"No Answer"

by Acey

Author's Note: Spoilers up to volume 18 of the manga. KatouxKira.

there were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away –bruce springsteen, "thunder road"

It's over. Fourth time running. Fifth? I dunno. The old guard dies but never surrenders, that was—that was—what one of Napoleon's crackhead generals said at Waterloo before they all got their asses kicked. And surrendered on top of that. You were the one that told me that story, when you were forcing me to study for World Lit. back last year. I said that general was a dumbass and you laughed and nodded. I told you nothing was really worth fighting for like that and you didn't laugh then, just got quiet and drained another can of beer. Set it down on top of your nightstand, then went back to going over the half of the test you'd managed to swipe from the teacher.

I shouldn't be remembering that now. It ought to be just like I told Setsuna—right now I shouldn't be remembering anything, but it's coming back in a headachey fog like I've crashed from a bad trip. I guess that means I'm dead for real this time. Dead completely. Blood's stopped dripping five minutes ago. Bet I don't look so good.

You, though? You look okay. Got on that stupid jacket and that green tank you bought last December. I told you it looked like imitation camouflage, said you looked better when you stuck to just wearing black. I meant it, too. You flipped me off in that bored way you had, but after that you did stick to black, 'cept for your jackets. Yeah, you look all right for a dead guy. Look all right now that you're not all in leather—now that your eyes are back to being that boring, washed-out blue instead of the cold gray I saw before.

So c'mere. C'mere, Kira. All the pretty girls you used to fool with are gone with the wind. Setsuna's not here either—you don't have to worry over him, not where we are. Alexiel's gone too, don't waste your breath asking or your brain thinking about her. And I know compared to them I'm a disappointment, but don't tell me that. Just c'mere, man, I'm all you've got now.

Stop staring with that expression on your face. Christ knows I hate that look, smug and all-knowing like the jerk that you always are. I hate it even more now that I know you don't know any more than anyone else, that you're as much a puppet on a string as the rest of us. You just put on a better show to start with—maybe the strings weren't as obvious—maybe it doesn't matter.

Yeah, there, now that's better. It isn't really a smile but it's as close as you'll come, I guess. Sit down. You've got a light, don't you? Sure you do. Wouldn't keep you around if you weren't prepared.

Don't have to sit that close. Don't act like a fag just 'cause that's what my screwed-up head wants. You don't kill a guy and then try to kiss him two days later. Even in a dream. It makes for bad ratings or some shit.

That's all this is, am I right, Kira? I made you up. I've gotten good at making things up lately, everything from my fingernails to my hair to the tattoo on my shoulder. I had to make them up, had to imagine them so I could exist the way I used to be. But you knew that, right? I told you, didn't I? Or—oh, hell, Kira, I might as well cut the crap, you don't know everything but you always knew what was going on with me. You probably knew my body was rotting before I so much as figured it out for myself. Could've told me. But I guess you had other crap on your mind, that whole time we were heading to heaven and—

About time you lit my cigarette and finally said something. Even if it is just what I want you to say, parroting it out in that hoarse voice of yours. I dunno how the chicks at the girls' school ever thought you sounded sexy when you talked. To me you sound like you're perpetually on the verge of a bad cold.

Oh, so beggars can't be choosers? Then keep talking. Keep talking until I run out of things for you to say. Then maybe what's left of my fucking hormones'll get the better of me and I'll lean my head against your shoulder. I'll think about it and I'll decide… decide if the girls and Setsuna and Alexiel are all gone, it's all right if I have you tilt your head forward and kiss me. Then I'll call you a fag and cuss you out, if the dream lasts that long. Death doesn't stop denial, man. You know that better than anybody.

But right now, just tell me how I've screwed up again, in that weird tone that states and doesn't judge exactly, that tone I still want to punch you for anyway. Tell me I'd better give you back that acid rock CD sometime this week 'cause it's actually your girlfriend's and she wants it back. Tell me I've got to pass Trig or else I'll regret it later.

Tell me it was worth it.

finis