AME

By Nokoru

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but are the property of Watasuki Nobuhiro, Jump Comics, and any other respective owners I have not mentioned here. I give all credit to them and their inspirations. I am only writing this fan fiction for the amusement of myself and others. I do not wish to cause any harm to the owners’ original intent. Also, if any reader should feel that my interpretation of historical accounts shows any disrespect, please realize that this is a fiction piece. I do not mean any harm to any history, but I in fact adore it.

Author’s Note: This story is in first person from Soujiro’s point of view. The mysterious stranger is Okita as a ghost. ^^() I’m odd that way. ^__^ And note that ame means rain in Japanese. ^^ Questions, comments, and maybe even a compliment or two are more than welcomed with hot chocolate and marshmellows~!! Flames and complaints will be disregarded completely. Please enjoy~! ^__^

Ear to the ground, my body curled up against the rain as the sound of falling drops drummed inside my head. My hair, wet and falling across my eyes and face, created rivers of the sky’s tears across my cheeks and down my lips. So cold and so sad. And I laid there, under a memorial of some sort, watching the empty streets fill with rain as my empty heart filled with tears I wouldn’t dare shed. No one came out in the rain; no one liked the rain. I didn’t like the rain.

The rain meant blood to me - sin, guilt, hurt, hide. I had killed my family in the rain, starting a sequence of events that only led spiraling down to further guilt, pain, and hiding. And here I was, in the middle of the rain, something that reminded me all too much of myself and devoured my soul with each droplet that touched my skin. No matter how clothed my body was, my spirit was naked to the hungry rain. And I couldn’t care less.

Seconds passed to make minutes, and minutes transformed into hours. I never moved. I never even lifted an ear to the faint sound of footsteps behind me, only brushing it off as my wanton imagination running off with my sense of reality. I was surprised when he sat down next to me, of course. Still, I refused to move, my empty, numb heart binding my body to the ground. Seconds passed before I heard his voice. It was hard enough to break the silence that had sacrificed me to my own thoughts but soft enough to brush the broken pieces away.

“What are you doing out in this rain?”

I probably should have asked him that first. What was he doing in the rain? No one liked the rain. I hated the rain because I hated myself, and I deserved to be out in the rain. My soul needed devouring. But you can’t say those kinds of things to a stranger, though I have said much worse. So I only replied, “I don’t have a place to go.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth; and I told it in the flattest voice I had ever heard.

“Well, there’s a restaurant over there, or an inn over there,” he replied, cheerfully pointing out various shops and inns down the street. Without seeing his expression, I felt his gaze fall upon me with that same firm yet gentle feeling. “But that wouldn’t make a difference, would it?” His tone, his gaze forced me to sit up and look into his face. His clothes, saturated with water, hung about his body, implying his slight frame as if it had an intangible strength. The lightest ebony hair I can ever recall seeing poured down his back, soaked with the sky’s tears. Luminous, his round face was turned towards my own. Bangs, lengthened and united into longer, thicker strands by the rain, cut into the shapes of his eyes, creating jagged shards of colours like glass. Those eyes, along with that smile, seemed to say, “I know better.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I stated matter-of-factly, my voice surprising my own ears.

It was then that I felt a pair of hands on me, throwing me off the steps to the memorial with a voice shouting and shattering my frail soul. “Get off and stop loitering around. Why don’t you show some respect for the dead.” Half in the mud, and half out, I stared at my own hands as the incident recalled memories I would have liked to have buried with my family members. Beating, throwing, cursing, breaking, spitting.

With that, the man left, faceless to my memory, but my heart placing the features of my step-father in their place. I was left sitting in the mud, and the other young man was left sitting on the steps. My numb heart of ice then cracked open with feeling - I felt hurt and abandoned.

The bright-eyed man stood up and made his way to my side, joining me in the soft dirt. “Why didn’t you stop him?” I whispered hoarsely. But it was the phrase “Why didn’t you save me?” that echoed in my mind.

“Because he wouldn’t have listened,” he shrugged, speaking in soft tones. With a second of thought, he added in a more cheerful voice, “But I can tell him off now, if you like.”

Never allowing me a moment to respond, he stood swiftly, taking three small steps and raising a fist in the general direction of the departing man. “It’s not polite to throw people around in the streets, you know!” Somehow, though, his voice still retained a note of delight as he imitated an angry emotion. Any other time, I could have considered it as mocking me, but, somehow, it didn’t seem that way now.

When the man refused to turn around to the shouting voice, the long black hair that trailed down the back of the other man turned away from me as the bright eyes shone back at me again. Shrugging, he made his way back to my side, his smile radiating a sunny attitude.

“Why are you here?” I sounded abandoned, alone. Maybe even lonely. I was, and that fact hurt more. “Someone like you shouldn’t be in the rain.” No, I should be in the rain, because of the things I have done.

“Because I like the rain.” His eyes pierced my heart with gentleness and simplicity - with truth. For that moment, his soul seemed as old as the earth beneath my feet, even if he sometimes acted with the innocence and purity of a child. Somehow, though, they both fit together to make his personality.

Blinking a few times, I finally realized what he said. I felt my eyes widen for a few seconds before the closed completely. “No one likes the rain.” It had been an inaudible whisper…

“I do.”

…or so I thought. Opening my eyes in surprise, I saw him staring back at me. If his eyes could speak, they’d ask, “But you don’t, do you?” And he continued to speak, soft tones rolling across his tongue like a waterfall, his eyes never changing.

“Not everyone likes the rain. To some, it brings back memories - ones they’d much rather forget. But to me, it brings me reminders that I’ve lived, and continue to live.” Closing his eyes to breath in the air, he continued. “And the smell of rain always sends a refreshed feeling rushing through my heart.” Then, I saw tiny raindrops laced in his lashes part, ever so slightly. “But that’s not for everyone. Forget the rain, but don’t forget your memories.” Memories - he didn’t call them sins. “Right or wrong, they are yours, for eternity.”

With a pause, he added, “Rain doesn’t last forever. The sun will shine again.” Grabbing my hand with his own, he pulled me up from the mud and onto my own feet again. Lingering, he smiled, this time saying “I see you, and I appreciate you.” Then, he grabbed my shoulders, spun me about, and gave me a soft shove. “Now go to a restaurant and dry yourself off. You’ll catch a cold~!”

Obediently, I made my way to the nearest restaurant, not even watching my feet create impressions in the mud. Thinking back on it now, I can imagine water filling up the imprints, perhaps washing them away later. But the spirit of the imprint would always be there. When I arrived at the entrance, I turned back, beseeching for that kind face one last time only to find it missing from my sight. I wanted to ask him who he was, but it seemed that I wouldn’t receive my answer. I sighed, and wind passed my ear, seeming to say, “Just a ghost…” I let a tiny smile reach my lips, injured and worn, but a smile nonetheless.

“In or out?” an abrupt voice broke my thoughts.

I blinked, looking into the other owner’s eyes. “In,” I finally replied, then added as I stepped through the doorway, “I think I might need a little shelter from this rain right now.” I found myself smiling, not exactly happy, but slowly working my way there. Maybe someone could like the rain after all.

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