Title: For Lovers to Meet in a Graveyard
Prompt: "It was a bit odd for lovers to meet in a graveyard."
Characters: Luka, Len
Time Limit: One hour
Perhaps it might have been a bit strange to have met her standing there, staring at the grave of the man she'd once loved so dearly, but what was he meant to do? It was hard to deny what his heart felt, gazing at that beautiful woman in a moment of rueful serendipity, and he didn't want to love her, of course; who would want to love the woman who waited at the graveyard each night until sunrise as though her beloved might one day rise from the grave and greet her once more? Still he found himself holding out a cup to her today, a simple Styrofoam cup with spiced apple cider from the corner store down the street. She didn't look away from the grave as she accepted it, nor did she speak a word.
He stood there as he always did, wondering if he ought to speak for her, but they'd rarely exchanged more than a few syllables, had they? Perhaps this was the stagnant home of their relationship. What more had he to expect, anyway? After all, this was all he had to offer her, and there was little she had to give him, either. "It's cold tonight," he mused anyway, perhaps attempting to chase away the chill of the cold night air with the heat of his minted breath as it dissipated in the air around them. The woman sipped her drink with a slow blink at the grave, offering no acknowledgement of this presence. He shuffled from foot to foot, bouncing to find some warmth as he took a gulp of the bitter coffee that scalded his entire mouth. His eyes teared a little, but he did his best not to make it obvious. "You like cider?" She wasn't likely to respond, but he knew the answer. After all, this was the first time she'd done more but hold the drink he offered until all the warmth had seeped into the night air.
"I don't dislike it."
Her voice was nothing wonderful, but it still sent a thrill of excitement through the young boy. It was wondrous, almost, to realize that she really, truly, was a creature who could speak. There were nights he wondered if she were an apparition, a fantasy he'd created in his own desperate search for attention. So, hoping to earn her approval once more, he asked, "Is there anything you'd prefer?"
She gave no answer, though, and his words fell on dead air. A bout of awkwardness blazed through him then with the recognition that he'd overstepped his boundaries. After all, it was he who pushed himself on her with his presence each night. He really ought to stop coming here. It had been over a year since his sister had passed away, after all, and he couldn't earnestly say he mourned for her loss as greatly as this woman did the person in the ground below their feet.
She spoke softly, deathly subtle in the night air: "His name was Yuuma." Her voice barely seemed real; perhaps she wasn't even aware she was speaking. He gazed silently at her, frightened that any sign of life might chase her back into her solitude. "It's a bit odd for lovers to meet in a graveyard, isn't it?" She had a gentle smile that he couldn't quite comprehend, and she turned her blue eyes onto him with a little sparkle of something mischievous, something adult that he couldn't yet comprehend. He was only fourteen, after all. There was no way he could even understand the inner workings of this woman's mind.
"Was he your boyfriend?" he asked, believing that she wished him to.
"Are you?" she returned, and his heart almost stopped. What was she talking about? They'd barely spoken more than a handful of phrases to each other.
"Are you teasing me?" he questioned, though his cheeks were flushed and his palms sweated and his heart was thundering so loudly that his entire body shook.
Unreservedly, her eyes returned to the grave, and she said nothing more. The night descended into silence. The boy tried to regain control of himself unsuccessfully until eventually his attention drifted around the graveyard once again. Not six plots over, his sister rotted beneath the ground, yet here he was, entirely captivated by a woman he'd never truly met at the grave of a man he'd never really know. How was one meant to argue with their heart, however? He couldn't resist the secrets it whispered to him, the promises that this woman, her long pink hair waving in the wind, was everything he'd ever want. Was it really so wrong to be in love here in a graveyard?
The sun rose, and all continued like clockwork. She placed the Styrofoam cup on top of the grave, placed a kiss on the cold tablet, and walked away as though both she and he had never been there. He, barely awake where he stood, made his way to catch the bus to school. He'd sleep through literature, mathematics, and maybe the whole day. One couldn't reason with a young boy in love.
The next time he managed to make it away, only barely over a month later, he proffered the Styrofoam cup of cider and risked wondering, "What's your name?"
With the drink in her hand, she told him, "Luka." Of course, it seemed more as though she spoke to the grave than to him, but what did that matter at this point? He was head over heels, completely in love, entirely smitten. Nothing else mattered to him.
"Do you want to know mine?"
There it was again. That adult glint in her eyes, she playful smirk as she graced him with her attention and returned, "Do you want me to want to know yours?"
Because he was yet to be cautious and abashed, he replied, "I do," with the earnestness of a child and the sincerity of an adult. It was a splendid time, wasn't it? He was neither one yet. He was still free to do so much.
It seemed to take an eternity for her to tilt her head to the side and wonder, "How old are you, darling?" He couldn't deny how lovely it felt to be called darling by that beautiful woman, and he answered most promptly.
"Fourteen, but I'll be fifteen soon."
"And why do you always come here, darling?"
"To see you, of course."
"There's no one else?"
He hesitated, feeling a touch of guilt at the accusation he knew she likely hadn't meant. "There's my sister."
She looked back to the grave, though he was sure she was still listening. He continued speaking, then, determined to get her to look his way.
"She passed away over a year ago. I can't remember her voice anymore, though, and I've gotten used to it. We were twins, so it was really hard to get used to at first." He swallowed, staring steadily at Luka, and professed, "I was able to get through it, though, because you were here."
She didn't look away as she mused, "Are you in love with me, darling?"
"I am. At least, I think I am. I've never been in love before, though. And I know I'm still young."
"How unfortunate for you. For, you see, I'm already in love."
"I know. With the person buried here, right?"
She laughed for the first time he'd ever heard, though it was truly little more than a short, harsh exhale. "Yes. It is a little odd for lovers to meet in a graveyard, isn't it?"
"I suppose so," he told her, watching her carefully. It was peculiar, for it both seemed as though she might fall apart at any second and that she might be entirely indestructible. He wanted to hold her and run away from her and to never touch her and to stay by her side together and to know her completely but preserve the mystery that was her. "But if that's the only place you can see him, then what else can you do?" She didn't respond, so he tried something else. "Would I ever have a chance with you?"
"Never."
The sting of rejection bit into him for the first time, but he was a young, determined, stubborn little creature, so he affirmed quickly, "I never thought I did." It didn't make a difference, after all, because he knew he was infatuated with her. He couldn't give up anytime soon.
He didn't try to speak to her again for a few weeks. After all, he was making it to the graveyard far less often than he'd like too given the stricter sleep schedule his parents had implemented upon realizing that he'd been sleeping through all his classes. Of course, nothing had changed when he returned. She still stood there, gazing relentlessly at the grave, willing her lover to rise again. She took the cider without a word, and, though the snow crunched beneath the blanket he laid on the ground where he sat, he waited there with her, almost wishing as much as she did that the lover would rise again. He wanted to meet him. He wanted to find out what it took to win this woman's heart.
"Are you still in love with me, darling?"
Her voice breezed into the icy puffs of breath that spilled from her mouth, and he gazed at her uncertainly, trying to discover what she meant for him to say. "Of course. I'm not that fickle a person."
"Are you my lover, then, boy?"
He blinked slowly, attempting to discern her meaning. She continued staring at the grave, patiently awaiting that man's arrival. "In some sense, I suppose I am. I do love you, after all."
"That's a problem, now, isn't it?"
"Why?"
"I'm six years older than you, you know. And I'm already in love with someone."
"Six years won't mean much when we're older."
"But my heart still loves another."
"And mine loves you. Feelings change, don't they?"
She smiled sparklingly at him. "Is it a race, then? To see who falls out of love faster?"
"I guess. If you want to think of it that way."
"And who's the winner, in that case?"
"I think we'd each win in our own way."
"Is that so? Well, darling, I can't say I'll ever love you."
"That's okay."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'll always love you."
That earned another laugh from her, closely followed by silence. He wasn't sure what he was meant to do in this situation, so he let himself follow her lead. And so it continued for longer than he'd ever thought possible. Suddenly, he found himself forgetting why he even came to this graveyard. He could never recall leaving, nor was returning clear to him anymore. All he remembered was her, staring at that grave, waiting for her lover to return. Today he was fourteen; the next he was fifteen. Before he knew it, he himself was twenty, and she twenty-six. He'd never even told her his name. He didn't come each night, of course. In fact, nearly a year had passed since he'd last been there. He didn't live in this city anymore. Yet, as he'd suspected, there she still remained, waiting at that grave, and he held out a Styrofoam cup of cider to her. She looked to him before taking it this time, resting her gaze on him with a curious look. He offered a smile, which she returned gently, though her eyes remained assuredly perplexed.
"What is it?" he wondered.
"It's odd, isn't it? For lovers to meet in a graveyard."
"Are we lovers, then?"
"Are we not?"
"I'm in love with you."
"So you are my lover."
"But you're not mine."
"I suppose not. Would you like me to be?"
"More than anything."
"That's peculiar."
"Why?"
"Because we've never even met before, have we?"
"Of course we have. You've never asked me my name, but I know yours. I know your lover is the man buried beneath our feet. I know you only like hot cider. I know you wait at this grave every night until sunrise. Then you kiss the grave, walk away, and return again by the time I'm back."
She stared at him with an odd comprehension and mused, "So you truly are my lover, aren't you?"
"I truly am."
"It's a little strange, though, isn't it?"
"Why's that?"
"Because you're only a child, and I'm twenty."
"I'm twenty, Luka. You're twenty-six."
There was that breath of laughter again. "How ridiculous. Anyone who looked at you would know you're only fourteen."
He frowned a little and questioned, "You really don't remember who I am? I'm the boy who's sat at this grave with you time and time again over the past six years. I'm the boy who professed his love to you, the one who you informed that you're in love with someone else."
"No, darling, you must be mistaken, for that is another boy completely."
"What are you talking about?"
She tilted her head even further, long pink locks flowing over her shoulder, and he could've sworn she was growing younger every second. Finally, she confessed, "There is certainly a boy who's done all that, but it wasn't you. My lover and I would meet here nightly, but he's long gone."
"I've only been gone a year. I'm sorry I left without warning. I swear that I'm me, though. I'm not trying to fool you."
"You don't understand, darling. It simply isn't you. Tell me your name, and I'll prove to you that you aren't who you think you are. Certainly we're lovers, but not in the way you think. After all, I'm in love with someone else, and he is long gone."
He wanted to argue, but his attention was caught by something he'd failed to notice until now. This wasn't where they normally sat. In fact, if he turned his attention fully, he noticed something greatly amiss. The grave looked entirely different, and not just its shape and stonework. The name and dates scrawled had changed. Kagamine Len, deceased at age 14 if he calculated right. It might've been fifteen in a couple more months, but he'd died in early December. She noted his eyes locked on the words and spoke.
"That is my lover, you see. He was a precious boy I loved dearly, but he fell asleep waiting here for me once."
"What about Yuuma?"
She stared at him curiously. "Is that not your name?"
He froze, uncertain. "My name is Len, isn't it?"
She stared at him for a moment, then returned her attention to the grave. "Are you in love with me, darling?"
"I think so. I mean, I am. I was. But who is 'me'? How can I be sure when I can't even be sure of that much?"
"Who could know?" The sun was beginning to rise now, and as he stood there perplexed, she placed her cup atop the grave that now held his name and placed a gentle kiss upon it. She turned to him with a gentle smile on last time and asked before leaving, "Don't you think it's odd, darling? For lovers to meet in a graveyard."
AN: Surrealism, I guess?
