Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke and any of the characters in that series. Fujimaki-sensei owns them. (If I did, all the guys would go shirtless :)
"Somewhere in those non-hectic days,
where nothing ever happened
and the days all drifted away,
Something might have already gone wrong."
Akashi did not cry. Nor did he scream. He merely stared at the "death" before him impassively, his scarlet gaze never leaving the body that lay beyond the sea of white and yellow chrysanthemums. In fact, his face was an impeccable mask of emotionless calm.
He was far too tense and more importantly, uncannily composed.
After spending countless days, even years by his side, Mikoto was familiar with Akashi's body mannerisms. And now, she was confident that she could point out at least ten glaring peculiarities with a single glance. His jaw was clenched too tightly, his posture, too calm and rigid. He was folding his arms too...
Akashi Seijuurou never folded his arms.
It was an act frowned upon by his father. It was an act of vulnerability, weakness. The Akashi family would not tolerate nor would they hesitate. They lived by a single code: "Those who did not stand at the top were unworthy of the Akashi name." It went without saying that those who stood at the top knew no weakness.
However, at that moment, Mikoto had completely overlooked the fact that Akashi had his elbows clutched in such a tight grip that his knuckles had turned a pasty white. She blinked. It was still there. She had not imagined it and it was not a trick of light either.
Not only had Akashi wound his arms tightly around his torso, he was visibly shaking. Although it was so slight that it would have gone unnoticed by the others, she could tell - his whole frame wracked with silent trembles. Mikoto could feel her eyes widen.
Her azure irises scanned his small frame. He stood a few feet away from the casket, basked in the dim lighting of the make-shift tent, his alarmingly pale skin glowing. For once, the Akashi heir had looked fragile, breakable. Mikoto inhaled sharply, silently praying that it would be the last time she saw it.
She wordlessly crossed the distance that separated her from her best friend. There was an eerie silence that hung around the boy, making him look terribly out of place amongst the other mourners.
Upon arriving at the pale boy's side, she slowly reached for his unoccupied right hand, loosely clasping it between both her hands. He made no attempt to shake off her hands. She played with his pale, slightly rotund fingers as she bit her lip hesitantly, unwilling to look up. When she finally did pluck up her courage, chancing a peek at the boy's face, she instantly regretted it.
The shadows formed by the boy's long scarlet bangs that hung like curtains around his forehead, had made him look considerably older, tired. His attire, a black suit and a matching pair of black shoes were not helpful in the least.
However what was most startling were in fact, his scarlet eyes. The darkened scarlet eyes that bore down on Mikoto were foreign, unfamiliar. She did not recognise those intense eyes. Those eyes were swirling in a raging whirlpool of condensed raw emotion – disbelief, anger, bitterness, hatred, sorrow. The rolling red waves crashed over the red, rapidly pouring out of his red eyes.
Mikoto's gut twisted. He looked nothing like the seven year old he was supposed to be.
"I wonder... What face did I make at that point of time?"
Mikoto blinked, breaking contact with Akashi's intense stare. When she did open her eyes again, the sight that greeted her made her wish that she had kept her eyes shut instead.
Those molten scarlet pools had cooled into simmers; the surging, chaotic storm had quieted, giving way to a boundless sea of melancholy. His pale lips were slightly upturned into a wry smile, the stony quality of his pale face permeated with sorrow and longing.
Yet even then, he would not cry.
Bells drew the ceremony to a close. It was time to pay their final respects to the deceased. The family of the bereaved had begun to slowly trudge towards the chrysanthemum shower.
Mikoto willed a fresh set of tears away from her glassy blue eyes, suppressing the choked sob that threatened to spill out of her hoarse throat. The pale boy mutely handed Mikoto one of the many crimson camellias in the bouquet cradled firmly between his chest and his left arm.
Gripping her hand gently yet firmly, he curled her chubby fingers around the stalk of the crimson blossom. His cold hands lingered over her fingers for a moment after, before drawing it back to his side. He arched his head ever so slightly, silently signaling for her to follow him as he calmly paced towards the open coffin.
Taking one last brief look at the figure lying in the wooden treasure chest, Mikoto stole a glance at boy who stood next to her.
All traces of pretence had disappeared from the boy's face. The strong front he had built was crumbling. His posture sagged and his jaw went slack at the sight of her face. Even the confident strut he usually wore had morphed into shaky, unsteady steps as he hesitantly, almost fearfully made his way towards the edge of the coffin.
Clutching her crimson lifeline tightly and biting down harshly on her lip, Mikoto quickly moved towards the open casket.
"She looked like she was sleeping - almost as if she would wake up at any moment."
Mikoto was hesitant. She had seen dead people before but they were all from the television. She had never witnessed one so... closely. Moreover, she knew this woman. No, the bond she shared with this woman was much deeper than that of an acquaintance.
She loved this woman. This sleeping woman was practically her second mother.
To say that she was shocked was an understatement. Mikoto was utterly speechless. There was no blood. There were no ugly scars, no hideous burns, no dismembered limbs and absolutely nothing to mar the woman's beauty. Dressed in a floral sundress, she looked perfectly fine, save for her rather sickly pallor.
"Yes, that had to be it! Yuuka-san was only slightly anemic, she couldn't actually be dead. She was probably trying to scare Sei-kun and me! It's probably all one big prank."
With that thought in mind, Mikoto turned to Akashi planning to tell him about her new discovery. Yet when she was faced with his grim expression, she was at a loss for words.
She was being ridiculous.
"No," she thought bitterly, swaying her head from side to side violently, vision blurred, "I was being an insensitive, naive fool - the worst kind of friend."
"It was then that I realised that he knew that she wasn't going to wake up."
Mikoto could feel tears welling up in her soft blue eyes, rolling down her flushed apple-red cheeks, further blurring her already limited vision of the raven-haired woman. She gulped and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying her best to remain unnoticed. She had to stop this shameful weeping... She would not make it even more unbearable for him.
She was too young...far too young. We were far too young.
Akashi Yuuka was a woman blessed with intellect, beauty and natural grace and in return, God had taken away her gift of "time".
And now, as she laid in her wooden cot, what had remained of her sharp wit, her eternal sunshine, her elegant movements, her soft, melodious voice, her soothing, warm embrace?
Gone - robbed by blackened death... yet even death was unable to steal her beauty.
She looked like a celestial maiden who had descended from the heavens. Thick, silky, black locks adorned with a flower wreath weaved from an assortment of bright flowers that juxtaposed her deathly pallor, only added to her unearthly charm. Beautiful.
Akashi placed the bouquet of flowers on the woman's chest, gingerly lacing her cold fingers together, placing her intertwined hands atop the bouquet. Mikoto tucked the stalk of the crimson camellia behind the woman's right ear and stepped back, granting him the privacy he needed.
The pale boy was now peering over the edge of her wooden casket. His eyes refused to look away, committing every single detail of this woman to his memory. From the mole on her neck to the beauty mark underneath her left eye - he vowed to never forget them, not today, not tomorrow and certainly not for the days to come.
He bent over her, and guiding his pale hands to her sickly white face, he traced the contours of her face carefully, placing tender, feather-like caresses on them. Her smooth, diamond skin felt like sharp icicles to the boy, prickling and painful.
His hands travelled north, tucking a loose ebony strand behind her ear. His fingers threaded themselves in her jet-black hair, fingertips softly grazing over the crown of flowers.
He burned the last visage of the serene smile that tugged at her faded pink lips into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining her shining emerald eyes, the wide smile on her cherry-red lips and her sweet voice calling his name lovingly.
"Seijuurou."
His eyes shot open, sending her one last longing look, before he uttered the three most important sentences to the most important person of his world.
"His voice wavered as he said those words but... he did not cry."
"Thank you for everything you have done."
A pause.
A deep breath.
Oxygen in, oxygen out.
"I bid you a safe passage... please take better care of yourself this time."
A choked splutter.
"I love you... Farewell, mother."
He was ready to let go.
.
.
.
.
TBC.
A/N:
Yo peeps! Hoped you enjoyed the first chapter :) It was kinda difficult to write (ACK!) I think I kinda screwed up Akashi's personality T.T
I apologise for the OOC-ness.. I'll work on it orz.. :(
Well the start is rather dark and angsty... My OC (Mikoto) is here to facilitate and guide the readers... but I may add in some romance? (though I suck at it DX)
Please critique and drop a review, will ya? :D TYVM~
