Rating: T (yaoi, drug use)

Disclaimer: Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo. I do not use its characters, settings and/or events for any profitable purpose.

Les Petites Morts

I. Rose

I guess it's a story that has played out a million times: small-town boy goes to big city and comes to some tragic end.

He didn't stand a chance, really, with the upbringing he'd had. He grew up in Ogden, Utah, in one of those creepy Mormon enclaves that you read about once in a while. I don't think his family was strictly religious, it was more like they had all of the oppression with none of the morality. His father was a doctor who catted around with every woman in town and fed his mom drugs so she wouldn't get worked up about it. Downers and painkillers, mostly. That's how Rose started out - raiding his mother's stash.

But when they caught him fooling around with some boy he went to school with, they were quick to throw him out of the house with nothing but a habit to support. Because God hates fags and all. The hypocritical motherfuckers.

Rose was just a doe-eyed, innocent kid, way too handsome for his own good, so by the time he'd hitchhiked out here he was strung out on smack and was old hat at selling his body.

I met him at a party at some girl's band's house. It was nothing but a bunch of nodded-out kids and Rose, out on the fire escape playing the guitar. Classical guitar. I don't know where he'd learned it - maybe he played in church or something. His skin was pale and fragile from all the drugs and his hair was dull and tangled, but still he looked like one of those paintings of blonde angels in church frescoes. Absolutely beautiful.

So, we hooked up. I had some money, and he needed a place, so it worked out all right. The sex was incredible. He was sensual by nature, quiet and composed, and talented as hell. I guess he'd had a lot of practice since he'd left home. The really amazing thing was when I let him top. He turned into a whole different person then - shouting and romping about, and his orgasms were joyful, like a celebration. Like for a moment, he was free.

It didn't last of course. The junk ate him up, just like it did everyone else. He told me once that he couldn't bear what he had become and didn't remember who he used to be. That was a bad night.

So, I wasn't really surprised the night I came home and found he'd shot up a dime's worth. I thought he was already gone, but he actually opened his eyes and looked at me for a little while. He didn't say anything. Just smiled, while his heart slowed gradually to a stop.

His family didn't even acknowledge his death. He was into some of that Eastern religious stuff, like Zen and what not, so they probably considered him a heretic as well as a sodomite.

I don't know. I guess I miss him and all. He was such a good kid. Deserved better. I don't really believe all that jazz about the afterlife and stuff. But, anything's possible, so if it turns out there really is some kind of life after death—

I really hope he found a better one on the other side.

Rōjūrō Ōtoribashi (Roger "Rose" Doherty)

died AD 1969 San Francisco, California
born NE 3565 Rukongai