They held a memorial at the school. A pupil and a teacher lost, the sister found dead beneath the tree in the park Yuui remembered so fondly.
Being the last person to see either of them, he was called up for interview several times but every time he found he had surprisingly little to say. While understanding everything he knew nothing. All he knew was that he should be grateful that Seishirou hadn't taken his life. At least not yet, he thought, leafing through paperwork back in his flat.
And although he stood at the side of the hall during the assembly, he felt nothing. A guilty throb perhaps but nothing of the remorse and sorrow he'd predicted at the loss of a close and innocent pupil. Perhaps he'd accepted it as an inevitability but that wasn't like himself. Staring at his hands as he flicked through paper after paper, he became increasingly certain that they were not his own.
He realised acutely that he had been introduced to Seishirou's plan merely as an additional amusement. Like a wind-up toy, walking towards self-annihilation - a psychopath's childish entertainment.
This time he had lost control over his life, who he was and what he did. In the arms of someone different he could protect himself, but now he found himself shocked that he'd never even recognised danger as it had led him into this strange position. Just like before with Ashura.
Strangely, he could see now that there should have been warning signs but at the time the only person he thought was in danger was himself. And he thinks back to that evening he'd allowed himself to be swept away after school by Seishirou, oblivious to the presence of the storm, the violence that the man contained. If he hadn't imagined brutality as being part of the game then he would have been frightened. Instead he'd welcomed the vicious nature of the proceedings with a strange sacrificial warmth. It only occurred to him now that he seeks self-damage. And he felt something rotting at a core when he thought of Subaru exposed to that threat. Not in the same situation, he's sure but that was not necessarily a blessing.
If Ashura had destroyed Yuui then Seishirou had stepped upon the broken pieces, crumbling them in into fine powder, too easily influenced, swept apart by the smallest motion.
And as he lies, staring up to the ceiling, fingers lying limp, he feels something corrode. He wraps his hands around his own arms, not recognising them and feeling the horrible sensation of self-loss. A thing that had slumbered since his childhood, waiting beneath his skin. He'd lived with it for a long time, shaking its presence from memory as if it were a smudge on the wall – always there but not affecting. And now it was as if it had arisen to catch him.
He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and placed pen to paper, dissolving piles of paperwork in a fraction of the time, snatching at the hands on the clock.
***
When you get to this address, knock on the door. If he doesn't appear then use the key and enter the flat. The problem will solve itself shortly.
Kurogane stared at the piece of paper lying on his desk, dashed with elegant calligraphy, and the key lying on top of it. Arms folded across the table, he tried to picture that situation. But he couldn't see it. Yuui couldn't be the same person living behind the same door, he was certain of it. His gut instinct was warning him against this woman and her plan, even the very idea of visiting him.
Another part of him refuses to let go no matter how desperately he wishes to. Regardless of what he believes, this person was someone very special to him once and the idea of dropping an opportunity is not too favourable with him either. Most importantly, he felt that he owes this person an apology. Five years ago there was a sickly and underlying sense of loneliness within Yuui and he couldn't picture this having improved dramatically in those years apart. He felt partially responsible for it. Besides, this was also for Fai. All those years ago, promising him that he'd take care of his brother. Come to what? He'd run away.
He groaned, feeling like a coward. All the way to Japan. Now that he had stepped into the doorway of his 30s he could see clearly that he had run all the way to Japan to avoid that boy and his brother's grave, harbouring feelings that changed him, scared his younger self. And when he'd arrived it wasn't as if he'd made a great success of himself. He'd cheated his way into thinking he had a pleasant life, avoiding any chance of true satisfaction in life, more specifically the uncertain territory on the approach. He could kick himself now he realised what had happened. It was almost as if he'd been determined to make that decision he made twelve years ago work to his benefit. It had never turned out well.
In fact that may have been why that witch had taken that ring of all things. Fine, the services of a supernatural creep have got to be costly. Naturally she'd take the most damn expensive thing on him but now he was beginning to see a certain mental tag attached to the ring. Delusion in a nutshell. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd tricked him into thinking deeply about all this psychological shit as well as conning him out of a lot of money. Not as much as the plane tickets though.
He heaved a sigh. This was going to cost him all he had.
This apology might wreck what little he'd built over the last twelve years.
Still, now he'd faced the fact that his life was one big unhappy circle he'd been powering himself, it'd be difficult to go back. Looking at the past, he was growing increasingly frustrated with himself and his actions.
He flipped over the box the ring had come with in his hands, turning over his thoughts, twisting his angles of perception. A risky apology with a past he'd shunned unfairly or the same dull, old twist?
He frowned.
Screw it.
And he picked up the phone.
***
It was a difficult feeling to deny and Yuui buried himself in work to avoid it, paying the most excruciating attention to detail for minor causes, drowning in paper, busying himself with trivialities. This worm, dark and peering, burrowing, refuses to leave him even with his mind occupied, lingering on the outskirts of his consciousness. This darkness seeps into him, burning mind and matter regardless of how much he writes, how deeply he dwells on class plans.
The term will end soon. And he grows worried, too scared to flick a glance over his shoulder to the strange demons lurking at his feet, brushing against his back. He takes an unsteady breath, willing himself not to break into a run. He doesn't know how to handle this. And without his attention, the feeling spawns behind his back. He can feel its presence increasing in weight, growing each day and pressing against his lungs.
And soon it begins to stalk him, becoming involved in his daily routine. He took every step possible to ignore the silent and invisible monster feeding off him. He wasn't sure where he disappeared to once devoured.
Each day a little less of him woke up. The rest had slipped away soundlessly through the night. When he pressed his fingers against an object he could feel them, hollow beneath. And as this numb feeling wandered through his nerves, in his blood, gradually reaching his chest, tears felt like spilling but could never arrive. He stared emptily.
***
Kurogane dropped everything to make that flight. This time he juggled casual attitude with haste and desperation. Growing more and more confused, he didn't know what to believe anymore. No matter, he wasn't a patient person or one to take direct commands. The problem would just have to wait for him to arrive.
Like an afterthought, he remembered the woman's words as if she had been urging him not to stall for time. But he wasn't stalling, he was taking his time. That wouldn't change anything. And he needed this time. This was something big she'd asked him to do, an enormous task he was asking himself to complete. He'd rather have his head in the right place when he boarded that plane.
So he cancelled arrangements, asked for time off work. He gave himself a week to shed personal ties, not knowing what was going to happen from that Monday onwards.
Lying awake he found Yuui's image escaping from his memories and into his mind, shining a clear picture. Secretly, Kurogane realised, he wanted to see him again. No, he needed to see him again. As well as apologise he might as well sort matters between them for once and for all. There would be no more running or hiding.
So silently, when the night was dark and still, when his eyes should have shut long ago, he enjoyed the prospect of seeing that smile once more.
***
If Yuui did smile then it was not himself that did so. It was as if a separate identity resided within the same body, taking over, controlling a physical shell as whatever entity that he consisted of slipped away as he slept.
Silently, he skims through rooms too silent, too cold. Realising something is wrong, he can't put his finger on it, has even less idea how to control it or set it right. It was happening without his consent or will and it was frightening him to tears. A part of him that recognised these things around him, these emotions, had left him as well and without it he was beyond lonely.
He held a picture of his brother in his hands and had to put it away, thinking morbidly to himself that he'd never have wanted this to happen. Looking at these photos, remembering, breathing in a pungent scent containing memories of who they all used to be, he realised that he had been left behind, not having the strength in himself to do what was best for him, create his own opportunities or find those small recesses where he could be happy – a partner, a job. He'd wrecked his own body. As a consequence, he'd melted away, becoming part of the dawn that woke him each morning. He'd watch it, detached.
He tried to reason with himself to go out, to find something. But he didn't know what it was he was supposed to find and he lacked the confidence to search. He wasn't himself. And that may be dangerous if he couldn't control who he was, what he felt.
Contained in his flat he had more time to think, pacing, searching for life. And it led him down a spiralling staircase, disappearing underground where his breath turned to curling clouds of steam, the earth was wet and cold and not a single throb of life could be felt. Tracing each memory like a footstep, he followed a trail into a thick forest, barring him exit. And there he felt numbly his past experiences pressed against his skin. A sensation he could feel faintly as he lay trapped on his sofa.
Slowly, mechanically, he turned over and buried his face in the material, wishing he could feel something he could recognise as himself again.
***
Kurogane had forgotten how long the flight would last. He felt as if he was whittling away chunks of his own life sitting with nowhere to go. It always irritated him. Attempting to sleep, he felt excluded from this luxurious experience bar the odd rare moment. How he ever managed, he wasn't sure. For the rest of the time (however long that was) he sat clutching at a book, reading but the words would never enter his head.
Once off the plane, he was grateful. And somehow fully rested. Perhaps he'd lost track of time and slept longer than he thought he had. It didn't matter. Now he was off the plane, he needed somewhere to go.
He must have been the last person on the flight to leave the airport. He stood for a long time in the cold, on the brink of a country he remembered fondly, guiltily, staring up at the sky. Thick and heavy clouds had been painted to cover the view above with an almost bitter resentment. However the patches left clear were made heavenly blessings for that reason – a jewelled veil of smooth silk, it glittered faintly, as if trying to sleep.
There was no point staying at a hotel. He wasn't on holiday.
Feeling almost as if there was a voice calling him, whispering missions, he climbed into a taxi, leaving for the train station.
***
There was not a human soul outside, not a thing to reach him.
He lay there, breathing words to something he couldn't understand, the thing that held him in its grasp. He felt himself hovering over an abyss, about to be severed from his physical shell. He frowned. He'd not felt its presence in a while now. And yet he knew somehow that it seemed beyond rescue.
For a long time he lay, barely distinguishing time – the hours when he was washed in a golden trace, barely a pulse, and others when he was consumed. The darkness crept closer to his skin, underneath. He could feel it. Each part of his body was beginning to unlink, detaching, spiralling into unknown voids. Soon the last of him would crumble away. Like a long-lost picture, faded both from memory and life.
A complete loss of identity. He lost hope. His hands skimmed lightly over his legs. Those years spent rebuilding himself, only to find himself empty. This silence, a black hole without himself. Following other things and watching, feeling beyond human register. Pieces lay scattered outside.
And he started to cry, tears flowing endlessly, trailing deep down into cushions, into consciousness, voice unused, breath straining. So this was how it felt to lose your soul to nightmares. A ripped shell of a body, a demolished, concrete building, lying in strewn ruins, a broken frame.
Somewhere he understood that he would never return.
In the end this made it easier. Seeking solutions, reprises, he came to find his conclusion several days later. It was found as a meagre voice, a torn thing, a smashed record. He listened to it, separated from his previous rationality, ears pressed to it without even consideration. A promise to a new reality.
Automatically, it was easy.
***
Kurogane had rung the bell but unfortunately there'd been no answer, meaning he'd have to take the hard way around this. Turning the key over in his pocket, he felt its weight and meaning, taking time to get around to using it. He still had barely any idea what it meant, what this 'problem' the witch had mentioned was. If Yuui was out then wouldn't it be best to wait for him? Better still to get the hell out of there?
No, he couldn't leave. It had to be tonight. He wouldn't try to escape from this again.
He lifted the simple key from his pocket, staring at it lying in the palm of his hand, unthreatening and neutral. With a deep, determined breath he inserted it, turned it, pushed the handle. The door swung open without difficulty or anything to note as remarkable or unusual in any way.
He stepped into the home warily, removing his shoes through politeness. Then stopped, with a pang of regret, realising the lights were on.
'Yuui,' he called, shutting the door, wondering if he really was in or not.
Sounds from the kitchen came, ringing through his ears as a sign. As he looked up, he saw bare feet padding through to the corridor, carrying with them a fragile body, shining pale in the meagre light. Yuui stopped suddenly before him, hands clutched awkwardly to chest, eyes widening suddenly and frighteningly open, reflecting the little light at this hour of night.
Kurogane only smiled at the sight of him for a small moment. Something was wrong. A dark suspicion gripped him as he considered stepping forward to greet him, this person he had travelled god knows how many miles to see, a fragment of his past. However he stood warily, judging the situation. Something was wrong with Yuui.
He looked unhealthy. His eyes stared dead like glass, as if they didn't register at all. They displayed nothing, not even a trace of emotion. And they held and maintained an unrealistic degree of shock, as if frozen in position. He gazed forever towards something unimaginable, distraught.
The first sign of life or motion that Kurogane saw – a tear slipping from his eye, trickling down the side of his face.
A drop of blood fell to the floor.
Pushed into action, a fear for the worst drilling into him, Kurogane stepped forward, his eyes narrowing darkly. He reached forward, clasping Yuui's hands in his own, looking towards him as he stared with the same expression, tears pouring from his eyes. His own hands tremble, feeling a sickeningly wet warmth against Yuui's soft skin. Slowly, hoping it was a lie, Kurogane turns over his arms, revealing rivers of blood, streaming, weeping from Yuui's wrists.
***
At times, he wakes from his sleep, an image burning his vision procured from the darkest depths of his memory. He always turns to the figure beside him to check if they're still alive and breathing. Softly.