A/N: So instead of working on the second half of the second chapter of my other story, I wrote this. Sorry, but sad music compelled me. xDD
Warnings: Death, AU
Pairing: Implied ZxC
Disclaimer: I don't own. Never have, never will.
It was cold, and it sent a numbing message along his nerves, deep to his bones. The rain drenched his hair, darkening the color drastically and flattening it. He couldn't seem to bring himself to mind, not at all. His soul, no, monsters don't have souls, now do they?
A humorless smirk crossed pale lips.
No. They don't. The beast screamed in defiance in his chest, clawing it's way out, destroying his heart, his lungs. Why else would it hurt to breathe, to live? With every beat of his heart, he could feel the monster grow closer to the surface, roaring it's defiance. Anger, hate, rage, the flood of emotions swamped him. Beneath the stronger, red hot feelings, were others. Sorrow, depression, regret. Feelings that left a bitter taste on his tongue. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of the taste, it lingered, on the edges of his senses.
How ironic.
The bench beneath him was uncomfortable. The suit he was wearing would be ruined when it dried. His heart was shattered. Wrong, imperfect, ruined, shattered, broken. He was all that was left, left from a man who had once been whole. A man who had once been held in the arms of a lover, and held said lover in turn. He was all that was left behind.
Good God, he was pathetic.
The deep red rose was clasped loosely in his hand. It's thorns still intact on the emerald stem. The tiny things pressed warningly into his skin. They could and would harm him, if he put too much pressure on them. Regardless, his grip tightened, as his vision blurred. The hands, one now clasped over the other clenched into fists. As his eyes closed against the tears, the powerful man's head bowed. The thorns cut his hand, and blood dripped from the punctures.
The rain soon took it away, diluting it until it the liquid was clear again.
He was one of the world's most powerful men, at least, that's how he had spent his life. Untouchable, unbreakable, perfection in every sense. Now, if only that applied to his heart and life. Slowly, he raised his gaze to rest on the sight across from him, across the small road that meandered through the occupied fields. The ground was turned up, brown and wet, more like mud that dirt really. Upon the wet dirt, flowers decorated.
Red tinged white had never been uglier.
Carefully, he unclasped his hands, starring at the blood marred stem of the deep red rose. It was barely open, but oh so lovely. It would have been cherished. Carefully, so carefully, he stood, feeling far too tall. Careful steps, and he stood at the head of the, the resting place.
The grave.
He slowly bent, placing the flower on the top of the others, the only solid one amongst dual colored. It wasn't until a drop landed on his hand, that he would have written off as rain, except it had stopped raining. A tear. Slowly, he wiped his face, clearing away the tracks of the tears. There had been more than enough of those at the ceremony early that day. Far too many.
It wasn't fair.
The beast that had been screaming earlier, now whimpered, it's frustration and anger fueling the loss and hurt now, more than anything else. The hollow part of him, that had once been full and loved, echoed within him, threatening to let him collapse inwards, to let the tears spill over again.
This was his fault.
He'd been sick, and it was just like his friend to more or less tie him to the bed, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, like make the delivery in that storm. If he hadn't been sick, if he'd tried a little harder to persuade him that it could wait, perhaps it could have been avoided.
Then again, knowing him, it probably wouldn't of. He never could beg or pout quite like him.
The man turned from the grave, the final resting place. His car waited, he could see it, sleek and black, waiting for him. To drive home, to drive back to a place that would still hold the scent of his lover. To an empty place, that without two, seemed far too large. It would be just him and Bernard, from now on.
He still had friends.
True. He still had his friends, who stared at him with fathomless pity. Sad for his loss, but oh so grateful that it wasn't them. His footsteps rang on the wet pavement, and though the sun was shining now, and the sound of traffic was picking up.
Carefully, Cloud Strife, made his way back to the black car that he knew was waiting on him. He could see Tifa waiting for him, staring blankly in the driver's seat. She hadn't trusted him to drive that morning, and for that, he was both annoyed and grateful. What were friends for, after all?
He'd gotten a call, about the gravestones, and what he'd wanted his to say. He had neatly hung up on the poor person. After a moment of feeling foolish, he called back, and told them what he wanted it to say.
It made him ill, though, to know someone was profiting from such heart-ache.
Zackary Isaac Fair
A good friend, a devoted lover, and a beloved son.
There would be no date. No reminders of when it started and ended. Just the truth, simple as that, nothing more, nothing less. Besides, for now he was content to have other things fill his mind. The apartment, the cat, clothes, bedding, personal belongings.
It was starting to hurt to breath again.
For the second time that day, the man found himself with tears in his eyes, but for the first, he found a smaller, more delicate hand in his. Blinking he looked, the feeling of sorrow choking him, just as surely as the monster in his chest had.
Tifa just kept driving, but she squeezed his hand, tightly, her lips pressed into a line. Grief was natural. It was expected. Everyone went through it, which is why you never had to do it alone. The rain had cleared the skies, leaving a brilliant blue sky behind, and a rainbow that smiled at them.
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Wanna hurt something? Let me know or don't. Suggestions, comments, let me here 'em.
C.C.