Title: Requiem for a Dream

Genre: Anime

Series: X/1999

Pairing: Lightly implied S/S

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1515 (excluding author's notes).

Notes: I started this fic back in September or so, on a prompt from Alanna for a fic challenge that I never completed. (Gotta love the fact that my creative process takes forever to get through...) Nonetheless, seven months later, I've forgotten the lyrical prompt, and was struck with the urge to work on this during the car-ride to Chicago last night. And now, as I sit in the hotel, staring into a gunmetal grey horizon over skyscrapers and miles of interstate, I finish this fic, and offer it to you.

Also, I apologize for Subaru being out of character.

—Lynne (1 April, 2006)

With a percussion-like peal of thunder, the grey, threatening sky that covered Tokyo like a thick, impenetrable blanket erupted into a torrential deluge, dousing everything below it's expanse with water as the harried crowd of unprepared pedestrians increased their pace in an attempt to reach their various destinations faster, perhaps, than they would have, had the weather not become so ominous.

Lost, ghost-like and pallid amongst this sea of cynical businessmen and school-children, Sumeragi Subaru walked silently— invisible and insignificant to the people that happened to brush past him. He was soaking wet; his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his monochromatic clothing clung to his thin, lithe frame, as he moved through the crowd with an ethereal insubstantiality that made it difficult to discern whether or not he, too, had transversed into the realm of those trapped in limbo between this world and the next.

Reaching into the pockets of his sodden jacket, he retrieved a cigarette and brought it to his lips, regarding his surroundings with a sort of dull, listless expression as he brought his cigarette lighter to the end of his cigarette and lit it, watching the smoke waft lazily through the humid air. He reached into another pocket, pulling out a slip of paper with a hastily scrawled address written at the bottom, and peered at it indecisively, as if he weren't sure whether or not he were better off not traveling to his intended destination. His feet, however, made the decision for him as he turned off of the busy, crowded street into a well traveled and familiar alleyway.

He dodged past a few children who were busily taunting each-other in a game of tag; running circles around him in an effort to evade whomever of their friends were 'it'. They did not care about the fact that it was raining outside, they simply found it amusing to be running around, enjoying the respite from the often humid, sticky heat that was normal for this time of the summer.

He watched them, finding momentary amusement in watching the antics of the children at play, however, that amusement was quickly engulfed by a sort of bittersweet, choking nostalgia that none too gracefully reminded him of his own former naïveté; the guileless nature of which he'd been robbed through betrayal and sacrifice to a fate he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Don't let it capture you, he thought, allowing his gaze to wander slightly, falling upon a pair of girls who were playing side by side on a stoop, giggling over some private joke or the antics of the other children who were playing in the street, Allow yourselves the luxury of innocence. It disappears quickly and you won't realize that it's gone until it's too late.

Silently he trudged past them, leaving them to their game, focusing on the ambient noise around him as he walked. The twittering of birds in nearby alcoves, the shrill, loud noise of the busy street behind him, and the insistent, steady rhythm of his feet kept his mind busy and unfocused on his particular destination, and he walked as if some sort of force was pulling his legs for him, guiding his path as if he were a marionette; he was hardly paying attention to where he was going.

He eventually came to a set of high-rise apartments and looked between the building and the paper once again, water droplets sliding into his eyes and blurring his vision slightly as he squinted at the address. With a resigned sigh, he removed a small key from his pocket and slid it into the lock on the door, silently entering the building. The view that greeted him was exactly the same as it had been seven years earlier— when he had fled from it in a bind, seething rage, with only one thought running through his mind.

It was no longer that long dead urge that kept his limbs moving, his eyes open, and his broken mind from shattering.

He looked around the empty foyer, taking in the ambient noise of children screaming in glee somewhere on an upper floor, the smells of fresh food being cooked, and the sounds of televisions blaring through the various half-opened doors. He never thought he'd ever find himself back here. Not after...

Hokuto.

He sighed, traversing up long ago familiar flights of stairs and past room numbers that held no significance to him. Upon reaching the twelfth floor, he paused, grasping the railing. He stood for a moment, dripping water that collected in a puddle at his feet, looking as if he were deliberating whether or not to continue onward. With a look of resolve, he continued his trek by stepping onto the landing, and started walking toward a specific room. The door was blank— there was no welcome mat outside of it, no shoes lined up next to it. Just like the apartment next door.

This was hers.

He opened his palm and stared at the key for a moment, watching as the dull grey metal glinted in the wan light that issued from the fluorescent lamps overhead. Finally, he inserted the item into the lock, and turned the key, listening for a tell-tale click from the locking mechanism.

The door swung open, granting him access to a room that hadn't been touched or lived in for several years. There were still tell-tale items from the last occupant littering the space— the occasional ribbon, a container of sewing needles, and half-empty thread spools. They lay lined up against a table by a wall where a sewing machine still sat, dust covered and untouched. A cookie jar still remained on the bare kitchen counter, pans still sat on the stove, spice containers sat in their space on a spice rack, which was still decorated in its original girlish flare.

On the wall closest to Subaru, a number of post-it notes were attached either by their own adhesive or by thumbtacks, written in various colors of ink, with a familiar looping hand. Some looked like recipes, others like reminders of long passed events that had perhaps seen their outcome, or that had never come to pass at all.

Among this sea of notes and reminders, in the center lay a single picture— a group photo that Subaru had figured to be long lost. It featured the three of them, Hokuto wearing (for once) a simple white, halter sundress with embroidery of blue roses on it, smiling broadly as she hung on a much taller, dark haired man wearing a white dress shirt, slacks, tie, and sunglasses, who offered an equally beaming smile to the camera, and a much younger, much happier Subaru, who wore a pair of dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and his ever-present gloves, and offered the camera one of his rare, thin smiles.

Subaru reached for the old, yellowing photograph, removing it from its place among the sea of notes and recipes, and turned it over, staring at the writing scrawled in Hokuto's tiny, cramped handwriting.

"The three of us after a day shopping in Ginza! - September 3, 1992.

"Subaru—

I know you will eventually find this picture... but it will be after I am gone. I'm sorry... you have no idea how much I regret what I have done— what I have caused to happen. I know that there is no way that I can mend what has occurred, and I am sure that I am going to make things infinitely worse, however, I am doing the only thing I can for you by offering one last protection. I only wish that we could have all been happy— the three of us. I am sorry for any pain I have caused or will be about to cause, and remember that I love you very, very much. You mean the world to me, Subaru. I only wished for your happiness.

"You don't have to keep this photograph, because I'm sure it brings back some painful memories for you. However, if nothing, treat it as a memorial if you must. Both to us... and to happier times.

"Take care of yourself, little brother. That is my only request of you."

The note was signed in Hokuto's name, and there was a smudge across the last character, where the ink had been smeared by something. Subaru felt a tear involuntarily slide down his face. He wiped it away.

He walked toward the long unopened blinds, and reached for the cord to open them. Finally, he sat down on the floor, photograph in hand, and his downcast eyes looked upward onto the horizon, onto which the sun was currently setting, bathing everything in a hazy, orange glow. A pair of mismatched eyes— one a dull green, the other an odd honeyed gold, slid shut, and their owner curled into a ball, and cried, finally allowing himself to grieve for the girl who had given her life in exchange for his, his betrayed innocence, and for the man who had been the cause of it all.

"I... you..."

Finis

Completed – 1 April, 2006, 9:29 a.m.