AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before I start this story a few words of explanation. Each part will revolve around a specific song – or rather its lyrics. They may refer to a character or some particular event, but I promise there is an overall story arc. This initial idea was inspired by listening to a succession of songs, originally intended for a one-shot, but my imagination went into overdrive and came up with something a little different. I will be using both the anime and manga as background sources as well as completely making stuff up about Tsuzuki and certain events in his past. Sorry to all purists, but this is never going to work otherwise. You may recognise the songs, you may not; download them, get hold of them and listen to them if you want, but as I said, it's primarily the lyrics I was after. The songs themselves vary extensively in theme and genre – I am very eclectic in my tastes. None of the songs used belong to me and neither do the Yami no Matsuei characters themselves: I am using all without permission and purely for my own personal amusement. As always, comments and constructive criticisms are welcomed and for a final warning: here be yaoi so homophobes are advised to go no further. If boy/boy relationships don't appeal, don't read because if you have a problem with it, I don't want to hear it.
1. Butterfly
It began with a heartbeat, the underpinning rhythm of life. With awareness, some would assert that the distinctive baseline became lost in the cacophony of noise that surrounds the senses. Footfalls, the rustle of fabric to indicate the movement of the limbs beneath the material, even those involuntary sighs and other assorted exhalations; they all combined to form a unique symphony. The essence of humanity.
To all intents and purposes the man lying in the hospital bed was just one more example of humanity. The steady thump of his pulse and the slow rise and fall of his chest to indicate breathing. What small movements he made were the softest whispers amongst the sheets; yet the sounds offered him no comfort, no reassurance. Instead, the man retreated far inside himself in an effort to block the noise from his awareness.
/What am I? – I wish I was a butterfly-
I'd fly and fly until it was my time to die-
It's creeping in again – I know what I really am-
No more pretty, purple, peaceful butterfly-/
His unwavering gaze vacantly fixed on the high window through which the sunlight streamed in warming rays. Against the glass pane fluttered the delicate wings of butterflies. They flitted and bumped against the invisible barrier; unable to understand why their further access was denied. He watched their wavering dance silently, until he could hide away inside himself no longer and once again picked up the knife to hack and slash at his wrists. Then he would watch the steady pulse of crimson life as it ebbed from his veins, hoping, praying that this time the infernal pounding of his heart would cease.
/Simple life … if I were a butterfly-
I'd fly and fly until it was my time to die-
It's creeping in again – I know what I really am-
No more pretty, purple, peaceful butterfly-/
Doctors monitored his condition: fascinated at the way his body would heal itself time after time without food or drink taken to sustain it. In the beginning, when he was first admitted, they would talk to him in an effort to rouse him into a state where he could communicate to them. When they discovered that awareness brought only another suicide attempt, they left him alone and instead tried to locate friends and relatives. They hoped that someone would be able to explain what broke this man's mind to such an extent. What they found was not what they had expected.
Finally able to trace the man's origins to a sufficiently accurate point, a member of the hospital staff remarked that the location in question was extremely near to a distant relative of his. Duly dispatched on a visit, the hospital worker returned vastly ahead of schedule and quite clearly in a state of extreme distress. Rather than alleviate the mystery, this visit had only intensified it.
Where there had once been a small, but thriving community there was now only a scene of complete devastation. So comprehensive was the damage that the cause of the destruction was a mystery. An earthquake, a fire, an explosion; all were discussed as possibilities but it was impossible to work out anything from the charred ruins. In addition was one extra piece to the puzzle; a disaster on the scale of the one that had occurred in this community should have left a mass of dead and injured. Yet a search of hospitals revealed not one admission and no bodies were found. To all intents and purposes, the inhabitants had simply vanished into thin air; the only remains of their lives a heap of scorched timbers and a silent man in a hospital bed who continually tried to die.
/Come see the blood that's in my bed-
Come hear the things that nobody talks about-
Shut up your mouth – shame on you – shame on me-/
At first the mysterious circumstances surrounding the beautiful man caused endless speculation and entertainment amongst the staff, who competed with each other to concoct the most elaborate scenarios. As the years passed, however, and the man continued to survive against all reasoning, the tales began to take on a darker cast. People began to remark on the patient's unearthly beauty and would talk of demons in hushed voices.
The man eventually attracted the attention of the government, curious about both the medical phenomenon and the story that was rapidly developing behind it. He was moved to another hospital, one where the patient's condition could be monitored more thoroughly. The new doctor in charge of his case was fascinated by the man who seemed able to survive despite his refusal to either eat, drink or sleep. The doctor made copious notes about his new charge, fuelled by the mystery his patient presented. Unlike the previous hospital, he had no way of knowing anything about the man's background and home. This lack of information didn't concern the doctor, however, he was more than kept occupied by the enigma of a man who, to all intents and purposes, couldn't die.
/Look at me, I wish I was a honey bee-
I'd be anything, anything other than the things I have been-
I slip out if my skin so I don't have to do it again-
But just a passing thought and your filth is seeping in-/
Gradually even the inhuman endurance of the patient's body began to show signs of strain. He was slower to heal from his self-inflicted injuries and less likely to rouse himself to a state where he could attempt to take his life once more. The patient's doctor saw no other course of action than to let the man get on with it. Although understandably concerned about losing such a valuable medical case, the patient's psyche simply wouldn't ever stand up to allowing the man to rejoin the real world. Should he ever regain full use of his faculties, the doctor was under no illusions that the patient would attempt anything other than suicide.
It was a balmy summer evening and the doctor was sitting outside in the shade. As he looked over his notes once more, he became aware of approaching footsteps.
"Muraki-sensei, I presume?"
Frowning slightly at the disruption to his reading, the doctor looked up to confront the stranger who had just addressed him. The man was standing with his back to the setting sun, causing his face to be cast in shadow by the blazing halo that lay behind him. Long hair, as fine as spun silk and a pure white in colour was tied neatly at the nape of the neck and draped over one shoulder, yet from the man's voice, Muraki doubted the man was past forty. His build and attire seemed to confirm the doctor's opinion. Frustrated with his inability to see the stranger's face, Muraki inclined his head slightly and fixed the man with a cold stare. "That is correct. And who might you be?"
"I'm here to see Asato."
Muraki felt a jolt of surprise at hearing a name spoken that previously he'd only seen written down. There was a tone of easy familiarity in the man's voice, which made the doctor even more curious to catch sight of the stranger's face. Rising gracefully to his feet, Muraki gestured to the shaded hospital interior; "He's right through here." The doctor paused to allow the other man to fall into step with him. "In all his time here, Tsuzuki-san has never received visitors."
The sudden transition from the evening sun to the relative gloom of the ward made the man even less easy to see than he had been outside. Muraki blinked his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the lower level of light, while the man continued to follow. The lack of any falter in his firm stride indicated that the stranger at least had no similar eyesight problems to Muraki. "I've been involved in work that has taken me far from these shores. This has been my first real opportunity to see Asato-kun since the incident occurred." Reaching the bed in which Tsuzuki lay, the stranger stepped close to examine the man's sleeping face.
"He won't be able to respond to you," Muraki informed the man, studying the hint of profile he could see through the curtain of hair at his angle. "For his own safety, Tsuzuki-san is kept sedated."
The man straightened, but kept his face fixed on the patient and thus turned away from the doctor. "Oh? And why is that, precisely?"
Muraki shrugged and began to walk around the bed. "Tsuzuki's consciousness seems to have split into two separate functions. One is clearly bent on self-destruction, we can only begin to assume for whatever reasons. His files say he might have experienced or witnessed a horrific event which has sent him into this virtual state of shock." Reaching a point opposite the visitor, Muraki looked up only to find the man's face still cloaked in shadow.
"You said two halves. If one is trying to achieve suicide, what is the other engaged in?"
A brief smile flickered across Muraki's face as he studied the sleeping Tsuzuki. "Ah, now that is the interesting part. For the majority of the time, the patient appears to be in a vegetative state. Occasionally he surfaces from this self-imposed withdrawal and invariably tries to kill himself. At which point he will sink back into his comatose state while his body heals. In this state, he seems able to survive without food or water. We have come to the hypothetical conclusion that this vegetative state is some sort of self-protection mechanism from the other half of his psyche."
The man dipped his head in a thoughtful nod. "How intriguing. And which side would you say has the most control?"
Muraki shrugged again. "When he first arrived in my care, the self-protective instinct was definitely the dominant one. But lately it seems to have gradually weakened, causing us to have to implement the use of sedatives. Quite frankly, it is amazing that his body has survived this long, but it is only a matter of time until he finally succeeds in killing himself. Despite our best efforts, if a patient is genuinely this determined, he will eventually manage to commit suicide."
The stranger turned away from the bed. "I see. Thank you for your time, Muraki-sensei. You have been most helpful." Without another glance at the figure in the bed, the visitor strode briskly out of the room.
Muraki blinked, suddenly realising that the man had given away no information about himself. "Wait a moment, you still haven't given your name." On receiving no response from the retreating stranger, Muraki started after him. "Excuse me…"
His voice trailed off as he looked down the empty corridor. Frowning, he looked back at Tsuzuki and then once again at the empty corridor. He stood there for quite a while, a contemplative expression on his features.
Days later Tsuzuki Asato finally passed away. He had slashed his wrist. Above the body, the butterflies continued to dance against the windowpane.
/Come scrub my hands – they won't come clean-
Come sit with me while the walls press in on me-
Shut off that light – shame on you – shame on me-
Come see the blood that's in my bed-
Come hear the things that nobody talks about-
Shut up your mouth – shame on you – shame on me-/
TBC
(I am going somewhere with this – honestly.) Song is Butterfly by Tapping the Vein.