a/n: au
It's gray today.
...
He sighs and turns away from his smoggy window. He prepares himself for the day: suit, tie, and shoes and sets off for work.
Immediately people disperse away from him, from the permanent scowl on his face to his strange hair to the maniac yelling from the ancient phone he holds (and he answers is because last time he'd carried out his threat of arriving to his house in a full-out pink and bright outfit that scarred him and the rest of his neighbors for life)- not that he gives a fuck.
He enters the office building and turns on his computer. He waits and looks around with a scowl.
Today: another day of an empty building; those lazy motherfuckers, he mutters vehemently. A hard worker and a passionate lover of engineer and numbers and all those insanical-things-people-wouldn't-understand-at-heart: he couldn't understand how they could abandon a job they -he- loved.
A couple of hours passes and he gets his things before he walks to the cafeteria. He chews and looks blankly out the window. Again the people are tiny and the clouds are gray and the rain pours. He frowns further, pulls down the blinds and moves to a table farthest away from it (although he can still hear it, he grumbles).
Ten minutes in and he hears a door open and close, and he thinks it's Keigo who came just for the food, although he did say he was on vacation with hot babes.
He keeps eating.
Five minutes and he departs without leaving a single trace behind, like he'd never been there before. He goes to his cubicle and stops outside the door.
Someone is in there.
...
He opens the glass door and waits.
Said (rude) person continues to ignore him.
He goes to the front of his desk, opens his mouth-
-what the hell?
He stares into those huge and dark blue eyes, a blue darker than the sky and what reminds him of when night comes and it's glowing with stars and cliche shit like that.
She stands up straight without losing eye contact and keeps her mouth in a firm line, like she's determined to do something and-
-he's being pulled along by a really (really) strong grip on his arm by a shorter (shorter? what the-) girl and he can't understand what the hell is going on- it's fucking cold.
He stomps on his heels to deter the girl's strong steps and to get the fuck out of the pouring rain that's making him blind as fuck, but the girl keeps walking forward and forward and forward and it feels like there's no end to wherever the hell they're going.
Still half-blinded by rain and still being tugged along by the girl, he gives up struggling and let's her guide him.
Then, they stop.
He catches his breath and looks around, shielding the rain from his eyes- no girl in sight, but there's plenty of rain, and he's still cold and he thinks he'll be sick tomorrow-
a sakura petal falls.
...
He stares at it and notes the sakura trees and catches a tiny whiff of a scent that someone's been praying here recently though it's been drowned by the rain too and- ah. he sinks to his knees. of course.
It says:
Masaki Kurosaki
1975-2010
A loving mother to three and a loving wife to one
(it doesn't say: she died in a murder case, because of her son.)
He pauses, and thinks he hasn't visited for a long, long time; he looks next to it, and sees her grave as well:
Rukia Kurosaki
1990-2015
A wife to one and only one
(it doesn't say: she died in the hospital, because of him.)
He'd imagined so many things: agonizing guilt, screams, anguish, tears, but he feels slightly more calm than he's ever been.
(strange)
He's always been afraid of coming back, slightly because his body won't move then, slightly because he's afraid and doesn't think he can move forward-
(-but he can.)
He remembers how his breath was caught and how he furiously pushed back the possibility that Rukia was alive in his office, or maybe she's a ghost that wanted him to remember her, or maybe-
-it's an apparition formed by his own real desire to see her again, even if it means confronting with the fact that he's old and sick and tired- too tired to move on really; excuses, excuses, she'd say with a frown, you just don't want to, you masochistic fool.
He'd say: I have no problem with it, so I'll just keep being that way- besides, it's not like the pain I feel is a bad thing, and I'm still living on with a great job and all and- it's not your fault I quit being a surgeon. I just felt like it was time to move on to what I wanted to be.
(liar, liar, liar, she screams to deaf ears, just fucking move-)
He rises, still wet, still under rain drops, still cold as hell, but he gets up and walks away.
He'd come back again.
(or not, he muses, his last thought as a car ran over him and he blacks out)
...
...
...