YnM Fanfiction

Sakura
Written by Calis

Disclaimer: YnM belongs to Yoko Matsushita-sensei

Chapter Twelve: Into the Light

" Yes, he drove her mad with his faithlessness and he feels the same disgust towards me because I am too much like her. I can always see the repulsion in his eyes that he tries to hide when he looks at me. Like the woman who bore me, I have become an abomination. My half-brother is of course pleased by this fact. Saki is my father's favorite and that is something that he openly flaunted in front of me. His smile is always so full of mockery. He is laughing over the irony that he who is a bastard now stands higher in that man's regard while the woman and child who bears his name are detested and worthless."

Though Muraki's words were still detached and indifferent, Oriya could not bear the desolation and rejection he felt so keenly. He stumbled in his haste to reach his sempai, cursing himself for being an insensitive idiot. His sempai was truly trying to protect him and not using it as a convenient excuse to brush him away. Muraki did not hide things from him because he was insignificant. Oriya understood now that it was because that information was too private and too hurtful to share. However, it was only at his persistent insistence that had driven Muraki to talk about his painful past. Oriya took one pale hand, holding it tightly between his hands against his cheek as he apologized.

" Gomen nasai, sempai... "

The beautiful silver eyes were haunted as they lingered in the past; trapped by memories that refused to fade with time. The youth with moonlight hair had withdrawn within himself. Muraki did not seem to hear nor did he feel the face that his hand was touching. His mouth moved again to speak but Oriya placed a finger against those rose petal lips, forestalling him. The younger boy kneeled in front of Muraki and gently lifted his face with one hand. Leaning over, Oriya brushed his lips against the corners of those vacant eyes in feather-light caresses, sweeping over the graceful patrician cheeks before he paused at lips where his finger lingered.

" You are no longer alone, sempai. I'm here and I will always be here for you as long as you want me to be. Let me share the darkness with you... "

Like a promise sworn, Oriya sealed his pledge with a fervent kiss and plunged into the dark world where Muraki belonged.

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Like a falling maple leaf in autumn, he was carried by the emotional gales that gyrated chaotically in some wild mad dance. Not resisting, Oriya let himself drift free instead, letting the winds bring him where they pleased. He could not explain what was happening but intuitively he knew that fighting against the maelstrom would probably tear his essence apart with ease. Only his consciousness existed in this world that was Muraki's mind and if he were destroyed there, neither he nor his sempai would ever leave this place of eternal darkness.

Like a journey down a never-ending tunnel, he was swept deeper and deeper until he was suddenly abruptly deposited into a place full blooming sakura trees. The delicate white flowers were in the height of their beauty, double-petals unfurled in full splendor and the air was scented with their mild fragrance but Oriya knew that magnificence was short-lived. Yet perhaps it was that very ephemeron, which accentuated the preciousness of the blooms. Impelling people to celebrate the beginnings of spring when the cherry trees bloom in April for the short duration of that month alone. Oriya could not help but wondered that for something to be cherished, it had to be unobtainable, remaining in view but not in reach.

Oriya glanced around him, his hazel eyes searching among the trees when they caught sight of the familiar silver figure in the distance. The young boy started off, making his way through the myriad sakura trees towards his sempai. He broke into a run in his anxiousness but it seems like he was no closer to where Muraki was from when Oriya first saw him. The figure remained in his sight so near yet so far away. Oriya hastened his footsteps, running on in his pursuit, as the sakura trees became nothing but shadowy blurs that streaked him by. Yet as if time moved with him, the pale flowers started to fall. Like flakes of snow, they drifted down as their fleeting existence came to an end. The rain of petals fell perceptibly heavier and heavier until there was nothing but a flurry of white shapes whirling in front of Oriya. He shielded his eyes with a hand as he desperately tried to keep Muraki in sight but like a game, the whiteness around him revealed the figure for one moment and concealed it the next. Almost blind as the snow-white flowers whirled with increasing violence, Oriya reached out with one hand to feel his way as he trekked on doggedly. Then just as sudden as it had began the storm of petals abated to reveal Muraki standing before him a short distance away. The older boy smiled at him, his expression so melancholic that it wretched Oriya's heart before he turned away. Oriya cried out when a brilliant flash seared across his vision.

" Muraki! "

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When he opened his eyes, he found himself in total darkness. Oriya stood still, undecided on what he should do next when he heard the strains of a stringed instrument being played. Oriya listened on and soon was able to identify the instrument as the traditional three-stringed guitar called a shamisen. It took great skill to master the shamisen and the unseen player was an adept. Instead of producing discordant twangs, a poignant tune was coaxed out of the three strings. Listening, Oriya could not discern where the sounds originated from, as the music seemed to surround him. He remained where he was and soon he heard something more. Voices interlaced with the plucking of the strings. A man and a woman were arguing viciously, venomous words flung with abandon. As the argument rose in volume, the sounds of the shamisen grew in tumultuous accompaniment.

The single word caught Oriya's attention and perceptibly he understood that what he was hearing could only be a malevolent quarrel between Muraki's parents. Hysterical accusations were meet with nonchalant callous remarks and the dark haired youth flinched at the blunt ominous thuds of flesh hitting flesh. The high pitched voice of a child cried out in fear and the woman forsake her pride, begging for her husband to leave their son alone. Oriya saw nothing but the pleads of a mother trying to protect her child mingled with the force of raining blows painted too vivid an image in his mind’s eye. His heart constricted in pain as he felt the family violence that had been ingrained so deeply into a child's mind.

The shamisen wailed mournfully, a lament that rose increasingly shriller. The sound grew so sharp that Oriya cringed, covering his ears with his hands. One short scream pierced the cacophony, accented by the crash of a body against a hard surface and the snap of a broken string. The sudden silence brought no relief but a sense of foreboding. Yet there was nothing he could do about the past and the memories that did not fade with time. The past was too late but there was the future. A future where his sempai would not longer be alone not while Oriya was around.

Holding that thought resolutely, Oriya ventured deeper into the darkness.

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The sweet scent of roses waffled by him, an elusive fragrance that led him on an unseen path. Oriya did not know how long he had been walking for time had lost its dimension. He did not know if he was heading the wrong way or right but somehow he believed that if he tried hard enough, he would find Muraki. Oriya whispered his sempai’s name over and over again under his breath like a litany as he prodded on. His dark mahogany eyes search the vast empty horizon frequently, seeking for a sight of a silver white figure. Oriya suddenly stopped when he noticed something in front of him. The single white long stemmed rose not yet in bloom with the pristine petals tightly furled, glimmered with a pale halo. The young man picked up the flower and touched it against his lips as he closed his eyes.

When Oriya opened his eyes, he found himself in front of a field of roses but they were different from the one he held. The flowers were so deep a crimson shade of red that the color reminded him of blood. And it was among the carmine roses that Oriya found what he had been searching for. The child with moonlight hair sat his legs tucked against his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around them, the small body curled into a fetal position. He was weeping, soft quiet sobs that were muffled against his knees. He was so lost and so alone.

Oriya ran towards the tiny forlorn figure, plunging into field that engulfed him like a sea of sanguine waves. As if guided by malevolent will, the flowers surged forward twisting and twining into a wall of thorns. Barbed vines reared like voracious serpents, immobilizing him as they whipped round his ankles and wrists. The thorns dug deep into his unprotected flesh, piercing to draw blood. Oriya ignored the myriad cuts and gashes as he fought against the living bonds. The vines wound tighter, dragging him backwards but still he struggled on, straining to reach beyond the wall of roses towards the lonely child who needed him. A tendril lashed around his throat, pressure crushing against his windpipe. Oriya existed now in Muraki’s mind as a spirit but should he be killed, it would be death as real as if someone had strangled him physically.

He was starting to feel faint as the vine around his neck continued to squeeze mercilessly. The white rose was starting to slip through his fingers as his grip loosened. When he felt the soft velvety petals touch his hand; Oriya was struck by a sudden thought. Marshalling his fading concentration, he willed the flower into a sword. His palm felt warm when light encompassed the slender stalk and began to elongate into the familiar length of a katana. Turning his wrist deftly, Oriya slashed away severing the vines that imprisoned him. Without a thought or hesitation, he advanced towards the wall, wielding the rose blade determinedly against the mass of writhing vines that sought to hinder his path. Oriya hacked at the wall with abandon, seized by the fear that he was too late and that Muraki would no longer be there.

Oriya worked furiously and the moment he hewed a chasm in the wall, the roses and vines vanished. There was only a child with silver hair, huddled into doleful bundle that awaited him. Dropping to his knees, Oriya called his name softly, gently coaxing. Wrapped in his misery, the child that was Muraki did not respond. Undaunted, Oriya moved closer but instinct told him not to touch the child else he would vanish again. He called out again with soft entreaty, asking Muraki to answer and take a look at him. Tentatively, the silvery head lifted and haunted eyes of dark mercury locked with mahogany that was brimming with undisguised compassion. Without another word, Oriya held out the sword and in his hand, the blade metamorphosed back into the white rose. He could never recover the lost innocence of his sempai but what he could give was his own. Cautiously, one pale hand inched towards Oriya's outstretched palm and the offering it presented. When the small fist closed over the single flower, Oriya thought he saw the shadow of a smile as light engulfed him.