by Krystal-chan

Numb. He felt so numb. The retreating figure of Kaoru would be forever etched in his mind. Kaoru had walked away. Turned his back to Die. His words still stung, burning holes into his already torn heart. He took a shaky breath in, feeling the air force itself into his lungs with such a burst, he felt as if he would explode. Die didn’t even know he had been holding his breath. Turning slowly, eyes burning with pain wildly scanned the studio. Walking over to a worn, stained couch, slim digits reached out to touch faded flowers forever trapped in cloth. The fabric felt rough under his touch. Here, he had sat next to Kaoru for hours on end, both strumming guitars…laughing. There would be no more laughter anymore. Suddenly, he felt very small. So alone. Kaoru was right. He was alone. No one loved him. And the one person who truly loved hated him with a passion. Die nearly kicked himself. To think impure thoughts of another man, absurd! A scream suddenly cut through the silence like a knife. Die didn’t even realize it was his own. Nor did he feel the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks, carving rivers of pain onto a flawless surface. He was screaming. Pain seemed to rack his body as the world became blurs of shapes. Colors turned to dull shades of grey. Sounds, loud sounds, were exploding all about him. He suddenly found himself unable to move, iron arms holding him still…screaming…Not his own. Begging. Toshiya. Die blinked and his world came spinning back. Blurred images shifted and moved, merging into discernable shapes. The darkness faded into bright colors that exploded and blinded him. Die suddenly felt very weak. His knees gave way and he was falling.

“Please…please…Kami-sama…Please Die. Stop! Yamero! Stop!” Toshiya’s voice cut through the chaos. Die took a deep breath, blinking in confusion. Disoriented, he tried to move, only to find arms crushing him, willing him to stay. Toshiya had him trapped in his embrace, crushing Die to his chest, holding on so tightly Die could hardly breathe. The bassist’s face was contorted in distress and wet with tears. Toshiya buried his face in the back of the guitarist’s neck, whispering “please” over and over. The ground felt cold under his bare knees, but Toshiya didn’t care. Die suddenly let out another scream and struggled in Toshiya’s arms, but Toshiya held onto him even tighter. Sobbing, Die submitted, leaning back against Toshiya’s chest, whispering nearly inaudible words.
“Please make it stop…onegai.” Die felt himself being turned slowly. He found himself trapped in Toshiya’s tear-stricken gaze. He felt his lower lip tremble slightly. Die was saying things. He didn’t even know what he was saying. Did they make sense? He didn’t know. Toshiya brought a finger up to Die’s lips, shaking his head sadly. He pressed his lips to Die’s, stopping the flow of words. Die stiffened in shock, then seemed to sigh as he felt Toshiya’s tongue gently brush against his lower lip. He slid his arms around the slim beauty’s waist in an embrace. Toshiya pulled back slowly, breaking the kiss. A very tiny smile played on his lips. Die reached forward, gently wiping a tear off Toshiya’s face, then kissed his forehead.
“Arrigato gozaimasu.” Die’s voice sounded hoarse, broken. He suddenly became aware of the scent of blood. His hands, they throbbed, burning with pain. Looking down, he reeled mentally as he saw the sight of bloodied hands. In a panic, he glanced about the studio. Equipment that had once been arranged in a somewhat orderly fashion were strewn about the room. An amplifier was on its side. Shinya’s drum set was knocked over. Holes defaced the white walls. Reality set in suddenly, claiming him. He had done this. Stifling a slight gasp, he pushed Toshiya off of him, standing up shakily. Toshiya opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Die shook his head. There were no need for words. No words, even the softest, could ever repair what has been broken here. Not the bent-out electronic mess that were once instruments and equipment. Not the holes that seemed like gaping mouths screaming against a strikingly white surface, but a man. A man had been broken here. No blandishments, even as soft as they may be, could melt the frost that had seeped into his veins, icy fingers reaching into his blood, freezing it. He smiled ruefully as he gazed sadly at the beautiful creature before him, this beauty that tasted of clover and smelled of vanilla. Turning now, he moved, unhindered by this beautiful angel who had saved him from self-destruction. He was walking. Consciously, he knew that this guardian of his was following close behind, walking softly, as if on broken glass. Pushing the door of the bathroom open, he stepped in and closed it swiftly behind him, only catching a glimpse of the downcast look of this angel who had followed so close behind. Locking the door, he turned, resting his back against the door of the bathroom. Wood, polished wood. It felt smooth against his back, cold through the thin material of his shirt. He took several small steps forward, then stared down at the white porcelain sinks with their chrome faucets. Turning one faucet on, he watched as the white water rushed from the fount. He stuck his bloodied hand out under the water and winced slightly as the cold liquid hit the open cuts. The water was flowing red in the sink. Only now did Die dare to look up, at the mirror that seemed to scream at him. Ugly. So ugly. Tearing his eyes away from his reflection, he looked back down at the reddened water sadly. At least one is not forced to look upon oneself.

They were the innocents of a world filled with corruption. They were the only purity that lasted in this age. These little children, tiny images of their parents, tiny little people in their own right. A group of little boys and girls were playing together on the playground. The swings were abandoned, empty, swaying in the wind. Two girls, joined at the hands, ran, laughing to a group of their little friends who were playing in the sandbox. Several other little boys and girls were playing a delightful game of merry-go-round, singing songs as they danced, tiny little fingers clutched together. Look now, a little boy was sliding down the polished metal slide, his mouth open in a laugh. No one knew how much he had conquered by going down that slide. No one knew he had paused for a full five minutes atop the ladder, contemplating the horrible things that may occur should he seat his rear down on the polished metal and let himself fly. Was it possible to fall off the slide? If he did so, it would hurt, a lot. But if he didn’t go down the slide, that would mean he was still a little kid, and he was a big boy! Nearly four years old. He had triumphed his fear and with a deep breath, gone down that slide. See? It was harmless fun. Aya wished she could join these little children in their games, playing till the sky turned a lovely shade of pink. She wanted to be a child once more, not having any cares. Pulling her blazer of worsted wool around her body as a cool breeze stirred the leaves of a cherry blossom tree, she sighed, bringing her camera up to eye level…Capture those memories that you can never return to… The wind seemed to whisper to her. Snap. Look there, at the children laughing. Snap. Look now, they’re dancing on the sweet grass. Their precious little fingers are entwined with each other’s. Snap. Look again, they’re too beautiful for words, cherubic little angels forever trapped on a glossy image they would never see. She was standing now, turning her back to the children, the memories. She didn’t want to remember. The wind smelled of clover and honeysuckle. A small tug at those painted tiers that now turned up in the gentlest of smiles. Walking. The crowd of people seemed to pulsate against her, and she pushed through them. Gradually, the crowd began to thin out. Her boots splashed through the dirty puddles, and she hurried towards her destination. Standing in front of the worn, crumbling building, decorated with graffiti, a sigh escaped those parted lips and she pushed through the creaking door. It smelled of mold and stale water in here. The ceiling slightly sagged, and the paint was peeling off the walls. Hurrying up three flights of creaking stairs, she finally arrived home. Sure, the water was cold on occasion, and the electricity sometimes wouldn’t work, but it was warm and dry. She had a little kitchen, a tiny bathroom with a bathtub and working shower, and her own bedroom. Even a closet, that remained dry throughout any storm. Aya sighed as she turned the knob of her door. A nice cup of Jasmine tea would certainly be lovely. She took a step in, then realized she had locked the door before she had gone out…And the door had easily opened without using her key. Glancing up in alarm, she gave a gasp as she took a step back in astonishment. In complete confusion. Seated on her soft, worn black sofa was a beautiful man with beautiful hair, bursts of purple creating a wonderful effect. A beautiful man who she didn’t think she would ever see again.

to be continued

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