Notes: One'd think Watanuki would grow tired of breaking the same heart over and over again.
Notes2: Katsumi = Doumeki's reincarnation. Oh, and just for funsies, Katsumi means "self-restraint" in Japanese.
One-Way Cycle
It was getting late. Katsumi sat alone on Watanuki's porch and watched the full moon throw sharp-edged shadows on the wooden planks of the floor. Beside him stood three bottles of sake, as empty as he. From inside the shop he could hear Watanuki and Mokona arguing stridently about what they should have for a midnight snack.
"Why are you making such a face?"
"I feel like I'm dying," Katsumi said, absentmindedly noticing that another shadow had added itself to the floor. It was of the same shape as his own.
Heavy laughter resounded. "You aren't dying," the shadow's owner replied, obscurely amused, and lit up a cigarette. "I would know."
Katsumi observed the smoke as it spread through the cold winter air without sense or direction. For a moment it almost looked like a rather large spider-web.
"You're just a dream."
More smoke, more laughter. "Dreams are everything."
"Dying isn't," Katsumi interjected, and tried to imagine what Watanuki might look like upon death. It didn't work. "A dream, I mean."
The laughter stopped, the cigarette was abruptly smashed to the ground. "Brat. Do what you want."
The shadow was gone.
Watanuki's winter kimono cut into Katsumi like a hundred daggers: into his knees, his back, his neck. The pain and the lingering heat from the wine made him dizzy, he had difficulty moving his legs. Watanuki was forced to drag him to bed, where he helped him peel out of his thick robes layer by layer.
It was a relief for both of them when he was finally naked. With great relish Katsumi sprawled out on his futon, his mind vapored by feverish delusions and the moonlight that spilled through the windows.
He wanted to tell Watanuki that he hated him before he left, but he said I love you to an empty room instead.