Current

"Gently, gently flickering. An immature but distant ancient time. That wind is a shallow temptation. It's the melody of a beautiful end. A bewitching silhouette is locked up. But its remains loiter beside me; they whisper…. 'You'll find a precious love within that flower, if you'll sing to the corpse.'" - Sad Spring (Draw The Eclipse)

It was his torn and marred body that she held.

Blood matted his hair and stained his white uniform- Gouges inflicted upon his entirety expressed the loss of his human life. His skin was sickly pale, and his eyes were dull. His soul had left the mangled carcass behind.

"Shizuka, let him go. He's dead."

"I can't..." the girl quietly spoke as she held her dead lover on her lap. She moved hair from his face with careful precision.

"His eyes are still open. Perhaps he is only asleep… and he simply forgot to close them." Her hand lifted toward his face again, this time lowering his eyelids to cover his empty brown irises.

Shuffling was heard behind her, and a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. She didn't comprehend the few seconds afterward, greedily consumed by hallucination.

"-It's getting cold. Let's go inside."

"I'm staying here with Kiku," she replied indignantly to what she had heard, roughly taking the blanket and wrapping it gingerly around the man she vowed to stay by.

The source of the Chinese-accented voice moved to her side and stared at her in the face, his lighter, sharp brown eyes drilling deeply into her blue ones. "For the last time, he's dead."

"He's not dead," she insisted, a slight smile forming on her lips only to be betrayed by a tear rolling down her cold cheek.

"He's my Xiǎodì!" His eyes shone with the tears he had yet to release, but his shaking did nothing to aid his self-control. "Don't you think I would like to believe he wasn't dead?! His heartbeat is gone! He isn't breathing! What more evidence do you need to make you understand?!"

Another tear fell to meet the one that had fallen onto her arm, but the smile remained- untainted by the cruelty of Death and what it left behind. "There is nothing to understand, Nii-san. Kiku is not dead. He promised me that he would never die before me."

"But he did, darling. He did."

But Shizuka did not hear him behind the veil of her long ebony hair, or above the sound of her pleasing song to her loved one.

"-I can't move away from here if I want to forget this loneliness. My lies are piled up under this fake sky you look at. Even if I will lose my angel wings, I won't mind. I can always jump." - When Innocence is Just a Mask (Draw the Emotional & Foreground Eclipse)

Flashback

The sound of his heartbeat was what calmed her the most.

His arms holding her close to him, the warm breath against her ear as he muttered reassuring words, the way that his hands tenderly pressed against her back and rubbed soothing circles… They all simply helped the recovering process. But it was the sound of his heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of his chest- It was that which finally made her loosen her grip on the back of his white uniform.

Life. Proving her nightmare wrong.

She continued to hold on, but now with a content face that replaced the distressed look that had previously been there. She closed her eyes and allowed herself this little piece of euphoria and reprieve.

"Did you have a nightmare, Shizuka-chan?" the gentle Japanese man murmured, smiling as she relaxed against him.

"Hai…" she softly replied, giving him a soft squeeze in the hug.

His hugs were rare, but well-appreciated. Every second was filled with absolute adoration, and every moment spent in his arms was cherished. For Kiku, affections involving touch of any kind was a treat. Intimate moments were few and far between, but that was okay. It just made every intimate moment more special.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He shifted his hugging stance slightly so that he could softly pet her hair and brush his fingers through the beautiful strands of black.

She shook her head against him, keeping her face hidden in his chest, breathing in his wonderful, calming scent.

They spent around twenty minutes together in this position, simply content in each other's arms. Finally, Shizuka spoke up- Kiku would have never done so, should she still have needed recovery time.

"Would you like for me to make tea while we're up?" She tilted her head back to stare up at her lover and gave him a bright smile.

The black haired man returned the action, his gorgeous chocolate-colored eyes catching hers and holding her in a trance-like state.

"That sounds lovely, Shizuka-hime," he started with that same smile, moving a stray strand of her soft tresses to the back of her ear. "It's much too late in the morning to go back to sleep, now."

Shizuka giggled, a light, pretty sound similar to the ringing of a fairy's bell. "But first I'd take care of your neguse, no matter how adorable it is."

Instantly, Kiku's face flushed red and he quickly released her, rushing to the bathroom to fix his unruly bedhead.

Current

"Swaying, swaying, squirming. A transient, ephemeral remnant. Red is flowing down this abominable spring's melody. Gently, gently flickering. An immature but distant ancient time. That wind is a shallow temptation. This nostalgia springs from your melody." - Sad Spring (Draw The Eclipse)

It was a rather… international funeral service. There was Arthur, who was English, there were the Germans, Ludwig and Gilbert, there were the Italians, Lovino and Feliciano, there was Francis, who was French (he and Arthur usually didn't get along, but in occasions like these, they were well-behaved), there was Antonio, who was Spanish, there was Matthew, who was Canadian, there was Roderich, who was Austrian, there was Elizabeta, who was Hungarian, there was the soft-spoken Toris who was Lithuanian, there was Toris' best friend, Feliks, from Poland, there was Im Yong Soo, the Korean- and several others from different countries. And finally there were the only Americans among the group: Erica and Alfred. Soon-to-be-married, and close friends of both Shizuka and Kiku. But they were the only ones with grins on their faces.

Yao Wang, the Chinese man, walked through the isles of the church with Shizuka at his side, her small head tilted downward so her bangs hid a good portion of her face. His movements were stiff, slow, and labored, seemingly as though he either didn't have the physical strength to do anything else, or simply didn't have the emotional strength to carry it out.

Finally, as they were approaching the last ten steps toward the open coffin, he staggered and nearly fell- only Shizuka's steady arm keeping him upright. But she didn't turn to look at him. She hadn't spoken, smiled, or acknowledged him at all since 'the incident'. And yet, in her unconscious heart of hearts, she supported him as he stood in front of the coffin of his kid-brother, the man who had died much too soon and much too violently.

Catching the eye of a certain melancholy Englishman, the chinese man slowly shuffled his way over toward the direction of the blonde haired man. He couldn't handle seeing it- the completely placid face of his adored little brother who had, only days ago, shared tea with him and had spoken lively about a new job position he'd earned. He'd seen the orderly black hair of his brother just barely, and that was all that he could handle.

This sudden action left Shizuka alone, still ten steps from where her dead fiance lay in his white and gold box. Just ten steps.

Without hesitation, she moved forward those ten steps and peered down into the open casket.

The Undertaker who had stitched the broken man back together was a master in every form. It appeared as though Kiku had never truly been murdered at all, and he had merely fallen asleep. His eyes were closed gracefully, and his long, dark eyelashes were resting against his pale skin. In his once-bruised and shambled hands there lay the rosary he was to be buried with. But the most prominent feature- the most important- was his smile. He'd had the same smile when he spoke his last words to the woman he loved most as he died in her arms. That same smile was still there.

And it hurt.

It hurt watching him there, completely still, knowing that he wasn't sleeping. It hurt knowing that he wasn't breathing the air that smelled strongly of incense. It hurt knowing that the gentle thump of his heartbeat had halted. It hurt knowing that he was gone forever.

That pain intensified with that sudden realization. Her heart felt as though it were constricting itself in her chest, she felt cold all over, and her head pounded because of the pressure building up inside of it. She couldn't hold it in anymore. Slowly, Shizuka outstretched her hand to softly touch Kiku's cheek. The skin was soft like it always was, but it wasn't warm. Then she felt under his bangs and against his forehead. Then his other cheek. Then his neck. Then his head. But there was no warmth to be found.

She hadn't realized that her sight had been foggy and unclear until she felt a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She glanced behind her with her hand still gently placed on the dead man's cheek. The source of her sudden vision impairment fell in droplets down her face.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," spoke the quiet voice of a woman behind a black veil.

Shizuka's empty expression reclaimed her then, and she replied mechanically, "we all lost someone dear to us, Erica."

The woman removed her veil, revealing the tired, but pretty face of Shizuka's friend. Again, she added in a low voice, "but your loss was the greatest. I know how much Kiku meant to you."

Shizuka attempted to smile, but the feeble movement collapsed almost immediately with the accompaniment of more silent tears. "He still means that much to me." Then she sighed and took out a black mourning handkerchief and dabbed away the wetness on her cheeks. "I've cried endlessly since I realized he was really gone. But now that I'm here, I can't make a sound."

Erica lifted a hand and lightly tapped Shizuka on the head. "That's understandable. Anyone in your position would do the same. Even me..." She peered over her shoulder at her own fiancé as he paid respects to the immediate family of the dearly departed. "I know Alfred would do the same. He'd probably be a bit more obnoxious about it, though. He's a bit of a baby."

At this, Shizuka managed to smile for a second. But the smile was dismal, reminiscing. "That's what makes him so lovable, though."

The poor excuse for a smile fell again, and no matter how hard she tried to hitch it back up, it simply wouldn't form.

"Your dress looks pretty," Erica quickly complimented, clearly affected by the awkward silence that was building up.

Shizuka examined Erica's own dress and realized it was new. "So is yours."

"Although," Erica began with a teasing grin, hoping to get some sort of reaction. "Black makes you look more creepy."

Shizuka blinked once and eyed her own dress. Simple, black, and in a stylish Chinese style. The sleeves were made of black floral lace that modestly went all the way down to the end of her thumb. Then she studied Erica's dress, a simple black, thinly strapped dress that reached about an inch above her knees. It appeared to be more like a prom dress than something you'd wear to a funeral. Although, that was her style.

"I don't even remember getting dressed in this," Shizuka serenely admitted.

Not the reply Erica was expecting.

"Hey, Shizuka..." she tried to coax her friend to cheer up by patting her shoulder again, but Shizuka had turned around again to face her beloved one.

Finally, Erica sighed in resignation and left to go speak with China. Shizuka just needed time alone, she decided.

In the time that Shizuka's friend left, she was left in peace to ponder the happier memories when she and Kiku would sit together under the cherry blossom trees and would sing with each other, read poetry together, write stories together, or simply spend time in each other's blissful presence.

The thought made her grin slightly, and again her eyes watered. She allowed herself to be engulfed by the memories.

"Ah, so he ended up dying, after all," suddenly rang a frigid, strongly Russian-accented voice from the direction of the doorway. The voice was accompanied with heavy footsteps and the sound of some kind of metal rod hitting against the floors. On closer expectation, one would see that it was a metal pipe, and not a cane, as would have been previously thought.

The temperature in the room became the same degree of cold as the voice of the man who had spoken the words, and Shizuka's chest grew tight as she was unceremoniously thrust out of her floating daydream.

"Ivan..." The name numbly rolled across Yao's tongue as his eyes narrowed.

"You really shouldn't have come here," Erica's fiancee, Alfred, warned with a scowl on his dirty blond, boyish features.

"I do what I want," defended Ivan, leaning against one of the church pews and tapping his metal pipe precariously against the wood.

"Get the hell out of here!"

The German brothers took a few steps forward and began cracking their knuckles threateningly.

"Oi, you think we can break a few bones?"

"Ja, after what he did to Kiku? We'll do more than that."

Ivan laughed mockingly and pointed his metal sink pipe toward them. "Go on. I've been needing a workout."

"You killed him."

Everyone stopped. But the Russian indifferently swiveled his head in the direction of the quiet voice, and found himself smiling in an odd way.

"Indeed, I did. You were there, weren't you? You saw me break his thin skull. You saw me hit him that last time, cracking all of those precious ribs and piercing his lungs-" He was cut off when the edge of something extremely sharp was pressed against his throat. A small stream of blood fell down his neck and onto his mockingly white collar. No one was holding the knife there.

"I used to pity you and your bloody past." Shizuka's eyes were as jagged as the knife she telekinetically held against him. "But you have no remorse. There is no way that I can save you. Now, you shall suffer like Kiku did, only a hundred times worse."

Ivan's platinum blonde hair shifted slightly as he laughed. "But we're in a church, my dear. I don't think the staff here would be happy with another body to bury."

"I care even less than you did when you tore apart my fiancé." Her fingers arched, and before he could even think of a reaction, the knife was lodged in his right shoulder, the one he was holding the pipe in. He hissed and the object dropped with a loud clang onto the floor.

"Shizuka, stop!" Arthur, the british man cried with a horrified grimace claiming his handsome face.

"Dude, calm down! You don't have to kill him!" agreed the only American male as he stood rooted to the ground.

The look that Shizuka gave Alfred made him begin to wobble with a sudden weakness. Erica's arms caught him before he could fall, and she revealed her desperation.

"Shizuka, please..." she croaked, helpless as she watched her friend slowly approach the Russian with burning animosity shining in her eyes.

She ignored everyone's pleading and knelt in front of the gasping Russian as he tried to pull out the deeply-embedded blade from his shoulder. He looked up at her with a new facial contortion of childlike fear, and he recoiled when she derisively snapped her fingers. He froze as the realization settled uncomfortably upon his bulky shoulders.

"This is the Hell that you deserve."

Flashback

"Tadaima."

"Okaerinasai."

Kiku quietly walked into the house and put his suitcase by the closet before closing and locking the front door. His fiancee quickly came over and gently took off his jacket for him, smiling brightly.

"Ogenki desu ka, Shizuka?" he asked tenderly as he gave her a smile.

"Genki desu," she replied with that same smile. "Dinner will be done soon."

He winked and affectionately patted her head.

"Arigatou."

"Douitashimashite."

The couple headed toward the living room together, hand-in-hand, and seated themselves on their new western couches (they had replaced the zaisu- legless chairs- with a sofa because Kiku's back was hurting more often).

"Did I miss the new episode of Shingeki no Kyojin while I was at work?" questioned the Japanese man as he put his arm around the woman next to him.

Instinctively leaning into him, she replied, "iie. I recorded it for you."

"You're an angel." He gave her a tender squeeze and chuckled when she squeaked in surprise.

"Not hardly," she insisted with a laugh. "Otaku work together, do they not?"

Kiku laughed and nodded, flicking the television on and playing his anime episode. "Hai, we do."

Flashback

-This next part contains graphic and disturbing imagery. Viewer discretion is advised.-

"Shizuka-chan?"

Her eyes blinked several times as though to clear her vision. 'Was that...?'

"Shizuka? What are you doing in there?"

Blinking once more, she looked over at the door. In a careful and steady voice, she answered, "nothing, Kiku... I'm just thinking."

"With the door locked? Come on, Shizuka-chan. Please let me in." Sounds of what seemed to be nervous scuffling were heard on the other side.

She allowed a frown to find its way to her lips. She didn't want to disappoint him again.

"It's fine. There's nothing wrong."

"... Shizuka, unlock the door."

"Kiku-"

"Don't make me break it down. You know I will."

The seriousness of his voice made her cringe slightly. Taking a shaky breath, she prepared to add another cut along her scarred wrist to get rid of the sudden nervousness. "Just give me a second and I'll open the door..."

"I can't do that, Shizuka-chan."

"Please, no..."

"Gomenasai, Shizuka-chan. Now, please move away from the door." A sudden and loud crashing sound was heard as the door began to cave in and seem as though it were shattering. In that same brief moment, the door snapped off of its hinges and fell over onto the floor. Luckily, she had been all the way against the opposite wall and was backed into the corner, so the door wasn't even close to hitting her.

Her heart constricted painfully in her chest as panic settled in. She was left unable to move, with the blade of her razor still pressed against her skin. Even as he hurriedly walked over and knelt in front of her, she could not move.

"Shizuka-chan... You..."

"I-I'm sorry…"

"Didn't we talk about this…? If you were really hurting this much, why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I don't know… I'm sorry... I really am..."

He gently took away the blade in her hand and tossed it into the trashcan, then held her torn, crimson hands in his.

"How long?"

How long? How long had she been doing it? Well, since she was a child. How long had she been doing it recently? A couple of weeks, she thought. The numerous fresh scars adorning her legs and arms meant nothing; she could have applied several a day- enough to have given herself all of them in that one time.

How long had she been hurting? In what way? For what period of time? How long? The question that asked everything, the question that knew nothing, the question that perhaps meant something.

Very slowly, she shook her head, unable to answer him. Or perhaps she just didn't want him to know.

"Why...?"

Another question with a multitude of meanings- and a multitude of ways to answer it. Why had she done it? Well, did he want the psychological answer? Or did he want the personal answer? Why had she inflicted self-harm the first time? Why had she done it the many times after that? Why had she done it this time?

Psychologically, she was unable to release her built-up frustrations, sadness, or loneliness. That anxiety resulted in her finding another way to expel her worries- through knives and whatever other sharp objects she could inconspicuously get her hands on. This time it had been a blade from a shaving razor.

Personally… Did she even know? Was it a particular sadness? Or had it congregated over the years? Her life was wonderful. She was in a loving relationship with the man kneeling in front of her. She lived with him, but she never got to an uncomfortable level of intimacy. He tended to all of her wants and wishes, and she returned the favor by doing the same. He gave her that fulfilled feeling… that need of being loved and to love. He made her life perfect… so why had she felt the need to draw blood?

So, perhaps, it was an issue with her psyche? Was her sanity failing her? Had she done this simply because she wanted to?

Or did she do it because of her past? Had it really affected her this much? What was wrong with her?

"I… I don't know… I'm so sorry, Kiku-kun… I didn't mean to hurt you…-"

He softly pulled her into a hug and buried his face into the top of her head. A smile graced his perfect lips when she leaned her face upwards to lightly nuzzle his jaw.

"I know," came the muffled response, causing tears to well up in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. "You would never hurt me intentionally. You're too caring for that. I just wish you'd have told me about your feelings, rather than let them do this..."

Slowly wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him, she returned the hug. He didn't seem to mind the steady dripping of blood down the back of his collar and white button-up uniform. "I'm so sorry..."

"Again, you are forgiven. I'm at least proud that you stopped for so long. Just please, please tell me the next time that you feel the need to hurt yourself."

She nodded against him slowly and unwinded some more, closing her eyes. "I promise..."

He smiled. She would tell him the next time; he knew that. He'd gone through enough of her lapses of mild to extreme periods of self-mutilation to know that she always, always stopped after he found out… for about a year. She would stop, and she would confide all of her feelings in him for that amount of time. Then, it would seem as though she no longer had any thoughts of cutting, and she was always happy. But then he would see the fresh wounds, or he'd catch her in the act. He knew that what she had was a mental issue, but he would never put her into psychological evaluation or into counseling. He had done that in the past, and it only made things worse.

The psychologists couldn't quite crack her way of thinking. Her emotions, as she put it, were locked in a case, and only those she loved had the keys to open it. She wasn't happy unless something made her happy; she wasn't depressed unless something made her so- Basically, she felt nothing when nothing happened. She was neither happy nor sad, and the doctors didn't understand it. The psychological testing was increased, and needles were introduced into the mix of things. Doctors began to label her as "crazy" and "sociopathic", and didn't even try to hide it as they stood by the foot of the hospital bed, discussing it with their partners. She just stayed where she was, unable to move because of all of the machines she was hooked up to. The fact that no one ever figured her out eventually made her snap. He remembered her serious waves of depression after that- how she would just sit on her futon and stare at the wall aimlessly for hours on end. Her very last string that was keeping her sane... just broke.

She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she didn't speak, she didn't cry... She could do nothing, and she did nothing. He tried everything that he could think of to bring her back to him. It wasn't until he had completely stopped the counseling visits and spent all of his time with her- holding her and whispering reassuring things to her- that she slowly began to return his affectionate gestures. He was slowly, carefully, and gladly rebuilding that blue string that held her together.

A little movement separated Kiku from his thoughts, and his eyes opened again. She ducked her head slightly, then tilted it backwards so that she was looking up at him. She still had a tear trail on her cheek, and after wiping it away, Kiku spoke.

"Aishiteru, Shizuka-chan." He smiled as he said this, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"If I desired complete eternity, I'd hide within the endless cycle of rebirth. It's kind of ridiculous thinking back on my mischievous days. It's laughable, really. But before I panic, and before I die: my dearly beloved, without you my heart would stop." - We Cannot Get Out of Here Forever (Draw The Emotional)

Current

"It's true. We're all a little insane. But it's so clear, now that I'm unchained." - Sweet Sacrifice (Evanescence)

His voice resonating in her ear increased her heightened apprehension. The air seemed slightly fuzzy and gave her a synthetically warm sensation all over. Everything in the room was white- the walls, ceiling, carpeted floor, bed, jacket, hospital pants, and belts. She stood starkly from the paucity of color with her black-ebony hair and deep blue eyes. While her skin matched the shade of the room, it did nothing to aid her assimilation with said room.

"Can you tell me your name?" the man sitting across from her asked, a split mask covering his face.

She gracefully fluttered her long, black eyelashes and continued to stare at the wall. The swirling of the white was entrancing.

"My name is Shizuka," she finally responded.

"Very good. Can you tell me why you're here, Shizuka?"

"I sent Ivan to the field of red paper flowers."

"And why did you do that, my dear?"

"That is where he sent my precious Kiku-kun."

"Uh-huh. I see." The crack-masked man scribbled down more words into his notebook before giving her his attention again. "Is there any reason that you left the church to kill- err… send Ivan to the field of red paper flowers?"

Her eyes scanned him intently, then she pleasantly beamed as his cracked mask fell, revealing a terror-stricken face. "I didn't want to paint in the church- It's not allowed, you know."

"Yes, I'm quite aware." He paused to messily write down more useless words before saying again, "most of his severely disfigured remains were recovered by the post office. It must have taken a very long time to pull him there, considering his large size."

"I didn't pull him there. He flew there with the birds," she stated smoothly, her fingers moving with the precision that told him she was playing a piano.

"You used your psychokinetic powers, then. Well, that's enough questions for today, miss Shizuka. I'll see you again tomorrow."

The man frantically began to pack his black suitcase, ending up scattering several papers around in his urgency to leave.

Shizuka knelt down beside him and handed him the papers, once again giving him that perpetual scrutinizing look in her eyes, but smiling sweetly. A misleading motion.

The man managed to stutter out a thanks and quickly left her in her bedroom, alone, and surrounded by the deafening silence.

Then, she was a solipsist again. Only she existed in her plain room of white. The bland, lifeless world of nothingness that made her feel even more like she was being insulted. White: the color of virginity- the very thing she lost as a mere child during the seemingly-endless cycle of abuse she endured for the majority of her life. White: the color Ivan wore to Kiku's funeral. White: the color Kiku died in. White: the color of her own personal hell.

The warmth she felt in there constantly was almost sickening-fake, without love, and without truth. Backing up into the corner of her bed, which was less-than-charmingly pressed up against the farthest wall from the metal bolted door, she brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. The smile had drained the brief tenacity she had encompassed earlier, and now she was tired again. Her lids were half-closed as she sighed and fell onto her side, curling up as tight as a cinnamon roll. A strange, multi-colored cinnamon roll, she thought bitterly.

"Gently, gently flickering. An immature but distant ancient time. That wind is a shallow temptation. This nostalgia springs from your melody. A bewitching silhouette is locked up, but its remains loiter beside me; they whisper… 'You'll find a precious love within that flower if you'll sing of your reminiscences, soon to be locked away.'" - Sad Spring (Draw The Eclipse)

Current

"In my field of paper flowers and candy clouds of lullaby, I lie inside myself for hours and watch my purple sky fly over me." - Imaginary (Evanescence)

That lifeless ceiling was gone. Instead, in its place, there were bright stars, lighting the night sky and in turn making it look purple in comparison to what a normal night sky would look like. Below her was a sea of green and red that seemed to never have a starting or ending point. The grass lightly tickled her bare legs as she lay sprawled across it. On either side of her face there were crimson spider lilies that danced slightly in the breeze.

'I once watched him dance in a sea of red, with glinting silver reflecting the sky's light, following his agile twists and turns.'

Upon closer inspection, one could see that the flowers were made of paper. Their delicate, feeble strands of stuff stroked her cheeks in an almost cautious way, as though they were warily probing to see if she was a potential threat. Then the breeze altered in direction, and the petals removed their spidery needles, therefore giving her the permission to stay.

She sat up slowly, then stood up on her surprisingly strong legs. The rejuvenated feeling had her feeling free, as though nothing bad had ever happened to her.

That thought caused a certain pang of conviction to pulse through her brain, and she was determined again. He had to be there somewhere. She'd heard his voice when she'd first woken up, and even though she hadn't seen his face, she knew he was there somewhere.

She began to walk through the field in the direction of the canopy of cherry blossom trees nearby, the red spider lilies parting into a pathway for her, making the journey more harmless on their part. The closer she got to the forest of cherry blossom trees, the bigger they were. It wasn't that normal kind of gradual growth that one would expect when approaching something large- No, no. It was a very sudden and vivacious growth that had Shizuka's excitement hiked to the very peak.

The trees were certainly substantial in height, but they had a welcoming essence about them. Perhaps it was the cherry blossom petals being carried along in the breeze that sometimes caught themselves in her hair, or perhaps it was just the way that the trees glowed- they and the grass and spider lilies- that had a true sort of warmth to them. It wasn't synthetic or fake.

'The field of paper flowers has a real warmth to it, and not the fraudulent excuse of warmth that exists in my white room.'

"Ah, Shizuka-chan."

The voice was soothing, deep, and even more welcoming than the trees. The very sound of it had Shizuka sprinting toward the sound- the largest tree in the middle. There was a black-haired man standing there in a blue house-kimono, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. On his side, belted in, there was a long katana that he used for self-defense. His eyes were still the color of chocolate. His hair was still as black as hers. His skin was still a delicate shade of ivory.

"Kiku-kun!" she exclaimed as she ran all the way over and practically launched herself into his expectant arms.

The man chuckled softly as he held her closer to him and buried his face in the top of her hair.

"It's wonderful to see you again, my Sakura."

She sobbed into him happily, hugging tightly and nuzzling. He must have been the considerable source of heat she was drawn to earlier, she surmised, as she began to calm down.

'Stop trying to impersonate my Kiku! This heat is fake… This world is all fabricated! Where Kiku is… That is the real world!'

The sound of his heartbeat was even more reassuring than his physical form. It meant that blood was passing through his heart, through his veins, into his arms, legs, lungs, head- everything. It meant that he was alive, and passionately so.

"You have no idea how much I missed you..."

Kiku made an amused sound and smiled against the top of her head.

"I think I could fathom a guess."

They loosened their embrace in devout unison and stared at each other, relief swimming in the pools of their differently colored irises. In a slow, thoughtful motion, he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I missed you, too. More than you will ever know."

She lifted a teasing eyebrow and smiled. "I highly doubt that."

He chuckled and suddenly grabbed her hand. "Ikimashou. I have something to show you."

Giggling, she accepted the action and allowed herself to be pulled out of the forest and back to the place she'd woken up at. Only, now the sun was up, casting down many beautiful, visible rays of light onto the never-ending expanse of green and red fields. Tremendous white and grey clouds passed by overhead, but behind them was a calm baby-blue tinted sky.

In the approximate area of where she had been laying down, there sat all of their friends: There was Arthur, who was English, there were the Germans, Ludwig and Gilbert, there were the Italians, Lovino and Feliciano, there was Francis, who was French, there was Antonio, who was Spanish, there was Matthew, who was Canadian, there was Roderich, who was Austrian, there was Elizabeta, who was Hungarian, there was the soft-spoken Toris who was Lithuanian, there was Toris' best friend, Feliks, from Poland, there was Im Yong Soo, the Korean- and several others from different countries. Ivan, the Russian, was there as well. And he was calmly chatting with the others. And finally there were the only Americans among the group: Erica and Alfred. Soon-to-be-married, and close friends of both Shizuka and Kiku. But this time, they weren't the only ones with grins on their faces.

"Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos- your reality. I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge: the nightmare I built- my own world to escape." - Imaginary (Evanescence)

The meaning of the ending is up to the reader's discretion.

I'm not particularly proud of the last paragraph, but this was a project for Creative Writing and I couldn't think of another way to conclude my short story.

I don't speak Japanese. I used to be somewhat self-taught, but then life happened and school ruined my chance at actually learning things of my own accord. So, if I messed up on anything, please don't patronize me. I am merely an ignorant invalid, awkwardly shuffling my way through the world of anime and fanfiction.

I do not own Hetalia.

I do not own the songs quoted in my story.

Oh, and thank you for taking the time to read this!