Disclaimer: I don't own Kagerou Project. Surprise!
Author's Note: I wanted to pay tribute to Jin's masterpiece in the structure of this story. As such, it may appear disjointed, rapidly shifting between past and present. However, there is a clear underlying organization which should become evident to the reader. It's not perfect, but I hope that you enjoy it!
She thinks she smells flowers — daisies, drinking summer rain — drifting through the still of her little house; the perfume hits her like her mother's, sweet and present and just like that, she hurts. It's too cold in this summer haze. She wraps herself in her own arms and wishes for sun, for warm; a face in the window, a voice different from hers. (And tells herself: it's alright.)
It's sunny when he comes, the little boy in green, but his footsteps on the stairs tap and tap and tap like rain — urgent, rhythmic. His eyes shine like the dew, too brightly, and she hides her face. Red eyes. (It's alright, it's alright; she is beautiful and she is his, here where everything is pure and light and heat.)
"You're lonely." She is silent, yes, and white — the last fall of rain before summer breaks the spell. (He says it differently now, though — you'll never be lonely, Mary, never lonely — and she doesn't shield herself from him when he brushes through her silk-ribbon hair, because she is not afraid. He doesn't need to read her mind to know.)
When he doesn't leave, she peeks out from her fingers, little glances at the boy who smiles — who promises with his eyes. Eyes like summer. Eyes like spring.
(He braids daisies for her into long garlands, fashions them into forests of their own, white houses — can you see? I'm building forever for us. Only she looks more disheartened than he wishes she would — fingers the thick, fuzzy stems and sighs and sighs. Dreams sun and laughter, summer scented bright, and what a timeless world might bring.)
He thinks that he can hear her before she speaks, into the trees. Fearful, but her lips stay closed; so he says the words instead. Dazes her with his warmth — "I've found you. I'm here. I'm here at last."
Can you see? I'm building forever. I'm building forever, for us.
(She dazes him, too, with her eyes, with her mouth and hands and lovely songs; night fallen in thin-ticking seconds and she's there at his side, white limbs shaking. He touches the crown of her head with his lips, nose and brow and blushing cheeks, until the chills have passed. Until it's alright again; until she again is beautiful and she is his, here where everything is pure and light and warm.)
You're lonely. "Aren't you?"
(No, he says, no, no. Touches her gently, as though she might break, turn to smoke and ashes in his fingers. He leads her to the castle of daisies he's been constructing, kept secret by the forest. It's incomplete still, misshapen and a little sad, but beautiful like her. No, he says, and then can you see? Mary? I'm building forever — forever, for us.)
Tsukihiko. Tsukihiko, can you —?
(Only Mary looks like she did that day in the forest, lost, afraid — studies his gift with weary eyes. He looks to her face to puzzle out forever; only there's a piece missing, and perhaps he's wrong, but it may have been shaped like a flower, or snakes, or the sun. A voice calling out, like a haze — but it's alright, really. It's alright, because he is beautiful and he is hers, because forever is Seto and Seto is pure and light and warm.)
"You're lonely," he says to her, the little princess in the tower who shows him her face at last. "You're lonely" and "walk with me" and "I'll protect you" — though he says it with eyes, his gentle hands, and not his mouth. (I waited for you. I waited forever.)
"I'm sorry, mother," the girl named Mary whispers, just before she takes the young boy's hand — footsteps, staggered but sure, into the trees, toward her forever. "I'll come back, someday."
(What she says now, though, is I love you. And walks with Seto into the haze.)