Like a Broken Compass

a funeral re-unites two ex-lovers with unfinished businesses

but honey, your love was a compass,
whose only direction was Lost
and your touches the needle that pointed
towards worlds where nothing existed
But you

"Where do you want to go?"

With the funeral at a reasonable distance behind me, I finally look up at my surroundings. I immediately recognize the highroad of the Bakuten City, lined with masses and masses of lush green trees – we are far enough out of town that we wouldn't see a person for at least ten miles.

For a millisecond I wonder if I'd been too spontaneous - getting in a car with a man I hadn't seen in years, in the wake of the funeral I had to organize, no less.

And then I remember who I am with. Everything with this man has always been unadulterated instincts and primal impulses – purpose had never been a part of the equation.

Where do you want to go? I didn't know.

His words echo in my head, the concern in his voice thinly-veiled and his eyes are curious as they stare me down.

"You're lost."

More than you think. Like a compass with a broken needle. A star spun forever out of reach.

And desperate, too. Don't forget desperate.

When I'd seen him today, the man behind the wheels, I had spun straight into his orbit, no questions asked. I had forgotten the four-year communication gap, and there were no hello's or how-have-you-been's - just a long stare and four words on my part. 'I need a ride.'

And in less than two minutes, I was in a new car, with someone that I used to know, driving without a destination.

I wanted to tell myself that I had needed something to get away and that he had been the first person in reach – but even in my hazy headedness I knew that that was a lie. I would forever carry with myself the part of me that wants to write over the hasty scribbles of our past.

The car halted. My body jerked forward, then back against the seat. My head snapped in his direction.

He looks at me, his eyebrows creased over his amethyst eyes. I wondered what he saw because his expression hardened.

"I'm sorry about Grandpa Granger. I know you were close."

I hadn't realized I'd been looking for signs of affection, till I spotted the professionalism in his voice. Well-practiced line, I was sure. Nothing of his personal interest, just conventional. Truly business-like, as always.

Time seemed to have made our relationship formal.

I look away. And there is a piercing kind of silence. The kind I'd always had to handle in his company all those years ago.

But it doesn't last long.

"Will you look at me?"

His voice is unexpectedly soft, a side that he rarely showed – a side I remember from our really intimate moments. When I don't reply, his hand caresses my cheek, then slightly brushes my shoulders – and suddenly he is embracing me.

His body against mine felt nothing like it used to – and it filled me up with regret me to think that I'd missed seeing the changes up close. He was not the same.

"Let me be there for you this time."

Yet so much the same.

He rarely showed affection, and I rarely accepted some attention.

But I found myself gripping his back because it was different this time. Four years of distance. I had seen him in between. But I was barely awake through Dad's funeral. And Mr. Dickenson's had had too many people for me to even sneak a glance at him.

And while he was always lurking in the corners, I was always avoiding them – it was a sickening game that we've been playing for years. He chased and I ran – because it was much too painful to look at him and see the friend he wanted me to see.

So I had stopped looking.

But I always found myself glancing over my shoulders, trying to catch his shadow – his life in the newspapers, his name in conversations with mutual friends, his face in the backdrop of the party pictures on her social media.

Despite my pride, I had clung onto him over the years. But I never had the courage to fully and directly look at him; afraid that I'd drown all over again if I ever catch his eye.

I push against him, moving us apart. Sitting next to him in his car today, staring directly at his face and into the depths of his eyes, I forgot exactly what I'd been running from.

He looked as beautiful as I'd remembered him. I feel disoriented and lost and the first of my unkempt words slip out.

"Why are you here?" My voice sounded like ice fissuring, quiet and uncertain.

He looks away.

In the silence, I jab my sleeves at my eyes, my mind racing. I hear the blood pumping in my ears. In the rearview mirror, I see my face flush.

He's here because of this.

"You always see me like this." My hands trembled, and my lips quivered; the onset of a waterfall. "You forget about me. And then there's a crises -"

The bitterness I feel slips through into the accusations I voice out – but his gaze is understanding and his voice is calm.

"You pushed me away, Hils." His tone is a gentle reminder, devoid of the blame that I had expected – and probably deserved. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth – it was all just so easy for him.

"I thought I mattered enough for you to try harder."

"I'm trying, now." He sounded sincere. "You gave up, Hillary. I'm still trying."

I had to clamp my sleeves over my face to keep myself together.

It was quiet for a while as I tried to process my guilt. Tiny specks of raindrops fell on the windshield and onto my face through the open window.

I glance down the road and I wonder if he was thinking the same thing as I was.

No one would notice us if we're gone. I think, so does it really matter where we go?

"Away."

His eyes met mine, confused at the sudden change in my tone.

"I want to go away."

Back to the world that we had deserted all those years ago.

And Kai Hiwatari knew it. He knew where the compass needle led to now. He knew I wasn't lost – just waiting to be found by him.

We both share an understanding little smile – the roar of the engine, we start our strange little odyssey once more.

It felt alright.

Originally posted: 22.4.12. Titled: Erosion

Edited: 20.8. 2020

Author's note:

I'm giving my account a makeover, and deleting and editing left and right – changing titles, removing isolated one shots and adding them into an anthology to reduce the scattered , all over the place clutter. And also, there is so much depressed angsty teenage suicidal needlessly dramatic shit - wow I was really going through it - i'm happier now thank fuck, but all this sappy shit needs to be rearranged.

Anyways, this story was my first attempt at 'vague' story writing – I still have no idea what that means, but yeah I think the idea was to leave it to the reader's head – where are they going, what happened between them, are they going to patch it up. Idk man. When I wrote it I was a depressed teen and was just waiting for my boards to end so I can go back to writing.

Now I'm happy so in my head ya they're gonna fuck in the backseat of kai's rover idc. I want them back.