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rewind

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The harsh, cold winds have subsided since yesterday, leaving former piles of fallen leaves scattered in its wake. Children ran down the sidewalks, laughing and chasing each other with puffs of air emitting from their mouths. The cars honked as the traffic lights changed. The streets were crowded with people eager to return to the coziness of their homes. The wondrous smell of sizzling oil wafted to their nostrils from a nearby vendor's cart. The feel of the crisp breeze brushed against chilled, blushing cheeks.

Everyone was aware of it. Autumn. The season fading from the blazing summer soon receding into another freezing winter. They held their hands to their faces, huddling closer to each other as they continued on their way. Their minds far from anything but something to keep them warm…far from the solitary man sitting on a white bench in the middle of the town square with his dark blue head bowed.

People walked passed him without a second glance. The only ones who did bother to give him their attention were a few employees from a nearby coffee shop, occasionally making note to each other that "that man has been sitting there since this morning" and whispering with concerned looks as to whether or he was alright.

"Well, he certainly doesn't look homeless or anything," remarked one who did get a good glimpse of him on her way in. "Homeless people don't wear fine leather like what he's wearing. Just leave him alone. He'll leave sooner or later."

However, he did not move an inch from the position he was currently in. With his hands tucked into the pockets, his eyes closed and hidden behind his bangs and his entire body remaining slouched for hours, there must have been something wrong with him ("You don't think he's dead, do you?" another joked).

He did not budge. Nor for the next hour, nor for the next.

It wasn't until 4:30 PM that one of the café servers who had just finished her shift approached him at the insistence from her manager ("It's bad for business!") and with great reluctance, prodded him in the shoulder. "Sir? Sir, are you alright?" No response. "Sir?" she said it louder this time. "Sir, you've been sitting there since 8 o'clock. Are you alright?" A blush started to form on the girl's face not only because of the cold but when she observed closer, this black-clad man was, much to her surprise, very handsome.

Midnight hair framing his elegant face. Flawless complexion, long eyelashes and a finely chiseled chin. Not to mention, though one would probably never guess at first from his slim form obscured by his jacket, she could tell he was well developed and muscled from his firm chest and sturdy arms. And he had long legs. Oh yes, very nice legs, in fact.

In short, the man sitting before her was the most beautiful man she has ever seen.

The redness on her face deepened and she scolded herself for such thoughts as she pulled her scarf over her nose to hide her embarrassment. "Sir, if you're not going to answer me, I'm going to-"

"So noisy…"

"…Eh?" Just now, his lips moved. At least, she thinks they did.

She didn't have time to register the thought as he slowly lifted his head and exhaled a cloud of air, his eyelids opening to reveal a gorgeous deep blue gaze of the same color as his hair. His pupils constricted on impact against the light but he did not wince. Instead, his stare turned to her, making her breath freeze in her throat. His eyes were piercing, as if they were looking straight into her soul, yet also seemingly uninterested in what they saw. He truly was a man she's never seen before…a man she could only imagine possible in fiction.

His expression was blank. It was neither annoyed nor anything else. Just blank.

And that brought her back to reality. "E-ex-excuse me?" taking on a tone of offense.

He sighed and looked away. "Like I said, you're so noisy."

Anger clouded her features as she opened her mouth to tell him off but was cut short when he suddenly stood, showing no signs of stiffness after sitting there for so long. Without another word or glance at the waitress, he started to walk away, ignoring the curious looks he received that followed a loud shout of indignation.

...

Tsukiyomi Ikuto, some would say, is a broken man. Those who know him well...enough might agree. To others, they can't really tell the difference. He was silent and deep in thought with an empty look as always.

Contrary to all beliefs, he was far from what they thought he was.

He is not broken. He has hardly touched alcohol or abused drugs in any way. He can still walk on his two feet perfectly fine. He can still leave his house on his own without supervision. He can still breathe like any other normal person does.

He may be silent but he has nothing to say. Not a word. None.

He may be pokerfaced but it's his mind that is devoid of anything. He thinks nothing. Nothing.

He's like a walking void in itself yet not strong enough to take away his own entire existence. He sometimes wished it was. Maybe then it wouldn't be so painful.

He feels pain? Oh yes. He doesn't show it (when was the last time he ever did?) but it's there, alright. There in that damn thing you'd call a heart.

Yes, sometimes he wanted to rip that damn thing out of his chest and fling it into a trashcan somewhere. He wouldn't mind if it kills him. He's never been afraid of death. It couldn't be as bad as how he was now. Hell, even before the time he was "alive"…the time before he felt like he was truly "living" was better than this.

He questions himself if it would have been better not to "live". He asks over and over again if he should have kept his distance, remained cold and aloof, so that he wouldn't have to feel agony like a blunt knife repeatedly stabbing that damn thing within his chest…sometimes seeming like it'd take the air out his lungs or better yet, finally be able to give him his desperately-craved peace after that last, small beating pulse was beating no more.

But no. He'd wake up in cold sweat, gasping yet still there. With that damn thing intact, unscathed. That quickened pulse, beating and still there, gradually slowing down to its original pace.

And for once, instead of feeling the sharp sting through his heart again, he's overwhelmed by the deepest, darkest emotions he tried unsuccessfully to completely lock away. His thoughts no longer bare but filled with images and memories he did not want to see or remember. His frustration, anger and sorrow shows clearly then, wild and unconstrained. He wants to scream till every last sound his voice can make is spent…until he is wasted and unable to move from exerting all his energy. He doesn't want to be broken. He wants to be done. Over. Gone.

But he is still here. He is still standing. He is not gone nor over nor done.

He is just numb like the cold air and he takes it like it is. He brushes the thought of wanting to disappear away, calling it a stupid contemplation (a tempting illusion created due to the many sleepless hours after his abrupt awakenings), as casually as he would have to done to an annoying fly hovering around his head and continues as he always does. He's alive…"living" was just more painful than it was before.

...

Since he left the square, he's been doing nothing but aimlessly wandering around town. Like he use to do.

The only change was that there were no more slight surprises (hardly anything surprised him) to pop up or his hopes (secrets he will never admit) to rise like they use to.

The sun began to set, emitting a lovely orange glow from the horizon on the darkening sky. He stops when he notices and soon realizes that he was halfway across the bridge into the other side of town.

It wasn't like the sunset held any special interests for him or anything. He was just wondering about the time before moving on. Not that it mattered. He had all the time in the world…nothing more than a heavy burden to carry until the sand in his hourglass runs out. He doesn't care in the least.

All he wants to know is why the hell was he here of all places. He wasn't sure why his feet led him in thisdirection. It wasn't like he suddenly had the urge to go there…that cursed, god forbidden place. There was nothing there for him to see. Today wasn't even a particular day that he had to acknowledge by going there. He hated that place, actually. He doesn't want to go there.

Still, he found himself walking pass the gates without so much of a sight of another being, except for maybe a squirrel scurrying up a tree. He climbed the steps, eyes set on the ones ahead of him and nothing else. It felt like the second longest walk of his life, too soon since what he considered his first.

He smelled the faint scent of incense burning away in front of the names carved into stone. He's never been fond of it because of that reason. It also stank…reeked of the odor of what everyone dreads the most. Something he was close to experiencing, but fortunately (he doesn't have the heart to even laugh bitterly at the irony), the victim was not him. He was not its prey, though he might have well been. Easter had nearly used him to his limits. They were no different from it. They could have ended it right then.

Death could have taken him.

It was the perfect opportunity.

He was a black cat that brings bad luck. A stray nobody wanted. The mark of unhappiness.

However, it seems the heavens gave the stray unwanted pity only to sneer down at him now for his loss and meaningless, (tortured) extended life as a way of redemption for his past sins. Those sick bastards.

Their loathing for each other was mutual. Towards him, it was for being on the wrong side. Taking children's dreams and using them for the ambitions of Easter…in search of this "wish-granting" phenomenon that never existed. Towards them, it was for taking his own father away, ruining his mother, selling him and his sister to the hands of the company on a wild goose chase for nothing.

But what he detests them for most, what he abhors them for most…they took her away.

He halts, a wave of sadness washing over him, threatening to make his shoulders shake and his impassive composure to crumble…to make him want to cry (like a weak child), but firmly pushes it down without much trouble. He's done this too many times that it literally became who he was. It was easier than learning how to walk. Hiding his emotions without breaking a sweat. Putting up a front with no need of a mask, using his facade as a substitute.

There was only one time he had failed to do so. Only once he had forgotten to control himself.

"Ne, why don't we come here tomorrow again?" He breaks away from his thoughts to look up to the source of the voice. "Maybe we can bring Souma-kun with us," said a young man (or woman?) with flowing black hair to his companion whose blond, wavy tresses rivaled his own in length.

The owner of the blond locks, a petite young lady with honey-colored eyes, replied with a "un" and a nod, a small smile forming on her lips.

He turns his gaze away and resumes ascending the steps as they descended them, the male with the long hair appearing to be the one dominating the conversation though she doesn't look like she minds.

"I think Yaya-chan would also…" he trailed off and pauses in his tracks. She asks him what was wrong, amber orbs following his own to the cause of his distracted attention. Her eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her at the approaching figure on the other side of the stairs. Her friend narrows his eyes slightly but the blue-haired man pays him no attention and passes them as if they were not there. After two or three more steps up, he heard the younger man say "Nice to see you're looking well…kuro neko-san."

Ikuto stops his climb but doesn't turn around and neither did the one who addressed him. Guardians. Allies and dear friends of hers. What a coincidence (quit joking).

However, there didn't seem to be any spite in the words spoken towards the former enemy. It was just a normal greeting. Even the "kuro neko" part.

The girl, on the other hand, thought differently. The look of surprise on her face was replaced by that of a suspicious one, eyeing the black cat with wariness and a tiny hint of aversion, but she chose to keep quiet and wait for a response.

A moment of silence followed. Only the sound of a passing breeze and trees rustling against each other could be heard, with a far-off chime of one of the temple bells. The male Guardian gives a light "hmph" and closing his eyes with a knowing smile, finally asks, "Are you going to see her?"

Ikuto did not blink. He starts his pace again, only muttering loud enough for both of them to hear, "What kind of stupid question is that?"

At this, the blonde, shocked and angered by the rudeness, was immediately about to retort but was cut off when she felt a hand on her arm. She turns to her friend, irritation quickly fading to worry and confusion.

"It's okay, Rima-chan," he says calmly, appreciation for her concern evident in those warm, brown hues.

"But…Nagihiko…"

Nagihiko shook his head, his smile becoming slightly sad. "It really was…a stupid question of me to ask."

"But…he had no right to speak to you that way!"

His expression did not change as he turned to look up the stairs. Ikuto was no longer there, just as he expected. Why would the cat linger in their ever conflicting presence?

Sighing, he took Rima's hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay. I understand a little what he's feeling. After all…I loved her once, too."

…

She was the first time he has learned to ever think on the greener side of the grass, even if he thought it was just a passing fancy he didn't deserve.

She was the cause that brought about a new beginning for him, as much as he didn't want it. Didn't wish for it.

She still gave it to him in encouraging manner (unlike her usual forceful methods but he loved those, too), with a bright "Try it!" smile.

Ah, that smile.

It was not the most beautiful smile in the world. No…it was the world itself and more. It enveloped the sun, the stars and seemingly everything beyond the outer boundaries of humanity. It was like an outstretched hand that took hold (gently) of his unwilling, confined spirit, shattering the most resilient of prison bars that trapped him with ease and bringing him into the light, freeing him from the shadows…a task he never deemed possible, even when she showed up.

And her laugh. Oh, her laugh continues to echo in his dreams, haunting and beckoning him to search for her in the darkness. Her sweet voice. He longs to hear it again, her lips against his ear. Lullabying him to nightmare-less slumber in her arms where he felt the safest and most content. Her small hands affectionately stroking the back of his head. The intoxicating yet calming scent of her hair in his nose. The feel of her flushed cheek resting against his neck. The warmth radiating in her strong, golden gaze. He felt everything was there in her embrace.

And he hates it.

He wants it (an incurable addiction). He needs it (like a starving man needs water). And he hates it (more than he can stand).

He hates what she has turned him into.

He wants to crush their beloved moments together into dust, scattering them into the wind to never be found again. He wants to tear every memory of her into shreds till they are no more. He wants to watch, stoic and uncaring like he once was, as he burns away everything of her he held so dear.

He hates her. From the faintest glimpse of her pale rose tresses he could have in a day to the greatest fury and passion that ignited within him whenever she crossed his mind, he hates her with every fiber of his entire being.

He hates how she continued to drive him insane. He hates knowing she was no longer there for him to touch or hold. He hates that she'll always be beside him while knowing he can never reach nor get rid of her. He hates that he allowed her into his heart and then clung to her, afraid and desperate, when she rescued him (had told him there as nothing more to fear) … as if she was the last thing to hold onto in his life. He hates the fact that she wanted to see the good in him, to convince both of them that he was not the one at fault. He hates that she has not pushed him away like she originally would have…and that he has not retreated when he should have…because they were enemies.

He hates that she chose him above all else as much as he almost couldn't hold in his joy when she returned his feelings. That she loved him. Him. Her adversary, her nemesis, her foe. He, who once tried to steal her heart's eggs, her dreams. He, whom she should have despised for his unforgiving acts that she has witnessed firsthand in shock and disbelief. He, who was her enemy.

And she told him, in all honesty from the bottom of her heart, that she loved him and only him.

He hates all that she has given him (hope and happiness and more).

He hates the he, too, loved her…more than she will ever know… more than she will never know.

…

Ikuto stares down at the tombstone, the depths of those deep blue oceans almost endless.

A bouquet of roses lay in front of her name, engraved on that golden plate (on his heart) to near perfection.

Her name (he can't…won't forget), still bittersweet in his mouth…

Hinamori Amu

…

stop

…

A/N: My first Shugo Chara! and Amuto fic. Hmm, not sure what to think about it yet. I'm still not satisfied about something. Maybe it's because Ikuto is too OOC? Sorry if he is (I always have trouble with boys) but in this fic, he's older (and so is…was Amu) and he and Amu had been together for quite a while. Of course, this is kinda AU-ish as the manga is still ongoing and chapter 31 isn't out yet.

And yes, Amu is dead. I won't say how she died cuz you'll find that out in the next chapter.

I'm also sorry if the "hating" part was annoying. But I did it for emphasis on just how much Ikuto felt for Amu (loving her to the point of hating it). Oh, and uh, the parentheses, too. They just ended in there, somehow.

Ok, well, thank you for reading and I hoped you liked it. Critique and comments are greatly appreciated. I'll get started on the next chapter soon.

Disclaimer: Shugo Chara! is the copyrighted property of Peach-Pit. All original characters/plots/ etc. of this story belong to the author, Xiao Jie. This fan fiction has been created solely for entertainment purposes.

Preview:

... pause ...

She just had to be the stupid, selfless heroine to the very end.