I really don't know why I kept it. I wasn't thinking about it. It just sort of happened. He cut it and it fell, and on our way out of the inn, I picked it up, cradled it in my hands, and placed into my pocket near my heart.
And so when he died, I had to bury it with him. I had to let go, and carrying such a tangible piece of him around with me would not help that.
Why had I picked it up? Why had I carried it around? I still remember thinking at the time that it was important that I have it... I wanted to touch it, to know a part of him, to keep something hidden inside myself that I couldn't tell him.
I remember the feel of it. The separate strands of hair were so fine, so soft, so delicate, just like he was. It was so long. I remember that it had drifted below his hips and wondered how it must have looked when it was loose on him. How often had thoughts like those crossed my mind? At one time, I would have said too often, but now I wish I had done something about them.
I lower my hand and place the flower on his grave silently.
Chichiri will be coming soon. He knows where I am.
I was too much of a coward to do anything. I knew what I felt, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise, but to risk telling my feelings like that was too difficult for me. It would have left me exposed, vulnerable, naked.
It's so obvious to me now. Clearly and painfully obvious, but I was too selfish to tell him how I felt. Kouji would have smacked me and thrown me out in the snow to tell him. He could always read me so well. I wish he had been there and then I could have been at Mount Black with him and maybe he wouldn't have died.
I guess part of me will always blame myself. If only I had been faster, if only I had been stronger, if only I had been there, if only I had told him... Maybe... maybe...
I love him. There's no denying that.
And maybe he could have loved me back.
I remember a time, right before he died, that night that we stayed at the little inn at Toran. I was outside, watching the snow, and he came out too. It was cold that night, but I've always been a warm person. He was shivering, his slender, delicate form quivering beneath the night stars. Silently, without a single word, I moved over to him and put an arm around his small shoulders. I expected him to move away immediately, but he didn't. For a long moment, he just stood there, not moving, not reacting to me at all. I could smell his scent, the light, pleasant fragrance of flowers and sunshine that he carried with him everywhere. I shut my eyes, breathing that in, feeling his body slowly cease shaking as it stood against mine, for some reason desperately trying to memorize every sensation he gave me. And then suddenly, of his own accord, he moved his head and rested it against me. I could see the snow in his hair as I looked down at him, my eyes wide with surprise, but I for once did not miss my opportunity. I leaned my head on his, feeling the cold of the snow and the warmth of his hair against my cheek. Again I shut my eyes, savoring the moment. He was the perfect height and I was so comfortable, and he kept away the chill from me as I'm sure I did for him. I'm not sure how long we would have stood there had Tamahome not come out to get us. I moved away from him guiltily, not wanting to lose his touch. He gave me a smile, his gentle one, and turned back to the inn. I found I had a hard time meeting his eyes. He must have viewed it as a kindness to a friend. How could he know I wanted more?
I hear footsteps behind me. That must be Chichiri.
How was I to know that that time was the last time that I would touch him alive? The next time I touched him he was still warm, but he was no longer breathing.
Had I known, I would have told him then.
His braid smelled the same as he did, I remember. I can recall lifting it to my nose and just breathing, trying to imbibe some of him, to have something of him inside me, so he could be part of me. I've never had regrets this strong before.
I feel a hand on my back. "Are you all right no da?" Chichiri asks me.
I nod mutely. What should I say? I can't tell him my pain. I caused it myself. It's my own fault, and yet I want to blame everyone else. Really it was my pride that was my downfall. I was too ashamed to tell him that I cared for him because I was afraid of what everyone else would think.
He had been so strong always. I could almost blame it on him too, in a way, when I am in one of my angrier and more hurt moods, when I see lovers walking together down the street, their mutual joy apparent. He loved Hotohori. Who was I to intrude on that? But he had been true to his feelings, despite the fact that they were both men. Why couldn't I have been more like him?
Chichiri kneels beside me, folding his hands in the prayer for the dead. I shut my eyes tightly. I hate seeing his pain. He's suffered too much. Everything always hurts too much.
I hear him shift his weight and turn to look at me, so I open my eyes. He is sitting across from me, from the graves, regarding me with a solemn expression. I try to crack a grin and keep my voice steady, but my voice is more honest than my words and fails me. "Na, Chichiri..." I have to stop. What had I been going to say? What is there that I can say?
He is still looking at me like that. "You know," he starts, and his voice is surprisingly gentle, "he really cared deeply for you as well no da."
I jerk my eyes to him, a little stunned and a little hurt. How could he know my feelings? Was I that obvious? And if so, why hadn't Nuriko ever said anything to me? And if he cared about me... I halt my thoughts there quickly and return his gaze. "Aa. He was a good friend."
He just keeps looking at me, though his eyes are a little more upset now. He does know. I can see it on his face. "Tasuki... you know what I mean no da."
Of course I do, but can I admit that to him? I look back at him, then lower my eyes to look at the mask he holds in his hands. He knows that I know. It's pointless to lie. So I don't. I raise my eyes to his again. "Aa," I say simply.
He sighs softly, looking away from me. I drop my gaze as well. My hands touch the soft dirt of his grave, longing. I want to touch him again, want to talk with him, to see his bright eyes glowing with his sweet smile, to laugh with him again...
But more than that... I want to hold him in my arms, to protect him from everything, to kiss him gently. I want to be able to tell him that I love him and to hear his soft voice saying the same back to me. I want to see him laugh at something I say and to wake up beside him each morning. I want to feel his lips seeking mine, his hand searching for my hand, his head on my chest, to feel him in my embrace. I want everything about him... but if he didn't want me, then it didn't matter. What I want most is for him to be happy.
But he's dead and I can't do anything. I never told him.
He continues in his soft gentle voice. "Tasuki... I meant he cared for you more than friendship no da."
I jerk my eyes up again. What? Had he been referring to Nuriko earlier and not me? I suck in my breath sharply. It was impossible. He loved Hotohori, not me. It couldn't be.
He still speaks. "He never told you because he was afraid how you would react no da. He was afraid you would shun him no da."
I freeze completely. No... no... it was impossible... he had loved Hotohori... A muffled sob escapes my throat. "Oh, gods..."
Chichiri moves over to me and touches my shoulder gently again. "It's all right no da. Only you and I know. No one else does no da." Chichiri didn't know. He didn't know how I felt.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears that I did not ask for. "Oh, gods..." I repeat blindly, pain raw in my voice. "Shit, Nuriko..." I turn to the grave, tears spilling down my cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chichiri draw back, away, letting me have a moment to myself, yet there if I need him. I am grateful, but that emotion is quickly swept away by the burst of pain that clutches at my chest. I'm suddenly on my hands and knees in front of his grave, my tears devoured by the dirt that covers it, leaving dark spots where they had fallen. "Fuck it all..."
I think I vaguely hear Chichiri leave, but I'm not sure. I wonder in some remote corner of my mind why he had to tell me that. He would have said yes. He would have said yes.
We had always been close, but never close enough, I guess, for him to tell me or for me to tell him. I can remember one time as we were traveling along the road and it was so quiet. And so suddenly, he lifted up his sweet voice in song, trying to teach us all something he remembered from when he was young. I had the worst time remembering all the words, and he found that so amusing. He pulled his horse beside mine and slowly tried to teach me every line, laughing at me gently when I made a mistake and then showing me what was right. He had such a beautiful singing voice. He was so talented in so many ways, and it's all, all gone now.
Agony is searing my eyes and I realize I'm sobbing. I wonder if Chichiri knows what he has done. By not telling him that I cared for him, I condemned us both to loneliness and pain and him to death. He couldn't tell me- he couldn't know that I would be able to love another man like that. Oh, Nuriko...
I never even knew his real name. I didn't know about his past. I still don't, though I'm sure Miaka and Tamahome must know something. I never got to hold him in my arms. I never got to see him with his hair loose and long. I never got to whisper to him and tell him that I love him.
And I never will be able to. He's dead.
I remember the only other time that I cried so hard was when he died, sobbing until I could do so no longer, and I stilled into dead, empty, soundless tears. That was when I realized the full extent of my feelings, when I understood why I had needed to touch his braid. There was never a time that I wanted to die more than then.
Tasuki no baka, I cry to myself, my mind screaming at me louder than any sound ever could. I can picture his face so clearly, his eyes smiling at me, his little mole not an imperfection but instead a distinction, his hair falling around his face, most of it twisted back into that tight braid. I feel so helpless, so much like a child. I have lost everything, it feels like. My head is buried in my arms. "Nuriko, Nuriko, I love you..." I'm babbling to nothing, but it's so unclear because of the sobs.
Everything is tearing at me; it's too late, it's too late, it's too late... He loved me, and I love him, and neither of us ever knew and now neither of us can do anything. Maybe that was why he had leaned his head against me that time. Maybe it wasn't just from the cold. Maybe he had been trying to tell me then, but oh, I had been trying to tell him too. And we were both so afraid that we never stretched our hands out far enough, never quite reached each other, and now never would.
I can hear him laughing in my memory. Everything hurts too much right now. Maybe someday I'll be able to think of him without tears, but this love now is too strong. Someday, I'll die too and I'll see him again, but how long will it be? How long until I see his smile, till I can hold him, till I can finally tell him how I feel?
I'm sure Chichiri is worried about me. He's kind. I'll leave soon.
Several long minutes have passed, perhaps even a half hour. My tears are slowing, but I know that no matter how long I live, they will never stop. I'm finally calm enough to sit up.
I press my fingers to my lips and touch the stone with that hand. I'm making a promise. I'll live as he would want me to always. My face is stained and my eyes are still clouded with tears. But it's a start.
"Nuriko, I love you," I whisper to the wind, my voice shaking.
I only ever kissed him once. He was upset about Hotohori after Tamahome had forgotten himself and his love. Miaka had agreed to try to love the emperor, which destroyed any chance that Nuriko might have had. I could see the pain in his eyes that night, and crippled though I was, I went to him, intending to do what good I could. I sat beside him on his bed and he didn't even look at me. I saw the hurt in his eyes of his hopes completely shattered, destroyed. I slowly pulled him to my battered chest and then he suddenly broke into sobs, clinging to me like a small child would to his mother. We stayed that way for a long time. I murmured soothing nothings into his soft violet hair, trying to comfort him as best as I could. When his tears had mostly subsided, I had stood up weakly, leaning heavily on the staff I had borrowed to walk with. I leaned forward to his tear-streaked face and lightly kissed his forehead, as a brother might do to a sister or a younger brother, and then had left silently. At that time, I had not realized my feelings, but knew that there was something about him that I needed.
I'll come back. I always do. I'll always love him as well.
Touching his bracelet that I keep in my pocket, I slowly stand up and move away from the grave. He'll always be with me, no matter how much it hurts. Maybe Tamahome and Miaka will come back soon and tell me more about him. But until then, I'll be strong like he was and I'll wait for him.
I step to the side, intent on finding Chichiri and telling him everything.
The flower I brought rests on the grave of my silent love as I walk quietly
away.