Tamaki is nine when he sees him for the first – a shadowy figure draped in a cloak made of stars.
Thanatos
| early this morning, when you knocked upon my door |
.
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Tamaki is nine when he sees him for the first – a shadowy figure draped in a cloak made of stars.
It sits under his mother's window, in the garden where the flowers are dying with the coming frost of winter, dull grey now instead of colourful hues.
Tamaki may be a child, but he knows this – his mother cannot play with him outside, that's what the maid says. She has a weak constitution, the men dressed in white tell him, she can't handle the heat or the cold, she can't exhaust herself, can't catch a ball or chase after him while he runs and laughs.
He's alone outside, has slipped past the maids and butlers or, at least, what is left of them. There are less and less people in the house nowadays, less people to play with. He doesn't tell his mother how lonely he is.
He finds him there, a shadowy figure draped in a cloak made of stars seated on the bench under his mother's window, dead flowers at his feet.
Tamaki is curious child and will grow up to be a curious adult, at least, that's what his teacher tell him, but curiosity also killed the cat. But cats aren't quite as intelligent as humans, he would argue, but he knows better than to argue with grownups.
He tries to be quiet as he makes his way towards the stranger. Even from a distance, he can tell it's a man, a heap of unkept black hair, thick and full, a round a face, eyebrows that match the hair.
As he moves closer, Tamaki has to blink. The cloak made of stars shines brightly, too brightly. It looks to be carved out of the sky, red and blues creating deep purples, specks of light shining even brighter the more he looks at it.
He hides behind a tree and peeks from behind the trunk. The man doesn't move, a calm air spreads from him.
The child examines him careful and thinks that maybe man is too stern for someone with such a young face.
He's older than Tamaki, but not as old as his mother. There's dimples in his cheeks and no wrinkles on his face. But what startles Tamaki is the eyes, green and vibrant, priceless emeralds that glisten when the light catches in them.
"You can come out, you know." Tamaki startles at the voice. It's soft, but boyish, comforting even. "I won't hurt you." The nine year old believes him.
He's never been shy, not even when he was younger and he comes from behind the tree slowly, the dying sun creating shadows when he moves. The strangers appears to glow and Tamaki, who has read one too many fairy tale book is enticed and pulled forward.
"Are you an angel?" He asks, French and Japanese mixing themselves together to create an incoherent sentence. But the stranger seems to understand and blinks curiously at him before the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.
"No, nothing quite so biblical." He answers, obvious amusement in his words.
Tamaki thinks that even if he isn't one, he could certainly shame them. There's a halo of light that surrounds him and makes the cloak around his shoulder ephemeral, as if he could disappear at any moment.
He is however, distracted from the stranger when he catches movements in the upstairs window. He knows his mother is resting in bed and isn't the one moving about, probably a doctor or a maid, there are always in his mother's room these days, visitors at all hours of the day.
Something in Tamaki's posture softens, an angel is seated under his mother's window.
"Are you here to see my mother?" He asks, a strand of blonde hair falling in front of his eyes, clouding his vision.
"I am." He tells him with a nod.
"Are you here to heal her?" At the strangers blanks stare, Tamaki continues on. "She's been ill. She has a weak constitution, that's why she can't play with me outside. But she teaches me the piano every afternoon if she's well enough." And, most days, she is, but sometimes he comes home and he can't see her.
"Not… exactly." Hesitation, a pause.
"Then why are you here?" He inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side so he can see him better.
There's an uncomfortable shuffle, the cloak mirroring the last few sun rays.
"I am here to take your mother away." He tells him.
"Can I come with her?" Childish, but he doesn't want to leave his mother's side.
"No." The angel inclines his head forward to emphasize his answer and Tamaki keeps himself from pouting. "It's not your time yet."
Cold realization spreads in Tamaki's bones and makes him shudder. The stranger's tone isn't as comforting anymore, but maybe it never was to begin with. Those green eyes that shine like emeralds seem kind, but with closer inspection, they are cold like stone.
"But you can't!" He exclaims loudly. "She'll be better, she told me so herself. She said we'd play outside together in the spring." And his mother wouldn't lie to him, she wouldn't.
"I'm sorry." And he does seem sorry, but sorry won't make it better.
"Take me instead." He tells the stranger. "Take me."
"Don't you think that would make her sad?" Tamaki shivers at the soft of the question.
He doesn't want to make his mother sad, but he's stubborn.
"Please don't take her. Please, I beg you." He feels water slipping down his cheeks. "I'll do anything, please, leave her with me. I have no one else."
"Don't cry…" He starts out, standing up.
"Give me time. That's all I need." He sniffles back tears. "A few more years, I'll find a cure. I'll make her better. Please don't take my mother away. Not yet."
Tears pool around his chin and stain his shirt. He cries like he's never cried before and begs whenever he opens his mouth. He'll fix his mother, he'll find a way. He's too young now, too helpless, but in a few more years he'll be ready.
That's all he needs, a few more years.
Warmth spreads through him suddenly. He feels a hand on his arm and the stranger, who had been sitting previously, is now crouched in front of him.
"I know what it feels like, to have someone stolen away from you." And Tamaki believes him, something about the certainty in his words, something in them forces him to believe it.
"It hurts." Tamaki manages to croak out.
"It does and the pain never truly disappears. It dulls, it can be forgotten, but never entirely." The stranger thumb rubs soothing circles on his skin.
"Please…" He needs to convince him. "Just a few more years."
The stranger considers him for a second and sighs. He stands up, brushing the cloak behind him with a motion of his hand and Tamaki knows with certainty that the stars that adorn the fabric have moved, dimmed.
"Let's make a deal." He tells him, a glint in his eyes. Tamaki listens to him with rapt attention, pulled away from self-loathing for just a second. "I'll leave you until your eighteenth birthday."
Nine years, nine years to find a cure, to make his mother better. Nine years is nothing, he still has years before he can even attempt anything, but Tamaki has a feeling that asking for more would cause more harm than good.
He'll take whatever he can get and holds up a shaky hand towards the stranger.
"Deal." He wants to make himself seem more mature than he is and the stranger raises an eyebrow before taking his hand in his own. They shake once, twice.
And, with a finality that is overly theatrical, the stranger disappears and leaves him in the garden with his hand held out, as if he'd never been there in the first place and Tamaki had hallucinated the whole ordeal.
"Young Master!" Tamaki blinks at the voice, one of the maids running towards him. "Young Master, I've been looking everywhere for you. Your mother wants to see you."
Tamaki stares at her, the heat gone and leaving him cold and worn out, but his mother calls. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and offers a smile to the woman who stares at him, confused.
"Young Master… have you been crying? Is everything alright? Have you hurt yourself?"
Tamaki shakes his hand and tells her he's fine. She obviously doesn't believe him, but knows better than to press and instead accompanies him towards the main house.
Before he enters, Tamaki turns his head back to look at the spot where the stranger had been.
There is nothing there anymore.
a/n : Now, I know, should I really be starting another story when I have seven ongoing stories at the moment? No, not at all. But this idea wouldn't leave me alone, so he's another crossover. Please don't shoot me. If you liked it and would like to let me know, please drop a word. I love those reviews and your thoughts on my stories. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed and I'll see you next time.