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You said to me years, and years ago, that you just wanted to fight. That was what you lived for, and what you wanted to die for. Years, and years ago, when I found out you were dying, our own fight reached the ears of millions. How could they not hear or passionate cries? Our argument over his life, and how he should care for it? And when my turn of loud shouting was done, it became your turn. "I JUST WANT TO FIGHT!" You screamed, throwing your hands in the air. You looked at me with sad eyes, and a miserable frown. "Yes," you sighed, "Yes I've been hiding a secret from you. Your right, I should have told you, but..." You laughed throwing back your head, and raising your hands in the air, "but I'm afraid to die! Can you believe it? Me! I'm afraid to die"
"Imagine that," You'd sighed with a smile, and had won the fight, just like that.
Years, and years ago, you sat down, and then looked at your hands, "I'm twenty seven," you sighed, "I know that's too young to die, but I just want to fight. I want to pretend nothing is wrong. I want to pretend everything is right."
So years, and years ago, I made a promise, that I wouldn't tell anyone about what I'd discovered. I smiled at your goofy antics that were used to hide your frailness, and laughed at the jokes you made about your self to cover the obvious pain you were feeling.
And so years, and years ago I kept your secret. I lied for you when you swore that you weren't at the hospital, that you were at my place watching a football game. You should have come up with a better lie back then, you and I both hated football. I covered for you when you started puking, I had laughed loudly and told you to stop drinking so much. Our friends should have caught us there, you didn't drink, never liked the taste of it in your mouth.
You always were weird.
So years, and years ago, we hid the fact that you were dying away from the world we knew. No one knew. Not our friends. Not our enemies. Not the strangers on the street. Sometimes, not even us. We were so good at fooling everyone, that we even fooled ourselves.
But years and years ago, you were dying, and so now years and years later, you are dead.
One night while we were talking with the others, laughing as we told stupid stories. You began to cough, which made everyone laugh. "I told you not to drink so fast!" Boeton has scolded as the others laughed. I knew better...my laughter died as quickly as it had come. I placed a hand on your back, and you looked at me.
Years, and years ago, you and I stared at one another, knowing that we'd hidden it long enough.
You smiled back then, and I thought maybe we even hid this from everyone for too long.
You let yourself go limp, and I picked you up, the laughter in the air gone. As I stood, looking at only you, You rest easily in my arms. Your head on my chest, blood dripping from your mouth, staining my shirt, and dripping down your neck. We'd hidden it so well, but now everyone could see what was wrong with you.
You were too skinny. Too pale. You had gray under your eyes. Your eyes always looked dim, and were in fact half blind now. You bruised to easy. You bled to easy. And you through up a lot.
Years and years ago, we'd managed to hide all that, so that the others did not see. I don't know how we managed to pull that off, and I doubt I ever will. But I think it was because you wanted to be normal. I wanted you to be normal. We wanted you to live. I wanted you to fight, to do what you wanted to do, but hiding it can only last so long.
We couldn't hide it anymore that day.
"What is going on?"
"Is he bleeding?"
"We got to get him to a hospital!"
"Help us! Come on, what are you doing?"They yelled many words at me, as they pulled me along wanting to save him.
I had saved him. Just me, I had been the one that had saved him before he died.
I had given him what he wanted, which was a normal life. I'd granted him that. Now there was nothing that could be done to him that could hurt him, could make him regret his life anymore.
He died then, all those years and years ago, but whether you or my friends believe me or not, I had saved him by promising not to say that he was dying..
My friends-our friends, scurrying around trying to figure out what to do, while I held onto you. They didn't understand that promise we'd made, they didn't understand why he died. How could I be so calm, your best friend is dying, I remembered one of them saying. Who said what doesn't really matter anymore.
I had almost laughed, he wasn't dying, he was dead. There is a difference. Dying is the trip to the word, the thing known as being, "Dead." Dead, is being gone, but not nothing. Dead is being sent somewhere else, to live a new life, where you're known by no one, and you must start over again.
It is no longer Years, and Years ago, but it is now, Years, and Years later. To this day, no one can understand why I hid the truth of your fate away. "He wanted to fight." I simply said, and that answer always angers them. No matter how close they were to us, they would never understand our friendship. I knew what you wanted. To be normal, there is no other way to put it, you wanted that, and so did I.
It's years, and years later, and I'm just waiting to talk to you again. Waiting by your grave, while Koenma is probably storming around, wondering why I'm late for a meeting. Well, Koenma, Kurama, and Hiei can wait. I'm visiting my best friend's gave, waiting to talk to you.
And If I have to Kazuma Kuwabara, I will wait, for years, and years, for you to come sit and talk with me. And if I must, I will place my own headstone, bearing the name Yusuke Urameshi, next to yours, so that I could wait to talk to you even in death.
Because Years, and Years ago, you were dying, and now Years, and Years later, I am dying.
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I am sick as a dog...I'm gonna regret putting this up huh?