A/N: I'm sorry, this is really, really short! But my editor, Morwen, said I should publish it. So here goes nothing.
Disclaimer: If I owned YnM, I would update it as quickly as possible. But I don't.
... please hurry up, Matsushita-sensei!
Better never to have met you
In my dream
Than to wake and reach
For hands that are not there.
-- Otomo No Yakamochi
A cold gust of wind blew through his room, and Oriya opened his eyes. His body felt like cement, but he turned ever so slowly to face the sliding door that lead to the garden.
The door was open, and standing in the threshold, before a back drop of falling snow, stood Muraki. His back was turned to Oriya. He was barefoot, and he wore a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, top buttons undone, not even tucked into the equally white pants . A cigarette dangled lazily between two long fingers.
"Muraki?" Oriya's tongue felt thick and heavy. Muraki turned, and the smallest of smiles curving across his lips.
"It's snowing, Cheya." he said, his voice soft and contemplative. "So beautiful..." Oriya blinked a few times, and the image faded into smoke. He sat up.
"Muraki!" he called out, racing for the open door. The garden was silent. Snow fell, blanketing everything in white.
No one there. So why did he smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke?
"Oriya-san, is everything alright?" A maid stood at the door to his room. Oriya turned slightly.
"It's nothing. Just a dream." The maid turned and left, shutting the door behind her quietly. Oriya held out a hand, watching soft snowflakes fall and melt on the warm skin. Then his eyes turned to the gray morning sky.
"Just... a dream..."