Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Failure" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.
A/N: "the voice" is literally, word for word, Bragi151's and "the voice's" words are lyrics or abbreviated lyrics. The tome's purpose is also word for word Bragi151's. Also: I'm getting a really weird radio silence from this story-not just reviews, but no alerts, either. Is anyone reading, or am I posting this into the void?
Juumonji stood, staring at the grave marker at Sena's family plot.
He didn't know how he had gotten there, really, nor did he know how long he'd been standing there, alone, regarding the symbol of his loss.
It was real. Sena was never coming back. Not ever. No more teasing barbs at stupid-early times in the morning before practice. No more half-hearted attempts to teach him how to fight with his other two best friends.
Juumonji choked on a sob, unable to stop the flood of memories, but still holding back the tears.
No more cuddling—despite Juumonji's vehement protest at the term—while watching movies on long weekends and holidays. No more stupid fights over not calling enough, no more.
His eyes blurred, and a single tear started to leak, only to be angrily wiped away.
No more sweet gasps of his name or timid kisses when no one was looking or bold kisses when he didn't care who was looking.
The dam of tears broke, leaving the broken student sobbing at his former lover's grave.
"Don't cry, child." The voice urged. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It just was. It was all there was. It was all that ever would be. It was not bound by the concept of age. It was not fettered by the perception of gender. "You'll smile again."
Fuck you! What do you know! Fuck you! Juumonji raged internally, blinded and muted by his racking sobs.
"It's only done when it's over."
Juumonji's hands, which had previously been blocking his face and pulling at his bangs in an attempt to manage his grief, were suddenly at chest level, reverently cradling a heavy, ancient tome.
Not even a damned book, it was a fucking tome.
The cover was ornate and bound in what felt like leather and if it had a title it was in a language that Juumonji couldn't read and was mixed in with the whirls and curlicues stamped in and highlighted with gold.
He looked up for the voice and found himself alone. Dazedly, he sat in front of the Kobayakawa monument and opened the tome to "Prometheus's Soul."
It was a summoning spell.
It also happened to carry very, very, very, bad magic.
Tempting magic.
He scanned through the ritual, the spells, the description.
What's more important? The tome taunted as Juumonji raised his gaze again to the monument. The book filled with power? Or your lover?
Juumonji wasn't quite sure how he had gotten home, nor where he had gotten that huge fucking book sitting on the end table next to his couch that his friends couldn't seem to see. What he did know was that it was no longer the end. Sena wasn't dead, and he could prove that with his own two hands, the voice had said.