Explode
A/N: --italics-- are songlyrics.
--Can you see me now?--
--Can you see me now?--
The wind tousles your hair, not that it was ever tidy in the first place. You aren't wearing black, going against the tradition's unwritten laws. I've never asked why, but I expect it was because he never liked the color. Ironic, because besides from your trench coats and school uniforms, that's all you wear.
I used to wonder why you chose to wear such a dismal color.
But then I'd be asking myself the same question.
I rather like the style, but do you? Do you wear black because you know it makes you look even more opposing than usual...
...Or do you think it better fits your character?
You're the only person I ever knew of that could be so cold and so emotional at the same time.
After all, isn't it that the ones who show the least amount of emotion feel the most?
--All this weeping in the air--
--Who can tell where it will fall?--
--Through floating forests in the air--
--'Cross the rolling open sea--
--Blow a kiss, I run through air--
--Leave the past, find nowhere--
--Floating forests in the air--
--Clowns all around you--
It's been a year.
A year since it happened.
I wait a distance away as you kneel in front of the grave with your back to me, not caring you are getting your expensive white slacks soaked through with mud. It rained a few nights ago, but the ground is still soft. Many graves surround us. Some are adorned with flowers while others are decorated with statues of angels, the dull gray contrasting with the vivid green moss growing upon them. His grave is under a cherry tree. At his request, I suspect. The tree's trunk is a light alabaster, very close to the color of your paler than normal skin. When the blossoms bloom at springtime, the pink and reds will contrast with the alabaster and it will be beautiful, just like his spirit was. The sun blinds me for an instant and I gaze up at the sky. It is bright and blue, and nearby I hear a bird sing. I ignore it and concentrate on you instead.
You clench the purple irises in your palms and stare at the tombstone as if willing it to disappear. Your hands loosen their grip as I hear you swallow and open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You swallow a few more times and try again, but no words on this earth can express your sorrow.
I imagine you close your eyes at the sudden pain and you take a small, shuddering breath. I bite my lip as I watch your shoulders shake with dry and silent sobs.
You cried at his funeral. I hadn't been inside your car with you on the way to the cemetery, but when you stepped out your face had been dry. Then the sky that had been threatening to pour all day finally let loose its wrath. At that same instant you caught sight of the mahogany coffin. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
It seemed as if the sky was trying to weep with you, trying to match the sorrow in your heart and failing miserably. You trembled in the mud, but not from the freezing rain that was drenching us all. Your sobs were quiet, subdued. Unnatural, like they are now. I wanted to hear you cry. I needed to see you release your anguish and grief that I knew was ripping your heart into fragments. You needed to explode. No one could experience your loss and not scream in agony.
But you didn't.
Only soft strangled cries escaped from your lips as you tried in vain to keep them in. It was then that I realized you refused to explode.
You imploded and it destroyed your heart and soul. It's slightly ironic since you spent so much time piecing your heart back together after I had shattered it, only to destroy it yourself. You killed yourself. Whether it was on purpose or accident, I will never know.
Chalk it all up to the five long years that you experienced at the hands of the monster you were forced to call father. After I had finally seen what a psychopath your adoptive father was, I understand why you tried to forget the past that had scarred you so much. The same past you had created for yourself on account of the one person that meant everything to you. The same person that now lay in a small box packed neatly into a six deep hole in the dirt.
It was the first time anyone had seen Seto Kaiba cry.
And it was the last time.
--Clowns that only let you know--
--Where you let your senses go--
--Clowns all around you--
--It's a cross I need to bear--
You became a hermit after that. It took a while for you return to working at Kaiba Corp, but you still secluded yourself from everyone. You refused all phone calls and visitors that weren't strictly business related. You even stopped dueling. I guess it was too painful when you didn't have him cheering at your side.
He always cheered for you, even though he might have guessed the fate of the world was at stake if you had won. Even then, he still cheered for you.
It's been a year and it still kills you as much as it did the first day.
--All this black and cruel despair--
--This is an emergency--
--Don't you hide your eyes from me--
--Open them and see me now--
I remember when I first heard the news. Yugi and I had gotten concerned when he had told us that he would go with us to the arcade on Wednesday and never showed. On Wednesday night we called the mansion, but only got the machine.
On Thursday morning we received a call from you.
"He's dead," you whispered hoarsely to me.
You could only be talking about one person, the only person you considered important. The one constant in your life of chaos and demands. I was speechless, and who can blame me? He had seemed invincible, even to me.
You had always sounded cold, but now you sounded hollow and dead. Who could blame you?
"Hit and run accident. He died ten minutes after impact."
I could picture the blazing fire you hid behind frozen blue eyes go out with a puff of smoke.
You hung up without giving me a chance to unstick my throat and try to get my leaden tongue to move, to try and form some words of comfort.
It was then that I realized that words held no meaning for you.
Did they ever?
--Can you see me now?--
--Can you see me now?--
It's no wonder they don't.
From all the falsehoods you fed to your adoptive father...
All the insults you threw at us...
And all the half-truths you told us...
You never held words in high regard.
Only actions.
After all, words are easy to form.
Easy to use.
Easy to manipulate.
Actions and body language however are hard to read.
Hard to fake.
And the only language you can truly communicate in.
--Can you see?--
--Can you see?--
--See me here in the air--
--Not holding on to anywhere--
--But holding on so beware--
--I have secrets I won't share--
He was the one salvation in your life. The sparkling diamond to your black fire. After his death (Gods it hurts so much to even think that) you barely clung to reality. I'm not even sure if you do now. I tried to talk to you, you know that? I even offered my words to you at the funeral but you brushed them aside like an annoying fly. It angered me, but I didn't know you well enough then. I hadn't come to the conclusion I have now.
I thought I could pretend you were like everyone else. Despite that phone call on Thursday, I thought words could comfort you. I was wrong. You weren't even ready for actions then, and you hated words even more. Maybe even I wasn't ready then. I don't know if you're ready now. Are you ready to begin walking the path free of guilt? I've waited for so long for an answer, but I will continue to wait if you refuse my aid again.
You leave the irises at the grave and stand, not bothering to shake the mud off your pants. Turning, you stare straight into my eyes where I stand, just a few feet away.
You start to frown, but stop halfway, as if you've lost the energy. You take a hesitant step forward, your boots squelching in the mud, and slip.
You fall to your hands and knees and I can almost see a flash of fury in your eyes, but your tangled bangs hide the blue from the rest of the world.
I walk forward until I'm beside you and reach down, offering a hand.
You stare at it for a long moment, and then take it. I steadily clasp your hand in mine. A year ago, your hand would have been strong, firm. Now it is weak and trembles in my grasp. I give it a squeeze, and the shaking stops. You climb awkwardly out of the mud and sigh heavily, as if trying to expel a year's sorrow and pain that racks your body.
Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't. I can't tell.
I need to get the words out that failed me during that phone call. The words you were deaf to at the funeral. The words that have tortured me for a year as I watched you suffer in silence and waste away to almost nothing. I want to help you stand tall, Seto.
I want to help you come back to the light.
Your gaze pierces into my eyes and I am lost in the swirl of blue. You have an old man's eyes.
"I dreamed about him last night." Your voice is still hoarse, still empty, but not dead.
I give you a small smile. Perhaps you are right, and I am slightly wrong. Perhaps words aren't the best way to communicate after all.
But this situation calls for just one sentence. Sixteen words. Not the same words I tried to say to you at the funeral or on the phone. These come to me naturally as you grip my hand with your mud-covered palm as if I am your only lifeline in this world of chaos and destruction. Maybe I am.
"As long as we keep our loved ones alive in our hearts, they never truly die."
You close your eyes in sudden pain, and I place my free hand on your shoulder.
For the first time in a year, something other than rainwater trails down your face.
--See me here pushing you--
--If I then deny I do--
--Contemplate or wish away--
--If I ask you not to stay--
Maybe now you'll start to let go of your grief and travel down the path towards peace.
And if you do, I'll be by your side all the way.
I'll be your column for you to lean against. The hand for you to grasp whenever you falter.
We turn away from the grave and the tombstone with its haunting words.
Mokuba Kaiba. 1991-2005. The Dark Will Always Miss the Light.
When the cherry blossoms bloom in the spring, it will be beautiful.
I feel your arm lie heavily across my shoulders and give it another squeeze. You lean towards me slightly, finally ready to let me share your burden of grief. You are finally beginning to heal. All it took was a simple squeezing of your shoulders.
After all, actions speak louder than words.
--Clowns that only let you know--
--Where you let your senses go--
--Clowns all around you--
--It's a cross I need to bear--
--All this black and cruel despair--
--This is an emergency--
--Don't you hide your eyes from me--
--Open them and see me now--