looked startled. “What about me?”
“What’s your Wish?”
“I don’t know,” Fuuma said thoughtfully. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before. So I’ve never really thought about it.”
Kamui opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the door opened again and Subaru walked in. “Kamui, I brought you some -- Fuuma.”
Fuuma stood up. “No, you most assuredly didn’t bring me; I got here under my own steam. Leaving with me, however, could be arranged.”
Subaru stared at him. “Uh . . . uhm . . .” He closed his eyes, looking as though he suddenly had an extremely bad migraine. “Why won’t dead people just stay dead these days?”
“I’m sorry,” Kamui interrupted. “I should’ve told you he was still alive, but it . . . never really came up. You haven’t been so easy to talk to, and, well . . . I found out on the same day I found out Seishirou was still alive and I didn’t want you knowing that, so . . . I just didn’t say anything.”
Subaru was still staring at Fuuma with shock written plainly on his face. “Why isn’t he dead?” he asked uncertainly.
“Medical miracle and the whim of a capricious god,” Fuuma chimed in.
Subaru stammered something unintelligible.
“Were you going to say you brought lunch?” Fuuma asked brightly. “It smells good. Is there enough for three?”
“Not . . . really . . .” Subaru managed.
“I’ll go, then.” Fuuma smirked at Kamui. “When do you get out of the hospital?”
“Tonight,” Kamui replied.
“Want to meet for lunch this weekend? Just talking, I swear.”
“I guess,” Kamui said.
“Come on, you’re a lot better of a companion when you’re not being snide and obnoxious,” Fuuma said.
“Yeah, and you’re a lot better when you’re not trying to crawl into my pants. Go away, Fuuma. I’m tired.”
Fuuma smirked. “I’ll call you.”
~~~~
Subaru had noticed that Kamui still got tired very easily. By the time he had picked him up from the hospital and taken him out to get a nice dinner, Kamui was nodding off. Subaru insisted on carrying him upstairs, Kamui’s limp form draped over his shoulder. The weight was comforting somehow.
Kamui was already half-asleep, and Subaru’s sleep schedule was so next-to-nonexistent that he didn’t have any complaints against just going to bed. He laid Kamui down on the bed and pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. Then he stripped and climbed into bed next to him, ignoring the fact that it was only eight o’clock in the evening.
He glanced over and saw that Kamui’s eyes were wide open, despite how tired he had seemed. He leaned over and landed a gentle kiss on his lips.
Kamui returned the kiss willingly enough, but then pushed Subaru away. “Not . . . not tonight. I’m tired. Is that okay?”
Subaru managed a smile, even though he knew he looked disappointed. “Yeah, that’s okay. Anything you want is okay.”
“Really?” Kamui asked, his voice trembling.
Subaru saw a tear slide down his cheek. He leaned over and kissed the spot where it had fallen, tasting the salt in his mouth. “Yeah, really.”
Kamui rolled onto his side, facing away. Subaru was uncertain of what to do, so he simply curled his body around Kamui, holding onto him. “Kamui . . . I know I’ve been really awful to you. I guess I want to thank you . . . for staying with me through all of it.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Kamui said softly.
“Yes, I do,” Subaru said, closing his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you, Kamui. Certainly never wanted to make you do . . . that. I was so frightened . . . so afraid that you would die. I-I don’t know why Seishirou doesn’t love me, but he doesn’t. And without him, you’re all I have. And I’m sorry that I hurt you, and sorrier that you’ll always be second best to me.”
“It’s okay,” Kamui said. “I understand that. I understood it since the moment I fell in love with you.”
“I know you do,” Subaru said. “But that doesn’t make it hurt you any less.”
Kamui said nothing.
“I know that you want me to be happy,” Subaru said. “But I think it’s too late for that. I really do. I can hope that someday I won’t be miserable anymore . . . but I’ll never be happy again. But maybe . . . if I can make you happy . . . maybe that will help. So that’s what I want to do.”
“Thank you,” Kamui whispered.
“I don’t know if I can ever love you, Kamui.”
“You don’t have to,” Kamui said, closing his eyes. “Just please . . . don’t turn me away again.”
Subaru reached over and smoothed his hair. “I won’t.”
He waited until Kamui’s breathing had become even and steady, then climbed out of bed. He had work to do, after all. But before he went, he leaned over and kissed Kamui’s forehead. “You’ll always be mine,” he whispered. “I’ll never let anyone else have you.”
He paused, feeling a bit uneasy, then turned and left the room, wondering why those words seemed so familiar.
~~~~
“Ah, Sakurazuka Seishirou, former veterinarian, former assassin, and current idiot,” Fuuma said. “Will you, for the love of all that is holy, please get out of bed?”
Seishirou peeked out from underneath the blankets. “What the hell for?” he asked, his voice dull.
“Because you’re making me feel sorry for you, and it’s altogether disturbing,” Fuuma replied. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind having sex two or three times a day, but can’t you find anything else to do?”
Seishirou shrugged. He’d developed the disconcerting habit of laying around in bed for simple lack of anything better to do.
“I mean, didn’t you have any hobbies?” Fuuma asked.
Seishirou paused.
“That didn’t involve Subaru?” Fuuma demanded.
“In that case, no,” Seishirou said. “Fuuma, leave me to wallow in self-pity, all right?”
Fuuma rolled his eyes, reached over, and stripped the blankets off the bed.
“Hey . . .!”
“You’re getting out of bed before you drive me crazy,” Fuuma said. “I can’t sit still for more than two minutes at a time. Just watching you is making me feel antsy! Get up and do something!”
Seishirou sighed and sat up, giving Fuuma a glare that could have shattered windows, but didn’t faze Fuuma in the slightest. “I have no job, no friends, no hobbies. Just what am I supposed to entertain myself with?”
“Find something,” Fuuma said. “Go seduce Kamui for all I care, but stop acting like such an ass before I’m forced to take drastic action.”
“I’m supposed to be dead,” Seishirou said dully.
“Yeah, well, you’re not. Boo fucking hoo. Now get over it.”
Fuuma walked away before Seishirou could reply.
~~~~
For those of you who don't know why Subaru's words were disturbing/familiar, et cetera, please refer back to chapter seven. Thank you and good night.