"The Last Wish" - continued from 7
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[Seven Year Earlier...continued...]
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He stepped down from the stairs and into the kitchen doorway...and heard the gasp of shock, the crash of a plate shattering on the floor. His mother was leaning weakly against the kitchen cabinet, one hand pressed against her heart and the other pushing against her lips. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears.
"K...Kourin?" she whispered, staring at him in shock. "Kourin...it...it can't be..."
His father rose to his feet from the chair, dark eyebrows pushed angrily together. "Ryuen!" he bellowed, fists clenching at his sides. "Ryuen, take off your sister's clothes!"
He stared at the man with wide eyes, drew in a deep breath. "I'm not Ryuen," he said quietly, careful to keep his voice high, light...soft, just like hers... "I'm Kourin."
His father paled, thudded over to him and grabbed onto his arm. "RYUEN!" he shouted, shaking him hard. "You are NOT KOURIN! Kourin is DEAD! Do you hear me? DEAD! She DIED, and wearing her clothes won't bring her back! Go upstairs and change RIGHT NOW! I refuse to take you to the funeral dressed like this!"
His mother whimpered. "You're...you're hurting him..."
Carefully, the boy removed his arm from his father's grasp, took a moment to smooth the soft silk of his dress, brush at a thick ribbon of violet hair dangling in his eyes. "I'm Kourin," he repeated quietly. "I'm not dead. Ryuen...Ryuen's dead." His voice sank. "I'm Kourin."
His father stared at him for a long moment, his eyes dark and thick with anger and grief...then, finally, the man turned away, stomped from the kitchen. The front door slammed behind him a few moments later, and then everything was silent. Drawing in a soft breath, he stepped more fully into the kitchen, moved to the table, and lowered himself gently into Kourin's usual chair.
"Okaasan," he murmured, "could I have something to eat, please? I don't think I've eaten since yesterday."
For a long moment, the woman didn't move, merely stood there staring at him, looking stricken and upset. Finally, however, she nodded, turned and tugged open the cupboard. "Is soup all right, Ryuen?"
"Kourin," he corrected quietly. "Hai. Soup would be fine."
He closed his eyes, then, folded his slim hands on the table top and waited. He tried his best to ignore his mother's soft weeping as she cooked...but it was difficult. At last, he stood and left the kitchen, decided to wait for his food in the living room... He paused, frowning, in the living room doorway, gazed at the single occupant of the room with narrowed, cautious eyes.
"Rokou? What're you doing?"
Kneeling beside a small table of candles and incense, Rokou didn't bother to glance up, worked instead on the lighting of the last of the candles... "They're for Kourin," he murmured, eyes tightly closed. He smiled, then, slightly, as the last candle--a thin, reddish cylinder of wax--burst into flame, trickled a thin line of grey smoke towards the ceiling. "This one was always her favorite. Smells like cinnamon."
For a moment, he felt himself faltering, felt his elder brother's soft, gentle words and bittersweet smiles digging deeply into his heart, ressurrecting the true, hideous realities of this week...no. NO. He fought it, pushed it back, then took a long step forward into the living room, the skirts rustling lightly against his legs. "I'm not dead, Rokou," he said softly, closing his eyes briefly and forcing his tone to stay light. "Ryuen's the one who's dead...not me. But...but, he liked that candle, too...so, you can keep it lit."
Rokou turned, then, gazed at him with wide, frowning blue eyes. "You're..." He shook his head, gazed at his younger brother sadly. "Ryuen, why? Why do this to yourself? She's dead--you know that. Dressing like her won't bring her back."
"NO!" he exclaimed suddenly, gripping at the lining of the dress as if to hold onto it, to hold onto Kourin...hot tears stung his eyes, made him wince. "No, why does everyone keep saying that?? I'm KOURIN! I'm NOT DEAD! RYUEN'S DEAD! Stop...stop saying that he's not, because he IS! He DIED, ROKOU! DIED!"
Rokou leapt to his feet, was at his side a moment later. "Ryuen," he said quietly, touching lightly at his arm, "this doesn't change anything."
He brushed the touch away, took a long step back. "No," he repeated, fighting back the sudden wash of tears in his throat. "No. It changes everything...I CAN change it! I CAN!" Tears suddenly running in thick, hot streams down his cheeks, Ryuen turned, ran for the stairs, dashed up to the room he and his siblings shared...gods, what was Rokou talking about?? To say that Kourin wasn't alive...that RYUEN was the one who had survived, when it was obvious that it was HIS fault that this had happened and so of COURSE he must be dead...it was impossible! Stupid! Silly! Baka aniki...the grief must've be affecting him more than he was willing to admit...
Slightly comforted by these rationalizations, he crept back into the bedroom, crossed to the other side of the room, and lay down on the flower-covered bedspread, pressed his cheek against the pillow. Rokou was just being silly...but, he'd get over it soon...and, so would his mother and father...yes... Soon, they'd realize it was RYUEN who was dead, not Kourin...soon, they'd stop being silly...stop living in denial...
Yes. Soon.
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Father still wouldn't let him go back to school...and it had been three weeks. Rokou had returned the week after the funeral, carrying with him some story that his younger brother was horribly ill, couldn't leave the house...he hadn't even been able to come to his sister's funeral, that was how sick he was... The elder boy told the tale as he was instructed to, shoving aside all offers for friends to come visit Ryuen at the house, pushing away even all offers to call him...no, he would reply with a slow wave of his hand, Ryuen was MUCH too sick to talk on the phone, and certainly much too sick to see anyone...oh, but they weren't to worry--he was getting the best medical attention there was, and he was expected to be well enough to return to school in another week or so, perhaps sooner...
His father had sent three different psychiatrists in to talk with him already, all of whom had--after speaking with him for a short time and expressing their interest in his wardrobe, muttered something about "grief counseling" and left as quickly as possible. Ryuen leaned back on the bed, curled up into a small ball on his side. He hoped Father would get tired of this soon...it was hard enough, dealing with the loss of a brother, but now there was this to contend with? It was too much...he needed to rest. Yawning, he closed his eyes, tugged the warm blankets around his slim body and concentrated on slowing his breathing for sleep.
Father and Mother had gone out for awhile, probably to find him another doctor...and, Rokou was at school, so he was alone...the house was so quiet, so peaceful...he could almost forget the traumas of the last few weeks, the violent urge to run from this crazy house and never come back...he sighed, squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. He hoped they never came back.
Suddenly, he snapped from what had been a mild doze, sat up straight in the bed...what was going on? What had woken him? Something dinged, loud and harsh in his ear...ah, the doorbell. He curled back up on the bed, closed his eyes...let someone else get it...
Ding-dong.
Oh...oh, yeah. No one else was home...sighing, he rose from the bed, crossed the room, and swept down the stairs in a wash of silken skirts and combed, braided violet hair...the bell rang again, once more, before he reached the door, tugged it quietly open. He peered out.
"Oh, God," he muttered, "not YOU." Then, abruptly, he remembered himself, remembered that he was KOURIN, not Ryuen..and offered the meatball-headed girl a soft smile. "I mean...Miaka. It's good to see you. Would you like to come in?"
Miaka stared at him for a long moment with wide, startled eyes, then at last nodded, stepped past him and into the house. They stood there for a long moment, studying each other, until at last the older let out a soft breath, took a step backwards. "I was upstairs when you came...you can come up if you want. No one else is home."
The girl looked troubled for a moment, then nodded again. "Oh...uh...un!"
He turned towards the staircase, reaching one hand towards the banister...and paused, frowning, as a low, deep growl echoed in the entryway. Miaka blushed, clutching her stomach as if to press the sounds back inside.
He smiled. "Come on. The kitchen's right in here. I'll fix you something, ne?"
She said nothing, but he saw the gratitude in her eyes, the warmth in her expession and posture. What had he heard in a dream...about loving someone...?
Shaking off the odd thought, he ushered Miaka into the kitchen, held out Ryuen's chair for her, and moved silently to the fridge.
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*AUTHOR'S NOTE: More to come on this...and, honest, the flashback's ALMOST done. :) Gomen ne for making it so long...guess I just have a lot to say about Nuriko. :) Anyway...er...if you've gotten this far, be kind and leave me a review...I'll love you forevvvvvvvvvvver. *nod nod* *yawn* Oi, I'm tired...any incoherence in this fic is the fault of the fact that it's 4:12 AM right now. Gah. Need...sleep... *collapses*