Swing
Part one
By Funara
Swing.
Extend legs.
Draw them back.
Swing.
I'm not sure why I'm here. I don't know why I'm swinging slowly, sitting on a contraption I'm quite sure was not designed for a twenty-two year old. All I know is that my feet carried me to this playground. I didn't used to come to this particular park, because it was so far away from my old house, but now I have my own apartment, one that's only five minutes from here.
I open my eyes. The cloud that had been covering the sun has partially floated away, so I can see a little gold peeking out. We haven't had much sun this week—mostly rainy, windy days. Because of the weather, I hadn't been able to tend my garden, and I was worried that the rain would kill the roses. Today, though, the rain finally let up, and I left the confines of my home for the outside. Some of the less hardy roses had died and rotted, but the others were fine. Thank goodness for fertilizer and youki.
The sound of squelching boots makes me turn my head, but it's just the old man who takes it upon himself to maintain the few flowers that grown on the edges of the playground. He grins at me, nodding his acknowledgements, and keeps on walking. I've never actually talked to him, nor do I know his name, occupation or anything of the sort, but it doesn't really matter. He's just another regular.
Sometimes though, I wish he would talk to me. It would be nice to talk to someone without preconceived notions of my personality. In the office, everyone seems content to live with his fantasy of what Minamino Shuuichi is like; nobody ever really tries to find out. I'm still the perfect son, the perfect coworker. Finishing school and moving onto a new environment meant nothing; my reputation preceded me there too.
Conversation. How long has it been since I've talked to someone who really understands me? Someone who knows what it's like to be me—struggling to keep Shuuichi's reputation up and clamping down on Kurama's wilder whims? I'd say about four years—four years since the Urameshi team finished its last mission and was allowed to disband.
We all kept in touch for the first year or so. We'd all known each other for over three years, and fighting youkai and stopping disasters did a lot to bond us to each other. But after a while, we started to see less and less of each other. Sure, we'd spot each other in the street and chat for a bit, but we grew apart, and there was less and less for us to talk about.
Now that I've moved, I don't see much of the others anymore. And I miss them. Yuusuke, the rakish, reckless leader of our team. Kuwabara, always rather graceless, but honest and hardworking nonetheless. Genkai, our wizened, acerbic shihan. The girls too—Keiko, Botan, Yukina, Shizuru… Always sweet and enthusiastic, but they all certainly knew how to hold their own. I miss them dearly--my second family—but none of them are the one who constantly crops up in my thoughts.
The swing slowly stops as I cease pushing. It oscillates for a little bit, before stopping totally. I'm suspended a foot above ground.
Hiei.
There are too many thoughts, memories and feelings tied up in that name to properly examine each one, so I only ever get a fleeting glimpse of each one and still now struggle to identify them. Regret, elation, loneliness, contentment, jealousy, wonder…the list goes on and on. I've seen the fire demon only once since the team disbanded, and that was because he had come to visit Yukina only to find that she was on a date with Kuwabara. It being late evening with night fast approaching, he had needed somewhere to stay, so he'd dropped by my window.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I came home from work to find Hiei reclining on the windowsill, boots and cloak off, katana propped up by the window. Though I was delighted, I tried not betray my feelings and simply greeted him. He nodded in response. The evening passed quietly, and in a similar manner. Once in a while, I would glance over and ask him if he needed anything, but all my queries and attempts at conversation were met by a shake of the head or a curt reply.
"Do you need anything, Hiei?"
"No."
Silence.
"How is your position with Mukuro?"
"Fine."
Silence.
"Are you going back to Genkai's temple to visit Yukina?"
"I don't know."
Eventually, I'd gone to bed. When I woke up, he was gone.
I continued my routine existence, plodding on, day after day, burying myself in work and gardening so that I might forget two red orbs set in an alabaster moon. Overtime? I volunteered. Someone needed a break? I volunteered to do his work. After work, if I wasn't already exhausted, I would jog in the park. Total exhaustion ensures dreamless sleep, and dreamless sleep ensures that no katana wielding Forbidden child will trespass into my mind.
It worked until this week. Then, the workload was suspiciously lighter, and the manager kept bluntly hinting that she thought I needed a vacation. I'd refused until then—I was overworking myself for a reason, and I didn't need anyone to fix that for me. Probably because she couldn't get me to take a vacation, the manager decreased my workload. Which didn't help my situation at all. I didn't relish going jogging in the rain, so I came home and just sat. Reading wasn't distracting enough, and neither was watching television.
Obviously, my thoughts eventually wandered back to Hiei.
Luckily, the rain let up today, so here I am, sitting on a motionless swing in the park. The old man has wandered off to tend his flowers. There's no one here to keep me company, except for this rubber and iron swing, groaning and creaking under my weight. Are you pining for the children that used to play on you, swing? Do you miss the past when you had a purpose, when you had other swings around you, when you felt loved and needed?
The swing merely squeaks loudly, not answering. I shake my head ruefully—since when have I expected an inanimate object to answer my questions?It has no answers, and can only remain rooted in the woodchips where it was buried. No answers…no intentions…only memories of what was. I pity you, swing, and yet I can empathize. For I am no different.
I know I should let go. I know I could change. I know the past is only a series of mistakes to be learned from. But the one terrible mistake I made that I cannot correct was falling in love.
For the swing, he would be the boy who came back to play, to rediscover childhood memories, and what once was.
For me, he is a proud reminder of the world I left behind, the only one to come so close to my heart.
He doesn't know how I feel. Of that I'm certain. He may be a keen observer with his Jagan, but merely observing does nothing if you don't know what to look for. How many demons believe that love is an essential part of any relationship? Would a Forbidden Child understand and value that which is the source of his suffering? With that in mind, I started out slow—just tried to be friends and show him what it was like to have someone care. I had hoped that he might reciprocate, and that our relationship might eventually blossom into something more.
It hasn't. While he's the most relaxed in my presence, there's still a wall between us, and until I either breach it or he dissolves it for me…we're just friends.
I tilt my head back and stare at the sky. How can I be more blatantly obvious than I already am? Everything I do is a deliberate betrayal of what I feel—I speak for him when he does not, I cover his back, I tend his wounds, I welcome him into my life…yet he says nothing, does nothing and appears as though he does not realize.
Something wet hits my upturned face. The sky is cloudy, and the rain starts up again. And I'm still swinging.
Note: Too much rain is bad for any flower, but roses in particular should not be over-watered. They're not water mongers.
