Dude. I finished this? WTF?

It's a bit trippy, way too much abstract imagery and metaphors, but I figure I'll post it for all you bored folks out there.

It was on the edge on true night when he got home. The sky was all deep blues; a touch of pink on the horizon with the city's lights tinting the light clouds in the sky a fluorescent orange. He began to haul his laundry up the stairs, cursing the elevator for being temperamental. The whole time his clothes had been spinning in the washer, and then in the dryer, his mind had simply not come off of the flower. He knew it was ineffably beautiful. Or at least, it would be when if finally bloomed. He couldn't conjure up an image of it. If someone had asked him how he knew it would be beautiful, he could not have answered. An old woman in the Laundromat had smiled at him, her old eyes crinkling at the corners when she realized he had felt her gaze.

"Dreaming about that special someone, young man?" she asked.

Kiba shifted uncomfortably. "No, not exactly."

And artfully lifted eyebrow had met his plea of innocence. "Don't try to fool an old woman. You love her." She smiled again at his bewildered look. After all, who could possibly be love a flower? "Don't worry; it will work out in the end, and be all the more beautiful for it."

"Um…thank you." Kiba said, not sure how else to get her to stop than to acquiesce and go back to his thinking.

Now as he lugged up the stairs, he wondered if he had really had such a look on his face as to let someone believe that he was thinking of a significant other. He had no significant other, hadn't ever, really. Well, there had been her…

He shied away from the thought. She had been beautiful, more than he'd ever thought to have, but in the end they had been too different. She was content with where she was; content to stay where she was. Kiba was restless, always looking for…what?

What had kept him from staying there, with her? He had been happier with her than any other time in his life; why had he left?

For this, he had no answer. He had loved her, for certain. He did not think he loved her now. In fact, this was the first he had thought of her almost since he had taken his leave. The thought pained him somewhat, she had been a bright spot in his life, but it was true none the less - and he knew it. He also knew that there was no regret in his heart for leaving. He never would have come here then, and he never would have seen those people, or that sunset, or…

Or gotten the flower. The thought of the flower spurred him up the remainder of the steps and to his room. He quickly unlocked the door and went in, eyes drawn immediately to the window where it sat.

His face fell. It had improved, but only marginally. What could be it's problem? He knew the dirt was still moist, and he'd put it in the window…

But as he stood by, he realized that there was no air actually coming in to the room. The breeze was barely moving the discarded trash on the street; it could not come in to the stuffy room.

For the first time, he wished he had a place where he could put things outside. A porch, heck, even a good windowsill would be helpful in this case. All he had was the roof.

The roof. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course; he could put it on the roof; that would probably help. It was a full moon tonight too; he could go up with it and watch the city maybe actually read that handbook that his manager had given him.

"I can't sleep any more anyway," he said to the plant, as if it could hear him. It seemed to rustle in reply, though he thought he felt a whisper of wind along with it. "I guess going up to the roof wouldn't be such a bad idea." He smirked. "We could both get some fresh air."

I must be tired, or mad, or something. He thought to himself as he gathered the pot in his arms, taking a plant to the roof, as if it were company or something.

He sighed. The plant rustled in his warm breath. He grabbed the thick manual and locked the door behind them, rather, him.

The stairs to the roof were short, and soon he was shoving the door open, grunting with effort. It seemed to be stuck. As soon as he stepped from its shadow though, it became apparent that the difficulty was from the wind that had eerily sprung up. It punched at him, forcing him to hunch over to protect himself from the falling dust. He curled the flower under him, but none the less, one petal came off, and then another, spiraling in to the air together.

He looked over the edge, feeling strangely torn. The two petals danced in the wind, whirling around and around each other until they dropped to the street, following behind two people walking on the sidewalk like ghosts. He turned from the edge, eyes set on the flower. There was only one outer petal left. He hoped that it would not begin to shed it's inner petals. Perhaps the ones that had just dropped were…outer husks, things meant to protect the flower?

He didn't know. Worried, he lightly prodded the last petal, silently pleading for it to stay on. But with the faintest touch of it's hand, it dropped off, shivering into his hand. He looked at it numbly. Had he killed it?

What if the whole flower died because of him? Maybe he hadn't done enough for it, protected it, kept it safe… he probably should have taken it outside. That had been stupid, the wind was cold, there was nothing but moonlight out here. He turned to look at the orb, hanging low and bright in the sky, drowning out even the city lights with it's brilliance. And as the light shone on him, the flower moved.

He gasped, afraid that another petal would fall. But instead, the flower began to unfurl, white petals rolling slowly open like flags in a spring breeze. But there was no breeze now. He stared in wonder at the opening of the flower, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt that he had seen this beauty before…somewhere…

A scent rose from the bloom, intoxicating his senses. He closed his eyes, gripping the pot and swaying to unheard music. Something about this… the moon -light all around them, burying itself in their rough pelts-, the melody in his mind –notes dropping like molten silver from her mouth, soothing their hurts with song-, the scent –that scent which drew them together like moths to light, which gave them hope, lead them to her, drowned them in it's lovliness…-

"Cheza…" the name rolled from his throat like fire, as if it had lain dormant for thousands of years. He opened his eyes, and the wind blew again, stealing the name from his lips and mind. He blinked. Something had happened… what had he whispered? A name, something about it sweet and foreign at the same time. Looking up for the moon again he realized with a start that he had been standing outside for much longer than he had thought – the stars had wheeled halfway around the sky and the moon was completely gone.

His eyes went immediately to the flower. It was fully open, reaching it's feathery petals up to what little starlight remained. Reaching out a finger, he brushed the flower, surprised at its softness. His jacket was wet with dew – it was nearing dawn. He turned to watch the sun rise, anxious to see the flower under sunlight.

But as the first rays broke through the city to touch him, something changed again. He looked closer. The petals were…vibrating, shaking off water…shriveling. He caught his breath, how was it happening so quickly? Before his eyes, the petals dried, and soon when he touched it, the flower felt like a bundle of dry leaves.

He was just about to go downstairs and find water, when, suddenly, the flower fell apart. He shouted in surprise, hand automatically moving to try and catch the swirling petals, to save them, keep them with him…but they floated away on the breeze, twirling together in a whirlwind that whispered his name.

He watched the flower go, hand still reached out. Then he lowered his arm, bowing his head over the pot which still held the stem. His breath caught. Still attached was one lone petal sticking out at a strange angle. It was anchored to the base of the flower by a small seed… and as he looked at the base, he thought he made out the silhouette of a wolf, tail straight out behind him, running against the wind.

He smiled and plucked the seed from it's base, picking the empty stem from the soil and placing it reverently on the cement of the roof. Then he lovingly planted the seed. Standing up, he looked around, staring across the cityscape with a heart full of strange pride.

He still didn't understand the world. He didn't need to. But there was something right about this place, and nothing could change that. As long as the lunar flower bloomed, the world would continue.

And even if it was only up to him, the lunar flower would keep blooming.

And thus, Zuri ended her contacts with the Wolf's Rain fandom. I guess this story just wanted to be finished and I'm between chapters on another story, so I thought I'd go for it.