Yuki stood motionless on the pavement near the road. It had been two weeks since the accident. He sat down and let the side of his head rest on the lamppost where his red and white roses lay. Hatsuharu had left him alone. Again. He could still see the faint remains of his deceased love's blood on the road, illuminated by the streetlights and the full moon shining from above.

He lifted his head to watch the members of staff working in the café who were glancing pitifully at Yuki every time they passed the windows. He hated them. He hated the world. But most of all, he hated Hatsuharu for leaving him when he needed him the most. A tear rolled down his cheek, reaching his chin and dropped onto the pavement. Time had gone so slowly without Haru there. School was just a place he went to take his mind off the pain. Nothing was worth living for anymore.

Hatsuharu's funeral was pitiful too. Only the Sohma family had been allowed to attend. This made Yuki angry when Kyo and Tohru once again had to sit at home. He had left in the middle of the service. That was the respect he had for Haru. He had run as far as he could, and then tripped, collapsing on the ground, tears falling like there was a tropical storm brewing inside his body. He didn't return home that night, instead he climbed up an oak tree and cried himself to sleep. He had awoken the next morning, with tear-stained cheeks and dirty, ripped clothes from climbing so recklessly.

Now, two weeks later, he was depressed, visiting the roadside every night, as if he believed that somehow Haru would rise from his eternal slumber. Yuki was a wreck. He lifted himself off the pavement and walked down the street to the Sohma estate. He didn't care about the risks he ran by visiting. Meeting Akito or bumping into his parents meant nothing. He was no longer afraid of them. He hated them with a passion, a passion that burned deep in his heart, one fuelled by his heartache. The grave they had set Haru under was ugly. It was a cheap stone, grey and dirty, and it was already beginning to wear away from the cruel wind that followed Yuki wherever he stepped. Yuki settled himself down at the foot of the grave, longing for Hatsuharu to appear behind him, telling him nothing happened and that he loved Yuki.

The world was so cold. Why couldn't Yuki have died? Why did the truck not stop in time? Why did Hatsuharu have to die after he finally managed to tell Yuki the truth? Yuki lay on the grave, stroking the dirt underneath him. Children returning to their homes on the Sohma estate whispered behind the graveyard gates, their young fingers pointing to his body, adults muttering words of remorse for him, others calling him names. Yuki believed that the ground he lay on was his broken lover, waiting to be fixed, like some clockwork toy discarded carelessly by a small child.

He heard a rustle of grass behind him. He closed his eyes, hoping the being behind would leave him be. He didn't expect the intruder to sit down beside him and rest his hand on his shoulder.