A/N: I have the draft of chapter 4 in my comp since 2009... then I changed laptop 2-3 times. Recently I watched Rurouni Kenshin Tsuiokuhen again and I remember writing a fanfic about that. It was a rubbish fanfic written in 2002-2003 when I was 13-14, with OC as main character (Tomoe lived, though grievously hurt, and had Kenshin's daughter. Tomoe didn't look for Kenshin because of shame, and she died. Her daughter Saotomoe was gifted with the sword like Kenshin, so she survived and looked for her father, but did not get to know him long, because he died soon after they met. Some sort of calamity befell Tokyo/Japan, so Saotomoe was called to help to resolve it - much like how Kenshin was summoned to deal with Shishio. Soujirou was involved one way or another and he and Saotomoe ended up as a couple, and they lived happily ever after at the Kamiya dojo with Kenji and Yahiko and Tsubame), but the idea sticks. I want to rewrite it a better way now, but I can't find the fanfic I wrote. It was too long ago, written in my first laptop, and I've changed laptops 4-5 times by now, the data is just...gone. I'm scared of losing more data like this, so I decided to upload whatever draft fanfics I'd written, no matter how rubbish I find them now. Murasaki Iro no Sora is one of those fanfic I find too dramatic and cliche now, but well, I am a hoarder, so history is precious, no matter how much I want to cringe at the language or how childish the plot is now.
Chapter 4: Koboreta Hane (Broken Wings)
"You TRASH!" Yukino cuffed the thin, pink-haired prostitute hard on his face, cutting his lips with her jewelries, and knocking him to the ground. "How dare you-" the devilish woman kicked his frail body repeatedly on the sides, "show your face to me-" she yanked him up by his hair, "after what you did?" She spat on his face before pushing it to the tatami and stepping her foot on his head.
"M-moshiwake g-gozaimasen (I deeply apologise)," Kanmuri gasped, coppery liquid filling his mouth and dripping off his nose. Judging from the tenderness of the flesh, it might have been broken. "I didn't intend to-"
"Bloody hell you didn't!" the dark-haired female jabbed her foot on his back, making his cough out blood laced saliva. "Hey, you!" Yukino ordered one of the prostitutes who were forced to watch Kanmuri's humiliation, so that they would learn a lesson not to mess with her, "Bring me the paddle!"
"H-hai!" the young girl flinched before she skittered to obey the command. As she rushed to present the long piece of thick wood on her hands above her head, she tripped on her feet. "M-moshiwake g-gozaimasen!" she stuttered.
"Trash!" Yukino kicked her after she snatched the paddle from the girl. When she turned to the violet-eyed boy, the expression on her face was positively wicked. "Take off your kimono!"
Kanmuri's limbs trembled as he struggled to get up, but before he could get to his hands and knees, Yukino struck him hard with the cane. The scream that emanated from Kanmuri's throat was bloodcurdling. Many prostitutes in the audience clenched their eyes shut and covered their ears with their palms.
"Jama miro (Eat shit)!" Yukino shrieked as she hit the boy repeatedly, "Not only you lost me two wealthy perverts, they also sued for their injuries!" She pulled him up by his hair again, "You'll pay for this! It'll be added to your debts!" Yukino punched him on his face.
Tsukino couldn't take it anymore. She stepped out, risking her half-sister's wrath, and interrupted, "Y-yukino-onee-sama." Her forehead hit the floor as Yukino's arm was poised to hit Kanmuri again, "Moshiwake gozaimasen, but Murasaki has an appointment with Inspector Suzuki from the Police force in tomorrow. I'm afraid, if you beat him up too much, he won't be able to recover."
"Che!" Yukino threw the paddle on the floor, "Remember, boy," she hissed maliciously, "The moment you stop laying golden eggs for me, I'll have you killed," she placed her foot on one of his bruises and pressed down hard before turning to leave, her chin high up in the air.
Most of the prostitutes followed their master, but one lingered. As soon as Yukino's footsteps were out of her hearing range, Tsukino hurried towards the tortured boy, who was lying prone face down on the floor. "Kanmuri-kun," she whispered gently, "Can you hear me?"
"E-e…(yes)," Kanmuri replied hoarsely, his voice nearly lost from all the ear-piercing cries. As he tried to rise up again, Tsukino rushed to support him from his side, and let him prop most of his weight on her. "Daijoubu (Are you all right)?"
"N-nantoka (somehow)," the albino replied deliriously. The left part of his face was so swollen he almost couldn't see with his left eye. "T-thank you for saving me, Tsukino-san," he said sincerely.
But Tsukino shook her head frantically. "No, everything was my fault," she argued, "If I didn't hand Azuma-san the key…"
"Don't blame yourself," Kanmuri sighed as they began to take a few steps out of the room together, "Something good came out of it." A small, soft, crooked smile crossed his lips.
Tsukino didn't ask. The two inched down the corridor at a snail's pace, a comfortable silence between then, until they were just a few paces away from the prostitutes' quarter, and eventually, a few steps away from the room Kanmuri shared with Harumi.
The pink-haired teenager stopped Tsukino and limped on his own, leaning heavily on the wall. "I can manage," he bowed his head slightly to the brunette, "Oyasuminasai (Good night)."
"Wait," the green-eyed girl called him softly, "How about the wounds? I can help you tend to them."
But Kanmuri shook his head, "You need to wake up early tomorrow, right? I can tend to them on my own. Thank you for the offer, though."
"It's the least I can do," Tsukino replied, "Oyasuminasai, Kanmuri-kun."
"By the way, Tsukino-san," Kanmuri said before the girl turned to leave. "If…" Tsukino waited as the other prostitute paused pensively. "If Azuma-san comes again, please don't let him see me."
The look on Kanmuri's face was resolute. Tsukino didn't ask again, she just nodded. "Sore wa anata no nozomu nara (If that's your wish)."
"Arigatou (Thank you)," Kanmuri seemed intensely relieved. He waved at the girl before finally entering his room.
Harumi was tossing and turning in her futon; she couldn't sleep well. The pale girl lost count of the sheep for the tenth time before she huffed, sat up and decided to get some sewing done instead.
The retired prostitute mended almost all of the tears on Kanmuri's kimonos till her shoulders ached and before she knew it, the clock had struck three times, breaking her concentration. Surprised, her dark eyes stared at the clock on the wall. "It's really three o'clock," she exclaimed. Her brows were knitted in worries as she shifted her gaze to the empty futon a feet away from hers.
"Shigeru-kun wa osoi desu ne (Shigeru-kun is sure late)," Harumi sighed.
She didn't have to wait long; approximately five minutes later, Kanmuri stumbled into the room, dragging one foot as he walked. The pink-haired jumped in shock when she greeted him. "Harumi?"
Harumi gasped at the sight of her childhood friend's face. It was covered in blood, his left cheek heavily inflamed. His lips were cut and the bridge of his nose was purple. Harumi's heart ached. "Shigeru-kun," she got up on her feet, her hands reaching out to him. "What happened to you?"
Kanmuri turned away from her. "Nothing," he replied.
"How could it be nothing?" Harumi raised her voice and pulled him by his collars. As she did so, his kimono slipped off his shoulders, exposing more blue-black welts and fresh wounds.
"Shigeru!" Harumi was rendered speechless. She let go of her hold, "I-I…y-you…" her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
Kanmuri put his hand on her shoulder. "Harumi-"
Thankfully, Harumi's wits had returned to her. "Sit down on my futon! I'll tend to your wounds!"
"No!" He pulled the end of her pajama before she could run to get the first aid kit, "You should be resting. I'll-"
"Shigeru, you can't possibly tend to all of your wounds by yourself," Harumi placed her hand on Kanmuri's right cheek, careful not to touch the bruises. "You've been taking care of me for a long time. Let me take care of you now."
The two stared into each other's eyes for a long time before Kanmuri nodded, defeated. "Thank you," he said softly.
A smile graced Harumi's face. Peace came over them as the young woman washed all of his physical wounds cautiously by dabbing them with a wet towel. "Itai (It hurts)!" Kanmuri winced when Harumi applied a balm on his skin.
"I know it hurts like hell, but it heals like no other salve can," Harumi soothed the throb by blowing on it lightly. "I got this from a doctor from Tokyo. He used to be my customer," she answered his unvoiced question.
"Then you shouldn't have used it on me!" the pink-haired boy withdrew sharply. "It's not easy to obtain it, isn't it?" He grimaced again as his wound smarted.
"Don't be stupid!" Harumi pulled him closer to her and unrolled the bandages, looping them around his torso and legs. Kanmuri was embarrassed at his nudity, but the girl didn't seem to mind. "Why are you shy? We're used to being naked," she joked before noticing the irony in her own statement.
"Anyways," she injected quickly, "I don't think I'll be using this salve often. You can have it." Kanmuri could detect a silent 'thank you' and smiled. As Harumi continued wrapping his wounds affectionately, miraculously, the albino could feel his emotional pains healing one by one.
It was worth it, he sighed. It was worth all of it.
"Iterasa-" Tsukino stopped when her eyes met a pair of familiar caramel orbs. The youth looked like he had lost something dear to him, the lines of his face drooping downwards, his eye bags black as kohl. "Konbanwa (good evening), Tsukino-san," his smile was a shadow, a mere fraction of what it could be. "Can I see Shigeru?"
"Azuma-san," She forced herself to refuse him, "I'm sorry, but Murasaki is booked full."
"I'll wait," the brunet stood adamantly, "I won't take long. I just want to talk to him. It can slip in between appointments."
Tsukino's heart ached. "Azuma-san, you'll never-"
The green-eyed girl was interrupted by a loud, familiar, plastic-sounding cutesy laughter. "Sou, sou! Suzuki-san wa erai desu (yes, yes, Suzuki-san is a great person)!" a baritone male voice sang praises.
"Darou (right)?" from the room at the end of the long corridor, a red-faced fifty-year-old man in a green customary police uniform emerged, the smooth cap of his bald head gleaming in the lighting from the lanterns. Latched to his arm was the boy Azuma desired to hold, his pink-hair clipped up by a red, spherical pin, minute bells dangling from it. When he smiled, Azuma could see hints of blue and purple on the ends of his lips and above the dimple on his left cheek, patches of violence thick make-up failed to veil. Scraps of bandages peeked out from the partings of his kimono, a stark contrast to the bright-patterned fabric. Azuma trembled with guilt. It wasn't fair that Kanmuri had to pay the price of the other boy's glitch.
The old man seemed to notice what Azuma saw as well. "Murasaki-chan!" he exclaimed, and pushed back a sleeve, "What happens to you? Poor thing…" he cooed and cupped the prostitute's face.
"Murasaki fell off the stairs," the mask on his face didn't falter. "Yada ne, Murasaki is so clumsy," he chided himself and pretended to be embarrassed.
"Aw, don't worry, kawaii Murasaki-chan," Suzuki puckered his lips and made smooching sounds, "I'll kiss them and make it better!"
(A/N: the authoress is disgusted and applauds Kanmuri for being able to stomach such a grotesque spectacle)
"Hontou?" The prostitute leaned more into the man's arms, "Ureshii (I'm so glad)!"
Azuma saw red. Green with jealousy, he wanted to claw Shigeru out of that abhorrent creature's embrace and make the boy his, all his. His legs tensed, ready for a run. "Shigeru!" he bellowed from the top of his lungs and charged into the corridor.
But Tsukino had read the emotions crossing the farmer's face and anticipated this. She placed herself between the jilted lovers, an obstacle to one but a barrier to the other, the thick layer of her kimono acting as a cushion as Azuma collided into her. "Let me go! Let me-"
The commotion caused Suzuki to turn his head in their direction. "Shiriai kata (someone you know)?" he asked, dazed from the booze, his chin jerking towards Azuma, whose dark hands were reaching out to Kanmuri.
Those violet orbs were locked onto his eyes for a fraction of a second, melancholy and longing filling those magnetic pools, before Kanmuri turned his head away slowly, hiding his face away from the other youth. "Yes," he stated loudly, "he was just a customer of mine."
It was just a simple sentence, but Azuma felt as though his heart had been torn out of his ribs, kicked and chopped into bits and pieces so many it was unsalvageable. He was unresisting, his limbs heavy when Tsukino pushed him gently out of the entrance and closed the door to his face, cutting off his sight of Kanmuri's retreating back.
Azuma sat on the pavement across the road for a long, long time in a catatonic state, head bowed, shoulders slumped. Hours later, a pair of leather-shoes-clad feet appeared within his vision, though it took him a while to realize their presence, and a while longer to notice that the man whose feet belonged to was addressing him; his voice sounded like static to his ears.
When Azuma looked up, he saw the old policeman again, more drunk than just now. He was staggering, and there was an arrogant, satisfied expression on his repulsive face. "You're the boy who called for Murasaki, didn't you?" he hiccoughed and sneered.
Hatred fuelling his resentment, Azuma rose to his feet, his eyes challenging the elderly. "Dakara nan ja (So what if I did)?"
"Poor child," he shook his head mockingly, "You're in love with that prostitute, didn't you? Isn't a wonder, really. Murasaki is really pretty," he said almost wistfully, "he gives wonderful head, and I do love his pert arse; a wild cat in bed, he just can't get enough, the dirty little whore…" drool leaked out of his mouth.
Adrenaline was coursing through the blood in his veins. "Don't talk about him like that!" He spat on the man's face.
The man wiped the saliva off his face calmly, though. "Speaking of which…" he seized Azuma's chin in his surprisingly strong hand, and stripped Azuma with his ratty eyes. The brunet had never felt this violated before. "You're quite pretty yourself, boy. I bet you'll be as feisty in bed. To have you and Murasaki all for myself…" the policeman breathed heavily, obviously aroused by his bizarre, perverse fantasy, "I have a proposition. I'll buy Murasaki off Yukino-sama, if you promise to be mine as well. You'll see Murasaki everyday! Isn't that perfect?"
Azuma trembled in rage, before struggling out of the man's hold and butted him on the face with his head, knocking him to the asphalt and causing a tumult. "FUZAKERU NA (don't joke with me)!" he yelled, "YOU NO NAKA DE KANE MORATENE MONO MO IRU JA (There are things you can't buy with money)!"
Seething, the policeman cradled his broken nose as he stood back up. He then locked Azuma in an iron grip with one hand and raised his other arm. "You bastard!" he barked as he swung his fist to punch Azuma's gut.
The scrawny farmer closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact, but it never came.
Another fifty-something-year-old man, one with a slender, muscular build, neatly-trimmed grey curly hair, and a wise, charismatic face had the policeman's wrist in his gloved hand. "The boy is right; there are things in this world you can't buy with money," he said, poison underlining his tone, his slanted dark eyes flashing threateningly. "Besides, don't shame the Japanese Police force by committing violence against an innocent civilian, Inspector Suzuki." The badges and medals on his navy blue uniform glinted in the light as the police cowered.
"What happens?" Alerted by the uproar outside, Tsukino and Kanmuri opened the entrance door and rushed out. The pink-haired boy's gaze went straight to the tall figure of the high-ranking military man. "Iwao-Shaosa (Major Iwao)!" he exclaimed.
The Major turned to see the boy, the hard expression on his face softening. "Murasaki," his voice was gentle as sunlight in spring. "Oesashiburi desu (Long time no see)."
"Iwao-Shaosa," Kanmuri approached the man, pointedly unheeding Azuma's attempts to make him notice him. His love was just a few feet away from him, and it was exasperating. "Why didn't you book me? If I know you'd be coming today, I will only be serving you!"
"I have just returned from Manchuria this evening," he explained as he pulled something out of the pocket of his pants. It was a small box, wrapped in plum-patterned rice paper and delicate pink ribbon. "Chukoku kara no omiage desu (A souvenir from China)."
"Soko made iraretate…(It's too much)," Kanmuri's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open in awe as he receive the present gingerly, handling it carefully, "A-arigatou gozai ma-"
The gratitude was cut short when Iwao placed his hand on top of Kanmuri's head. "Murasaki, anata ooki ni naremashita (you've grown a few inches)," he smiled, a fond, fatherly and friendly smile meshed into one.
"S-sou (really)?" The smile on Kanmuri's face was different from the ones he gave to other customers, bordering on being similar to the ones he allowed Azuma to see. It hurt him so much when the Major placed his hand protectively around Kanmuri's shoulder as the two proceeded inside the brothel, conversing about the military's experience in the foreign country.
"Murasaki is really a fox," Suzuki grunted, nursing the hand previously held by the major, even though it wasn't bruised, "to have even Major Iwao completely smitten with him." He clucked his tongue before leaving Azuma, lonely in the street with people milling about.
Her heart going out for the boy, Tsukino touched the caramel-eyed boy gently on his shoulder. "Azuma-san, I think you should go home now. Major Iwao will stay till morning, and it's already 1 p.m." she whispered softly.
Again, Azuma was strangely obedient. Tsukino couldn't help but worry about him. 'It's for the best,' she convinced herself, 'for both of them…'
"Iwa-kun," the naked pink-haired boy sighed, patches of black covering his moonlit alabaster skin. Slender hands snaked behind his customer's neck, pale thighs tensing on scarred arms, heels digging to stiff spine, lithe body arcing upwards. "Iwa-kun," the way he whimpered was just right, what the older man liked best. Kanmuri knew it would drive him absolutely mad.
True enough, Major Iwao increased his pace, thrusting into the prostitute in frenzy before he finally came, closing his eyes and calling the one he loved. "N-naoki!" he collapsed on top of the teenager, large hand caressing fluffy strands fondly.
Kanmuri was used to this role-play. Having lost his one true soul mate in military training long, long ago, Major Iwao drifted through life like a mindless robot, doing what others wanted of him before finally meeting the violet-eyed boy. He was convinced that Kanmuri was Naoki's reincarnation – he said they had the same light in their eyes, the same smile. Kanmuri thought otherwise, but tagged along, acting for the benefit of the man; he was a rare, considerate one, almost like a father figure, absolutely sweet and kind to him.
But what Iwao was enraptured with wasn't Kanmuri; he was chasing Naoki's shadow in Murasaki, pinning away and making up similarities between him and the deceased. Iwao had offered to buy him off Yukino once, but the prostitute declined; he had his own reasons, and even if he didn't have them, his presence in Iwao's household would tarnish the man's impeccable reputation and break apart his family. Strange as it sounded, he didn't want that; Iwao had been good to him, this was the least he could do for the other man.
"Murasaki," Iwao's voice pierced through the silence of the night. To be honest, Kanmuri was surprised Iwao recovered quickly. Sometime he could cling to denial so tightly he called him Naoki for hours, which he didn't mind, anyway, but this change was certainly a progress. Eyes wide open on Kanmuri's face, Iwao touched the fading wound on the boy's cheek lightly. "Saki no otoko…anata ga suki desyou (the boy from just now…he has feelings towards you, right)? Ii desuka, kono mama hotoimasu koto (is it okay if you leave it like this)?"
"Ii desu, Iwao-Shaosa," Kanmuri turned to his side to face the older man. There was strength in those normally soft amethyst orbs, steel and resolution, "Boku wa kare ga mamoteru hoshi kara (because I want to protect him)."
The high-ranked military felt as though he was doused by icy water and kicked in the gut. It was a wake up call received perhaps months too late; no matter what he chose to believe, Murasaki wasn't Naoki. Because Naoki would never have gazed at him so firmly. Because Murasaki loved the brunet, not Iwao.
Iwao's hand hovered above the youth's head for a while. Kanmuri thought the man was going to pet him, but instead, it ruffled his pink locks to a mess. When the prostitute, eyes wide, raised his head and protested, Major Iwao laughed, his chest unburdened for the first time since their meeting fifteen months ago. "Murasaki wa hontou ni ooki ni narimasu (Murasaki has really grown)!"
"Atarimae desu (of course)!" Kanmuri pouted and threw a pillow to the man's face, a smile ghosting over his lips as the chains came loose. They laughed until exhaustion and sleep took over, Kanmuri curling inside Iwao's protective, paternal embrace.
(A/N: Why did I write this scene? Does it seem unnecessary? It is unnecessary to Murasaki's plot itself, but since I'm considering a sequel, and this scene is part of the plot of the sequel, so for now, I'll just add this scene)
"Oh, it's you again," A bitchy voluptuous prostitute in garish orange kimono sneered at Azuma's face as he stepped one foot inside the brothel. "You should give up. You'll never see Murasaki again."
Instead of being dejected, Azuma tilted his head to the left, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Anata…dare ja (who are you)?"
A vein popped out on the girl's wide, unattractive forehead. "It's Minako, dunderhead!" she bellowed, spraying droplets of saliva to the caramel-eyed boy's face, "Minako! Don't you remember me from your first visit to Maboroshi-ya?"
"Ooh!" a light bulb was lit up in Azuma's brain, "You're the prostitute that scared the shit out of me right?" he said, grinning innocently, obliviously of his blatant insult.
"I DIDN'T! IT WAS YOU WHO WERE SO BLIND YOU COULDN'T SEE MY BEAUTY!" She shrieked in frustration, the nerves on her neck jutting out. She took a deep breath when the farmer appeared unaffected, before shooing him out. "Anyways, you can never see Murasaki! Now, if you excuse me," she turned her back on him and smirked infuriatingly. "I have a job," she bragged, slammed the entrance door in front of Azuma's face and sashayed up the stairs.
Azuma persevered. He had been coming every day for the past umpteen nights, undaunted although he had been repudiated each and every time, first by the considerate Tsukino, and later on, rebuffed by irritating prostitutes. The course of the wind had changed, the rice on his fields harvested, his breaths white puffs in the rapidly freezing weather. Azuma had been rooted across the brothel so often he recognised most of the regulars. But when his eyes weren't noticing familiar faces, they were at the windows, rummaging for a glimpse of his beloved's countenance.
"He never gives up," an indistinctive client (meaning: neither cruel nor kind) commented when Kanmuri's eyes were spellbound by the thin farmer's figure, shriveling by the northern zephyr. "Won't you fulfill his wish and see him once, Murasaki?"
The pink-haired prostitute was snapped out of his trance. "Oh-uh, what?" He smiled sheepishly at the brown-haired middle-aged man, "Ya da ne, what are you talking about, Sato-san?" he tipped off the jug a little to pour steaming hot sake onto the man's cup, exposing an infuriating bit of his skin below his wrist. "Ah! I recall that you haven't finished telling me about the anorexic boss in your office…"
As the night advanced, a huge, dark cloud that had been looming over the sky and snubbing the stars off their glitters tore open and wept. Streams of ice cold water were released upon the earth, drenching Azuma from head to toe, chilling him to the bones, but still he endured, his teeth clattering, his eyes boring holes on Kanmuri's back. 'The idiot!' he muttered under his breath.
Across the room, Minako was enjoying the show inwardly. Her grudge against the sightless, tasteless brat ran deep. 'I hope you'll contract pneumonia and die!' she laughed inwardly.
"Eh?" The man Minako was serving frowned as the last drop of sake hit the bottom of his cup, "Can't you refill the sake, Minako-chan?"
The prostitute looked around the room, asking for spare, but everyone shook his or her head; they were equally low on sake, which was to be expected, with the temperature steadily declining to the minus scale. Minako poked her head out to ask for more sake, but Tsukino's reply was a shake of her head. "Moshiwake gozai masen, okyaku-sama-tachi (I deeply apologise to the customers)," the green-eyed brunette bowed, "but we have ran out of sake. The supplier can only send us more tomorrow."
Grunts and complains could be heard from every corner of the room. Minako however, saw this as a chance. "Murasaki!" she shot across the room, catching the pink-haired boy off guard. "Can't you please go out to buy some more from the retails?"
"Me?" Kanmuri was uncomfortable with the hopeful puppy drunk eyes every man was giving him. "Why me?"
"You want me, who has delicate health, to brave the rain outside?" ever the drama queen, Minako bemoaned, "You're the guy! A girl like me can't possibly lift a barrel of sake on my own…" The bitch shot one prostitute who was going to offer help with a patented glare that shut her up and convinced every other female prostitute to nod at Minako.
The albino shot a look at Tsukino, who nodded at him slowly, a troubled and apologetic look on her face. With her position as the chief of the brothel, she, and by an extension Kanmuri, could get into trouble if she didn't seize on this chance to prove to Yukino-sama that they were at least trying to remedy the complication.
"Wakarimasu (I understand)," Kanmuri stood and proceeded to the entrance of the brothel. Tsukino handed the boy a pocket of money and a large blue umbrella. "Be careful," she said as she sent him off.
As soon as Kanmuri opened the door, one hand pulling his kimono off his feet and the other holding the umbrella over his head, the pink-haired boy could feel Azuma's caramel eyes fastened on him. The latter ran to the albino when he walked down the street. "Shigeru!" he grabbed the other boy fingers curling around his biceps.
Kanmuri made the mistake of making an eye contact; Azuma's face, strands of brown hair plastered to milk chocolate skin, long lashes stuck together, bluing lips trembling, large caramel eyes staring, searching into the paler boy's soul – the image, Azuma's warm, wet touch that soaked his kimono, were forever imprinted to Kanmuri's mind.
They haunted him even after he had swatted the farmer away and dashed down the street. His whole body tingled with yearning, his heart beating faster, his cheeks tingeing pink. He missed Azuma's voice, missed the way his name was rasped off that tongue. But he couldn't give in, not ever. The prostitute quickened his pace, his wooden sandals splashing mud on his kimono. Yukino was going to kill him later, but for now, he just had to get away from the tanned boy. "I told you not to see me anymore!" he shouted to drown the sounds of Azuma's footsteps behind him, his eyes trained right ahead, "Yet you didn't listen to me!"
"Shigeru…" Azuma was falling behind, and Kanmuri counted it as an achievement. "Shigeru, please hear me out…"
"No! You cannot convince me!" Kanmuri responded adamantly. 'I can't give up; I can't allow myself to fall into your embrace!' he persuaded himself mentally. "I don't want to listen to y-"
THUMP!
Kanmuri heard the sound faintly, amidst the noises of the rain, of his heartbeats echoing in his ears, of the bustling night life. He turned around, slowly, dread filling the pit of his stomach, and when he saw the boy who loved him slumped face down, lying prone on the sloshed road, his heart jumped to his throat.
"AZUMA-SAN!" the handle of his umbrella flew off his fingers as he sprinted the few steps that separated him and the farmer, the string of his sandal snapping. He dropped on his knees next to the unconscious boy. Kanmuri placed Azuma's head on his lap tentatively and touched his forehead. The contact scorched his hand. Azuma was burning.
"Baka (stupid)!" Kanmuri cried, his eyes watching the frantic rising and falling of the boy's ribcages, "why did you have to stand in the rain and lose sleep everyday?" he shook the other boy, angry at Azuma's stubbornness, angry at himself, angry the invisible forces that kept on throwing misfortunes after misfortunes into his life. 'Please don't die!' he thought, his head shooting up, and he grabbed the hem of the pants of a man who passed by them. "Isha-san wo yonde kudasai (please call the doctor)!" the prostitute pleaded.
But the well-dressed man kicked his hand away, disgust on his face. Tears pricking the back of his eyes, Kanmuri didn't give up; he reached out one hand to the crowd and bellowed, "DAREKA (Anyone)," his other hand wounded around Azuma's head protectively, "ISHA-SAN WO YONDE KUDASAI! DAREKA-" his breath caught. He could taste salt on his tongue, mixing with the slightly acidic raindrops.
Nobody paid attention to the pretty boy's plea, though, and as seconds ticked away, Azuma's short, laboured breathing was getting fainter…and fainter…
TBC
A/N: No character deaths, people, don't worry. Anyways, REVIEW PLEASE!
