Condolences to the Damned

"Hisashi, don't run off like that."

"Mom, don't treat me like a little kid!"

"Honey, these streets can be dangerous at night. I thought I told you that?"

The rain continued to fall even into the wee hours of the morning as Shōhei stood in the shadows, watching a middle-aged woman tote her son away by his wrist. The boy was nearly middle school-aged if he had to guess, and his mother had silver starting to make her already light hair seem dusty. Even so, she was still as radiant as he remembered her.

Shōhei kept the beak of his hat pulled low as he followed their departure in his peripherals, soaked through and probably looking far more conspicuous than he intended. He didn't mean to appear sinister, or like he harboured ill intentions. The truth was that it was the exact opposite. A long time ago, he gave up his humanity to save that woman from a notorious Yakuza group. They were best friends at the time, Sora and he. Fortunately for Shōhei, she was so shocked by her rescue, the relief had her slip out of consciousness in his arms. By the time he'd returned her safely, he'd abandoned her life never to be heard from again.

Sora had sent him some messages, wondering if he'd made it out okay after all he'd done for her. Even now, her tears of gratitude remained saved on his answering machine decades later, but no matter how many times she'd begged to know if he was safe, he didn't respond. Then, eventually, he had to surrender to his weakness and block her number from contacting him any further. Though, Shōhei still replayed her voice sometimes to remind himself why he stood where he was, what he'd become. He wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure that she'd given up on finding him when she settled down. In Sora's eyes, he was probably dead.

Still, his face lit up with a small smile to come across her now and then. He couldn't believe she'd remained in Shizume after how many hours they talked about getting out of town. She was going to be an actress, as cliché as that sounded, but he supported her. With how dramatic she used to be, he never doubted her abilities once. It was nice remembering how much fun they used to have when they chatted about a perfectly unobtainable future, just being kids. Back when they were younger, he'd never considered Sora as a potential life partner or anything so serious, but watching her become the beautiful woman that he saw before him had a nasty sting causing the rainwater to send shivers up his spine.

There were times when he regretted abandoning her so casually. He couldn't imagine what it might have been like for her to carry the guilt of his life on her hands if she thought the Yakuza had killed him. But accepting his modified nature as the cost would be no easier. Shōhei didn't see much of her husband when he was out and about, but the young lad he'd watched grow sure was troublesome in ways that he didn't recall Sora being. Sure, she had a knack for finding herself in trouble, but she didn't go looking for it. Hisashi sure had a talent for running it down, and although the boy could never admit, they'd talked once or twice. Shōhei had taken it upon himself to look after the child if he was in the area, and he'd even sat for a friendly chat with him about his mother, about his friends at school. But Shōhei was particularly skilled at memory-altering charms, so every time they met was new to Hisashi.

Once, he'd slipped up, leaving a trace of his presence in the boy's thoughts. Sora was disturbed, and expectedly so, to think the ghost of her old friend had somehow made an appearance for her son, but she'd settled soon after. She, instead, accepted that her boy had an imaginary friend, and it was her guilty conscience that put Shōhei's face to the spectre. To Sora's recollection, Shōhei had passed away long before Hisashi was even a thought.

But Sora wasn't ready to die back then. Something was satisfying as he watched the woman giggle along with her boy like she had years ago when Shōhei used to make her laugh. They laughed a lot, as he recalled, and her laugh hadn't changed as she aged. The point was that it was worth it. Even if he didn't make it until the end of time, it was worth the time he had to have given her more. She deserved it way more than he ever could.

Suddenly, Shōhei caught his breath, alarmed when he'd lost track of the delighted pair from where they'd stepped out of the bright street. He seemed jarred from his thoughts by the impact of someone rushing past him in an attempt to beat the steady downpour. His eyes widened when he opened them, staring into the bright emerald gaze of Sora's lively son. That was clumsy, and he knew that Sora was the one who'd accidentally bumped him. She'd always been a little ditzy at times. Still, he was unnerved to watch Hisashi's gaze pierce him like he might recall the faintest trace of Shōhei in his memories.

"Please excuse us, sir," Sora prattled worrisomely. She quickly turned her stern gaze towards her son, emphasizing her words to discourage his struggle. "Some of us weren't watching where we were going."

"Yeah, you, Mom!" Hisashi snapped energetically. He was cunning enough to pick up on his mother's accusatory tone. "I watched you bump right into him!"

"Hey, now…" He knew it was risky, but either way, Shōhei's calm smile tipped over his shoulder as he captured the boy's collar and kept him from rushing away behind his mother's shy retreat. "You should be more respectful of your mom, don't ya think?" By the time Hisashi had turned to address the intrusion, Shōhei wasn't there.

Sora whirled, soaked from head to toe, and haunted by an upsetting chill as she turned to face the empty street behind her. "Sh-Shō…hei…?"

By her side, her son gave an anxious tug on her sleeve to reclaim her entranced attention. "See, Mom? I told you! You bumped into him, and then he ran away."

After clutching her boy tight to her front, Sora scanned the area, frightened, but at the same time, hopeful as she scoured the bustling street with desperate eyes. She'd lost her best friend when she was still just a young woman, so speaking his name felt surreal. The streets were bleak with the deluge, and the wind was frigid. But somewhere deep in her heart, she heard it. It was Shōhei's voice, and it was near. "Hisashi," she whispered nervously. "I want you to stay close to me, okay?"

"But, Mom-!"

"Stay close, please," she reiterated upon rushing away.

Sometimes, Shōhei wondered what it would hurt if he just approached Sora plainly and explained the whole situation. A part of him wondered if it wasn't fear that drove him to the top of a nearby awning to watch Sora drag her rowdy boy towards cover. It seemed that even Sora had heart scars from the time the Yakuza took her hostage. He sat beneath the angry clouds that night watching with an encouraging grin that mocked the gloom around him. He supposed things couldn't get much worse, but even still, he worried that breaking her heart was the only way he could suffer any more of a loss.

He could only imagine how devastated she would be to find out that he ran away, that he lied. At that point, so many years had passed that she had to bear that pain alone, that guilt. He figured in the end, he wasn't brave enough to confront her, even if he could rewrite her memory. The scar of her pain over his betrayal would stay with him a lifetime. She was too stunning to cry over someone like him, even after all this time. Maybe for just a while, he would let her think that his spirit was still floating around, helping her raise her son, keeping him safe on Shizume's dangerous streets. Then, maybe once he was gone, he could somehow come back and do just that to keep from making a liar out of himself.

Even once dawn broke on the horizon, the sky continued to drain the tears over the condemnation of lives forsaken to tragedy. As the cold December wind cut through Yō's frigid body, he figured that most of his friends were worth mourning, but maybe not him. The relentless wind tore past him, around him, carrying petals and the sweet scent of the flowers tight in his grip as he stood over the grave of a love that he couldn't save.

Yō wished he'd known so he could have tried harder, but he didn't. By the time he'd tasted immortality, she'd already faded, leaving him with the regret and a hole in his heart that he never did find a way to fill. Decades could turn into centuries, and he felt like he would never heal the scar she left behind. He supposed that time couldn't heal all wounds, and as an eternal creature of the night, he felt that he knew a bit about that kind of pain.

The wind was even worse when its unobstructed fury sliced through the sky on the coast, the seaside breeze potent as he drew the fistful of lilies he carried to his centre, trying his hardest to defend the petals before they all blew away. It was funny how his outlook had changed on certain things after contracting his virus. Instead of comparing her beauty or purity to the flowers in his hand, he found himself using it to represent her life.

Like the fresh-cut blooms in his hand, her spark was fleeting. Eventually, her petals fell, and she withered, albeit far from his comprehension. It would have been easier to think that she'd gone on to live a happy life with someone else, but then, he also feared that he might have unknowingly placed undeserved blame on her for his heartache. He felt like there was a time where he wasn't above being so petty, and that would hurt just as badly. But, if he had to compare himself to a flower, he was a wild weed. His roots were buried deep within the earth, and he would weather all seasons, coming back stronger each time it changed. But he was fixed. The same mundane routine continued to cause his feet to drag behind him until he wished that he could place himself next to her as effortlessly as he laid those lilies. At least, for a fleeting moment, she was perfect in every way. If he had to guess, his creeping vines were probably poisonous.

But as he lurked in the shadows of deep forests waiting to be carelessly plucked by some baser creature with an herbivore's appetite, he felt like he only lasted to rot. In the beginning, he regretted the loss, but that day had passed. Further, than any of his peers, he felt like he'd embraced the demon lurking within his soul and made it his own brand of evil. In that regard, he was glad that she couldn't see what he'd become.

"Guess I'm right back where I started, huh?" Even though he felt his eyes burn, Yō did his best to keep a mild smile on his face as he stared at a weathered name inscribed in the smooth stone surface by dates that were far too brief a span. Yamaoka Reika. After lowering his eyes from the sight of the pristine grave marker he'd remembered looking a little worse for wear in the salty seaside cemetery, he awkwardly worked at clearing the lump in his aching throat. "I'm kinda glad that she can't see what a damn wreck I am without her."

Masaomi tried not to let his smile spread too much as he stifled his appreciative chortle from behind his associate. "You mean to tell me that you used to be anything but?"

Yō's sad eyes lingered on the sight of the flowers he'd rested at the foot of the woman's grave. "Sure, laugh it up," he teased weakly. "Believe it or not, I used to be a real stand-up guy. I brought her flowers, held doors, and walked her to school. I was a complete basket case the night she asked me to have dinner with her parents. I was pretty sure her dad was gonna kill me."

A more noticeable chuckle sounded from within Masaomi's chest as he stood by his emotional friend. "He probably should've, and saved us the trouble of puttin' up with you."

"Yeah…" Yō agreed. "Thinkin' about it now, I was probably drunk off my ass for about a month after I found out. Honestly? I can't even tell you what happened between the time I lost her and the time they found me passed out in this spot."

"That's okay," Masaomi pestered slyly. "I have a pretty good idea."

"When I found out that I'd have to carry this around for longer than just one go, I was so pissed off that if I coulda, I probably would've killed Totsuka the moment I woke up on the other side," he instigated dryly. "I never thought I'd stop hating Mikoto-san, but once I saw what he was goin' through, it just left me in this weird place where I couldn't figure out what mattered anymore."

When Masaomi lowered his eyes, he rested the calm consideration on the sight of raindrops rolling over the cellophane that wrapped the rustling lilies. "Is this your way of saying that you're okay with the way things turned out? That you'll be glad to die?" He raised his attention towards his friend again with a sardonic expression only to meet with the sight of the tears that Yō couldn't lock behind kind brunet eyes anymore. "Chitose…?"

"No," he rumbled mildly. "It's my way of sayin' sorry for bein' a shitty friend who dragged you down with me." After he'd finally closed his eyes, it seemed like the tears only fell harder, and that made him angrier. "It takes a real ass to go oi, thanks for savin' my life, pal, here, suffer the same shitty fate as me-"

Masaomi's strike was just as merciless as ever as he knocked his knuckles against the back of Yō's head with a low grumble. "Baka." He closed his eyes, peacefully meditating on his thoughts as Yō itched his aching scalp. "It'd be easier to hate you if you could just hold yourself together." The mild grin he was forcing from spreading returned as he shifted his eyes towards his comrade from beneath dark-framed glasses. "Seriously, just think of what a mess you'd be without me here to put you back together all the time? How embarrassing in front of Rei-chan's grave."

When Yō's weak expression finally cracked a smile, Masaomi seemed gratified. "Besides," he whispered. "At least I can say that there was never a dull moment. I don't even think most married couples can say that."

"Ah, most married couples are dead before they've been together as long as we have," Yō instigated with a mischievous grin.

"I think what you meant to say is that if you ever married, your wife would have killed you before you had the chance to die together."

"You say that like an eighty-year-old man can't appreciate a fine ass." Yō laughed out loud the next time Masaomi struck him, and when he peeked towards his friend, he was smiling too. He groaned friskily and threw his head back to let the cold rain wash over his face. "Shit, we're really fucked here, aren't we?"

A curt snort scoffed past Masaomi's smirking lips as he picked a cigarette from its package and offered one to his friend. "Yeah, we are," he muffled behind the toxin.

Yō picked a dart between his fingers and slowly passed their lighter off to Masaomi. "Well, it was fun, though."

"Yeah…"

Dawn was breaking over the horizon and sending a sharp beam of pink and violet sun rays between the buildings. The rain was finally starting to let up, but at that point, the icy wind that was chilling Misaki to the bone had frozen him in place during the time he sat quietly among the rooftops. His knees locked raised, one forearm spanning them to support his weary head. He stared over the dark circles beneath his eyes towards the blinding blood-orange crack of daylight announcing another day wasted.

His left hand lingered in his lap as he defended his wristwatch from the shower. Usually, Misaki wouldn't be so protective of the durable components, but he'd composed his hundredth message over the hours that he'd lost track of and didn't want to erase it just in case he decided to send it someday.

It had been so long since he and Saruhiko could laugh at nothing, dream bigger than they thought the world could be. When they joined HOMRA as vampires, Misaki felt like they were unstoppable, that they could do anything. But shortly after Saruhiko had left, he realized that eternity was just a fancy cage capable of binding you without bars.

For a while, Misaki didn't care if they fought, he didn't care that Saruhiko wanted nothing more than to hunt him. If that were the case, he'd prance around at all hours to taunt him into the chase. It meant that for a single night, things were almost back to normal. They were the same foolish kids that they always were, treating the world as if it was their playground with no consideration of tomorrow or yesterday.

Something about it seemed strange to consider. How they'd acted as boys and how they'd behaved decades after their turning seemed eerily similar, but supported the same conclusion. Time had no meaning if they weren't together. A world without his best friend was irrelevant anyway, so he supposed, burning up into nothing wasn't a terrible way to go. He just hoped that before their time stopped, he could find a way to say the things that Saruhiko refused to acknowledge over Misaki's incisive messaging.

The world wasn't so scary back when they were together. Even after Misaki discovered that he was too sick for treatment, Saruhiko made him brave enough to fight until the bitter end. But Saruhiko was gone, and their ending was invading all over again. And he was scared. He wanted Saruhiko to nag him about how he was overreacting, or to force him to take better care of himself begrudgingly.

Only an idiot would stop eating just because they don't feel well, that was what he used to say even if Misaki couldn't stomach the taste of food. So, naturally, Misaki scarfed down every last bite. He never thought about it much until later, but he knew that Saruhiko was outsmarting him into regarding his preservation, and despite his abrasive approach, he knew that was how he showed he cared.

Trembling breaths rushed through his runny nose as he tried to keep his chattering teeth from parting for his sobs. Even knowing what he had, and including the appreciation he always fostered for Saruhiko's sacrifice, he never saw it. He felt like Saruhiko had betrayed him, betrayed all of them with bitter feelings of resentment towards their disease. It made no sense to him at the time. Saruhiko was the one who brought it back, who carried their futures combined to the doors of their salvation, saying hey, it's not so bad. Just think, we can be idiot kids forever.

It was all the strength he needed to feel the heat of that flame forced upon the wound Saruhiko inflicted.

"I really am an idiot…" He raised his hand to his face, smearing a mix of tears and rainwater from his devastated expression before tearing his hat from his head. In a fit of frustration, he tossed the water-logged article onto the ground beside him with a miserable slapping noise. That caused Misaki's anxiety to agitate and his depression to tighten his teeth until he was bitterly scrubbing the tears from around his eyes with both palms.

"You gotta figure this out so I can tell you, okay?" he blubbered miserably. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted his friend to return. "Let's just go back. Let's go back to being stupid kids and forget all this fucking shit. We don't need it."

He didn't want to die, but living wasn't simple either. He didn't know what to do, lumbering around like half his heart was missing. He wished he'd never gotten sick. He wished Saruhiko had never found a cure. He just wanted his life back. He wanted their life back. "Saru…

I'm sorry."

One thing that Tatara enjoyed most about everlasting life was finding new ways to pass the time. Sometimes, he took up a new hobby, learning things that he didn't know before, or better yet, realizing that knowing was only half of the battle. He'd had his share of failures, but that was okay. He had lots of time to figure out where he excelled.

But sometimes, exciting things were found in small, less perceptible places. That morning as the rainfall began to dissipate, Tatara stood and watched the most brilliant crimson sunrise break with the ocean tide around the rocky pier beneath his feet. He closed his eyes over his smile, inhaling the fresh scent to fill his chest with the reassurance of a new day. Whereas time had lost meaning to a lot of their companions, Tatara never saw it that way. The scars he kept on his heart of fading life reminded him that every moment was precious and should be cherished, even if times were hard.

That morning was a perfect example of the beauty the word still had to offer, and if they weren't going to enjoy it much longer, it didn't make sense to dwell on the rain. So, Tatara had braved it regardless to make his way to the shore, and the sky's salutation amply rewarded him. "Beautiful," he whispered breathlessly. "Who knows? It might even be prettier than the last one."

"You say that about every sunset you see."

The musical giggle in Tatara's tone was delighted as he swung his attention to his disgruntled cohort. "Ah, but this is a sunrise, King. There's a difference."

Mikoto snorted dryly and threw his disinterested gaze across the waterfront. "They look the same to me."

"That's because you're looking with your eyes."

There was doubt on Mikoto's face as he returned tired eyes to Tatara's shuffling.

"You should be looking with your heart." Tatara finished his playful remark with a cheerful wink.

Through careful observance, Mikoto watched Tatara climb down from the rock faces and return to his side like there was nothing strange about his optimism. "I think that's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said."

"And that's pretty amazing! Considering that I've had so long to outdo myself!" Without letting his smile fade, Tatara stood proudly next to his king and watched the tide start to roll in. "Maybe that means it's time," he reasoned soundly. "Maybe I am ready to die."

The tiniest of snorts huffed past Mikoto's flared nostrils as he dropped his balled fist in the centre of Tatara's head until his vassal moaned in agony.

"Ow! King, that hurt!"

"Good," Mikoto callously ordered as he returned his hand to his pocket. "Maybe that'll teach you for spoutin' crap."

Tatara recovered his posture facing the way they'd come, meeting the sight of Mikoto's footprints meandering lazily through the sand, and it dismayed him that they were so abstract. He could tell that it was becoming harder for Mikoto to keep his body under his control, and any day, they could lose him. Still, he rushed to catch up to his king with bright eyes and a smile on his face. "I'm not afraid, you know," he teased.

"That's 'cause you're too dense to be afraid."

"Ouch," Tatara sang impishly. "I think that hurt even more than your punch did."

"I'll find a way to beat him."

The delight in Tatara's face began to dwindle as he watched Mikoto's emptying ochre eyes scan the vacant stretch of the beach around them. Soon, he wouldn't be able to see through them anymore. They would belong to a demon. "I know you will," he whispered. "I know that somehow, everything will work out." Even though the conversation twisted, he remained light in spirits as he turned to face the beautiful sunrise that they were gifted that morning. "But if I'm gone-"

A surge of protective violence welled in Mikoto's chest as he turned his sharpening gaze to bark his impatience at the man beside him. "I already said you're not going anywhere," he thundered. When he grasped how irrational he was acting, Mikoto's expression softened, and he diverted it towards his feet. "If I can figure it out, maybe I can take over his curses too. Then nobody has to die."

"But don't you ever get tired of living?" Despite the bleak subject at hand, Tatara didn't seem to be any dimmer in spirit. "And what about Anna-chan? To be that young forever, even though she has a mature mind. How will she ever find love?" When Mikoto didn't refute him, he quietly continued. "And Kusanagi-san… If he stays as he is, he and Awashima-kun can never start a family. They'll drift apart until one of them can't take the pain anymore."

A genuine sense of regret filled Tatara's voice as he, too, watched their feet dot the barren landscape. "There is a whole great big world out there full of interesting people and experiences, and even though we've had all this time, we didn't see any of it. We stayed here, together, promising ourselves that we'd do it later, never thinking about what might happen if tomorrow never came."

"Totsuka."

"Sometimes, I wish you never saved me," Tatara finally surrendered in a mild whisper. "I wish Anna-chan got to grow up and live a fulfilling life. I wish Yata-chan and Fushimi-san were still friends. I wish Kusanagi-san got to marry Awashima-kun without having to worry about watching over a bunch of rowdy vampires."

"Totsuka, none of that would have happened if it weren't for this," Mikoto reasoned. "Kusanagi never woulda met what's-her-face and Anna would be dead." When Tatara shrunk away from his bluntness, Mikoto persisted. "She'd be dead, Totsuka. Yata would be dead. They wouldn't get to enjoy any of these things that you're talkin' about either way."

Tatara's expression flattened miserably. "Ah, I guess you're right," he murmured. "Heh, sorry. I guess there're good things and bad things, but we can't rewrite the past, can we? We can only fight for the future."

"This is my fight, not yours."

"But that's not right either," Tatara explained with an eager hum. "We're all in this together. It's why nobody blames you for what might happen." Tatara rested his fidgeting hands in his coat pockets as he sighed a humid breath and looked towards the clearing sky. "I guess if none of this happened, Shōhei's friend, Sora, might have been killed. Then her son never would have been born, and San-chan never would've found a pretty girlfriend like Tsukiyo."

Mikoto couldn't help but let a small smirk crack around his cigarette. "See? I knew you had a dark side. That was pretty mean." He turned his mild grin towards where Tatara's never faded, and his body relaxed moderately as his spirits lifted. What Tatara failed to realize was how powerful he was even without magic. "When'd they hook up, anyway?"

"Ah, well, I don't think it's official, but I'm sure one of them will make a move soon!" At least, Tatara hoped it was soon. "Probably Tsuki-chan, if I had to guess. She'll probably get tired of waiting sooner than later."

"Better be," Mikoto rumbled bleakly. "It's not like they've got all damn week."

"Nobody blames you, King," Tatara reassured him proudly. "No matter what happens, we're going to stick together and help each other get through this, for better or worse."

"There, see? Why does Kusanagi need to get married to the bluecoat? Apparently, he's married to his bar."

"Ah! Now you're being mean!"

Tatara's expression flattened with bemused worry when he felt Mikoto snag him beneath one of his strong arms, jerking his less-study frame into his chest. He tried to peek the sincerity of Mikoto's expression, but the crafty beast kept it hidden over Tatara's shoulder. That sincerity encouraged Tatara to falter. "Is everything okay, King?"

"Thanks," Mikoto rumbled gently. For a moment, they just lingered quietly in the sand, appreciating that they might not have many more chances to enjoy it beneath their feet. "If I don't come outta this, look after Anna for me, 'kay?"

Through a meek grin, Tatara's expression softened tenderly while he gently patted his king's arm. "So, it's only okay to talk about dying if it's you?"

Mikoto couldn't help but appreciate his friend's devotion to lightening the dark world that was closing in around him. Tatara was too good for a bleak fate. Mikoto had believed that enough to summon a demon into their lives, and he believed it enough to chase the fiend right back out. "Sometimes it's good to be king."