Dedication: For Black Maya's birthday. She's one of the best people I've met; she's sweet and nice and kind and cute and funny and cheerful and yeah. She never fails to cheer me up, and she's so supportive of me and my writing… career(?) I miss her a lot and I love her so much. Read her stories and greet her a happy birthday, too, alright?
A/N: I suck at first person PoV. So yes, sorry.
Disclaimer: Nah.
The last time I saw Kaname was when he was being lowered into his final resting place. In other words, I last saw him when he was about to be buried. It was heartbreaking, you know, seeing one of the most important people in your life lowered some feet beneath the ground. But, with all due honesty, that wasn't the hardest thing to accept that day. It was then that I came in terms with the truth that I was hopelessly in love with him.
And that was a secret that died with him—a secret that had been buried with him and the casket. It was also a secret, however, that remained alive in my chest.
One year, four months, three days… and something is different.
It was unexplainable, how I just knew that something was to happen that day. Upon waking up, nothing had been out of place; the pack of cigarettes was exactly where I left it, the pair of jeans I wore yesterday was lying in front of the television, the shirt was under the bed, my phone was under my pillow, Kaname's picture was on the bedside ta—shit, it's not on the bedside table.
I could have upturned every single furniture in the room at that exact moment, because fuck; Kaname's picture was literally the most important thing I had in that room. I would give everything I had if it meant I would get that back.
It was the only memory of him I could cling onto. I couldn't lose that. Not even when my life depended on it.
The point being, I could have, but I didn't. Because at that exact moment, somebody spoke.
Under normal circumstances, I would have turned around and punched whoever it was, hard. I would have… if it weren't a voice I knew so well.
"Good morning, Tsubasa."
Well, no shit. Kaname was dead exactly a year and four months and three days ago, and he wouldn't come back. As much as I wished, he wouldn't. So I say, Tsubasa Andou, wake up. Wake the fuck up because dreams like this that make you hope and make you want to stay asleep forever are bull. You cannot die by not waking up, bloody hell. You deserve a more glorious death than that.
But being the badass person I was, I did not listen to that little rational part of my brain.
"Ka-Kana…me?"
He smiled. That was the smile I missed for so long.
"Who else can I be? Good morning, Tsubasa."
"Good… morning? I am not dreaming, am I? Right? You're here, aren't you?"
"I am, most definitely."
He started to walk around the room, trying to pick up wrappers and clothes lying around to put them on their proper places. But then, he was unable to do anything, as his hands went through everything he tried to put them on. "Really, Tsubasa. How were you able to live like this?" He reached the place where I put empty cans of beer and packets of cigarettes, and frowned. "I didn't know you smoked nor drank," he said.
When the reality of what had been happening finally sunk in, I was frozen for a moment. Fear was then replaced by missing, by familiarity, and eventually, by the feeling of betrayal.
"Good Lord, this cannot be happening. Are you a figment of my imagination, are you a ghost, or are you Kaname, real and alive, having faked your death all this time?"
"Please be alive," said a voice.
It took a while to realize it was mine.
"As much as I want to be alive and spend the day—the days, rather—with you, I am not. But I came for a visit. Is that not allowed?"
"That's… well, unexpected. I have a ghost for a visitor, how fun!"
"Would you rather I left?" Hurt was evident in his voice, and I did not miss that. How could I miss that?
"Kaname, I forgot how much of a girl you are. Can Misaki and the others come over?"
"That's more like the Tsubasa I used to know. And well, no. I happen to be visible only to you."
"Why is that?"
"I don't know."
"Oh."
Minutes passed by in silence. Again. I mean, what's up with that? I missed him a lot and he doesn't talk? He busied himself around my room, and like, hell, he's been here literally all his life.
"Hey Tsubasa."
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"No. Not hungry. Why don't we… talk? And don't act like a random stranger; sit where you used to sit before. This feels so off, you know? I have to get used to this."
He scooted over to my side and sat a few centimeters more than normal. That didn't go unnoticed, and maybe it was because I was hurt or I was being melodramatic that I frowned. A little. He asked me what was wrong and that bridged the gap between us.
What felt different, though, was that it wasn't cold. The bed wasn't cold, like it was before. He wasn't human to give off body heat or whatever it was called in Biology, but I felt fine. And alive.
By dinner time, I was positively crept out. I appreciated that he was there by my side—because, you know, I never felt that happy and all that crap—but there was something off. Like, a year had passed. One freaking year. So why, why in the name of every nameable thing in the world, did I have those weird urges to hug him? Or, you know, pull him close and just lay with him on bed, not caring about reality at all.
It felt too good to be true. And that sucked as fuck.
If it was a dream I'd rather stay asleep.
But of course, I couldn't.
"Hey, Tsubasa."
"Yes?"
"Do you remember how we first met?"
"Yeah. In the hospital. We were seven."
"I remember things… flashes, all those things. I can't recall it completely, though."
"Oh."
Well, that was a little tragic. It made me feel lonely, somehow. God, I'm being emotional. What's up with that?
"Don't be angry. It's hard to just wander on Earth for a year, you know."
"Why did you wander, anyway? I thought there were heaven and hell and purgatory? You know, those stuff? I thought the concept of afterlife was real? If so, why haven't you brought your ass to heaven?"
"There are… requirements for us to go to wherever we're supposed to go. I haven't met those yet."
"What?! How's that possible? You're, y'know, literally a saint."
"Not my fault."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Proceed with the story?"
"Right. So you were seven when you were diagnosed with cancer. It wasn't that severe, thank goodness, but it was cancer nonetheless. By that time… I was in the hospital for my dad. He, um, died of a liver disease. Anyway, I was crying back then. I wasn't familiar with the concept of death, but my mother said while crying, and take note I could not bear to see my mom crying, 'Daddy's gone. He went to this place where he'll always be happy, but it will be a while before we go there, okay, sweetie?' and I just cried because the notion of not seeing my dad was sad. It was unimaginable. I mean, you know—uh, used to know—how much I looked up to my big ol' man; I often told you stories about him, now that I look back. And that was then that I met you. You were sitting alone on this bench near the playground, and I was crying while walking and I looked pathetic—but handsome—but yes, pathetic. And we talked, you cried to me, you cried for me, and I did the same to you."
"I… I'm so sorry I cannot remember it. There were flashes while you were telling me, but… I don't know. I'm so sorry."
"Nah, it's fine. Not your fault. Why did you come here, though? Why to me?"
"You're my best friend, aren't you? Of course you'll be the one I'll go to."
Best friend, huh? If only you knew.
"Yeah. It's nice to have you around, bro."
A week had passed and never had I felt happier and more alive. We would reminisce past moments together—in which I was the one who did all the talking, but it was fine by me—we'd play like we usually did, we'd bicker about the little things, he'd scold me, he'd make me change my ways, we'd try to see if he would be able to touch me.
He'd sleep on that used-to-be-empty side of the bed, and quite frankly, nothing could compare to the warmth when it was him by my side.
There was this stupid saying, "If it's too good to be true, then it probably is." I think that's bullshit. I mean, look at me. A week had passed, and no crap had happened so far. Things were going smoothly, and it was as if he were alive.
I wished he were alive.
But that would do. As long as I was with him, that would do.
That night, however, he decided to talk to me about his… ghost-ness again.
"Hey, Tsubasa. I have something to tell you."
Well, that wasn't the best conversation starter, I must say. My heartbeat could literally be heard. I tried to stop it, but then I couldn't. Stupid involuntary muscles or whatever shit they're called.
"Yeah? What is it? You're hopelessly and irrevocably in love with me?"
Well, a question about his feelings disguised as a joke wouldn't hurt, right?
"Uh, what? Seriously, Tsubasa. I'm trying to be serious."
"That sounded weird."
"Yeah. So anyway, I… have to leave."
"Leave what? Leave when? Leave how?"
"I… went to you, of all people, because you're the reason I—as you so wonderfully put it—haven't brought my ass to heaven, hell, purgatory, or wherever."
"… What?"
"I'm a spirit. You know that. I know that as well. It's just that... I cannot depart from this world until someone remains unable to accept my death. In this case, you're the only one, Tsubasa. Everyone else has accepted the fact that I died, that I lost in my heroic struggle against cancer. Even my family has accepted that. Why can't you?"
"Well, you know, I'm so sorry if I'm this stupid guy who happened to be unable to accept his best friend's death. It isn't fair! Nothing was ever fair, but why you? Why me? Why do I always lose the people I love?! It's not my fault I cannot accept that! It's not… fuck, it's not my fault I happened to realize that I have been in love with my best friend who, for the record, is a guy, when he fucking died!"
"You're joking."
"I'm not. You're asking me why I can't accept your death, and I'm answering your question."
"That's… how is that even possible? All this time, I thought it was Misaki."
"I'm stupid, but I'm not that much of an idiot. Is it normal for a guy to be in love with a guy? No. I thought it was nothing at first. But maybe I was scared, somehow, that I unconsciously distanced myself from you and tried to divert my attention to someone else."
I don't know why, but I felt like laughing. And crying. I said that secret I'd kept to myself for so long. And he said, "You're joking." God, when did I become so pathetic?
"If I may say something, though…"
"What, Kaname? You have a gay best friend. Want to go to heaven now?"
"Oh, shut up, Tsubasa, and let me talk. I… when my spirit wandered after I died, I met this man—er, spirit. He said his name was Misaki, and that he's been a wandering soul for seven years. I was surprised, because I didn't know that was possible, so I asked him why. He said something like, 'When we die with regrets—we all do, but when said regret is something that your heart deeply desires—we are never able to advance to the second life. Well, unless we become able to do whatever it is that we wanted to do.'"
If this is where I'm thinking it's heading, well, ain't I lucky?
"So?"
"What I'm saying, Tsubasa, is that maybe… you are the reason why I cannot go to the afterlife. Maybe because you haven't really accepted it, or maybe because I wasn't able to tell you that I loved you, too."
You'd think I was overreacting, but my mind literally went blank. I wanted to scream and shout and hug him and well, kiss him, but my mind was blank.
"…"
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"I don't know what to say."
"Come here."
As I was walking towards him, I noticed that he was slowly disappearing.
"Kaname, no. You're disappearing slowly. Fuck, not now. Goddamit, not now."
"I told you, you were the reason. Not because you haven't accepted it, but because I wasn't able to confess. But I did, so…" He smiled. He. Fucking. Smiled. "Thank you, Tsubasa."
I reached that point where he was, and his half his body—the lower part—had disappeared already. I knew there was nothing to do, so I made one, final request.
"At least say goodbye properly. Please."
"Yeah. Thank you, for everything. Live properly, alright? Put your clothes on their proper places. Throw the wrappers into the bins. Smile. Stop drinking and smoking. And do believe me when I say I loved you. I mean, I love you."
He leaned forward and closed his eyes. I closed mine, too, and waited for his lips to land on mine.
Needless to say, they never came.
Nonetheless, I smiled.
"Yeah, Kaname. I love you, too."
END