He Remembers

by Kaelin P

He remembers every face he sees

He Remembers by Gaki I really should be writing Chapter 11 of Puppet Master but I'm being my procrastinating self and writing this story instead. The song Oyasumi is from a Japanese lullaby CD by Aiko Shimada. The song is in English. ^^v ^^ I hope you all enjoy this one! Oh and um, I think this could be considered as post-Kyoto Arc. He remembers. He tells you this as the both of you stroll down quietly by a park. Actually, he was the one who was strolling while you were getting a free piggy back ride. It was your ankle, an earlier mission had you running and during your run you had carelessly twisted your ankle into a painful position. Against all of your protests, he just wouldn't take no as an answer, so there you were riding on his back. He speaks again. He remembers those times and the times before and after. His eyes glow slightly as he looks over his shoulder at you, as if asking silently if you understood what he was saying. You don't, but it's so rare that he would speak about himself like this that you only nod your head quietly. It's rare to have him open himself up to you a little bit more everyday. You would never show it but it pleased you to have him do this. You wanted to know more about him, anything. As long as he would tell you something he'd never tell anyone else, you wanted to hear everything. So there you were, walking down the sidewalk of an empty park as he spoke in that deep voice of his. Even though his arms were currently full with you, it should have surprised you to find that there weren't any sweets hiding out in his pockets. It should have but it didn't because he was telling you things about himself. Things only he would know and had never shared with anybody else and now he was sharing it with you. And you wanted to hear every single word that left his lips. So you wait, trying not to look too eager while he thinks of what to tell you. There was this place surrounded by trees that I would always visit in the afternoon. It was just something I would do, you know? I… liked it there. It was peaceful and quiet. There weren't any noises there but the noise of nature, and it was nice. To be away, just for awhile, you know? He looks at you as he says that and you nod your head. Yes. Yes. Yes, you know. You knew what it was like to want to find a place to hide in. To be away from the world that was too cold and all you had around you was a too thin blanket that did nothing to keep you warm. Yes, I know. I know. He wants to smile, you can tell but he doesn't. It was as if he was saving that smile for later. He goes on, his voice soft. You liked his voice, although you would never tell him so. It was deep and sensual but at the same time soothing. Like the sound of a whale singing a song in the deepest corners of the ocean. Like a whale singing a song; a long deep and wonderful song that's mournful to the ears of others. Yes, his voice was like a song that made you want to sleep. A song that made you want to answer back only you don't know how so you listen. You listen until you can find your own words and answer him. And you hope quietly in your mind that when you do answer his song, that he'll smile and sing even louder for you. Only for you. You've always been a slightly selfish child. The wind blows and you lower your eyelids to protect yourself against the swaying long strands of his hair. You hear his voice, still low but clear enough to be heard. He remembers, he says, the trees in that secret place of his. He remembers the beautiful colors of the sky when the sun was about to set above the tree tops. The beautiful colors of the leaves as the season changes and the variety of animals living in a small compact area. He tells you about the birds and a nest he found with chicks still in it. He tells you about the chicks who were crying out one day when he came to visit. Hey little birdie, are you all alone too? You roll your eyes knowing that he can't see you doing so. It was so like him to talk to animals when they couldn't answer back in words. It was so him and yet you didn't expect anything different. It was kind of comforting to know that he hasn't changed from the boy he once was. Hey little birdie, are you alone like I am too? You lean forward slightly, daring to rest your head on his shoulder as you listen. Hey little birdie birdie. You'll keep me company, right? You wonder slightly where the little boy you used to be ran off to as his words drift towards your ears. I found a rabbit once. No, I think it was a bunny. It had a beautiful coat, so white and soft. Like… like a birds down feather! And it was white. White like snow. Like newly fallen snow. You know? Like newly fallen snow that hasn't been stepped on yet? So it still looked pure and clean? And innocent? Yea, like newly fallen snow. I loved that bunny. As white as newly fallen snow and just as innocent. You close your eyes and try to picture his bunny in your mind. You see its tail first. Round and fluffy looking like a cotton ball. You've seen many rabbits and bunnies before, but none had such a soft looking tail. You realize suddenly that it reminded you of those flying seeds that were attached to those feathery looking flowers. The kind that made you stop in your tracks and stare as it glides across your path and makes you want to run after it to see where it would land. Yes, that kind. Then, you see its body. Also round, but also slender, a body built for speed. It was covered in that soft looking fur. If you could, you probably would've reached out to pet it. Not because you liked rabbits or bunnies, but because you wanted to feel how soft the fur was. Just to feel how soft it was. Then the head appears before your eyes. Long whiskers reaching out from the cheek as a pink nose twitched from side to side. Long ears were held up proudly; ready to twitch at the slightest sound. The only strange thing about the snow white bunny to you were its eyes. Standing out like a flame, its eyes were almost a bloody red. I loved that bunny. You open your eyes just in time to see a small smile on his face. I brought it home with me because it was still small. It couldn't defend itself. What? I'm an animal lover; you should know that by now. Anyway, where was I? Oh yea. I brought it home and I kept it. It was really great, to have a pet. I feed it and took great care of it. Although sometimes my sister would get angry about the mess it would leave around the place. You hold your breath. His sister, this was the first time he's ever mentioned his sister to you. You find yourself wondering what kind of a person his sister was. Maybe, perhaps, she was like him. Perhaps. Perhaps her smile was just like his. Perhaps, when she smiled, the corner of her eyes would crinkle up like his does. And when she would smile, her mouth would be spread wide till you can see the whites of her teeth. A wide open and caring smile. A smile that shows teeth so you can see into the mouth, so you know that the person had nothing to hide behind that smile other than the fact that they want to smile at you and so they do. That kind of smile. His kind of smile. She would scold me sometimes but I knew she loved the bunny too. Sometimes, when I forget to feed it, she would. You know? She would feed it a carrot stick or something like that. She said the things I feed it weren't supposed to be for bunnies. So she would feed it. She loved the bunny. She loved it as much or maybe even more than I did. It was our pet. We never named it though. Just called it Bunny. So like him to not name things but call them what they are. You find yourself picturing a smaller version of him in your head. Everything was the same; only in his arms was a small white bunny. A small boy with dark brown hair and violet eyes holding a snow white bunny with blood red eyes. Exactly the same. You vaguely wonder if that was why he loved the bunny so much. That they were the same. Their eyes completely stand out from their faces. Blood red and deep violet. People usually love things that remind them of themselves or the people around them. People would also have pets because they are lonely. It was our pet. It was great to have a pet. To have something to play with. You should get a pet too! No? Why not? Too bothersome? I don't think pets are bothersome. They can be really… really nice to have sometimes. You can tell anything you want to your pet and it'll still love you no matter what. Even if other people say things about you. Even if people accuse you of things you didn't know you did. Pets love you no matter what. My Bunny, she… she loved me… His voice trailed off and the unsaid ending to that sentence hung clear and loud in the air around you. She loved me… when no one else would. A pet. You've never had a pet before. Never learned how to take care of anything besides you. If having a pet was what he said it was, it must have been real nice. Having a pet that is. You can tell your pet anything. Anything at all and it'll still give you that big trusting and adoring look. As if it was telling you that it didn't care what others thought of you. It only cared that you took it into your heart, into your arms, and it was thankful. And because of that it will forever adore you. It must have been real nice, you muse quietly. To have a pet. A moment or so passed by in silence. It was a comfortable silence. One that wasn't filled with too many thoughts or voices. One that wasn't masked over by faked happy smiles and whiny voices. It was a silence that urged you to sit back and just watch the sun slip down from the golden sky and mutter meaningless things to the person beside you. It was the silence you've always looked forward to when it was only the both of you. When his needs for sweets was fulfilled and when your need to hide behind a thick book was gone. A silence that only you two can appreciate and understand. Suddenly, you are hitched forward on his back as he adjusts his hands under your rear. You find yourself with your arms around his neck and your legs tightly hooked around his waist from behind. Even though you knew he couldn't see your face, your reflex makes you hide your blush against his board shoulders. You open your mouth to speak, but a sigh from his lips stops you. He remembers, he says. He remembers the place he used to run to, the bunny he used to and still loved. He remembers them. He'll always remember them. He'll remember the people who accused him of things he didn't know he did. It's my fault the little boy who used to play by the river fell in it. No, it's not. My fault for walking by, distracting him from his play and making him slip. He'll remember the rocks; he'll remember the shouts, the screams and the pointing fingers. He'll remember his sister crying as she used her own body to shield his. He'll remember her tears, he says. Because she cried for him. She cried. For him. That night, she sang for me. It was a song she learned from one of the women. I fell in love with it the minute it left her lips. I loved her voice. It was really… really soft, you know? Soft, yet deep. Very… very mellow. A nice voice to listen to, you know? A voice that sounded like a song when the person speaks. My sister had that kind of voice. As if every time a word left her lips, it turned into a melody. I used to wish to have a voice like hers. Silly, isn't it? To want to have a voice that sounded like a song. But his voice did sound like a song. Of course, you held the comment to yourself. You curl your fist, and find yourself holding onto his tie. His messily done tie, perhaps you'll scold him later. A man wearing a suit like him should be neat when putting on his tie. Perhaps later, because right now all you want to do is to listen to his voice. The voice he wished to sound like a song. It already does sound like a song. A lovely sad song. I remember the song. Do you want to hear it? An unspoken question hung in the air as he looked over his shoulder at you. Let me sing for you? How can you say no? How can you look into his deep violet eyes, eyes that took you in and held you prisoner and refuse him? You must be getting soft, but it was hardly your fault. Spending time around someone like him would soften anyone up. A certain blue eyed man was proof enough. Let me sing for you? You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Sing for me. It started off as a soft humming from his throat. Having your head near his neck, you can hear it loud and clear. You lean your head slightly towards his neck, to feel the vibration against your cheek as you listen with your ears. Your eyes drift shut slightly as he murmurs the lines softly in his deep voice. Nighttime has come, Gone is the sun, Dream sky is open Stars, one by one… He remembers a lot of things during his time in the world of the living and in his time as a shinigami. He'll remember the old, the young, and the newly born that have lost a loved one. He'll remember their names. This is Minamoto Shikai. Aged 58. Cause of death is unknown... He'll remember the souls who've strayed on their way to Meifu and those who refused to move on. I won't. I won't leave this place. This is my home. Why do you want me to leave my home? He'll remember the little girl who lost her life to save a friend. He remembers still the song sung by the children who died in a horrible poltergeist. He'll look up into the sky one day and remember the names of those who have died but still considered themselves alive. Goodnight, hush my love Goodnight, hush my love Goodnight, hush my love Hush, hush, hush He'll remember the boy who became a shinigami in order to look over a loved one. Where is Ayako?! What have you done to Ayako?! He'll remember. For as long as he is allowed to walk among the dead and the living, he'll remember. Yet you don't know why. Why is he remembering things you knew caused him pain? Why is he remembering, keeping those faces, those names, in his mind when you know it hurts him? Why does he remember the place he ran to when he was young? Goodnight, close your eyes Goodnight, close your eyes Goodnight, close your eyes Sleep, sleep, sleep Why still think about a pet you knew was long dead? Why smile over its soft fur and its undying affection? Goodnight, dream of me Goodnight, dream of me Goodnight, dream of me Dream, dream, dream Why… why think of those who are dear to you when they are no longer there? Why remember their voices? Why think about their tears and remember their songs? Why hurt yourself over things that are done and over with? Why? Goodnight, hush my love Goodnight, hush my love Goodnight, hush my love Hush, hush, hush, hush The song itself was beautiful yet it was in the way that he sung it that made it stung in your chest. It was the way his eyes became longing and distant. As if he was seeing into the past where he was still a young boy who had someone to run to. As if he still had a pet he knew loved him like no one ever would. As if he was wishing for something he could never have ever again. It stung. It stung like being held up in a dark and lonely room with no one to keep you company but the real and not so real voices in your head and the eyes that looked out at you from the darkness. Knock knock, boy. Guess who's here? Knock knock. Open up and let me in. It stung like being hit across the face for the very first time. It stung like the hot tears forming behind your eyes and your throat constricting as your chest felt like it was being ripped apart. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry.Reallyreallyreally. It stung because you realize he's still wishing, hoping and longing for something no one can give him. Wishing for a pet to love him no questions asked. Longing for arms to run to when he wanted to hide. Hoping that some how he could have those things again. Hoping. Neither of you spoke as the wind blew the leaf covered grounds. Orange, red, yellow fluttered all around you in a dance that only nature can create and neither of you noticed it. Both of you were locked in time, if only for a moment, by a song sung so very long ago. A song sung by a sister for her only dear brother to sleep. And dream. Dream of me. Hushh. … I loved this song. Heh, although it doesn't sound as nice coming from me, right? Maybe I should start practicing my karaoke more! Perhaps I'll challenge Kachou in a karaoke match next time! He was trying to lighten up the mood, you can tell. But you only stay quiet and let him speak while you listen, waiting for the perfect time for you to speak up. Besides, sometimes you get the feeling that he liked to listen to himself speak. As if he was afraid of silence. As if the silence made him think about things he didn't long to think of. Are you alone like me too? So you let him speak as much as he wants. You rather liked listening to him, though you'll never admit to it. He stops as suddenly as he began. He's even stopped walking. So there you were, in the middle of the streets as you rest against his back. You say nothing still, waiting for him to go on. He remembers, he says. He'll always remember. I'll never forget them. And the ones I know will come, I won't forget them either. You can't resist, you need to know. Why? You ask your voice much softer than his. Why do you keep remembering? Why remember these things? Why hurt yourself over them? Why… why- Am I such an idiot? He chuckles, not looking at you. You're so predictable sometimes… Why? His voice softens, becoming breathy. Because… Beautiful eyes turn to look at you. Of all the things you know you'll remember about him, it was his eyes that you'll think about the most. Eyes so painful even when his face was smiling. Eyes, showing so much, yet holding back so much more. Eyes that have seen so many things, things you'll never see. Eyes that have countless windows behind it, yet only one of them is telling the truth. … Because I'm the only one who'll remember them. I'm the idiot who'll sit down one day, see something and think about those I've met. That's why. That's why he remembers them. The bunny, the sister, the song, the old man, the young girl, and the boy who refused to let go. That's why. Because I'm the only one who'll live long enough to remember them. You glare at him. Yes, he'll remember them. But then, who will remember him? The idiot who'll always smile? The man who acts like a child, the person who always pushed, always reached out and never gave up? Who will remember him if he is remembering all those others? Idiot. You idiot. He smiles over at you. I knew you were going to say that. You keep glaring, as if you were willing his smile to crack and fall. It doesn't. It annoys you. Who will remember you, then? Who is going to remember an idiot who remembers others because he has nothing better to do? You've never been good at words. You've always been harsh. It wasn't your fault. He smiles and shrugs. It doesn't matter. You want to scream that yes, it does matter. Because he should be remembered. Someone who was in constant pain should be remembered. Someone as gentle as he is. As… as caring as he is. He deserved to be remembered. More than anyone. More than you. It matters. It does. Tsuzuki continued walking, as if putting an end to the conversation. The heels on his shoes crushed the dry leaves as he walked across the street, his partner still being carried on his back. Hisoka, still a bit angry, was staring at the ground as it moved beneath him. The sun had gone down and the streetlights were up. A cold wind howled loudly across the street as Tsuzuki stepped into the puddle on the ground. Hisoka still refused to look up. As the older man turned the corner, the boys' voice reached his ear in a soft mutter. "Tsuzuki." "Yes, Hisoka?" Pale hands, hands that haven't had to do anything harsh. Hands that had never had to lift anything heavy. Hands that were slender and pale tightened on his shoulders. "My ankle is better, you know." He could feel the smile on Tsuzuki's face. "I know." Hisoka raised his green eyes, staring at the back of Tsuzuki's head as he went on. "… and Tsuzuki?" "Yes, Hisoka?" He lowered his eyes to Tsuzuki's shoulder. "… I'll remember you." The older man stopped and then looked over his shoulder at him. His eyes were warm, soft, and touched. And then he smiled, not only with his face but somehow his whole self seemed lighter. And Hisoka knew that that was what Tsuzuki wanted. What he hoped for. To have just one person, out all the millions of people on the planet, just one to remember him. I'll remember you. "Thank you." Goodnight, dream of me… End