I Don't Remember Loving You: Valentine Special
Disclaimer: I don't own DN Angel. Song rights belong to John Conlee.
Pairings: Guess.
Warnings: Mentions of homosexual relationships (shounen-ai), angst, maybe the occasional swear word, mentions of drinking, OOC.
A/N: This is just a break from 'Journalist', seeing as Valentine's Day was around. It's a very, very different take on such a romantic holiday-don't get me wrong, it's a perfectly fine holiday, I just feel that I've written enough fluffy fics as it is.
The car eased out onto the road, its dark green colour barely visible through the fog. The driver ran long fingers through his hair. His eyes held a faraway look in them and the expression on his face was melancholy. Today was February 14th, Valentine's Day. He thought of his lover, who he was now driving to see. It's been a long time. Takeshi had told him to go see him, to see whether there would be any hope of reconciliation. Sighing, he steered the vehicle down the driveway and onto the main road. It's been a very long time.
15 minutes later:
He walked through the shiny, modern doors which made up the entrance of the building. Ignoring the signs around him, he moved towards the elevator, a scrap of paper clutched tightly in his hand. On it was scribbled a number. Stepping into the contraption, he pressed the appropriate button and waited for the doors to close.
His eyes were firmly fixed on the row of numbered lights above the door, each one signifying the floor. He blinked as he realized that the lift had stopped to allow someone to enter. It was the second floor. A minute later, the lift stopped again. He felt a pang of impatience tinged with fear as the lift stopped at the fourth floor. This time, a white-clad lady stepped in. He tried to tell her that the elevator was still ascending, but it turned out that she was heading for a higher floor. His floor, in fact.
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator bell chimed and he stepped out of the contraption. A glance at the paper, another at the numbers on the wall and he turned to his right, looking for the correct door. When he arrived, he double-checked the door and taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the knob and turned it.
The sight that greeted him was disturbing, to say the least. He stepped into the room and whispered his ex-lover's name. The man looked up from his spot by the window, expression mildly puzzled. For a moment, the visitor felt a sense of despair as he realized that he wasn't the same any more. He's so different. So strange.
"Hello," he said softly. The man at the window frowned lightly. There was no recognition present in his face.
"Who are you?" He mildly asked. The visitor felt a prickling behind his eyes.
"It's me. Krad Hikari. Don't you remember me?"
The man frowned lightly, thinking hard. "No," he replied at last. "I can't say I do."
"You know," Krad's voice was tinged with desperation now. "Your ex-lover? The one who left you for someone else? The one who left one day and never returned?"
There was an awkward pause as the other man stared at him. "I never loved anyone," he said. "I certainly don't remember loving you. Perhaps…" The other's face brightened with an idea. "Perhaps you could talk to my doctor? He comes here to check on me every day at two. Although you seem to be slightly familiar. I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before. Perhaps you look like someone I used to know."
Krad forced himself to stay calm. "Let me tell you a story," he said as he sat down in one of the empty chairs. "Let me tell you a story." It frightened him, how eager the other looked. It was as though he was a child, eagerly awaiting a bedtime story.
"We…we used to live together. We had a perfect life. You worked as a computer technician, I as a banker. We adopted two children three years into our relationship. Everything was perfect until about two years ago. Then…" he paused, forcing himself to be as cool as possible, "then, I left you." He paused, waiting for a response.
The other shook his head, much to his visitor's dismay. "No, I don't remember loving you." Krad found it more difficult to continue, but he forced himself to.
"After I left you…you changed so much. You changed so much." The prickling behind his eyes intensified but he ignored it, pushing onwards. "You quit your job and took to drink. I remember hearing that you drank yourself insane. When it first happened…you did so much stuff. You came to the place where I was staying and camped outside until the police dragged you away. You ran down the highway and through the town, screaming out my name." He looked at the man, but there was no hint of any recognition. No emotion whatsoever. Then he opened his mouth.
"You mentioned children…were there one or two? You say I ran all over the place screaming out your name?" His voice was politely incredulous and Krad almost buried his face in his hands. Instead, he sat there, numbed whilst the other continued. "I think you've got the wrong person here. I'm not the sort of person who would do that, I really am not." There was no malice or condescension in the voice, merely a stating of facts. "I'm positive that I never loved you. But then again"-here his voice turned pensive-"everyone here is really quite strange. There's a lady two doors down who screams every night at 1am. A couple of men wander around sometimes, trying to sell old army relics to the people here. And there's someone who thinks he's Elvis Presley on the floor below. He keeps singing." Krad tried to smile but could not summon the will to do so. Instead, he nodded. "Tell you what," the other person cheerily said, unaware of his visitor's inner turmoil. "If you just pass me my crayons, I'll take down your name and everything. Then if I run into the guy sometime, I'll let him know. Sounds good?" Krad nodded mutely before reaching for the box of crayons that lay on the desk nearby.
"Thanks." The man whisked a sheet of paper out from somewhere and picked up a crayon. Bending over the sheet, he looked up at Krad. "So what was your name again?"
Krad looked sadly down at the figure at the desk. "Krad," he said softly. "Krad Hikari. H-I-K-A-R-I." His ex-lover carefully printed the name onto the paper. The blond looked on sadly. Swallowing hard, he added, "Thank you very much." The other waved his hand.
"It's okay. I'll be sure to tell the guy about you if I meet him, all right?" Krad nodded mutely and stood up. As he reached the door, he realized one, crucial thing.
Turning around, the blond man added, "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I know it doesn't seem like much, but…but what I did was wrong. I apologise for the pain I've put you through." The figure on the other side of the room gave him no indication that he had heard those last words. As he closed the door, Krad whispered sadly, "Goodbye...Dark Mousy."
Four years later:
Krad stared at the letter in his hand. It came from the sanatorium. The letter ran thus:
Dear Mr. Hikari,
We are writing to inform you of the death of Dark Mousy on the 14th February, 2006. Your attendance would be highly appreciated on the 20th Feb at 3:00pm at the Butterfly1 Funeral Parlour on 45th Avenue. Thank you.
Yours sincerely,
Melanie Graye, Director of Serenity Kirk's Sanatorium
Krad shut his eyes and the letter fluttered to the ground, landing mere seconds before hot tears joined it. God bless you, Dark. God be with you until we meet again.
The funeral was a dismal affair with only a handful of people showing up. Satoshi and Daisuke were there, the police commander looking numbed and the redhead beyond comfort. The Harada twins were also present, although, Krad noticed, they hadn't known about Dark's exact condition. He himself was numb and guilty, the latter eating away at him. As they lowered the casket into the earth, he thought, So passes the infamous Kaitou Dark-alone and forgotten. Daisuke fell to his knees when the first shovel of earth was tossed on and as much as Krad would have liked to do the same, he couldn't. Clouds obscured the sun that day, leading to dappled patches of light on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Krad spotted a deep purple butterfly, fluttering through the air. It landed on a small patch of flowers near the grave and the blond lowered his head, the long held-back tears now pouring down his face. Rest in peace, he prayed. Lord, let him rest in peace.
1 In Chinese (and perhaps other Asian cultures), butterflies are believed to be the souls of the dead come back to visit.
PS: I'm not sure how a letter informing someone of deathwould look and I apologise for the inaccuracy, but I've done the best I can. If you want me to correct it, just tell me, 'kay? Thanks!
Whew. I typed this up in one whole day…aren't you guys proud of me? Read and review please! Ah yes-Happy (belated) Valentine's Day! Review please, and thanks for reading!