love, death and broken things
She glanced at the hooded boy floating silently next to her, his gaze downcast. His gloved hands were clasped loosely together, and he drifted along, so quiet that if she didn't look, she would have thought he wasn't there. She worried her lip, wondering what to say.
"It's a nice day out today, isn't it?" she decided to try, wondering if that would prompt any kind of response from him. The boy barely reacted – he turned his face just a tiny bit in her direction, but he looked away just as quickly, the slight movement so languid that it almost distracted her from how…reluctant he was. He hated looking at her. She wasn't quite sure if she had figured out why – she had her suspicions, but he was unwilling to speak to her.
Letting out a sigh, she drew to a stop at the traffic junction, waiting for the light to turn green. A few cars sped past her, and life went bustling on. Everything was normal, and she would have thought things were normal if it weren't for the eerily silent figure by her side. People who walked past her didn't say a single word, laughing and talking with each other as if the boy didn't exist. You'd think people would comment on the fact that his feet didn't touch the ground – but then why would they say anything, when no one else could see him?
"Could you come down?" she finally decided to ask, after a few more moments of silence passed and she could bear the tension no longer. The boy did look at her this time, his face still partially covered by his hood, but he acquiesced – gently, his feet touched the ground, the tips of his shoes gingerly pressing themselves against the pavement. He was dressed like a typical teenage boy, with his dark grey hoodie, his ripped skinny jeans and the high-top black sneakers, scuffed with use and age. His hands were gloved, the black material covering his fingers almost shimmering – it looked like it was made of something like velvet, yet not.
He seemed like the most normal boy in the world. And although she could not see his face right now, she knew his looks were far from average – he was actually really attractive, so ethereally beautiful that her mind always blanked out for a few seconds whenever she saw him without his hoodie up. But he was far from normal. And only she knew his secret…
"Do you want me to make myself visible too?" he asked, his voice as quiet as the rest of him. He was the whispering of the wind through autumn leaves; the last exhale someone makes as their soul passed peacefully into the unknown. She nodded mutely, and once more he acquiesced to her wish – there was the faintest of ripples through the air, almost visible but not quite, and suddenly there he was, taking up solid space beside her. It was a little better to know that he was visible to others now. She hated talking to him when he was hiding from public view – people always thought she was mumbling to herself.
"How long are you staying around for, this time?" she mustered up the courage to ask. She had asked before a few times, but he never bothered to answer. She knew he wouldn't answer either – and even if he did, it would feel like she had pried his secrets out of him, ancient bits and pieces of memory that never before had any need to see the light. The boy shrugged, and right then the traffic light changed – they began to cross the road, her with her usual bounce to her step, him as gracefully as ever. Even on ground, he seemed to float.
"I'll stay until the day you die," he answered peacefully, and she blinked in surprise – he had never answered before. He glanced at her again, and she took in the light blond hair, almost white, the deep blue eyes that contrasted so starkly against the pale skin, the serene smile curving his lips. She wanted to ask when she would die – a morbid kind of curiosity, perhaps – but before she could open her mouth, his gloves dissolved, revealing the fair skin beneath, and he gently reached out to cup her face in his hands. "Right now," his voice was mournful.
And the very next moment, the car slammed into her, and she fell straight into darkness.
Kagamine Len did not long for much. He was, more or less, satisfied with what he had – how else was he supposed to complain, anyway, even if he wanted to? He had been told over and over again that his job was not a pleasure. He was there to help the natural order of things. He was part of the world, yet never truly in it, only a bystander at the very most.
But that girl…that girl, whom he saw over and over again, life after life after life. There was something about her that made her stand out among all the blurry, faceless faces of those doomed to die. And he couldn't help but feel drawn to her, this mournful girl with the sad eyes and bright smile, who for some reason was able to see him, who for some reason always seemed to know what he was there for. She was always afraid to ask, and he never bothered to tell her – there was just an unspoken agreement between them, and when the time came, he gathered her soul in hands as soft and tender as rose petals, and delivered her to where she belonged. To where everyone would belong, eventually. Maybe even him.
Hatsune Miku was her name. The name that was given to her very soul, no matter how many different names she took on in multiple lifetimes. It was the name he would always know her as – the first name, the words that sprang into existence and brought her to life, gave her meaning. Always a bright flame, a spark that went out too quickly – he had never once seen this girl live beyond the ripe old age of eighteen years old, the same age he died. Perhaps that was why they had this mysterious connection, why no matter where he went, he would always find her. What were the odds that he, out of the many others who were just like him, would keep bumping into the same mortal over and over again? Very slim.
"You're still thinking about her?" his twin sister asked, evidently picking up on his silent distress. He sent her a carefully blank look, but she was his twin, the girl who had shared a womb with him, shared his birth and shared his death. She knew him better than anyone; she knew him better than he knew the back of his own hand. "I don't know how you do it – or why anyone would do this, honestly. Isn't it the worst thing, to talk to someone knowing that you'd have to reap them – knowing that your very presence draws death to them?"
"It's what she wanted," he answered her evenly, betraying no hint of his inner turmoil. Yes, it was what she wanted, but did she really know what she was requesting for, back in her fifth life when she was still so young, her soul not yet jaded to the workings of the world? She had died far, far too many times for her to still desire his presence, surely – he would scorn himself if he was her, tell him to leave and stay as far away as possible. He would do anything for her, and if that was what she wanted, he would disappear. It would break his heart to see her being reaped by someone else, but at least she might live a while longer.
Kagamine Rin frowned. "Did you ask her that in her most recent life?" she swirled a finger around the clear orb she was holding, carefully cupping the fragile glass in one slender hand. Len wordlessly nodded, and she sighed, peering deep into the orb. The glass orb was filled with grey mist, and occasionally one could see tormented faces flashing across the surface – the souls of the wretched, who had committed some crime so heinous that the universe itself cried out, forbidding them from entering the cycle of death and rebirth. All of them had orbs like these. Len's own was nestled within his robes. He hardly ever took it out.
"Len…" he heard a familiar voice, and turned to see the willowy girl he and his sister had been discussing just moments ago. The soul hesitated, lingering right outside the room, then took a few tottering steps inside – he darted over to her side, helping her walk in. She was unused to moving in such an incorporeal form. "Am I…am I going back?" she asked weakly as he helped her along, clutching tightly at his sleeved arm. He tensed, reluctant to answer the question – Rin watched sympathetically, having gone through this many times.
"Yes," he answered, voice soothing. Her face crumpled, and his heart clenched – reaching up, he brushed a finger against her cheek, catching one small tear as she began to cry. "You will always go back. You cannot stay here, Miku. You know that. Only certain people are exempted from the cycle of rebirth, and I do not want you to become that way…no matter which way you are thinking of right now," he added, a bit more sternly than how he would normally talk. She avoided his gaze, her green eyes a little glassy, and he exhaled.
"Look at me," he lowered his hood, and she lifted her gaze towards him, meeting his eyes steadfastly. She reached out, and he allowed her to run her fingers lightly across his face, her slender fingers lingering against his cheeks, his jawline, running through his hair. "You know I will be there again, perhaps from your birth, perhaps after a major event in your life, perhaps right before – no matter how long it takes, I will be there. And the day I remove my gloves is the day that you'll know," he leant his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.
"I know," her lips moved against his. He lingered, taking in her taste – the taste of fire, of wilderness, of sharp words and tender caresses. He wouldn't know how long it'd take until the next time she came back here with him. Eighteen years was a blink of an eye to him, but it was years and years of getting to know her again, of her getting to know him, and existing with the knowledge that she could never, never really find out who he really was, or how he truly felt about her. At least, not while she was alive and among the living. He couldn't tell a mortal girl that he was in love with her. Because there was no telling how that would affect her life or the decisions she made. He didn't want her to kill herself for him, and that had happened once, just once the only time he stupidly slipped and told her the truth.
"Tell me how to become like you," she pulled away abruptly, meeting his gaze with strong intent in her gaze, her green eyes blazing like wildfire. Even in death she always had such passion. Len tensed. That was one thing he wouldn't ever tell her – not that he could not, for it was entirely allowed, but rather he didn't want her to go through the same kind of miserable existence as him. He could not touch anyone or anything. He was a servant of Death, a reaper as the humans called his kind, and his touch was an ill omen. It was a mark that indicated the imminent, and if he accidentally let his bare skin brush against a living thing, they would die, and they would die almost instantaneously. It was a horrible burden to carry, and it made him terribly, horribly lonely. His only companion was his twin sister.
Rin was a reaper like him, but they had slightly different roles. She usually stayed in their own realm, managing the souls they had to rebirth and retain. She was one of the Keepers of the Orbs – all of them had their own orbs to imprison those unworthy of rebirth, but she was one of those who kept meticulous records of who, why, how long…and she was the one who saw the past, the present, the future. Death was all-seeing, and those who served as his gatekeepers shared the same omniscience. Len was not one of those in that office.
His sister gazed at him with a look almost like pity. He didn't like it. "I can't," the words, the rejection, rolled flatly off his tongue. They left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. She stared at him wordlessly, her green eyes unyielding, and in a bid to distract her he ran his fingers through her long teal hair – but it felt like he was the one who was distracted, for he found himself marvelling at the impossible, impossible silkiness, impossible for she was dead and merely a fragment, and had no flesh, no mortality of which to speak of. Why did she affect him this way? He hated himself for falling so completely, but he could never, ever hate her.
"How did you die?" Miku changed the topic, knowing that Len was unlikely to budge. He heaved a sigh of relief, glad that she moved on, though he knew that she had not entirely forgotten. She never really did. He glanced at Rin, who nodded once, as though giving him permission to discuss his death…their death, really. They had died together. Even in death the twins were never apart. Len would feel utterly lost without his sister – she was the rock who grounded him to reality, to the tragic truth that no matter how much he loved Miku, he could never have her. Not while she was a mortal, and he was something…well, other.
"It was a long time ago. Tuberculosis," he shook his head, grimacing. "Back then, once you got that disease, your fate was sealed…Rin went first. She came into the world first, and she left it first too," he glanced at his sister, who had a faint smile on her lips. "I fought it off a bit longer, and the doctor thought I actually had a chance – but I died an hour after Rin did. I can't live in a world without my sister," he met Miku's gaze. "I've told you how I died before. Why do you ask me the same question every time you see me here?" he asked, curious.
Miku smiled. "Because I can count how many times I've heard you explain before," she answered, glancing shyly away from him. "This is the twenty-eighth time you've told me that story, Len. How many more times…will I have to hear you say this again?" her voice trailed off as she spoke, becoming barely more than a whisper. He didn't know how to respond to that, and the silence that fell between them seemed almost like a wall. There was that nagging voice within him that told him he would have to let her go, and he had to do so soon. She couldn't stay here with him forever. She was mortal, she had to be reborn the way the universe demanded her to be, and keeping her here was selfish of him.
"For as many times as Death wants you to hear it," he finally told her. Her smile had long faded, and she did not smile again at his answer. He fell apart at the grief on her face. "I love you," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands again, the same way he did right before the car rammed into her, killing her instantly. He always, always made sure she had a quick, painless death, unable to imagine the possibility of anything else. It was the least he could do for her. "You know I love you. You've heard that story twenty-eight times – you have heard me say the same thing to you twenty-eight times as well. Don't treat me like this, Miku. Please," his voice trembled. Miku slowly met his gaze, her green eyes shadowed.
"I love you too," her voice sounded like wind chimes. It was a temporary relief, a mere illusion for she would forget what she said the moment she returned to the mortal world, but it was relief nevertheless. Their kiss was soft and loving, and he felt her small hands pressing delicately against his chest, the wispy fingers almost melting into him. She wanted to melt into him, become part of him – he knew that, but he'd never allow it. He'd never allow her to disappear into him, because then she'd lose all sense of herself. And he didn't want to love a shadow of himself. She couldn't disappear, because then…what about him?
Centuries of doing the same thing, over and over again. Centuries slipping past him faster than silk from his fingertips, like water falling through cupped palms – and the only thing that ever kept him sane was Miku. His sister kept him grounded, but Miku kept him sane. "I have to go now," Miku whispered, getting up from the seat he had so carefully helped her towards. Her green eyes seemed to have become paler, almost covered by a misty film. "They are…they're calling to me. You can hear them," she cocked her head, listening to the faint voices which summoned her. His heart clenched. But he had no choice but to let go.
"I'll see you again soon," he murmured, inclining his head. Her hand slipped from his grasp. The girl with the long teal hair, the bright green eyes and rose petal lips, turned and smiled at him. He cherished the memory, holding it tight to his chest, as her entire figure seemed to shimmer and fade into nothingness. And he was left holding on to wisps of a dream.
Her body was broken. Or maybe she was broken. She didn't know anymore. All she knew was that there was a gaping hole in her heart, and the blond boy with the mournful blue eyes and the gentle smile seemed to understand – he understood her so well that she was afraid.
I know you. From somewhere far away…his gloved hands stroked her hair. He was her caretaker, the person who made sure she was safe from people, including herself. She rocked back and forth, glaring balefully at the legs that never obeyed what she wanted – why was she born with a perfectly normal looking set of legs if she was unable to use them? Why did she have to use a wheelchair to get around? She hated it, she hated everything.
"You're making progress," her caretaker told her in soothing tones. He had a voice like dreams and heartbreak. She could hear the current of sadness that ran through the words he spoke, and perhaps it was because she herself was broken that she could sense the same brokenness in his voice. "The doctor says that you'll be able to walk again if you keep up with your exercises. And then after that, maybe one day you'll be able to compete again."
"Don't patronise me," she sounded dead. Maybe she was. She felt dead. "We both know that isn't going to happen, Len. I can barely even get up from my wheelchair without your help. It would be better off if I just died," she hissed, clenching her fingers so tightly that her nails dug into her skin. She ignored the sting of pain, but what she couldn't ignore was the way her caretaker flinched, as though the very mention of death was enough to unnerve him. She knew he hated it whenever she spoke of death and suicide. Miku had never once probed into his past, since he seemed to prefer keeping his personal life private, but she often wondered if there was someone in his life who had once killed themselves. Was that why he had such a strong reaction to the idea of suicide? His fingers paused in her long hair.
"Don't speak of yourself that way," he finally said, his voice sounding firmer than she was used to. She blinked, startled, and jumped slightly when she saw his face suddenly right in front of her, blue eyes staring intently into hers. Kagamine Len was a truly beautiful boy. He was her caretaker, one of the volunteers who regularly helped out at the hospital, and he often came into her ward to cheer her up. He wasn't her regular caretaker at first, since he was only a volunteer instead of full-time staff, but the other nurses realised that she was more willing to open up to Len and suggested that, if he was willing, he could come and be her caretaker instead of them. Len, to her surprise, had agreed to that deal – surprise, since she knew that she was a difficult person to care for. Her paralysed legs made her a burden.
"I can't help it," she muttered, clenching and unclenching her fingers. There were tiny crescent-shaped marks on her palms. "I used to be a star athlete. You know that too – you know the entire sorry story. It was all over the news…Hatsune Miku went camping with her friends over the weekend and fell off a cliff in the darkness…and now, my legs are gone," her voice choked, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to move past her accident. "I was so stupid," she sobbed, shoulders shaking. "I was so stupid! Why did I have to go out of the tent in the middle of the night? I should have been more careful, Len! And all these people, whispering about me, giving me looks of pity – I don't want any of that!"
She felt his gloved hands stroking her shoulders comfortingly. It didn't help much, but it did make her feel a little less alone. "Shhh," he whispered, his smooth voice as soothing as ever. Some part of her mind thought that he could make a great living as a radio deejay or a podcast commentator. He had a truly lovely voice – the kind of voice she would want to hear right before she died, maybe. "Shhh. It's not anyone's fault. You were curious, and you wanted to get a better view of the stars in the night sky. Anyone else could have made the same mistake. Don't give up hope on your recovery, Miku. Your legs may well return."
"I don't know if you really mean that or not," she sniffled, her face still hidden in her hands. Her voice came out muffled. "But I hope that you do. It'd make me feel slightly better," she smiled tremulously, and it hurt her cheeks. She hadn't smiled in a long time. Through the watery tears she saw the beautiful blond boy smile back at her and stroke her hair one more time before he rose, towering over her in the wheelchair. Miku thought that if she had been able to stand, she wouldn't be much shorter than him. He wasn't that tall – in fact, Len just seemed like the kind of person who wanted to disappear, to just fade into the background.
She couldn't understand why he would ever want that. Someone so beautiful, so utterly, impossibly lovely, didn't have to be a wallflower. He could easily be famous as a model if he wanted to be. It was one thing she could never figure out, why someone so inhumanely perfect would want to be a volunteer at a small local hospital, when he clearly had much better prospects elsewhere. She personally could never fathom the idea. Before this, before the accident that had cost her not just her legs, but her entire life and career, she was always chasing after medals and achievements. She wanted to be the very best at anything and everything she could do. She never settled for second-best – no, she had to be the absolute first, and the last thing she wanted, the thing she most feared, was to sink into mediocrity and be forgotten by everyone. Len's quietness was the complete opposite of the Miku who existed before the accident. She simply couldn't understand why he was this way.
But she thought maybe she could try to understand. "Len, why are you volunteering here?" she asked, realising abruptly that in the four months she knew him and interacted with him, she had never once asked this question. Len glanced down at her, his gloved hands now tucked away into his coat pockets. He always wore gloves. She did ask about that once, and he made a vague comment about having a skin condition before changing the topic. She knew that he didn't want to talk about it, so she never brought it up again, though she did think about what the possible skin condition might be. What could be so bad that he had to wear gloves all the time? She had never once seen the bare skin of his hands, and she wondered if his hands were as fair as the rest of him…no, not fair. Pale. Len was so pale that he glowed.
"Why I'm volunteering here?" he echoed her question, and as his voice faded into the air between them, she found herself fidgeting, uncomfortable with the awkward silence. They were usually just caretaker and patient – she rarely ever tried to probe into his personal life, and he did the same for her. He offered physical comfort sometimes, extremely used to her sudden outbursts or her frequent mood swings, but he hardly ever told her more about his own life. Instead, he was the quiet, supportive, understanding listener that she never had. All her friends were overachievers, more concerned with their grades and their sports than with constantly visiting her. It got lonely sometimes. She couldn't imagine…not having him, actually. But for some reason, it feels like you've always been there, watching over me…
Suddenly, he coughed, averting his gaze from her. He had dark blue eyes, so dark that they seemed unreal against his fair skin. One could silently drown in those eyes. They went on for infinity, entirely expressive yet at the same time, so distant and remote. "It's because of…a person, I would say," he finally spoke. She didn't know why, but she felt uneasy at the mention of a person. She didn't like the idea that he might like someone else – not that he was her boyfriend or even someone she was attracted to…or was she? She couldn't really tell, and she didn't want to imagine that she might be attracted to him either. If she ended up falling for her handsome caretaker, it felt like she was giving up on her previous life.
She had promised herself that she wouldn't even consider dating or romance until she had gotten to a place where she wanted to be – representing the national team for the Olympics. Was she really going to give even that promise up, just because of her legs? But she also knew that she was nothing without her legs. How could one do gymnastics without full control of their body? She was nothing now – she had nothing. She was simply broken. A broken thing, not even worthy of being called human anymore. She was merely a thing, a fetishized thing in a wheelchair. The new media darling, at least until the tabloids found some other poor victim to report on.
"Who?" she asked dully, the word slipping out due to instinct more than a real desire to find out the truth. He blinked at that, as though he had picked up on her reluctance, and he took a step towards her, becoming almost uncomfortably close – almost, because Miku found that she wasn't actually that uncomfortable with this proximity. Len crouched so that he was on the same level as her, which she would normally find a little insulting, but instead she was so distracted by his eyes that she forgot to feel offended. His dark eyes were searching hers, and for once she thought she could see conflict – or maybe some other feeling? – in his gaze. If she looked long enough she could see her own reflection there.
You are so very, very familiar to me…the annoying voice floated through her mind again, a voice that was familiar and yet not. As though it was herself, from some time long, long ago – a self that was so ancient that she had been forgotten, absorbed into her body and becoming a voice of pure instinct rather than reason. "I can't tell you," he whispered, his lips moving – but she blinked and swore that they hadn't moved at all. Yet she had heard his voice. She knew she did. Was she hallucinating? Was the paralysis mysteriously extending to her brain, perhaps?
"Why can't you tell me?" she thought she was becoming dizzy, but she didn't feel nauseous at all. She was rather lightheaded, yes, but it was a pleasant kind of dizzy. Which was really rather strange. Maybe she ought to inform Len that she wasn't feeling too good. Yet at the same time, this conversation was interesting enough that she just wanted to keep it going – it wasn't often that she got into this kind of situation with Len. She had the feeling that he was on the very verge of opening up to her, which was a possibility that was exhilarating and, at the same time, utterly terrifying. What kind of secrets might Len possibly have?
"Because there is someone I love," his blue eyes seemed to overflow with grief, "and she would call me selfish for loving her and never letting her go, no matter how often she begs me for death…and I'm too cowardly to face up to that. But now I'm going to grant her wish," she gazed up at him, just becoming more and more confused as he spoke. He inhaled, meeting her gaze steadily, before he leant over to her and gently pressed his lips against hers. She stiffened, shocked by the sudden action, but was distracted from reacting to the kiss by the piercing cold that seemed to flood through her entire body, starting from where their mouths connected – it was a deep, mind-numbing chill, and she felt her body respond by slowly shutting down, her mind whispering to her to just sleep, to give in and sleep –
"No, no…" she tried to say, but her mouth didn't obey, and her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Len withdrew, his fingers – when did those gloves disappear? – tracing circles over her cheek, and Miku sunk into what seemed like a very, very deep slumber. Everything was fading into black, and she wanted to be afraid, but there was a part of her which embraced the familiarity of this situation. It was like the darkness that came after she fell off that cliff, all those months ago. Had she secretly revelled in the pain, in the despair that followed the accident? Her body was broken, but her mind marched on, unyielding and unafraid.
"I love you, Miku," she heard Len's voice through the haziness, and she wanted to reach out to him, but her fingers wouldn't move an inch. "I'm sorry, but I must leave now. I'll see you on the other side," she wanted to protest, but again her body wouldn't obey. Something soft and cool touched her face, and then her mind gave way, and she faded into oblivion.