Five more minutes.
We do this every year. Neither of us really knows why, and we never discuss it, but still, year after year, we do it.
I've come to think of it as sort of an anniversary. I mean, we have a normal anniversary; we celebrate, somehow, that distant night in the park, where a chance gust of wind changed both our lives forever. Sometimes I pretend to forget, just to see him make a big deal about it, but I don't think I could ever really forget the day that I met him. Shuuichi. My Schuuichi.
Four minutes.
Every year. It runs like clockwork. We run like clockwork. You could set your watch by the moment I disappear and the moment he reappears.
So here I am. It's been six years since we got together for the first time. Not much has changed. Bad Luck is still going strong, I'm still writing books. He's still the genki child that I first met and fell in love with. And yet... it has changed. In little ways that are hard for even me to explain, we're closer. He no longer doubts me as much, I no longer take every opportunity to push him away. We sleep in the same bed, although that took two years for us to accomplish.
The ground under me is cold, and it's starting to leech away my body heat. No matter. There's only three more minutes for me to wait anyway.
Every year when we do this, I hope against hope that this time, maybe, he won't come. And every time I'm relieved beyond what seems possible when he shows up. It's silly maybe, that I have any doubts at all that he'll show up. But why not? My life has been built on doubts.
Two more minutes. Maybe this will be the year. Maybe six years has been enough time to put up with a cold bastard like me, and this time he's really not coming. Maybe this time my time will run out and I'll still sit here, waiting. Maybe I'll sit for hours and he won't come, and finally I'll know in my heart that we were never really meant to be together, just as I've always believed. And then I'll die, just like I was supposed to the first time.
He doesn't doubt, but he worries. Even after so many years, he worries that I've gone for good, and that this time he won't be able to find me. He's long since stopped involving others in our little ritual, but he still worries about me. It's sweet, in a sad, pathetic sort of way.
Just one minute left.
One minute and he'll be here. Maybe. One more minute for me to doubt and reflect on how miserable my life is, before he comes and makes everything all right again. One more minute of remember what my life was like before I met him.
It was snowing when I came here the first time, and it's snowing again now. It's coming down harder this time, a blizzard that befits this time of year. It's fitting that I should come here in winter. The numbness of feeling matches the bitter cold perfectly. I'm starting to shiver, despite my jacket. It's too cold to sit here much longer, but I have to wait for him. I don't really have another choice.
Any second now. Ah. I can here the rumbling now. Three. Two.
There's a huge crash as he bursts through the floor (I still don't know how he manages that), glaring all of hell at me. Slamming into me, landing in my lap and placing his arms on my shoulders, he begins his usual tirade. At first I don't listen to the words. They're nearly the same every year, and I know them by heart. All I need right now is the sound of his voice. Gradually however, the tirade floats through to my conscious mind and begin to form coherent sentences.
"-and I thought you were gone for good! How can you disappear like that without telling me? You flew all the way to New York to try and leave me behind! I don't care what you say Yuki, I'm not going to let you get away from me! You can't escape me, no matter where you go! Even if you die, I'll follow you into death and you still won't be able to get away from me. Do you know how worried I was? I can't belive-"
And as always, I become tired of his ranting and lean forward to kiss him. And for some reason, he's as startled as he always is. Then he relaxes into me, and for a moment it's the same. I've run away to New York to visit the place where I killed Yuki, and to die, and he's come after me to save me from myself.
Finally he pulls back and looks at me in the eye. "Please Yuki, don't scare me like that." He embraces me a little tighter, then withdraws and stands.
He holds his hand down to me, and after a moment I take it. He helps me to my feet and we walk toward the apartment door, hand in hand.
"Come on Shu-chan," I hear myself say. These words I've said so many times still mean as much to me as on the day six years ago when I first said them. "Let's go home."
or
Oh God, that was hideous. Let me complain to the author.