Erebus on the Cusp of Dawn
by Hic Iacet Mori
Silvery, like the bubble song of soap, singing among the light swells of the river as they crash into the sea—they pile together, false words, suds floating in longing as they reach the air in vain. But her voice is not silver, not bubbly, not longing—it is not a mirror reflecting the illusions you can't leave.
He gritted his teeth. Not annoyed, not at all. Definitely definitely not angry. Just—currently suffering extreme deficiency in positive thoughts and emotions.
Not needing the aid of any artificial light—he knew the path by heart now—Sasuke made his way to his brother's headstone, his steps erratic and heavier than normal. Not stomping, no. Definitely definitely not sulking. Just—currently experiencing superfluity of—of weight, yeah.
Er, muscles.
He half-heartedly planned a new diet and regimen to tone his muscles. At least, this was taking his mind off... things. Irrational things. Idiotic things. Well, he read somewhere that cabbages are muscle builders... rich in iron and sulfur too, though red ones are more beneficial than green ones—
He slapped his forehead and sighed.
Three days—nights—and he had yet to see her again. It was always the cabbage over the headstone with not a shadow of her in sight, and he wanted to punch himself for scaring her away. Why else would she start coming and leaving earlier than she used to, if he hadn't unintentionally driven her away? He just wanted answers. He doubted he could hurt her, would hurt her—unless she proved to be loud and aggravating on top of being an idiot.
It was just really... frustrating. No one had ever run away from him before. There hadn't been an occasion where he had caused someone to do so. He did glare at his clingy female schoolmates, but that's because they were intruding on his space and cooing in his ears... At least, they've learned their lessons, if sighing from afar while undressing him with their eyes could be called that.
His footsteps, which had become dragging—whyever did he keep coming back anyway, if he didn't expect to see her again?—stopped in surprise when he reached the maple tree.
The headstone was bare.
He felt the beginnings of a smirk on his face. Hah, he was earlier! There's no way she wou—
The fine hair on his nape suddenly stood up.
He took a deep breath and slowly lifted his hands, palms open. He wanted to turn around but he didn't want to make the same mistake again.
"Who are you?" he asked softly. He didn't know his voice could sound so soft, or assuring. He just wanted to reach out to the bright shadow who haunted his brother's resting place. Find out who she was, why she did what she did. If she could assure him that his brother... his brother...
He knew she was a distance behind him but he could feel the hotness of her breath and the blandness in her strange husky voice. Like there was something lodged in her throat and no amount of coughing could make it go away.
"No one you should know."
His eyebrow twitched. No one told him who he should or shouldn't know.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. He blinked at the faint amusement in her tone—as if she had seen his reaction but it was impossible, she was behind him, unless she knew him well but that was impossible too—before her words caught up to him.
He wondered why the hell they were speaking in hushed tones when there was no one to bother with their engaging small talk. Regardless, he returned the question, his voice equally low, "What are you doing here?"
She replied with silence. He scowled. He wanted to turn around so he could glare. "Do you know my brother?" he asked instead. It's what he was really interested in, after all.
The amusement abruptly vanished. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin.
"... And if I do?"
He swiftly turned around—irritated at her vague answers, her blank tone—only managing to grab the girl's wrist before the world abruptly spun and he found his face digging on the trunk. He wondered dazedly how it happened as instinct took over, but everything flew away when he felt her body pressing against him.
Not fat was all he managed to think.
"Sneaking into a cemetery in the dead of the night won't help you in school," she said, her tone condescending. He struggled against her hold, mortified. How could a mere girl have him in her grasp? He fought to think of how to slip from her hold but his mind came up blank.
Anger covered his shame, his bewilderment.
"Release me."
He felt her hair tickling his skin as she shook her head. Her lips brushed against his ear. It was chapped with the wind, lush.
Focus. Focus!
"You should be in bed."
He shuddered. He covered it with a snappy retort, "I can sleep when I want to, idiot."
He could feel her bristle behind him. Despite his position, he smirked.
"Such a bastard, Uchiha Sasuke."
His head snapped up.
"Who are you and how do you know my name?"
And then, he was free.
And then, she was gone.
And then there was the cabbage, watching him sift through the shadows in vain.
To his surprise, he found her the next night kneeling before his brother's headstone at her usual hour. He was even more surprised when she stood up and addressed him, albeit with her back still turned to him.
Her voice floated to him, still husky yet lighter than yesterday. "You're kinda stubborn, ne?"
He stepped from behind the tree, his arms over his chest and his suspicious dark eyes assessing her. He could still feel the humiliation at how easily he had been trapped—like some helpless puppy held over the storm drain—and he wanted to get back at her. He wasn't supposed to be overcome that quickly, wasn't supposed to be overcome at all. It wasn't in the scheme of things.
Then there was his response to her proximity, something he wasn't ready to delve into yet. One at a time, he thought. Take things slow, one at a time.
His voice was low but there was no mistaking the underlying threat.
"Tell me who you are."
He stiffened when she moved, not even relaxing when all she did was unzip her jacket, the sound a shriek in the stillness. She withdrew the cabbage she would place on the headstone for the night. "It's not really the best for you, knowing me," she replied. She then stood up from her crouch, ready to leave.
He could be fast when he wanted to and it was with immense satisfaction when his hands caught her shoulders. He twisted her none too gently, telling himself it wasn't because he wanted to finally see her face, and his scathing words died at her parted pink lips and her whiskered lean cheeks and her electric blue eyes alighted with surprise.
It was disconcerting and he didn't take confusion well.
"I'm sure we have better things to do than mooning at each other like idiots in a cemetery," she said lightly.
He really didn't take confusion well.
"Who are you?" he snapped. His hands fit perfectly on the roundness of her shoulders and he wasn't supposed to notice those things.
She smiled against his grip that had become punishing without his awareness. "Really, it's not a good idea for you to know me," she replied easily. "I'm not planning to do anything crazy, anyway. That is, crazier than what I'm doing right now."
She was frustrating. Frustrating him with her answers, her voice, her rounded shoulders—
"Why do you this?"
She shrugged, her smile still in place. His hands moved in time with the motion. "Well, I thought I'd want ramen every night, see, 'coz we can't be sure they have our favorite food over there, and I can't really give him ramen because he isn't much of a fan. Now I thought of giving chocolates but the first time I tried, I ended up eating the whole box and he's really possessive with them sweets anyway, sometimes eating five pieces a second, and I can't have him getting toothaches because we're not sure they have dentists there, ne? So I tried onigiri but the only konbu onigiri he wants is from another country and I'm not exactly friends with the owner after a prank that went too far. And well, cabbages are tolerable even if I hate veggies and anyway, Itachi and cabbages is a perfect match, don't you think?"
Her babble hardly made sense and he was feeling the beginnings of a headache coming. His hands left hers, though, when he heard his brother's name.
Perfect match.
He was unprepared against the sting of Itachi's name on her lips.
"I don't plan on anything else," she said, taking over the silence that was too stifling for him, her voice softening, her tone assuring. He disliked it and he didn't know why. "A cabbage a day, that's all. You don't need to drop by at such an ungodly hour to watch me do it. I'm not going to ruin anything, I promise. I'd never do that to him."
She sounded so sincere, so solemn.
So sad...
"... Are you his friend?"
"You can say that," she replied, her words slow and deliberate. He didn't realize that he had pushed her until she stumbled back, her face hooded.
"I don't trust you," he hissed.
For a brief moment, she looked up, her eyes traveling to rest on the moon glowing above them. He felt an odd hatred for it.
"I'm not asking you to."
She vanished.
He realized, belatedly, that not once had she looked at him.
He ended going back every night, watching her as she performed her peculiar ritual. This time, however, he had taken to standing on her far left to at least see her profile because he realized quickly that watching her from behind the tree would just show him her back and she preferred to remain that way when she talked.
Rude idiot.
"You're losing your edge in Calculus, y'know," she said, her voice a husky breath of smoke, of shadow, in the moonlit night. "You'd need to ace all your subjects to get into the college you want."
Coldness washed over him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised anymore but he couldn't get over his amazement, and annoyance, at how much she seemed to know about him. He was at an unfair disadvantage—she wouldn't even tell him her name, the selfish moron.
"Still can't figure out how you'd use that load of bull in fighting crime, though," she muttered, almost to herself. "Genius criminals are overrated and they're not as many as TV shows make people think. And they don't go around killing others because someone didn't know what derivatives are."
It was also the first time she had spoken before him, though his words were often demands of her name in his cold, accusing voice. Then the previous night—
"Until I know your name, I'll call you whichever I want. Dobe."
"So yeah, teme," she went on—him scowling at the insult—"skipping on your schoolwork isn't nice."
"Are you spying on me?" he asked, his voice the soft hiss of a serpent eyeing its prey. She shrugged and his fists curled on his side. He despised her shrugs. Her shoulders annoyed him.
"Maybe."
Great. Not only was this girl a crazy idiot who liked to leave cabbages in headstones, she was a spying moron too.
"Baka," he growled.
"Yarou," she returned almost amiably. "Don't throw your life away."
He stiffened. "Who said anything about throwing my life away?"
She glanced to where he stood but he could feel her eyes lingering on the emptiness behind him. "Then at least don't throw your precious sleeping hours away."
His lips tightened.
"Besides," she added, her tone curious, "why d'you keep coming back here anyway? I'm sure he thinks your afternoon visits are enough. I know you know I'm not gonna try anything."
He looked away even though she wasn't even looking at him. He told himself he simply wanted to know more about his brother but deep down, he didn't understand why he kept coming back at all. She was right—he knew she wouldn't do anything.
He closed his eyes, deciding. He should have asked this before.
"How did you meet my brother?"
Her eyes on the shadow behind him were suddenly intense and he felt it chilling everything else around him. Including him.
"I'd answer when you stop coming in this hour," she replied after a long pause. His head snapped up, dark eyes irritated. She uttered some other words, some sounding suspiciously like "persistent nerd."
"Pardon?" he asked, voice icy.
"Off to bed, teme. Don't make things any harder."
His brows creased. They're repeating themselves now. "I sleep when I must. Now what do you—"
He was speaking into air.
He threw a filthy glare at the cabbage, at the headstone, at the shadows—even at the moon for good measure. He was displeased and he wanted the world to know it, and his world in the past days had shriveled into these things.
A yawn made its way up his throat. He scowled at the echoes of her words in his mind.
Speak to the night and hear its answering voice—rough, like the sands of a ruthless hourglass; low, like the hope of a desperate man; uncaring, like the soul of a creature born to kill. She speaks in silence and it is the tongue from where she reveals.