Stigmata

by Kira (kira@shikigami.net)

stig·ma

n. pl. stig·ma·ta or stig·mas

1. A mark or token of infamy, disgrace, or reproach: "Party affiliation has never been more casual... The stigmata of decay are everywhere" (Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.). See Synonyms at stain.

2. A small mark; a scar or birthmark.

3. Medicine. A mark or characteristic indicative of a history of a disease or abnormality.

4. Psychology. A mark or spot on the skin that bleeds as a symptom of hysteria.

stigmata Bodily marks, sores, or sensations of pain corresponding in location to the crucifixion wounds of Jesus, usually occurring during states of religious ecstasy or hysteria.

5. Biology. A small mark, spot, or pore, such as the respiratory spiracle of an insect or an eyespot in certain algae.

6. Botany. The receptive apex of the pistil of a flower, on which pollen is deposited at pollination.

7. Archaic. A mark burned into the skin of a criminal or slave; a brand.

Prologue

The battle shrieks of dragons had long ago been silenced within the heart of Tokyo. What destruction had been caused by their mêlée in the skies had disappeared with them, and Tokyo had rejuvenated to become again the thriving center of Japan it had once been. Faint reminders of the battle remained. Somewhere, something as obscure as an ofuda, the paper talismans of the onmyouji, could perhaps be found pinned beneath a rock at the bottom of the river beneath Rainbow Bridge. But this was all.

As a whole, no one remembered what had happened, because no one but those involved knew that it had been happening at all. The pieces of it that had remained behind continued to puzzle those that happened to stumble across them, but as humans were in general more concerned with reality and primarily their own affairs, such things were disregarded without another thought. It was a fault of humanity as a whole to be that selfish and dense, but likely, it was better for them that way, to be naïve. Naïve was, to them, happy.

Five years.

It had taken five years for what the battle of the dragons had caused to finally settle down, until each particle that had created it finally disappeared, and the only traces were those few barely discernible things. Five years and six months, to be precise, for the anniversary of its completion had been half a year ago.

Within Tokyo, no one knew that it had ever been a date worth celebrating, much less remembering and honoring as their day of salvation. Those earthquakes five years ago had certainly been the worse Japan in its entirety had ever suffered, but like so many before those, they were forgotten in the cogs of time.

And so, that day had been as any other, but not for those that had known the battle all too well and had been involved.

Kamui Shirou thought of that day and sighed.

Pitiful, that so many lives were lost, some in vain, some for the greater good, but for whatever reason, the lives were not remembered. Their names were forgotten along with all other names of people who died on a day to day basis in Japan.

He, too, would be forgotten like them. His sacrifices would not matter; what he had suffered was a minor thing in the eyes of selfish humans. After all, what was his pain compared to theirs, they would say. He did not know how difficult it was to maintain a 'normal' life in a city such as Tokyo.

He could challenge that, but he never would. He did not advertise his pain, much less the story of all that had happened five years ago.

But he did remember, and he honored those that had died that day.

It surprised him, that when falling and touching everything below it as its own, that rain failed to make any sound at all.

On the streets, there was the sound of its droplets striking asphalt and making the light pit-pit-pit sound that he knew so well from listening it from his bed as it cascaded against his window. Leaves rustled as it fell through the branches they clung to, but aside from these few things, rain hardly made a sound at all.

Here, it was silent, and were he not being drenched by the full drops that fell, he might have forgotten that it was raining at all.

The grave markers glared back at him, taunting him, silencing the voices of those their etched names in stone commemorated.

And he glared back, unmoving, unblinking, staring at their untarnished surfaces and remembering.

More than the four other years he had gone to the cemetery to honor the deaths of those that had given their lives in the battle between the dragons, he remembered the fifth anniversary better than those. Not because it was the most recent, but because it was the first time he had seen /him/ since it had all ended.

And there was only one possible person that could be 'him'.

He made not a sound as he approached, his footfalls as gentle as a cat stalking a mouse, and when he was suddenly there standing alongside him, Kamui's body gave an involuntary jump of surprise. The taller man, dressed in black, as was appropriate when visiting a graveyard, made no greeting, nor gave the slightest inclination that he had seen that surprise jump. He simply stood, looking at the graves, unbothered by the pair of eyes studying him in amazement.

He knelt after two brief moments of silence, and from his person - where, Kamui had yet to have noticed - he withdrew a bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers. Their look was natural and their smell rich, as though only plucked a moment ago, but had he reached out a touched one as he suddenly longed to do, he would have found their petals the finest silk. The taller man could afford such luxuries.

These he settled on the first grave, that which had the name of the Soapland girl etched in its marble surface. He moved away, from Kamui and from the grave, to the next, where he settled another small batch of silk flowers on the grave of the Asuka editor. Thirdly was the monk, and though his body was not buried here, a grave marker was still erected for him.

The last two went to the graves Kamui stood nearest to, of the boy and girl whose lives had been haplessly thrown away. He stopped there and stood impassively beside Kamui.

Kamui had never known silence to ever be so loud.

Such a contrast to that day, the sun shone brightly over Tokyo and over Kamui as he wandered aimlessly its streets, his only companion, his only friend since it had all come to an end.

As he had every day since then, he wondered why. Why had he come that day, why had he shown his face that day and revealed to Kamui that he had lived and was well.

//Subaru.//

//I'm never going to understand you.//

//Why? Why that day? Why did you come?//

"Do you still speak to the others?"

Having the silence broken by him startled Kamui nearly as much as his arrival had done. He suppressed the bodily urge to jump again, having been stolen from his thoughts and rudely taken back into reality. With a deep breath, as though he intended to give a truly inspiring answer, he responded.

"Sometimes."

It was not what he had intended to say, but it was what he did say all the same.

"Arashi's son will be five in a few months, won't he?"

Kamui glanced at him, the briefest of glances, as though he thought he would be reprimanded for looking upon that face for too long. He had not known that Subaru had ever been aware that Arashi carried she and Sorata's child at that time. Sorata, even, had died before he was told.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, his voice brittle. Not because he found it difficult to speak to Subaru, but because his health had been failing these past few days. He was beginning to develop a cold.

"She says he's just like him - Sorata, I mean."

He continued to speak because he did not want the deafening silence to fall over them once again. There was nothing particularly comforting about Subaru's voice. It was, as voices came, far more enjoyable to listen to than some, but it was not as though it was necessary for Kamui to hear him speak.

It /was/ necessary to hear a familiar voice at all.

All the better that it was him.

//But…//

//It wasn't really you that day, was it, Subaru?//

//Something was different about you. Something… something always was been, since 'that time.'//

There was no question of what 'that time' meant to him. He referred to little as it should have been actually named, but what little information he did give away illusioned to what the truth was. 'That time' referred to the events at Rainbow Bridge and its aftermath.

In a way, he supposed that it was the incident there that had been the turning point of the battle. It was at that time all balance had been broken. The Dragons of Earth lost their Angel to death; the Dragons of Heaven lost theirs to misery.

//Did it really damage you that much?//

//Don't worry about me. I'm not broken.//

//That's what you said. I didn't believe you then, but I wonder now…//

"Subaru…"

Amethyst eyes studied him when the other pair were not focused on him. Five years had not changed him drastically. There was very little sign that he had aged at all, save perhaps a single line or two that suggested that he was growing older. But he was still young, still in the prime of his life, and still possessed the innocent beauty of his youth.

His eyes…

"Subaru?"

He spoke louder, to draw his attention. The pair flickered to him.

Green and milky white.

"Yes?" he asked, not knowing the ulterior motives of Kamui having called his name. He did not seem to even notice that the boy was studying him closely, as one might a thing it had never seen before or something that amazed them.

Kamui shook his head and looked away. "Nothing."

Silence descended, the same deafening silence as before..

"Subaru?"

This time, there was no response, only a very slight sound to indicate that he had heard and was waiting for Kamui to speak again.

"I miss you."

"Where to?"

Kamui had not even sat down before the taxi driver was demanding his destination. Five years had done well to age him, transforming him from the vertically challenged, lithe teenager he had once been into, though still not very tall, a rather striking adult, if he could even be referred to as one at all. He was only twenty-one years old, after all, and even then, his facial features had maintained the same innocence that had always had him mistaken for a child or a girl when he was sixteen.

And adults, like this taxi driver, thought of anyone younger than them as a thorn in their sides and worth far more trouble than good.

"Shinjuku, Houou Estates," he requested quietly.

Despite what the 'houou' might had illusioned to, the apartment complex was far from anything as graceful as a phoenix. They were not what some would consider a decent place to live, much less a safe place to live, but after everything had ended it was all he had been able to afford with the money his mother had left for him.

They had offered to let him stay on the campus… but he was tired of clinging to others for support.

He had clung to Subaru in that way, as an anchor through all the turmoil in his life. He had taken Subaru for granted and never realized how much the older man had done for him.

//I wanted to apologize then…//

//But he only looked at me… he didn't say anything…//

//I thought he was going to laugh.//

Kamui could feel his cheeks burning as soon as the words had left his mouth and Subaru had given no response to them. His hands tightened into fists -- they always did when he was embarrassed -- and he turned his head away as though in shame. He did anything that did not require him to look at Subaru.

The older man was silent for a long time, far longer than made Kamui comfortable. Then, he finally spoke.

"Are you going to college at the Clamp Campus?"

He completely disregarded it, as though it had never been said at all. His tone was light, as though discussing the weather, and nearly seemed amused. Or cheerful.

How odd life had become.

"No," Kamui replied. "I haven't gone to school since it all ended."

The cigarette Subaru had been smoking for the duration of their conversation was flicked away.

"That's too bad. You really should."

He shrugged.

"Well…

"Ja."

"Houou Estates."

Kamui did not thank the driver, much less check to see if the few bills he had tossed into the front seat was the proper amount for the drive. It must have been, because the moment he was able to, the driver sped away as though something worse than death was chasing him.

"Ja."

The word was muttered, spit it out as though it were a curse.

To him, it was a curse, an insult. Five long years had passed since the last time he had seen Subaru, when everything had come to an end, and when he saw him again, his only parting word was 'ja'.

He had not even said so much as 'ja ne' as though the second word was far too much effort for him to exude.

Kamui removed a cigarette from the pack within the inside pocket of his jacket and lit it as he climbed the stairs to his apartment building.

//I don't even know what I was worth to you.//

//After everything that happened, all you said to me were those words. In the end, I always was to you…//

//Just… nothing…//

//That's all I am.//