Yeah. It's back. I'm thinking about doing a chapter from the POV of each character.
WARNING: wee bit of shonen-ai here. Mostly unrequited, but can be read as more if you really look hard.
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I wake up, and for a moment I'm not sure why. Then I hear it again.
That soft, almost inaudible creaking.
I sigh.
It's been getting a lot more frequent lately. The nights when he just can't take it anymore and needs to feel something, anything.
He needs the pain.
It fills him, momentarily drowning out the roaring of the void.
I know this. I've spent months putting together his strange, fragile puzzle.
It used to be once, maybe twice a month. He'd get up in the middle of the night when we were all asleep, and creep into the bathroom, letting pain fill the emptiness for a while.
Now it's two times a week, sometimes even three.
I wish that I could help him, but I don't know how. How could I help him when I feel the same way, deep down?
Most people think of me when they think of a 'heart of ice'. Seiji Date, the Ice Prince of the Samurai Troopers.
Well, they're wrong. A good friend of mine makes me look like a rank amateur.
Yes, I am 'icy', but I still let people see myself. What is most amazing about Ryo is that his part is played so well that no one can see past all of his elaborate, painstakingly constructed masks.
Not even me.
Oh, I've gotten much further than anyone else, and I take great pride in this fact, but I'm nowhere near his core.
It's a lot like archaeology; you dig and dig until you find something, and then you have to use tiny brushes to sweep away the debris, making sure that you don't miss or damage anything. I've found a lot, but there's so much more to find. It can get very frustrating.
Sometimes I wonder if it's really worth the trouble. But then I look into those big blue eyes, the eyes of a boy who made up his own last name, and I know that it is.
Because that missing puzzle piece is down there, somewhere. Buried deep, where he has long since forgotten about it, if he was ever really aware of its existence. Buried somewhere that it would never be found.
I'm getting closer with each day. But I have to be careful. Because if I touch him in the wrong way, he'll shatter, and I'll never be able to pick up the pieces.
He is a diamond, hard and unbreakably strong. But there is a flaw, deep in his heart. That flaw is what I've been looking for, but I have to be very careful. If I let him know what I'm looking for, he'll shut down, enfolding himself in yet more layers of lies, and I'll never learn the truth. And even if I do find it, if I strike it wrong, he'll break. Unreparable.
I look at him, and I see myself. A broken, empty little boy, trying to fill the emptiness with something, anything. Willing to play any role, as long as he was accepted. I understand him too well.
But there are still pieces missing.
He's dying. Every time he uses the Kikoutei, it drains away more of the already-short time he has left. Instead of desperately seeking help and trying to avoid ever using it, he uses it at every opportunity.
A normal person wants to live. He wants death to hurry up.
I always knew, even in the beginning. He was always too perfect. He played his role a little too well. I watched him, watched him reach the breaking point.
It came sooner than I expected.
Last winter, the creak of an old floorboard woke me in the middle of the night. I got up, drank some water, and saw that the bathroom door was closed. I opened it, and saw him, leaning against the wall, his arm stretched out over the toilet bowl.
And I was not surprised.
I stopped him then, for my own selfish reasons. I've stopped him every time since, even though I know that he's begging for release inside.
And still, every night, he steps on the same creaky floorboard, even though he knows that it wakes me up.
That's a part of what is missing. I'm so close to the answer, I can almost taste it, but I'm still too far away.
I sigh again, and look at the clock. 2:43 in the morning. Five minutes have passed. It's time to go stop him.
I get up. Unlike him, I am silent as I pad to the bathroom. I open the door. There he is. As always.
He smiles ruefully at me, and I stare. This is the only time that I ever really see him, the boy behind the mask. Those beautiful blue eyes aren't shining with emotion now. They're empty, just like he is. And what is left of my heart aches for him, for the child who could have been real, if it hadn't been for Kaosu's interference.
Kaosu had his hand in Ryo's life from the day he was born. Ryo Sanada, last of his line, last descendant of Hariel. He knew that Arago was going to rise, and that Ryo would, inevitably, be involved. He also knew that if left to his own devices, Ryo might have sided with the demon. After all, it was in his blood.
And so, he systematically destroyed Ryo Sanada, and left a mere shell of a human in his place.
I don't hate Ryo for wanting to die. I hate Kaosu for doing this to him, and Arago for making him do it, and I hate myself.
I am no friend of Ryo's.
I pity him. I pity him, for never being allowed to live. And I love him. And I hate myself for not being strong enough to be his friend.
Ryo doesn't need pity, and he certainly doesn't need love. He can't use either of them to fill himself, so there is absolutely no point in feeling either. Not for him.
Because he can't love me back. He doesn't know how anymore.
And I'm done. I've bandaged the wound, cleaned up the blood, and I'm done.
He smiles crookedly at me, and goes back to his room. Just like always. Always routine.
And just like always, I stand in the bathroom doorway, watching him go. I haven't yet figured out why he always steps on that confounded floorboard, every time, but I will, someday.
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Review, please.