WARNING: Major character death, slight OOCness, yaoi, small details of rape, slight incest, oneshot
This story goes along the lines of "What if Gilbert didn't die?", where we fans of Kaze to Ki no Uta don't have to dread learning about what happens to Gilbert when we think he is going to finally have a happy life only for the author Keiko Takemiya to crush our dreams with her badass drawing skills and her heartbreaking writing skills and her awesome skills at making things so very detailed it can make a grown man cry (wow, what a great run-on sentence). But unlike the stories here, my alternate ending for Kaze to Ki no Uta still has someone dying in the end. Go on, hate me if you want to, but things happen when you are given inspiration.
In dedication to all the fangirls out there who cried when Gilbert died. I mean, who wouldn't cry when seeing a character who has grown so much and has become so happy die?! It's just not right! :'(
Note: Although I never got to truly read the manga because it has not been fully translated and I am not allowed to download any translations onto a computer, I watched a series of different YouTube videos and found many pictures that showed me what Gilbert's death was like. Plus, I watched the anime. The number one reason I know about this manga/anime and therefore the ending is Wikipedia. There was no real detail on the ending, so please bear with me if there's any OOCness.
Enough of my rambling! On with the story!
Twisted Fate
Serge looked out the window of the cottage they shared as he watched his lover walk, no, run, away. Down the dusty road that will soon become muddy and into the city of Paris. Tiny drops of water began to pour down, eventually growing into larger drops of rain. He wished he took back what he said, he wished he could turn back time and not say what he didn't mean. As he watched the silhouette of his lover fade away within the lights of the city he muttered one word, one name.
"Gilbert..."
They had a fight. Words were shouted, all both wanted to take back so badly. Eventually physical fighting ensued. Serge could still feel the red scratch marks on his cheek. He can still remember how out of blind anger he wrapped his hands around Gilbert's pale, fragile neck and choked him. If his anger took him over any longer he could have killed the boy. But thankfully no real blood was shed. No death could be sensed in their house. Just sadness, despair, regret. Yearn that the fight never existed...
The raven-locked boy was returning to the house after work. He actually took more than one job at once. In the mornings he would spend his days assisting adults in loading and unloading various boxes and bags of items, and although his pay wasn't much it is still enough to get food. After about three hours of this he would work at different stores cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting racks and such. Shopkeepers were grateful for his work and therefore gave him rather generous amounts. Although he was okay with only getting small amounts they all said he deserved his pay, having done an amazing job.
After two hours, usually by the time it was sunset, he would make sure he briefly cleaned himself up before heading to a restaurant. He enjoyed this job the best. The owner of the restaurant, a rather kind young woman, pays him an exceptional amount to play the grand piano that stood in the center of the room, the center of attention on the dance floor. He would play to his heart's content, his emotions dancing within each note he played. Sometimes memories would flash in his mind, happy memories of his youth. Of when he used to sit on top of a piano as a baby while his father would play the piano to a doting audience. His mother would be among the crowd, gazing lovingly at the man she loved. And since Serge possesses this amazing gift, he makes sure he plays with much emotion and much hard work like his father did.
Not only was he able to do what he loved, but he was also able to see who he loved. You see, Serge encouraged and succeeded in getting Gilbert to take up a job at the same restaurant as a young waiter. He would take the orders and serve the drinks, sometimes also help carry food to tables. The blonde was doing such a fine job. He would smile softly at the customers and tell them on his preferences when they asked him, rather unlike the Gilbert Serge remembered meeting the first time, who would act cold and seem he didn't give a damn about someone's choices. Many times customers who had this boy as their waiter would leave him generous tips. Serge was so happy and so proud to see his lover having changed since the time the first met.
It had been like that every day and every night since they have begun their lives in Paris. Serge would take a few different jobs in the morning and afternoon while Gilbert would spend all day at the restaurant. Both would unite at this one place each night. Together they have made and saved up large sums of money. And at the end of their work time they would walk together to their small cottage.
However that particular night, Serge wasn't walking home with the blonde boy. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen at the restaurant. The owner claims that he was simply taking a sick day. But the dark-skinned boy knew otherwise that Gilbert was not sick, having watched him walk off into Paris after breakfast before he headed over himself half an hour after. They no longer kept secrets from each other, but perhaps the blonde was faking his health so the dark-skinned boy wouldn't fret. However if this were the case then the effects were the exact opposite. Serge grew worried for the blonde, worried of what may have become of him. He prayed for his safety as he played the piano, that he unknowingly was playing a rather sad piece. The woman who owned the restaurant noticed the worry and sadness coming off the boy's aura and sent him home an hour earlier than usual.
When he finally arrived home that night the boy was relieved to see his lover inside, safely snug in bed, his chest heaving with each breath and his blonde locks somewhat messy from possible tossing and turning while asleep. To make sure to not wake him up Serge closed the door softly without making a creaking sound and proceeded to take something out to eat before going to bed himself. Maybe Gilbert was sick, maybe he was faking it for his sake. Although he unintentionally lied the other didn't mind; he knew he'd meant well.
"... Serge?"
The sound of his name ran a cold chill up his spine. Hearing the blonde speak when believing he was asleep scared him, of course. He turned around to look straight into those emerald green eyes.
"Gilbert," Serge started, "are you really sick? If so you could have just told me. I was so worried when I didn't see you at work today. But now that I know you just snuck back here to rest after I left I guess I shouldn't have to fret anymore." He opened a cupboard. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to make some soup? It would be good for you to eat something so you can keep up your energy." For a moment he turned his head to shine a smile at the blonde while opening another cupboard without looking at first. When he opened the other cupboard he saw his lover's eyes widen with shock. "Gilbert, is something the matter?"
Turning his head back to the cupboards he realized there was something hanging over the edge. Something white and seemed to be paper. Being above his reach Serge grabbed a stool to stand on. He grabbed the paper and realized it was an envelope. That was opened. Curious about what this envelope contained he looked inside and found a short message.
Gilbert,
I am here in Paris on a business trip. You may visit me of you want. I will be staying at the Chantelle Lotuo Hotel on 69th Street. Until we meet, my dear. -Auguste Beau
Auguste... Beau...? The boy questioned in his head. This man, he has tortured and manipulated Gilbert for so long. It was Serge's love that began to heal the blonde, after having suffered for so many years. Realizing this devil, this bastard has made contact with the one he tried to mold into his pet made Serge both angry and anxious to know more.
He turned around and held out the piece of paper. "What is with this, Gilbert?" he asked. He was trying to not sound angry, but his voice was beginning to rise. "What did you do today?" Did you visit him, Gilbert? Have you responded to his message in any way?
The blonde shuffled to the foot of the bed, hugging his knees against his chest. "I... I went to go see Auguste..."
With those last two words Serge had set the envelope and paper on the counter. He took deep cleansing breaths to keep himself calm. So he really did go see him. He wasn't sick, he must have been lying. I wonder... what happened between the two of them.
"Did anything happen while you visited him?" he continued. "I'd like to know what has happened while I was gone."
Gilbert first straightened his nightshirt and kept hugging his knees while staring at the ground. He uttered "Nothing happened..." in a somewhat soft tone. But the other wasn't sure he could believe him this time.
"Look straight at me in the eyes and say that, please."
He looked back up at Serge to find deep brown orbs staring at him, almost like a glare. The penetration of his gaze was actually scaring him. "N-nothing happened," he managed, but he cursed himself for being so weak when he said it.
And the raven-locked boy caught the lie in those two words. It made him feel so scared that something bad may have happened. His expression softened somewhat. "Please tell me everything that happened, and it would be nice to have details," he requested in a polite yet stern tone. The blonde reluctantly nodded and began to speak.
Flashback...
Gilbert stood at the front of the hotel, making sure he got the address right. When it was made clear he was correct he opened the door. Marble white tiles aligned the floor while cream white paint colored the walls. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. He looked around among the many people who were here.
"Ah, Gilbert! You have accepted my invitation, as I can see!"
The boy looked ahead to his left and saw a man near him in a black suit with a matching black top hat and his cobalt blue overcoat. He was carrying a long, sleek cane made of glossy wood, a gold-like orb on the top where the man's hand was placed. The man shined a smile that hid his true mask of wickedness. Auguste Beau made his way through the crowd to meet with the blonde. He kneeled down so they were staring straight at each other, eye to eye.
"Bonjour, dearest Gilbert," Auguste greeted him, taking a pale-skinned hand to kiss the knuckle.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Auguste," the blonde politely replied back, fighting the blush that threatened to show itself upon his white cheeks.
Why, why did he even come to the hotel in the first place? Gilbert knew not to trust this man, to leave behind the man who revealed to be his true father than his uncle, to find true love in someone who has helped him all this time. And yet... for some odd reason... when he read the message early that morning while Serge was still asleep he felt himself being pulled, drawn to Auguste, drawn back to the arms that held him more out of lust than love. Although Serge has captured his heart somewhere in that pool of love the man had left a permanent mark, a virus that not even the viscount's love could cure.
He was led by this man up the stairs away from the noisy crowd of people and down the halls where red velvet carpet now spread upon the floors. They reached it to the end of the hall by a window. Auguste took out a key and unlocked the door to their right where the number 13 was written upon the white wood in gold Roman numerals. The man opened the door and allowed the younger one to pass through first.
Gilbert could tell this room was a master suite. The walls were a creamy yellow with thin beige-like stripes and floral flourishes between each stripe. A large four poster bed that was neatly made was located on the right side, in between two mahogany wood night stands. The flooring here was a rather simple eggshell white carpeting, and through an opening to the bathroom where a door should be, it can be seen that the bath had black and white tiles. Red curtains were kept to the sides of the large door which led to the balcony, which also serves as a window, held back by large red ribbons tied into bows. In between the foot of the bed and the closed glass balcony doors was a large wooden low table with two velvet chairs on both sides. Nearby on the other side of the large dresser, which was located next to the door, was a small kitchen with an area of about 2.4 meters by 1.2 meters.
They sat opposite of each other the chairs. Auguste had set out some tea he prepared on the stove that was included in the small kitchen. Once the younger of the two finished applying cream and sugar into his cup the older tried to engage in conversation with him.
"So Gilbert," Auguste began, "life back at the estate in Marseilles is rather lonely without you. Will you be coming back with me anytime soon?"
"I believe I said that I didn't care about returning to Marseilles anymore the last time we met," the blonde replied, taking a sip of his tea. "And besides, I am doing perfectly fine on my own now." Inside he was shuddering over the memory of their last confrontation. He remembered how Auguste outwardly admitted to being his true father, and then immediately changed the subject by requesting for him to come back to Marseilles with him. "You don't have to fret over me, Auguste." He definitely wasn't planning on referring to this man as his father anytime soon.
Auguste looked over at the boy in front of him, who was avoiding his gaze. He was so close, so close into making Gilbert his pet. Yet that Serge boy snatched him away before any more damage can be done that would make the blonde his perfect toy. He had to do something, something that would remind the blonde of his place at his feet, willing to receive pleasure in any means necessary like a harlot would.
Quietly he set his teacup down onto the table and strode over to the other side. Slowly he leaned down so that his face was so close to the golden curls that he could smell the cologne, which had the invigorating fragrance of flowers. He took out one hand and placed it on the pale chin and lifted up until their eyes met, whether the other liked it or not. The blonde began to sweat with nervousness.
"W-what... Auguste...?" Gilbert asked weakly, or rather quietly to be precise, as he dearly wished to move away. But he couldn't even if he wanted to, for the other man's hand was set on his left thigh, pressing down gently. The older one elicited a squeak-like moan from him. "L-leave me alone, Augus-"
Before he could finish his sentence their lips were pressed against each other, slow caresses against the soft patches of skin. The blonde tried pulling away, but the more he struggled the more Auguste pushed in closer. It was like being bound by a boa constrictor- the more you struggle, the tighter the bind is. The man slipped his hand down the other's trousers and felt around the private parts, making him moan into the kiss. He closed his eyes and melted with any more touches he received, not feeling himself being lifted up from the chair, carried over, and then set down with his back against the bed. Auguste removed both their shoes and slid on top of Gilbert, gaining dominance with every kiss. This man knew all of his weaknesses, especially the ones on his body that made him extra submissive. And as he proceeded to remove both their clothes, he heard the soft whisper that made him hard.
"A-... A-... Augu..."
End of flashback...
Serge was now practically fighting to keep calm after Gilbert confessed his activities over the course of today. Why, Gilbert? he asked in his mind. Why did you even go to that man in the first place? What is it that compelled you to do so? I-I can't stand knowing that this afternoon you've had sex with that... that... He began to shake a little. ... That bastard! Still trying to stay calm he turned around back to the blonde.
"I'm sorry, Gilbert," he began, "but... I'm a bit... disappointed. I really did think you've become so strong that you'd decline the offer of seeing him. But still, I must know. Why is it that you went over to see Auguste anyways? You said you were through with him, and yet you went anyways."
Gilbert was at first speechless, but he kept his eyes locked with Serge's. "I... I don't know..." he replied. "Something just told me... that I should see him again, at least just this once-"
"You don't know?!" The blonde found himself with the one side to Serge that rarely showed himself. This side, this angry side, to Serge was truly something fearful. The raven-locked boy has tried so hard to not burst like this, but he just couldn't hold it in anymore. "Forgive me, Gilbert, but how can you not understand your own decision to do something like this?! When you said he asked you if you would return with him to Marseilles and you declined that I thought you could still stand your ground. When you said he kissed you and you liked it I couldn't help thinking you just might still be a toy for him. And when you said you allowed him to have sex with you, and how just now you said you didn't know why you agreed to it..." Tears of anguish welled up in his eyes, slowly rolling down his tanned cheeks. "... only one thing ran through my mind! Gilbert, do you still love him?"
The blonde trembled, eyes still locked with the other's. "I don't know!" he snapped. "You have no idea what it's like, to still be in his grip! First he says he loves me, and then he pushes me away... He's confused me so much that I don't know anymore! Why can't you understand that?!" He stood up and smacked his lover across the face, his nails also digging through and leaving red scratch marks on his cheeks. Then he pushed him away and against the table, clenching Serge's shirt. "Can't you understand that because of him I don't know what to think anymore?"
"... Then how did you know that you loved me?" Serge spat, wrapping his hands around the pale neck before him. "If you aren't so sure with yourself anymore, then what made you sure you loved me, huh? What's the purpose behind that?!" He didn't feel himself squeeze Gilbert's neck tighter, almost closing off any oxygen.
Gilbert let go of his grip on the other's shirt and instead placed it on his hands, trying to pry them away. He was losing air fast, and if this were to go on any longer he would faint or even die if he wasn't careful. "S-Serge..." he choked out. "... get... off of... m-me...!" He gagged and struggled, tears rushing down. "Stop!"
Stop.
That was the word that snapped Serge out of his anger. He immediately let go, and Gilbert dropped to the ground sputtering for breath. He looked up at the raven-locked boy, the one that has hurt him, as he felt his own throat. At least he's still alive, but when he swallowed it hurt badly. Tears continued to pour down his pale cheeks, which have turned red from struggling so much. Serge, who has been struck with both worry and regret, tried to reach out to the blonde before him to help him up.
"I-... I'm so sorry, Gilbert," he whispered, kneeling down with his arms stretched out so he could hold his lover. "I'm so very, very sorry. I don't know what came over me and-"
"You don't know?!" the other exclaimed, mimicking the tone of Serge's voice as he said this. Gilbert stood up and pushed him away. He grabbed his coat from off the rack and after putting it on he opened the door, where the sun has gone down and it began to drizzle outside. "I'm going out for a while, and don't wait up for me." Before he closed the door behind him, he stared at the dark-skinned boy while his tears were still visible. "I'll see you later, Monsieur Battour!" He walked out slamming the door shut.
As Gilbert broke off into a run into the city of Paris, Serge began to cry. His actions, his words, he regretted everything he did when he opposed his lover. The rain outside started to pour down harder as he cried some more. After he put his coat back on and opened the door he took out his umbrella and started his quest to find him.
"I have to follow him," he said to himself out loud to motivate himself so he wouldn't give up, beginning to run down the road so he wouldn't get caught in mud. "I have to make this right. For the both of us. I must find him..."
The trip to the city took at least half the time it usually takes walking since Serge was running. Some people were still out and about, most holding umbrellas of their own over their heads. The dark-skinned boy knew this was not going to be an easy investigation, but he had to find the blonde before something terrible happens...
Something terrible has already happened. Gilbert ran through the city of Paris to the Chantelle Lotuo Hotel on 69th Street, but when he asked the front desk if Auguste Beau was still there the employee at the desk replied that he has already checked out. Disappointed, he left the hotel and began to walk down the streets in the rain.
He thought of apologizing to Serge. This has got to be one of the biggest fights they've had. Whenever they fought they would apologize to each other in the end and everything would be back to normal. He began regretting what he said, he really didn't mean to just burst out and yell at Serge. Making up his mind, he turned around and began to walk back to where he first entered the city.
About five men came up to him, all in gray or tan trench coats and wearing a matching duckbill hat. Since night had come their faces were covered by shadows, only one side of their faces being showed from the bright moonlight and also the lights of the lampposts. They surrounded the blonde, pushing him roughly into a dim-lit alley. Gilbert was sent to the hard cobblestone ground with his back against the stone wall of a café on his right.
One man with a scar on his left eye stripped him of his coat, leaving him exposed to the cold winds of the night and the freezing rain. Another man, who had what seemed like an eye of a vulture with the white film over his light blue orb, took out from within his own trench coat a paper bag. From the inside he took out several small white containers. This was the signal for two other men to hold Gilbert up by the arms, making him sit up on his knees.
The man with the white containers uncapped one and took out a couple pills of small white tablets. Gilbert, when the pills were showed to him, identified these as ketamine as he was once victim to these drugs a long time ago. The pills were shoved into his mouth, and were forcefully washed down by water that came from a rain puddle right beside him. He had no choice but to allow the pills to slide smoothly down his throat in order to avoid choking, for if he were to spit them up he'd just be given more of the drugs. All of the men waited for Gilbert to show the signs of the drugs taking effect.
Gilbert felt his body go lax and then numb a while after. He grew loose under the two men's holds, and felt himself sink to the cold wet ground. Another man, most likely the one to have forced the drugs down his throat in the first place, leaned over him and removed the coat, revealing his nightshirt underneath. He was released by whoever were holding him, but he did not escape. He did not feel the men lift up his nightshirt without removing it, leaving it over his neck. He did not feel the roaming fingers upon his body. He did feel, however, unwanted kisses and rough caresses that he could not stop.
He writhed in pain and despair as he was violated by the men. Tears sprang from his eyes as he silently begged for them to stop. He wanted nothing more than to run away into Serge's arms now, to hear his comforting words and feel his warm embrace. He would do anything just to apologize to him, just so everything could be alright once more. Drops of rain mixed with his tears as it continued to pour, the pitter-patter drowning out any screams that could have been made but could not be heard anyways.
Tear-stained green eyes looked up to the skies as the pale body lied there in the rain. The men have finally left him after having their do. Gilbert was still dizzy and disoriented from the drugs, in which the effects were thankfully dimming now. He stood up, propping himself against the wall for support, straightened his nightshirt, and walked unsteadily out of the alley, leaving his coat behind. Now that it was wet and ruined, the coat no longer served as a way of seeking the warmth he was searching for.
No one was out in the streets or sidewalks anymore. It was like a ghost town now. Gas lamps lit the streets to provide light for anyone who could be out late at this time of night. Gilbert walked down the sidewalk in hopes of reaching home once more, hoping that Serge would be there. He hoped that Serge would forgive him for acting so cruel to him, and for seeing Auguste. He should not have been so dense, Serge was the only one for him. He wanted-no, he needed-to go back home in order to make things right.
Serge looked about in the empty city for his love. He had been looking everywhere for him. He searched the restaurant where they worked at, the shops where Gilbert sometimes joined him in helping out, and endless alleys. There was still no sign of him. But he could not lose hope now, not with knowing that he was still out there in this rain. And so he continued his search.
He went down another alley, which was dimly lit by a small porch light from the building on his right. There he saw a lump on the ground, which was being beaten down by the rain. Serge ran over and kneeled down, with his umbrella looming over him as means of protection from the rain, to touch the object. After confirming it was neither Gilbert nor a living creature, he picked the object up and held it by the light. It was Gilbert's coat.
At least I know he's been here, he thought. Squeezing the water out of the coat, he held the coat with one arm and his umbrella with the other as he left the alley. I'm coming, Gilbert. I'll make things right for the both of us. He promised to himself that if he were to miraculously find Gilbert, he would take him in his arms and ask for his forgiveness. He would warm him up from being out here in the cold. I will hold you tight and never let you go. I promise that I will do these things when I find you, Gilbert.
I promise.
Gilbert saw a light when he finally started down the right side of the now muddy road out of Paris. At first the light was dim, as it was far away, but the more he walked on the brighter the light became. Then he heard the galloping and whines of horses. That was followed by the rolling of wheels. A carriage was coming. He immediately stepped farther to the side of the road in order to avoid being hit.
"Where have you been Gilbert?!" That voice, he knew that voice. But it couldn't be. The drugs are making him hallucinate, he knew that much. However he could not help but doubt himself about that. He looked on further to see the top half of a figure leaning outside the window of the upcoming carriage. No, that could not be. He checked out of the hotel earlier. But there he was, calling Gilbert's name. "Gilbert, come with me! I've come back to see if you were still here. Let's go back to Marseilles!"
Auguste...? he questioned in his mind. He had to see if this was true. If that really were Auguste, he had to make the choice of running away or coming with him. But he had to make sure that really was the man he abandoned, just in case. If it were true then he has to hide before Auguste could follow him. He knew that man. Auguste was capable of taking him away whether he liked it or not. He broke into a run in order to reach the carriage faster. Auguste's form was coming into better view. His facial features were so exact. This must be the man. Now, he must run.
Serge saw a light on the way down the muddy road out of Paris. The thought came to him that Gilbert could have left Paris in order to go back home. It was risky with knowing the chances that he was still in the city, but it would not hurt to try. And if he was wrong, he would just go back to the city once more. He did not care how long and how hard he had to look, he promised he was going to find Gilbert no matter what.
He knew the light was from a carriage, as evidenced by the loudening sounds of horses galloping and steel wheels rolling against the ground. However, when he looked onwards he saw a figure walking in front of him. The silhouette stopped at the sounds of whoever was in the carriage leaning his head out to ask if he or she wanted a ride. Then all of a sudden he or she started running towards the carriage. When the figure was close by the carriage it then started to turn around.
For the split second, when the light from the lantern being used by the driver shined upon the figure, golden blonde locks were reflected. Serge saw for that split second the emerald green eyes which were pleading for help and brimmed with tears, and yet had a glassy look to them. He saw the pale white skin exposed to the harshness of the freezing rain. For that split second, he realized he found Gilbert.
"Gilbert!" he cried out, but the sounds of the moving carriage and rain put together drowned out his call. He tried again, this time louder, but again he was not heard. Knowing that he could not be heard, he started running towards Gilbert in hopes of grabbing his attention.
It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. Before Gilbert turned around he looked back once more mid-run and realized that that man was not Auguste at all, but another man who looked so much like him. And he was not calling for him to come with him to Marseilles, this man was asking if he wanted a ride because of the rain. Upon this realization that the drugs have tricked him, he did not notice himself tripping over a small pile of stones.
"Gilbert!" He heard his name being called once more, but this time by a different voice. Unlike Auguste's voice from his brief hallucination, this one was too real. As he was falling in front of one of the wheels, which seemed to be taking fast-paced minutes for him, he looked to the direction in which he was supposed to be running and saw Serge. This must be a hallucination, just like Auguste. Telling himself this, he closed his eyes and waited for his head to finally reach the ground so the horses could crush his neck.
He did not realize Serge had grabbed his arms in time to pull him back. When he heard the horses gallop past him, he opened his eyes again to see if he was dead. He saw the one he loved instead, who smiled through tears with great relief. The warm feeling of being in his arms helped him figure out that he was very alive. They stepped farther to the side away from the road and just stood there in an embrace.
Serge feels so warm, Gilbert thought, nuzzling closer in order to be held tighter. This warmth, I never want this to end. "I'm so sorry, Serge. I was acting dense." His fists clenched Serge's coat. "I'm sorry for choosing Auguste over you, today. You are the only one I love, the love of my life. And you have every right to be mad at me right now, but please just don't let go!" He buried his face in Serge's chest, taking as much of the warm scent of his lover as possible.
"No," Serge whispered, tilting his head down so his lips were near the other's ear, which was slightly covered by soaked blonde locks. "It is I who should be sorry. I shouldn't have burst out like that and I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I shouldn't have hurt you, both with my words and my hands. You've said once that I was the angel that saved you from despair, but I am just terrible. Of course I forgive you, but can you forgive me for what I've done?" Through his tears, he managed a smile when he felt a nod. "I'm happy, then... I promised I would find you and hold you in my arms without ever letting you go. I promised to make things right..."
"I did the same thing."
"Then let's go home, we've been out here long enough. Let me hold you, let me make sure I will never forget my love for you Gilbert." They touched their foreheads together. "I love you, Gilbert."
"I love you, Serge. Let's go home, like you said." Gilbert held onto his arm tightly as they walked the rest of the way home, under Serge's umbrella. And along the way, when they stopped briefly to embrace each other in a passionate kiss, the rain had stopped, but the mist grew.
There's no need to be afraid now. Gilbert is here with me. I've found him and held him in my arms, like I've promised. And now... we can go home so I can continue my promise. Serge allowed Gilbert to go first when they eventually found their way back to the cottage, and now had to cross the street. Nothing could break the bright smile on his face, the brightest and most genuine smile he has ever shown. I love Gilbert, I love him so much. My heart feels so warm right now because of him. He looked both ways before tucking the umbrella under his arms so he can make his way across.
The sounds of galloping horses and rolling wheels have struck his ears once more, but the blonde ahead did not take notice. How can anyone be coming into Paris this late at night? But as the sounds became louder with each second he knew this was not a trick. He looked to his right and saw an upcoming carriage speeding its way towards them, looking as if it had no intention of slowing down. Gilbert still did not notice, or maybe he did but he did not know it was coming so fast. Serge knew he had to do something, and took action.
"GILBERT!" he cried out, to which the other turned around.
Everything slowed down once more. Gilbert found Serge's hands pushing him harshly against his chest, and he was flying past the side of the road. He saw the water droplets splashing before his eyes, some moving forward to the raven-locked boy before him. There was a carriage, and it was coming towards him. No, not him, but Serge. His heart quickened and tightened at the same time when he saw that smile. It was still stretched out on his lips, never leaving his face.
Yes, I don't have anything to fear, Serge thought as the world slowed down for him too. I've kept my promise and I'm happy about that, even if I will never manage to bring him home like I said. I still held him, we still kissed, I still apologized and he forgave me. That's enough for me.
Run Serge! Gilbert shouted in his mind, even though his mental words would not reach the other. Get out of the way! You've saved me, now go on and save yourself!
I'm happy... His hands left Gilbert's chest.
No, I'm not leaving without you! Gilbert felt himself fall backwards from the force of the push.
Let the world speed up again.
Slow down time! Slow down time! Let it be frozen!
I love you, Gilbert. I always have.
That was the only thing that seemed to have been sent to Gilbert's mind, as if he knew Serge was thinking that. His body was stiff as time began to catch up to their sights. All he could let out was the utter of one word, one name.
"... Serge..." The best he could do before the world was back to its normal in both their eyes was smile softly. It was the smile Serge strived to see for so long ever since they met, one which was genuine and bright.
"Gilbert."
Time finally caught up to them. Gilbert fell backwards, headfirst to the wet yet still hard ground. His body tumbled down the small hill, taking up the dew and dirt onto his clothes. At the bottom of the hill, his head hit a large rock. It was nothing which cut him, but it was hard enough to knock him unconscious.
"Hey, wake up!"
Pale eyelids slowly slipped opened, only to close again when Gilbert's eyes hit the rather bright morning light. He groaned and sat up, clutching his head when he suddenly felt a sharp pain there. What had happened to him last night?
Last night...
His eyes snapped open, and he now was aware of the young man, more or less around his 20s, kneeling before him at his side. Everything that happened the previous night was coming back to him now, which quickened and tightened his heart the way it did before. Frantically he looked around in search of one person- Serge. However there was no sign of him.
"Where's... Serge?" he muttered to no one in particular, the man at his side the only one hearing him.
"You mean the boy on the road?" he replied. Gilbert's heart skipped a beat. "You two must have been very close." His heart skipped two beats. "Come on, you should take a look. Maybe you can tell us what happened to him." The man looked over to a couple of other man standing at the top of the hill. "Oi guys, he's awake! Help me get him up!" He turned back to the blonde. "Name's Jeffery by the way, how about you?"
Serge, what's happened to you? Are you okay? Have you just passed out on the road or something? "Gilbert..." he answered Jeffery almost absentmindedly. He was helped up to his feet since his legs felt a little weak, but after a few seconds he managed to stand on his own. He started up the hill. "Serge... What happened to Serge...?" He staggered up the hill and onto the road, which was covered in dried up mud.
A crowd looked to whatever was on the ground to him, and then Jeffery urged him to move to the middle. Down on the ground was a limp, motionless body belonging to a boy of his near-late teens with his head visible on one side. His eyes were tented halfway, light not visible in his deep brown eyes. One arm was stretched out, as if he were reaching out to something or maybe someone. But what the scariest part was, had to be the soft, unwavering smile on his lips. He must have died with a happy memory in thought.
Gilbert fell to his knees and breathed heavily, his breaths becoming more labored no matter how hard he tried steadying himself. His body shook terribly, teeth biting hard on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. No, this could not be happening. This was just some horrible nightmare teasing him, and in any moment he would wake up. He wanted to get it through his head that none of this was real. He even pinched his arm, imagining that his skin would be numb but it stung him softly. This was all real, but he did not want it to be.
He did not want to believe that right in front of him, Serge was lying dead.
"I remember the fog being very thick last night," a woman behind him was saying. "The carriage that ran the poor boy over must have thought it was just a log or maybe some rocks."
"This is just terrible," Jeffery mumbled before kneeling next to Gilbert. "Hey, so I take it you know this boy. Can you tell us who he is so we can report this? You'll be part of the report, of course, but if it would be okay to share a bit of-"
"His name was- no, is Serge Battour, son of the deceased former prostitute Pavia Battour and the deceased viscount Aslan Battour." Gilbert took the blanket someone handed to him and he laid it over Serge's body, leaving his head visible. "He does have live relatives on his father's side, a couple I know personally. Specifically, they are Elisabeth Carlisle-Madison, his aunt, and her daughter Angeline Carlisle-Madison, his cousin and... a disowned relative of mine's fiancée."
Gilbert did not care if he were to take too long just to explain Serge's past. He would spend every day, every week, every single minute reminding everyone who his lover was- no, is, as he wanted to put it. Serge trusted him with his background, the pain he went through, and he would not let these stay unheard of.
"Serge Battour attends Lacombrade Academy, the same school his father went to at our age. He was a new student when I met him, and that time I hated him for getting in the way and being in the same room as me. He can be nosy, stubborn, and reckless, but he's turned all those negative qualities into three of the most positive things about him." He placed a hand gently against a tanned cheek. "All he wants is to be known for his music on the piano, not for the social status Aslan Battour left for him to take up in the future." Pale fingers moved upwards towards Serge's eyelids. "Serge's desire was- no, is to be known for doing the things he loves... with the people he loves..." Gilbert leaned down so that only Serge could hear him, if he were still there. "... with the person who will love him always." He raised his voice again. "So if that isn't enough information already, then by all means ask me anything."
And Gilbert shut his eyelids.
There were many things Gilbert knew about Serge, like how Serge wrote in the same journal Aslan Battour wrote in, and that he had composed a song just for him, and even that Serge and his cousin Angeline committed the sin of sharing an incestuous kiss. What he did not know, or at least what he had come to learn later, was that Angeline was going to put off hers and Auguste's engagement; she even made sure he would not come with her to Serge's funeral. He learned that the song written for him would be played at the funeral.
But what he did not know of was the contents of Serge's journal until some nights later. On the night before the funeral, Serge's aunts revealed to him that Serge had already written his will despite being young at the time. They had Gilbert turn to the last pages of the thick book and had him read it in his head.
I have longed wondered of how I would die, but I have finally realized that it does not matter how I die. It is about how it will impact those I care about and those who care about me in return. Although at the time this is being written I am only fifteen years old, I already know what I want done. Consider the following what I want to be done if I were to somehow pass away at an early age.
It is already obvious that if I were to die before turning eighteen then my future status as viscount would be passed on to whoever is next in line. However, since I have no siblings then the status would be sent to the Carlisle-Madison family. Perhaps if women were to become more appreciated, then Angeline could take my place as viscount. Aunt Elisabeth, it seems you may have my status for much longer. If I were to die after becoming viscount, then the result still stands the same.
For Angeline, I leave her something I have failed to give her myself. At the time I am writing this, it has been weeks since she announced that she had formed an engagement with someone as custom for people in the higher levels of society. I will miss the time when we were engaged to each other, and I will miss the kisses we shared. And so, to whoever is reading, make sure she is given a necklace, which is a deep blue heart-shaped pendant on a silver chain, hidden in a dark blue box that is tied closed with a white ribbon.
To Karl Meiser and Pascal Biquet, I want to thank you both for being my friends in the first place. Both of you acted as my mentors and as my friends at the same time. For the both of you, take your picks from the books I own, as many as you like. Also, I would like you two to be presented with as low as 10,000 francs each for your education and or for anything else. Do not think of sending any of it back, for once I sign this our fates our sealed.
And finally, to Gilbert Cocteau. What would life be like if I never met you? Where would my heart take me if you never came around to introduce me to sins so sweet, to teach me that love can be formed between anyone rather than just a man and a woman? I cannot think of such a life at the moment, nor will I ever. If I could I would give you the world, or anything in the world, to make you happy and smile. I know that I can't do that, but I still have many things to give you.
My aunt Elisabeth Carlisle-Madison must write out a check for 48,000 francs, which I request to be towards your education; I know you are smart academic-wise, because you've proved it to me, so do your best when you get to college. After college I request for you to take at most half of what I would have inherited as the new viscount, and I will not take a refusal as a reaction because I care about your future. Setting those aside, I also have personal items to present to you. In a dark green box tied closed with a darker green ribbon are two things: a locket which has a pendant in a circular shape with a thin silver chain, and a white bronze ring with a small diamond in the center. I bought the locket for you, and at first I was planning on presenting it to you in the autumn time as a celebration of when we met. The ring is actually my mother's, and even when I was only a child I understood when she told me to give the person I love most her ring. I love you the most, so I want you to have it; if I were to have lived for a little longer, I would have taken you so we could elope like my parents did because I know that society would not accept us in public, any way to show you that I am bound to you forever.
A long time ago, I wrote a poem about you. Here is where it shall be presented.
Gilbert Cocteau,
You were the most
beautiful flower to
ever bloom in my life
You were a red flame,
fiercely burning bright
within our youthful dreams
You were the wind
stirring my branches
Can you hear the song of
the wind and trees?
Can you hear the rustling
of our youth?
Ah, there must be others
who remember
Those who remember the
good old days of their youth...
And the entry ends there. Gilbert paraphrased what Serge wrote in his will to his aunts. He wanted to yell when they walked off afterwards, muttering how "Serge has become dirtier than when he was born". Their nephew dies, and all they talk about is how he died a homosexual? Serge told him they were not exactly that nice to him, but this... this was just downright cruel.
"You two are the ones who are filthy," he hisses, catching their attention. The women turn around and stare at him, taken aback. "So what if Serge became who he ended up dying as? Did that change who he was? No, it didn't, unless you two were too blind to notice. Even now, you criticize him and he isn't even here. He is gone! He is fucking dead and you still speak bad of him!" He sunk to his knees, head down as he let his tears fall to the marble floor. "Serge will always be the purest one of this family! There is no way I will believe that he was raised by this family, because the way I see it you are selfish and... and... while you are selfish he was always so generous and..." Gilbert trailed off, ending up speaking in only soft mumbles and pain-filled gibberish. He did not understand when the two women helped him up and were rubbing his back.
"We do love our nephew," Lizabeth sighed. "It is just hard to cope with the fact that he is dead now. All we have left to do is pretend he is still alive, even though living in denial can make matters worse. We just wanted to pretend he was still here, with us."
Serge was just like his mother, and looked like her, too," Margot said. "I remember when I actually warmed up to Pavia once since she and Aslan married and had Serge. We actually got to bond over him, but I never got to see him much. Just like his mother and just like his father, a perfect combination of the two... He loved you, didn't he, Gilbert?" That was the first time either of them had addressed him by his first name.
With a gulp, he made a quick nod. "Yes, he did. I-I miss him... I tried... to be in denial for a while as well." The words His name was- no, is Serge Battour came to mind. He was trying to deny the fact that Serge was dead, had been dead for almost a week and a half now. He just wanted to think that Serge was simply away somewhere, but he would not know when he would come back. But Gilbert had to deal with the realization that he was not coming back, never coming back. The boys who grew to become his friends, they knew he was mourning no matter how hard he tried to hide his grief.
"Mourning over Serge's death", as they described what he was going through, was, in truth, just an understatement.
The two women guided him to one of the bedrooms, saying he could stay for the night. He was left alone in a master bedroom which possessed a simple, cozy atmosphere. There was nothing flashy or anything showing to have great value, besides the medium-sized piano in the corner between the doors to a balcony and a bathroom. White curtains were set to the side of each window so light from the setting sun was allowed to pass through. It was quiet, but it was a comfortable sort of silence.
Gilbert removed his shoes and walked towards the piano, the first thing he saw when he stepped into the room in the first place. He felt over the white ivory keys, the glossy black wood, the metal frame where the music sheets would be held up so the one who played the piano could refer back to the notes. He open the seat's cover to find folders filled with different pieces inside. He picked up the one on top and opened up the folder. Gilbert's Song, he read. Using what he learned from music classes, he read over the notes, humming the tune it would make if played, and then put all the notes together. This was a copy of the piece Serge made for him a long time ago.
"I want you to listen to my music, Gilbert. Hear me out through my music." Serge seated himself before the piano as Gilbert lay on a couch behind him, eyes closed but awake. "Listen carefully, Gilbert, as I pour out just how much I love you." A soft melody filled the room the next few seconds, slowly rising to become faster and louder, and yet still soft enough for Serge's voice to be heard over the beautiful music. "Hear my heart through this piece, Gilbert, for this is my song to you."
Holding the folder to his chest, Gilbert walked across the room-Serge's room-to the bed fit for two adults to sleep in. He fell on top of the sheets on his back, eyes closed with his face towards the ceiling. Serge's scent was somehow faintly visible despite it being since who knows how long ago. Memories pressed on, flashing the different nights where Serge held Gilbert. It started out first to simply comfort him, until it turned to this touch being something they both yearned for. When Gilbert set the folder on the nightstand and wrapped himself in a blanket at the foot of the bed, hugging a pillow, it was as if he could still feel the warmth of Serge's arms.
Gilbert wished he could have one more of everything. He wished for one more kiss and one more embrace. He wished for one more time to say "I love you", one more night in his arms, one more smile, one more look into deep brown eyes filled with life, one more day just to be with him. He wanted one more of everything, but if he were to receive that "one more" as a miracle, he would turn greedy and continue asking for another "one more", if that made any sense. So as much as he wanted that "one more" to come, he also hoped that it would not happen at the same time.
Sometimes he wondered if he could have a fresh start. He had always wondered about that, but thought about it even more an hour after the funeral. When he saw Serge's body, without a scar and peaceful, the raven-locked boy had the impression that one would have if they were sleeping. Gilbert felt that if he were to touch Serge's skin, it would be warm. Then he would sit up with his beautiful genuine smile and kiss Gilbert. But when his hand was touched the skin was only cold and he did not wake up.
He wondered if he could have a fresh start, but what does he mean by that? Perhaps he just wanted to forget about that horrible man who plagued his life, whom he has broken his ties with. Perhaps he just wanted to forget ever being related to him. He also wanted to forget how he lived his life ever since he was brought to Lacombrade Academy. He was okay with remembering going there at all, he just wanted for forget screwing around and being brought down by that horrible man. He wanted to forget those times, but would that mean he would forget Serge, too? No, it could not possibly mean that.
It eventually came to mind that he already had his fresh start. Ever since Serge arrived at Lacombrade Academy, nothing was the same at school. No matter how hard he tried pushing Serge away he still came back around, not like other new students who simply left him alone. He was definitely unlike all the other boys. He actually comforted Gilbert when he was depressed despite telling him to leave, he tended to his wounds gently, he held him at night and would listen to him cry. Everything Serge did was from the heart, which made him want to leave his life behind for this one boy.
Finally knowing what to write, the Gilbert opened Serge's journal and let his quill touch the next empty page.
Serge Battour,
You were my fresh start at life
My never-ending winter
ended when clashing with your summer
You were the wind,
spiriting away
my despair, my nightmares
You were the sun
shining through the darkness
Is the music of the wind and trees
easily heard in heaven?
Does the melody take you back
to our youth?
Hopefully you remember
what we went through
Back when we
were restless, young, free
Gilbert planned on writing to Serge as many times as possible, already understanding that he would never receive a reply. However, despite how twisted their fates have turned out to be, Gilbert wanted to keep the memories, their love, alive. He had to, he believed doing so is a must.
He closed the journal and looked around the room, the room where it all started-Room rustling leaves of autumn swayed in the wind outside. He wants to make Serge proud by continuing his education, so he chose to return to the school. The room feels empty, but nothing like the cold loneliness he once felt.
I have burned the memories of us into my brain, Serge. Your touch, your voice, your smile, these shall never be forgotten. Serge, my love, since I cannot die, I will live on because I know you would never want me to throw my life away, not like how I was a long time ago. I wish to know you will always be with me. Please, I am asking for some kind of sign which will tell me if you are watching over me.
From outside, the winds suddenly grew harsher, and the closed yet unlocked windows burst open. Three leaves flew in before Filbert ran over to close and this time lock the windows. He picked up the leaves and turned them over and over again between his fingers.
In a maroon red leaf, it looked as if a letter "S" was etched into it. A pale apple green leaf, the smallest of the three, had a little plus sign. The last one, a bright orange, had the letter "G" carved. The letters and symbol all lappeared to have come up from being chewed away or possibly because of the force of the wind. Was this a coincidence? No, he could not think of this as a mere coincidence. Gilbert smiled softly, setting the three leaves onto his desk.
So you are watching over me, Serge. Yes, use the wind to guide me. We are both the wind and the trees, for we have stirred up each other's branches with even simple breezes. I will respond to the wind. That is my promise.
A long time ago, Gilbert Cocteau had both a love and hate for the wind. But now that times have changed, for both the better and for the worse, to fit into whatever twisted fate he shall meet one day, he grew to love the wind.
He grew to embrace it.
Fun fact: This took me ALMOST A FLIPPING YEAR TO WRITE AND FINISH! But it does come to show that my great works take the longest to finish...
So yeah, I hope you enjoyed this. I really liked writing this story, especially since it's been so long since I wrote anything for Kaze to Ki no Uta.
Review if you like, flames will be thrown into your face
Until we meet again, my poems~ (the fans who like my work for Kaze...)