Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Talking To The Dead ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter 10

He looked out across the field as the world came into focus in front of him. Row upon row of white grave markers stretched out to the horizon, pale sentries eternally guarding the memories of the deceased.

He knew this place. He had been here many times before, and he would again return someday, when it was time for him to take his eternal rest.

But for now, he did not wish to linger. He had only come here to visit; there was someone here he still needed to talk to.

Ken studied the etched kanji on the simple monument, uncertain he had found the proper marker.

"Takatori Saijou." The marker was plain, standing out among the much more ornate cenotaphs erected for his descendents. Ironic, he mused, that in such an old and large clan, the elder had been the last to eventually pass on.

He bowed his head reverently as he knelt, spreading the small bouquet of pink lilacs in his left hand onto the ground in front, a belated peace offering. As a stick of sandalwood incense perfumed the air, Ken closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer for the departed souls.

The sun shown brightly down from an azure sky; nary a cloud in the sky or a wisp of errant wind blew across the land. It was a truly perfect day.

Ken opened his eyes and looked around him. In a memorial graveyard with hundreds of markers, he had somehow found himself alone, the only person offering prayers for the deceased. The thought struck him as both odd and vaguely depressing at the same time.

"Takatori-sama." He remained kneeling on the ground in respect. Though he had never held a great deal of esteem for the man while he was still living, recent events had forced some necessary perspective upon Ken, and challenged many of his previous perceptions.

If this person had been that important to him, then the least Ken could do would be to respect his memory.

"Takatori-sama, I..." He searched for the appropriate word. "I regret we never met under favorable terms while you were alive."

Ken closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. That had been much harder to say than expected.

"It's still difficult for me to face you, even now." He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. "When Omi - Mamoru, that is," he clarified, probably unnecessarily, "left us to go live with you, it hurt. It hurt in ways it wasn't supposed to hurt."

He could feel the shame written across his face. "We were Weiss. We were a team. We weren't supposed to get attached. We weren't supposed to care about each other.

"But we did." He straightened his back, strength born of conviction pouring though him from deep within. "Or at least, I did. I can't speak for the others, but Omi's love was infectious. I would be surprised if anyone could be unaffected by it."

He smiled. Happy memories of Omi flowed through his mind; warm shafts of mid-morning sunlight through the windows of his memory. He reached forward, brushing his fingers over the soft lilac petals, inhaling the heady fragrance of sandalwood, absorbing the serenity of his surroundings as they washed over him and cleansed the lingering ache from his soul.

This, he realized, was true peace. He felt that he could happily remain here forever.

But even in the bright sunlight of a perfect day, something yet nagged him, a voice in periphery of his memory, whispering to him to go back. He tried to ignore it, dismiss it, but that only seemed to make it insist louder.

He pulled his jacket closed tight as the wind suddenly picked up. A gust strong enough to steal his breath scattered loose lilac petals in the wind, strewing them across the expanse of the graveyard. Ken looked askance at the sky above.

Dark thunderclouds, invisible to the horizon not five minutes ago, had already moved in to obscure the sun and turn the sky a sickly gray.

"So that's it?" He shook his head, a derisive smile playing out across his lips. He could take a hint. "It's all right. I get the picture." He pushed himself up from the ground and regarded the stark white marker in front of him one final time.

There was nothing left to be said, he realized with some alarm. He had made his peace, and it was time for him to move along.

Ken bowed his head and moved his feet to step backward, when a firm grip on his right shoulder froze him mid-movement.

It might have only been the rush of the wind, but he swore he distinctly heard his name whispered over the deafening gust.

Ken-kun...

He jerked around abruptly, knocking the hand away from his shoulder as he spun in step, his body instinctually adopting a defensive posture to face his attacker.

But as soon as he turned, all thoughts of lashing out abruptly fled his mind. Only shock - shock, and wonder, and the faintest tinge of hope colored his thoughts.

"Omi?" He stepped forward cautiously, his left hand reaching out to grasp at the ghost in front of him. "Omi?"

The shrill whistle of the wind carried away Omi's response.

"Omi?"

He froze directly in front of Omi, unwilling or unable to reach out and confirm the reality of the vision before him. His left hand stopped just short of stroking the other's cheek, close enough to feel the heat emanating from just above his skin, but yet unwilling to indulge in the touch that would shatter the elaborate fantasy constructed by his mind.

An illusion. His hand shook as he struggled to choke down repressed emotion. It's only an illusion.

"Does this feel like an illusion, Ken-kun?" He gasped, mixed parts shock and awe; his palm was now pressed gently against the cheek by one of Omi's own hands. Heat radiated like a fever from Omi's skin, spreading warmth outward from the point of contact out into his body, to the very core of his being.

Ken swayed on his feet, the shock of reality finally catching up with him.

Omi was not dead.

Omi was not dead.

Omi is not dead!

The other arm had come around him at some point to hold him steady. Ken had not noticed, still struggling to regain the power of speech robbed from him in his moment of revelation.

Omi is not dead!

He leaned forward and threw his arms around the younger man, pressing his cheek against Omi's chest, clasping the thin body against his own and hugging it as though it would evanesce if he dared loosen his hold. Omi melted against him into the embrace, hugging tightly back, hot saline droplets staining the collar of Ken's jacket.

"I -" The words were cut off by a choked sob in Omi's throat. He steadied himself, leaning as close to Ken's ear as possible to be heard over the roar of the wind. "I came here to tell you something, Ken-kun."

Reluctantly Ken released him, tilting his head back only far enough that he could look Omi in the eyes. He felt as if he was speaking through a thick haze. "What?"

A hand caught under his chin, pulling it close so that their faces nearly met. Omi's eyes sparkled with an emotion that Ken dared not name, but fervently hoped echoed the same feeling bursting in his heart.

Then the world stood still and everything around him faded to white as Omi leaned forward and did the unthinkable.

Omi's lips were soft. Soft and warm, and surprisingly needy. Ken felt the last vestiges of his control slip as they touched, and he returned the kiss with a fervor and a passion that surprised even himself.

He would never know how long it lasted. It might have been a couple of seconds or a couple of hours; the fog that enveloped Ken's mind stopped the hands of time, immortalizing the moment forever. It was not until they finally broke apart that his mind began functioning again, struggling to bring to words what the flushed, dazed look on his face already spoke of in volumes.

The world was brighter, somehow, like it had been soaked in bleach, or he was staring through dense fog, or directly into a whiteout. He reached out vainly to grasp at the face in front of him, pulling it closer as the lines faded away, until only twin pools of knowing cerulean stared back at him.

"Omi?!"

"Wake up, Ken-kun."

The eyes drifted shut, fading away into the surrounding mist.

"Omi!"

Wake up...

He jerked upward with a start, panting, and stared directly into a pair of very familiar cerulean eyes.

"Ken!"

Sena's worried face swam in his vision.

The wrong cerulean eyes.

"Where-?" He turned his head sharply from right to left, shivering, his mind racing to bridge the rift between dream and reality.

Omi. Where's Omi? His memory remained fogged; nonsensical images flashed through his mind, the shredded remains of the torn tapestry of his recent past. Something about Sena, a crossbow, and Saijou Takatori, but damned if he could remember any of it. He scanned the room desperately, looking for a trace, a clue, something, anything that would trigger the missing memory...

A weak yank on his broken fingers jarred him out of his reverie long enough to look down at the still body lying underneath him.

"Ken-kun?" The voice was raspy, pained, but the sound of it was enough to stop Ken's breath in his throat. "Ken-kun, I -"

"Omi!" He scrambled to reach out and grab Omi's hand for real this time, clasping the fingers as tightly as he dared, helpless as he stared deep into the fading light in Omi's eyes.

"Ken-kun..." A small smile somehow worked its way across Omi's lips, despite the horrific amount of pain he appeared to be in. "I'm glad you were my friend."

Omi's hand went limp; his eyes closed...

...and he stopped breathing.

------------------------

lilac (pink) - Youth and Acceptance