Till The End Of Time
By Lanie

Notes: *bows* Hello again, minna ^_^ *laughs* Yet another attempt at fic writing… Not gonna explain what genre this fits under ‘cause that would be giving it away ^_~ *laughs* Mmmm… Ruhana forever!! ^.^ I just love Ruhana… and so here’s another Ruhana fic *sweatdrops at moans of boredom in the background* Maa maa… if it’s too bad… you don’t have to read it ne... ^_^” I wrote this fic between bus trips…so if some parts don’t make sense, or are incredibly lame/OOC/unbearable… forgive me ne… *bows* tee hee… ^.^ That’s it… I’ll leave you to the fic then ~

I

I never thought about it.
To me, I hated him, he hated me. It was part of my life, insignificant yet always present. I never gave it much thought.
I never doubted my feelings for him. To me, they were always hatred – nothing more, nothing less. To me, there was no need to wonder whether it was really hatred, whether it was hatred for a reason, and if so, what that reason was. I never thought about it.
Or maybe I simply didn’t want to think about it. I hated him. I hated him for his disregarding silence, I hated him for his skills, his popularity, his mysteriousness. I hated everything about him. But most of all, I hated him for the way he made me feel. The way visions of him would always haunt me, day after day, night after night. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Of course I never thought much about that either, or the implications of that. I didn’t want to admit it. I hated him because I knew that I didn’t hate him at all. And there was something about his piercing blue eyes that never ceased to cast a spell on me during rare, mystical moments. But of course I never thought about that. I refused to think about that. Hating him was part of my life. Getting into petty fights with him and bringing home a few bruises afterwards, screeching names at him and bearing his customary monotonous insults in return – it all was part of my life. But I never realized that it was my life. I didn’t realize that he played a role so important in my life that life lost all importance and meaning without him. Until those words. “I’m leaving tomorrow, do’aho.” It was dark outside, the only sounds accompanying us then being the sharp falling of the ball from my hands and his light footsteps echoing through the empty gym. He stared at me, eyes unflinching, bag slung over his shoulder and ready to leave school. And for the first time ever in his presence I didn’t know what to say. I remained speechless. The words hit me with the full impact of an unprecedented swing to my gut. I suddenly felt torn, as if all energy had been sucked out of my body in those mere five seconds that it took him to mutter those words in that deep, flowing voice of his. And I didn’t know why. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t reply. All of a sudden, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. No insults, no sarcastic remarks – just silence. Just shocked, still silence. He didn’t move. Something crinkled in the air, something that till this day, I still can’t decipher. I would have thought he would add in a last minute mockery to chide at my awkward speechlessness. But he only stared at me with some sort of vague, unreadable look on his face, an expression that I had never seen before. And then he turned around and walked out of the gym in silence. I didn’t sleep that night. I kept hearing those words ringing through my ears, and for reasons unknown to me, my heart felt heavy, painfully heavy, as if it was actually breaking, crumbling bit by bit like an old terracotta statue, fading away powerlessly with change. That was the night where I faced up to my fears and truly admitted to myself that I didn’t hate him. I didn’t hate him at all. It wasn’t hatred. It was something different, something more than that. Something that I could never understand, no matter how hard I tried. And that was when I first realized and admitted that I loved him. That I had fallen in love with him. That I had fallen under his spell. Memories and emotions kept me awake that night. Memories of his chiselled face gleaming in the moonlight, memories of the inexplicable look in his eyes – but most of all, memories of the countless times he had breathed that familiar insult to me: ‘do’aho’, until all I became and ever was in not only his eyes, but mine too, was nothing but a fool, a do’aho … his do’aho. Emotions. Hatred. Contradictions. Hurt. I hated him because I loved him. And I hated myself because I loved him. I couldn’t understand it. He was a guy. How could I possibly be feeling this way for a guy? How could I possibly be … gay? I felt disgusted. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror and felt like vomiting in repulsion at the vision of what I had become looking straight back at me: a pathetic, weak, gay wimp. And it was all his fault. If he hadn’t come into my world with his hypnotic looks and alluring mysteriousness, if he hadn’t come into my world with all his insults, punches and counterattacks, if he hadn’t come into my world and become such an irreplaceable part of my existence – then I wouldn’t be here now, sleepless and sickened, burdened by memories and … regrets. Regrets? I asked myself. What exactly are you regretting? And then I realized how much I yearned to tell him the truth behind this foolish act that was my personality, how much I yearned to be held by him, to stay by his side just like that, how I yearned to be next to him, to be with him – to truly be with him – for as long as forever lasted. I scoffed at the irony of this all. It would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. The tensai would need the kitsune? Ha! And I didn’t know why tears started flowing from my eyes. And at that moment in time, I knew with all certainty in the world, that I couldn’t let him leave. That I couldn’t live without him with me. Without his voice, without his eyes, without the brief touch of our bodies whenever we kicked each other, without secretly watching the way his hair fell over his eyes when he was asleep … without all this, I knew nothing would ever be the same again. I knew I wouldn’t be able to go on. It took me almost the whole night to force my disgusted shame aside and give in to the raw desperation of it all. To the fact that I couldn’t let him leave. Not now, not like this. Not without telling him the truth, the horrible truth behind everything that was my existence. And all of a sudden, I felt utterly drained. Quenched of all energy, tired, weak and vulnerable. And I realized that everything about my life revolved around this weakness, this weariness. The self-proclamation of being a genius – it was all nothing but a laughable lie. A lie to convince myself I had what it took to get through the heaviness of life, even though it was perfectly evident that I didn’t. This flame of weariness never once died out. It was inextinguishable. And I knew it. But for the first time, I realized that the only times where being tired didn’t frighten me, where feeling drenched was something I didn’t mind at all – were when I was with Rukawa. And it was strange. Because no matter what kind of fights we were in, no matter what ways we were at each other’s throats, he always made me feel that way – like I could ignore the weariness lurking inside me and feel safe with him, like everything would be all right with him here. Times with him were different. They were always a comfort somehow. Being with friends like Youhei was comfortable, but not comforting. The weariness never went away, as good a friend Youhei was to me. But with Rukawa, it didn’t matter if we were swinging at each other, it was always comforting. Always … reassuring, for reasons completely beyond my realm of knowledge. He was that much to me. I watched the clock ticking in slow motion, as if mocking me in ironic cruelness. And once the small hand touched on 7, I lunged towards the phone and punched in Kogure’s number. At the spur of the moment I forgot completely about taking into account how I would appear, how people would think of me. Now when I come to think of it, I can’t really bring myself to believe it. To believe that the thought of him overwhelmed me, me who lived for praise from others, so much that nothing else mattered then. I was surprised when Kogure didn’t question my motives. I could hear the evident sleepiness in his voice, but despite my rude lack of apology, he didn’t complain, nor did he ask why I was questioning about Rukawa. He merely told me what time his flight was, where it would be. No questions asked. And something told me that he knew. That Kogure actually understood how I was feeling, what I was feeling. That he could see through me somehow. But I didn’t have the time to fret. I hastily thanked Kogure, hung up, washed and jumped into a taxi as quickly as my muscles would allow. Amongst the crowds, I didn’t see him. I searched frantically for his face, for that pale white glow shining from the dark sea of people brushing past me nonchalantly. But I couldn’t see him anywhere. An unshakable type of desperation swept over me and latched onto my heart so tightly that I found huge difficulty breathing. And I felt my body trembling as tears started running down my cheeks; hot, sharp tears like never before. Kami-sama, I begged deep down inside my soul. Please. Please don’t let him leave, not like this. Please let me see him again. Please. But still I saw no sign of him. The pain attacked me almost instantaneously, and as I bowed my head, ready to give up all hope … A light, airy touch played on the tip of my shoulder. “Oi.” It was only one syllable. But I recognized that voice straight away. I spun around, muscles stiffening in panic. And there he was – him with his crystal blue eyes, his with him raven halo of hair, his with his moonlight-chiselled features and his contemplating stillness … there he was, right before me, staring straight into me in silence. The tears wouldn’t stop spilling from my eyes. “What are you doing here?” he spoke. It was as if everything around us immediately faded away into nothingness. I didn’t know what was happening anymore. I couldn’t answer. It was as if my voice had been muted, stretched and distorted, frozen until I couldn’t even bring myself to open my mouth in fear of the helpless silence of raw desperation that it would result in. His voice was clear. None of the usual edge, the familiar monotony and blunt sarcasm. His voice was untainted, for the first time, clear as glass, layered with something that once again I couldn’t recognize. He stood motionless, his eyes locking with mine. I could hear the echoing of the strained rhythm of my breathing as I blinked more tears away to clear my vision. But the pain didn’t stop gushing up from deep within me, no matter how hard I tried to suppress the fervent desperation and helplessness that I was drowning in. His eyes never once left me. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. I wheezed, tears choking my breathing and my voice. It didn’t matter how I looked then. I didn’t care. “I don’t know.” I breathed. And it was true, to an extent. I didn’t know what was happening to me, I didn’t know what I was saying. All I knew was that I simply couldn’t let him leave. All I knew was that I couldn’t live without him. And I broke into a frail fit of tears then and there. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, cursing myself in shame. How pathetic. Just look at yourself. How pathetic. How … disgusting. Suddenly I felt a gentle stroke on my cheek, a light brushing away of the tears so hot they were burning me. Instantly I opened my eyes and looked up. I lost myself in his gaze then and there. I lost myself in the scent of him, in the aura of him so close to me, in the tingling of my cheeks where he had touched, in everything about him that I had originally grown to hate and subconsciously grown to love. “Don’t cry.” he said. I don’t know if it was the tears distorting my vision, but my heart beat faster as he moved closer to me. “Don’t leave.” my voice trembled like an earthquake of conflicting emotions. “Please…” He looked at me, ocean-blue depths darkening with the same unrecognizable emotion that was so uncharacteristic of the Rukawa I knew. And I watched as an air of unmistakable sadness gathered around him. Then he turned and stepped away from me. He avoided my gaze, his thick locks of drooping raven hair hiding his eyes once again. The fear and desperation that pulsed through every fibre of my being in those moments remains too much to express in words. I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. It didn’t matter to me then. The only thing that was on my mind was that I couldn’t let him leave. “You can’t…” I choked in between sobs. “you can’t leave … you can’t just go like this … you can’t just leave me like this… “I’ll do anything you ask me, kitsune … anything you say … if you would just stay … if you stay here … here with me … just this once… “I’ll never hit you again … I’ll never annoy you again … hell, I’ll never even talk to you again if you don’t want me to … I promise … just … please stay here … please don’t leave me… “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, kitsune … I don’t know why I’m crying, why I’m saying these things … I don’t even know why I’m here… “But…” His eyes were still averted. “But all I know is that… “That I need you, kitsune … that I can’t live without you… “That I was lying to myself all those times I said I hated you … because the truth is … the truth is that I … I don’t hate you at all … I’ve never hated you… “And I’m nothing more than a do’aho … your do’aho … yours and yours only… “So … I’m begging you, kitsune … “I’m begging you, Rukawa… “Don’t go … please? “Can you please stay here with me … please?” I looked up at him, silent, motionless, eyes fixed on a distant spot in the other direction. And I broke down into tears. Because I knew that happiness in life was nothing more than a fairytale. “Say something,” I whispered through my pained sobbing. “anything…” He turned to face me then. And I thought I saw something very much like a tear-streak glisten on the side of his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, do’aho.” And I watched as he turned around and began taking his footsteps away from me. I don’t know if it was the spur of the moment, but I leapt forward and grasped his hand. I didn’t have the time or the heart to savour the first non-violent contact of our skin. He stopped in his tracks, as if totally taken aback by this action of mine. He didn’t tear his hand away, neither did he turn to face me. I wished so badly that I could know what he was thinking in those moments. I don’t know if it was just an impulse, or just a phrase that carried no real meaning, but the words escaped me without hesitation. “I’ll wait for you.” He trembled slightly, barely detectably. And when his eyes met mine, they quivered, his features etched with emotion like never before. Time stood still as I tried to read the indecipherable blue of his eyes. And then he shook his head and looked away once again. “Don’t wait for me.” he whispered, his voice firm but quiet. He tore his hand away from mine and broke free in the other direction. “I’ll wait!” I yelled after him, my voice cracking with endless streams of tears. Those were the last words I said to him before his black halo of hair disappeared in the moving crowd, leaving me torn, lost, and without a clue of what to do next. Life went on. Time dragged by. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. And life went on, just as it did when my heart wasn’t breaking. But to me, it was as if everything was moving and I was standing still. All matters lost their significance. It was a horrible feeling. I tried to laugh, to act as I always had; loud-mouthed, carefree, the egoistic tensai that I was. I think I managed to pull it off. I think I actually had people fooled. But I could never fool myself. And I knew that soon he would break down all my walls. That soon, in this meaningless world without him, there would be nowhere to run – and nowhere to hide. I don’t remember how long it’d been. But I was sitting by the window as usual, listening to the wind outside, listening to the reluctant rhythm of my heartbeat and feeling nothing but empty and half-dead inside. The doorbell rang. I trudged towards the door dutifully, preparing to step into my act as happy Hanamichi once again. I sighed before forcing on a weak smile and pulling the door open. “Youhei!” I greeted in feigned enthusiasm. “Megane-kun!” “Ohayo, Sakuragi.” Kogure nodded. “Yoh, Hanamichi.” was Youhei’s response. There was an air of unusual seriousness hanging in the air, but I mentally shrugged it away and invited them in. I sat opposite them and watched. Kogure wasn’t smiling with his usual understanding and Youhei was avoiding my eyes. There was something wrong. I knew it. “Have you been alright, Sakuragi?” Kogure’s question broke the heavy silence. Have I been all right? I frowned and forced a sarcastic scoff. Keep the act up, I pushed myself on, even though I knew perfectly well that both Kogure and Youhei had seen through this mask of mine long ago. “What are you talking about? Of course the tensai is alright!” What a joke. I struggled to laugh. Kogure didn’t smile at my comment as he usually would. He merely looked down, his gaze distant and lost in thought. This worried me immensely. I looked over at Youhei, his eyes still averted from me. “You don’t have to pretend in front of us, Hanamichi.” Youhei said, a tinge of something like pity escaping his voice. I hated being pitied. I hated it so much. And to be pitied by my best friend – this was more than I could take. I sprung up from my seat instantly. “What the hell are you talking about??” I yelled. I expected Youhei’s usual gesture of surrender, his usual raised-eyebrows expression and nervous laughing, with his familiar ‘Calm down, Hanamichi.’ But he didn’t move, didn’t respond, didn’t speak. And it was then that the most fearful sense of foreboding charged right through me as forcefully as lightning. I looked from Youhei to Kogure and back in lost desperation. What was going on? I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand all this seriousness, all this sadness penetrating the atmosphere around us. “Rukawa’s back, Hanamichi.” Youhei’s words echoed through my ears. Rukawa’s … back? I had an urge to break the ice and laugh until I cried, to jump up and down and squeal about how much this meant to me. But I froze when I saw that Youhei’s eyes never once left the ground – as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. I struggled to suck in air. What was wrong? I think Kogure immediately read the confusion and helplessness though my face, just as he always had the ability to. And I watched as he closed his eyes, despair and weariness gathering around him like never before. “Sakuragi …” he began. My heart slammed against my chest and my muscles locked stiff as I imagined the worst. But this … it never once crossed my mind. “Rukawa’s dead.” Everything around me vanished into a boundless blanket of darkness. I fell to the floor and blacked out. Notes: Mmmm… hope that was convincing… ^_^” Do read on…*eager* Notes: Lyrics are a translation from Chinese of Jay Chou’s ‘Split’ – in hanyu pinyin: ‘Fen Lie’ This chapter is dedicated to Ka-chan (Karen ^_^) and Grace (aka Chaotic gal) To Karen ~ thanks loads for helping me with the translation, although I don’t think you’ll ever read this ^_^” But you helped me a lot… so arigatou! *bows low* To Grace ~ I realize that you’ve just begun reading more fics *grins* And you’re reading mine -_-“ Which I admit to be a little freaked out by… But erm… thanks anyway *huggles tight* Hope you’ll get to reading this chapter soon… hehe ^_~ II I saw him at my funeral. He stood, silent, emotionless, strands of scarlet red hair falling over his unmoving copper eyes. I watched him standing in front of my grave until the sky darkened in orange-purple shades. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. And when Miyagi, Mitsui, Youhei, Kogure, Haruko, Ayako, and Akagi all approached him one by one, mourning and concern etched on their features as they tried to persuade him to go home, he didn’t respond. He merely stared on into the distance. I reached out and tried to touch him. But my fingers went right through his body and he didn’t twitch. I knew that the time when I could reach out and hold him was now nothing but a distant memory of forbidden chances. It might have shocked and angered me if it didn’t hurt me so much. So much that I couldn’t do anything but look and look at him and regret that I chose to leave him that day without telling him the truth. Without telling him how much I loved him, about how much I had always loved him. Somehow I wasn’t shocked that I had come back to earth like this; as something invisible, untouchable but yet present and alive. What was the term people used for it again? Oh yes, a ghost. That’s what people called it. A ghost. It wasn’t really as strange as it was invariably portrayed as in movies. Movies were just like everything else from human beings – lies. In movies the dead never noticed they were ghosts – they would always get the shock of their lives when they discovered that they couldn’t see their reflections in the mirror. I never really cared to look at myself in the mirror, so it didn’t make a difference to me. I couldn’t care less about what other people thought of me, so whether they could see me or not didn’t make a difference to me either. There was only one thing that made a difference. Only one thing that really mattered. Only one thing about not having a physical body that truly stabbed my heart until it bled. And that was Sakuragi. Every minute that I lived was for him. He was my hope, my meaning in the dark meaningless world of hypocrites that I lived in. And to not be able to talk to him, to not be able to touch him or look into his eyes with him looking back into mine – these were the only things that hurt me. He made me feel. He made me feel real emotion – something I thought I had lost forever in my despising distrust of humankind. I don’t remember how it all started. Perhaps it was anger first. Anger at how he would lunge and swing at me for reasons downright absurd. Anger and irritation at his simple-mindedness and childish insults. Anger and the state of actually paying attention to someone – a type of behaviour that had disappeared from my life long before I had met him on the Shohoku rooftop on that fateful day. And then anger became curiosity. The state of actually wanting to know him better, to understand the reasons behind his naivety, his straightforwardness, his childish honesty that was so rare amongst mankind. The state of resorting to a pathetically irrational type of violence, of resorting to picking fights over matters so trivial I can’t even remember what they were, just to get close to him, just to feel his skin on mine. Captivation. Being spellbound whenever he was near, losing myself without him and finding myself again in his eyes. Falling into the truth and simplicity that was Sakuragi, realizing that he was how life should be, that he was the closest to Heaven on earth. Being swept away by that vague, fleeting weariness hiding in his eyes, running across his face at rare, magical moments where I had to bite my lip to suppress the urge to run forward and take him in my arms – to protect him from all that he was tired of, all that he was hiding from, to make everything all right, to protect him from all the obstacles of life for the rest of my days, for as long as forever would go, until the end of time. And somewhere in between these emotions came homophobia. Fear. Disgust and hatred for Sakuragi and myself alike – myself for falling for a guy; something that was inexcusable, him for being the person that I fell for; for making me feel so many emotions and so much pained yearning that I couldn’t deal with. Somewhere along the way he because my life, my hope, my meaning. He was the only person I trusted, the only person I valued … the only person I loved. And it hurt to love him. It hurt to know that he could never love me back. It hurt to know that I could never let him know how I felt. It hurt to know that when I would be forced to make my departure from this world, I would never see his face again. And that was the only thing that scared me about death. I don’t know why I left him. I should have stayed. Now I even regret choosing to do the operation in the first place. It’s funny when I think of it now. To think that I could be regretting choosing not to prolong death. It’s funny, really. The doctors had all warned me against it. Of all the times I had listened to their advice on my illness, this is the first time I feel like I should have taken it. “Rukawa-san …” they had stuttered, voices trembling in faltering hesitation. “we’re advising you now … not as doctors, but as people who have watched you growing up… “We’re advising you not to sign the papers … not to take this flight to America and do this heart transplant …” I almost scoffed when I asked them why. “The structure of your heart …” they told me. “it’s frail … fragile … it’s weak enough as it is without performing surgery on it and moving it … “We don’t think your heart is strong enough … strong enough to undergo surgery, Rukawa-san …” “It’s never been.” I replied bluntly. They didn’t know why I was so stubborn. So insistent on getting myself killed. No one knew. “Please listen to us, Rukawa … Kaede…” Since when had we become so close? “If you do this operation … if you choose to do this heart transplant … then there’ll only be a 5% chance that you’re going to … survive …” I looked away from them. “I’m not going to survive anyway.” And that was the truth. The plain truth. The truth of my life, ever since I had been delivered from my now deceased mother’s womb into this cold, ruthless world of lies – that was the only truth: that I was forever destined never to live because of the fact that soon I was going to die. Until the day I met Sakuragi, my life consisted of two things - two things only - that gnawed at my brain and my consciousness until they absorbed my whole being. One was death. The constant, haunting reminder that very soon everything that I had called life would come to an end. Before I met him, it was never an issue to me. It was as much a part of my life as the fact that I ate, the fact that I slept, the fact that I breathed, the fact that I blinked – the fact that soon my heart would stop working, soon it would be the end, soon I would cease to exist and my being would disappear into a spiralling vault of nothingness. It was normal to me. It was part of my daily routine, something that had been imprinted into my brain since I was a few years old. It was never an issue to me. And then I met him. Him with the simple naivety, him with the truth and the honesty – him who gave me hope and somehow, made me want to smile. And for the first time in my life, I was afraid of death. I was afraid of the fact that I was going to die. I was afraid of never being able to see his face again, never being able to hear his voice again, never being able to feel his presence, his light, the magical warmth that he brought into my world by just being the blissfully simple Sakuragi that he was. I never came to terms with this fear. I don’t think I ever admitted that I was scared. How hopelessly stupid of me. The other thing that made up my life was basketball. The only activity where I could miraculously feel like I could trust people, trust the team mates around me, trust that we were united by our goal and thirst for success. Once I stepped onto the basketball court and held a ball in my hands, I felt like I belonged, I felt like I could somehow see through people’s lies and absorb the truth in their actions. In short, with basketball, I felt like I could try and trust again. I felt like I could trust in a world that was devoid of such trust. And that was why it got me addicted. From the very start I had been advised not to do sport, not to strain myself. I never listened. And so I wheezed and choked and tried to swallow down my poor stamina, tried to give people the idea that I was a miracle-worker on court, that I wasn’t tired, that my muscles weren’t screaming with pain like never before. That my heart wasn’t aching so heavily that I felt like collapsing every second of every game. That I didn’t struggle to keep my eyes open every living moment, only barely managing to do so. Maybe it was open defiance. Maybe subconsciously, I wanted to spit in people’s faces at the injustice of the fact that I was destined never to really live. Maybe deep down inside me, I hated the fact that I was born with an illness; denied a chance to enjoy my existence right from the start. Maybe I simply hated God for what He did to me and wanted to get back at Him by throwing my life straight in His face. Maybe that was how I really felt. I don’t know. I don’t understand myself. I never have. I saw him regularly because of basketball. Maybe that was another reason why it gained extra importance in my life. Because that was how I found him. I watched him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I still can’t believe people never noticed the way he took my breath away. He was amazing. He was … my life. And I knew that he should never have been. It hurt like hell. To know what I was becoming. To know how much I needed him, how much I depended on him. To know that he would never love me. To know that if even if he did love me … I could never let him. Because when the time came for me to leave, I would have to leave him. And that hurt me. That scared me. It petrified me. Death petrified me for the first time, because of him. Because I loved him. Death got in the way. And so I forced myself never to let it show. I vowed to myself never to let him know how much I loved him, never to let him know how much I needed him. Simply because I knew that … time was running out. That love … would never survive. That I was going to die. And I would never see him again. Do not – do not – hurt yourself, I told myself. And don’t hurt him. You can’t tell him. You can never let him know. I never did. There were so many reasons why. At that time I thought they were convincing. I don’t anymore. And so I looked away when he pulled me back at the airport. I looked away when he cried, when he begged, when he sobbed and he sniffled. And I walked away when he said, ‘I’ll wait for you’, the words that I knew, with every trembling heartbeat vibrating through my being, were all I wanted to hear. And when I saw the desperation in his eyes in the moments he had uttered those many words that were so uncharacteristic of the Sakuragi that I knew, I cried. I held my tears back, but I cried. But I left all the same. How stupid. How stupid of me. I regret leaving him. I regret not taking him in my arms then and there, wiping all his tears away then and there and tracing his lips back into the beautiful, blissful happiness that he was. But I left him without a word. I left him to watch me moving away, abandoned. And those words, ‘I’ll wait!’, over and over again … I should never have left. I should have acknowledged the fact that he loved me. What did it matter that I was going to die? He loved me, that was all that mattered. How could I have been so blind? I died in the operation room. I remember the long, droning beep of the heart monitor, the airy drifting feeling in my gut. I remember looking down on myself, my eyes closed and to be sealed shut forever. Yet all I could think of was Sakuragi. And as an indescribable force sucked me upwards, I must have begged deep inside my soul. And I remember what I was thinking as clear as glass. Please God. My voice echoed, though only to be heard by me. I know I’ve never done anything for You, I know I’ve never believed in You the way I always should have. But … Please, if you could just let me see Sakuragi again … one last time … I’ll do anything You ask me … please … Please … God must have heard me. Everything around me vanished. I lost all conception of time, and when I opened my eyes again, I was floating above my grave. And then I saw him, staring emotionlessly at the stone with my name carved onto its surface. And I cried like never before. Because I knew that no matter how much I spilled my heart out to him now, he would never know how much I loved him. I followed him everywhere. I walked beside him, sat next to him, watched him in his sleep. It felt like I was still alive, still physically present. Sometimes I tried to speak to him, tried to touch him. But he never responded. And I knew that he never would. Maybe this was God’s way of playing a joke on me. God’s way of reminding me of how pathetic my life always was. “Let’s see - let’s make Rukawa get his wish to see Sakuragi again, but make it so that Sakuragi never acknowledges his presence. Let’s make Rukawa regret everything, let’s torture Rukawa till he gets down on his knees and begs me yet again. Let’s do that.” Often I sincerely thought that this was what it was all about. Pain, suffering. God’s way of telling me that I was wrong not to believe in Him, that I was wrong to live the way that I always did. That I was wrong. Always wrong. Maybe that was what it was all about. Words unsaid weren’t the main things that tortured me. The main thing that tortured me was watching Sakuragi. Watching the person I loved turning into someone that I didn’t recognize. He seldom slept. He would leave his curtains drawn and sit by the window in silence, staring out onto the moonlight-streaked pathway, emotionless, motionless. He seldom talked, never smiled – never laughed. He stopped playing basketball and went to school on very rare occasions. And he seemed to go to extreme measures to make sure he was always alone. He was shutting himself out. And with each day that passed by, he lost more and more expression and more and more words. He didn’t even cry. He just … stayed emotionless, every minute of every day. Watching him like this … hurt me. It tortured me, to say the least. It was like drowning in a scorching hot ring of flames. But yet I was powerless. I could do nothing to stop it. I would move close to him, whisper in his ear, try to hold him close and ask him not to do this to himself. Needless to say, he never heard me. No matter how tired I was, how much it hurt me, I never gave up. Simply because I loved him. He was the only person I ever loved. The Shohoku guys kept visiting him. They tried to smile and get him to talk. They avoided the subject of my death, immediately changing the subject whenever they unknowingly trod upon the forbidden ground of this subject area. How long had it been? I don’t remember. I lost all concept of time right from the moment I was put before Sakuragi again. And Sakuragi got more and more silent, more and more cold. It was as if … … he had died along with me. Until one evening. I followed in Sakuragi’s footsteps as he rose from his position next to the window to answer the door. Kogure and Youhei greeted him politely. He didn’t reply. He merely nodded and turned away, leaving the door open as a gesture for the two visitors to step inside. Kogure and Youhei didn’t even bother to try and start a conversation gradually. They instantly jumped to the point. “Talk to us, Sakuragi.” Kogure said. Sakuragi frowned, his face still emotionless - as it was always accustomed to being nowadays. “Don’t do this to yourself, Hanamichi.” Youhei’s voice cut in. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Sakuragi looked away, still silent. “You can’t keep these feelings bottled up inside you, Sakuragi.” Kogure continued, stepping forward. “We’ve all mourned Rukawa’s death, we’ve all cried and shouted and we’ve come to terms with it now. But you … you’re killing yourself inside.” “Talk to us,” Youhei began to raise his voice. “tell us how you feel! Face the facts, Hanamichi! Accept the truth! Tell us what you’re going through!” “It’ll help if you tell us how you’re feeling, Sakuragi.” Kogure whispered. “If you keep everything to yourself like this … we’re worried, do you understand? We’re all worried about you!” And I watched as a solitary tear trickled down Sakuragi’s cheek, the first tear he had shed ever since my ‘death’. I immediately moved towards him, trying helplessly to wipe his tear away and take him in my arms. “Don’t cry …” I choked, the empty echo of my voice surrounding me. Once again, he didn’t hear me. None of them did. “Hanamichi …” Youhei breathed, his voice shaking as he moved towards his friend. “Talk to us, Sakuragi.” Kogure passed Sakuragi a tissue. There was silence for a while. Motionless silence, as if someone had pressed the ‘pause’ button on the remote control of reality. And then Sakuragi extended his hand, reached for the tissue … … and slapped it away. The slap hung in the air. “Go away.” Sakuragi said. His voice was low, trembling. Kogure and Youhei tried approaching Sakuragi once again. “Talk to us, Sakuragi …” Kogure repeated in concerned persistence. And then it was as if a bomb had exploded. “What do you mean - talk to you?? What the hell do you want me to say??!” He was crying, tears breaking free and flowing down his cheeks uncontrollably. His features were scrunched up, his voice pulled tight and barely audible with the gushing of suppressed sobs. His whole body quivered, his chest rising and falling with heavy, erratic wheezing. “Do you want me to tell you how much I miss kitsune … how much I miss Rukawa … how much it hurts to know that I’ll never hear his voice again … never see his face again … never feel him next to me again …? How much it hurts to know that the person I’ve only just realized I don’t hate, but love, isn’t just away … isn’t coming back … but that he’s – and it’s a he – he’s dead … DEAD … DEAD!! To know that he’s DEAD – AND I CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!! I can’t tell him how much I love him anymore … I can’t tell him how much I need to be next to him … how much I think of him … how much I need him … how much he makes me feel and how I can’t live without him … Do you want me to tell you that?? Is that enough?? Is that enough for you people??” “Hanamichi …” Youhei started. “SHUT UP!!” Sakuragi screamed. “GO AWAY!! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!” “Sakuragi, we –” “GET OUT!!! I SAID GET OUT!!” Kogure closed his eyes and nodded, a gesture of submission, then proceeded towards the door. The pain in Sakuragi’s sobs penetrated the atmosphere around us. Kogure turned back, sadness evident in his clouded eyes. “No one said he’d never come back.” he said. Sakuragi looked up, his features softening somewhat. Kogure continued. “And no one said that he never knew you loved him. That he never loved you. “He’s still here, Sakuragi. He’s still here, with you, with us. And he loves you. He’s always loved you. “Always know that.” And with that, Kogure and Youhei turned and walked away into the distance. He sat in the middle of the room, his body still trembling, his head buried in his hands. His muffled sobs rang as loud as volcanic eruptions in my ears. And the pain pulsing through the room would have suffocated me if I weren’t already dead. All I could hear was his voice. “Kitsune …” he whispered, his syllables drenched with desperation. “Kitsune … come back … come back to me … please …” He choked, and he wheezed, but he kept talking, as if his existence depended on every word he was breathing out into what appeared as an empty house before his eyes at this very moment. “Don’t you know how much I need you, kitsune? How much I … how much I love you? “Come back to me … please … “Don’t leave me like this …” I moved towards him once again. “Why did you leave me, kitsune? Why didn’t you … stay? Why couldn’t you … love me? Why couldn’t you? “Why did you do this to me? Why did you leave me? “Why couldn’t you … love me?” My vision blurred as tears ran down my cheeks, tears that felt as real as any other physical thing in the physical world that I had left far behind me. “Do’aho …” I breathed, trying to hold my tears back, trying to brush his hair away from his eyes. “I do love you … I do …” But I watched as my fingers dissolved into see-through non-existence once again. He continued to cry, his eyes trembling with something that I never thought I would ever see. “Why didn’t you come back? “I’m waiting for you … I’m still waiting, kitsune … “And I still love you … don’t you know that? “Can’t you come back, love me back, just this once?” I looked and looked at him, and at that precise moment in time, I knew that I would give anything, anything at all, if I could just hold him in my arms, one last time. That I would give anything to let him know how much I loved him, to let him know that I did love him, that I had always loved him – that I never meant to leave him, that I had come back for him, just for him. “I love you, do’aho…” I choked, tears falling down my cheeks and onto the floor. “I love you …” And suddenly, I felt a light shining from deep within me. A warm, blinding light radiating from a vague position right beneath my heart. And for the first time for what had seemed like forever, Sakuragi looked straight into my eyes. And his tears stopped flowing. “Kitsune …?” he breathed, his voice soft, disbelieving, and hopeful all at the same time. And I laughed through my tears. I took him in my arms and held him tight, as tight as I still had the strength to. I leaned back and brought my fingers up to his face, brushing his hot tears away. He just looked at me, eyes unflinching. And then he grinned – a weak grin, but a grin nevertheless, a grin that I missed so terribly much, the grin of a child that made me fall in love with him all over again. “Kitsune…?” he repeated in a pitch slightly higher than a whisper. “Do’aho.” I answered, tears gathering in my eyes. “You came back …” he said, his features quivering. “Of course …” I whispered, holding him close once again. “I can’t last a day without you …” I cupped his face in my hands, and something from somewhere high above me told me that this would be the last time I would have the chance to look at him, to be this close to him, ever again. “Hana …” I began, swallowing back sobs. “listen to me … “I can’t stay…” Before I knew it, tears were pouring from his eyes once again. “But … why?” he choked. I tried to smile. “Promise me some things, okay?” He shook his head frantically. “I’m not going to let you go, I’m not!” he yelled. “Promise me, Hana!” Time was running out. Somehow I knew that time was running out. He kept shaking his head, his eyes screwed shut stubbornly – but I continued all the same. “Promise … not to miss me.” He opened his eyes and looked at me, an unreadable expression chiselled on his face. “No…” he started. I placed my fingers over his lips. “Promise me that you’ll go on with life as you always have, with smiles, with laughter, with the bliss that was always the Sakuragi Hanamichi that I knew.” He didn’t answer. He only stared at me in silence, as if he didn’t know what to say. “Promise me that you’ll play basketball again, that you’ll dazzle everyone with your miracles and your moves and you’ll show everyone what the real tensai can do.” “I’m not a tensai…” he cut in. “You are.” I told him. “You are. “And you’re the only honesty left in this world, you’re the only light left in this darkness. So promise me you won’t change. Promise me you’ll be happy, you’ll be as you always were. Promise me that.” I smiled at the way strands of his hair fell over his eyes, something that I knew all too painfully well. “Promise me that you’ll treat yourself well, that you’ll turn your back on this life that you’re falling into, that you’ll stop shutting yourself out from the world – that you’ll be Sakuragi Hanamichi again, the real Sakuragi Hanamichi … not this cold, stone mask that’s driving you to despair. “And promise me that you’ll go out with that Haruko girl.” At the sound of those words he leapt up from his position on the floor. “I can’t do that!” he screamed. “I can’t promise that!” I shook my head. “Promise not to miss me.” I continued. “Promise to go on without me.” And as we broke into tears and melted into each other’s arms, I knew that time was up. It felt like I was expecting it when a force pulled me upwards. “Kitsune!!” Sakuragi yelled desperately, jumping in an attempt to pull me back down. “Kitsune!!” I gazed down at Sakuragi from my reversing suspension in the air and smiled one last time. “I’m sorry, do’aho.” I raised my voice. “Why are you sorry?” he yelled after me. “Kitsune!!” “I’m sorry for never telling you that I loved you,” I whispered in between sobs. “I’m sorry for not telling you how much I’ve always loved you, do’aho. “I’m sorry for running away from you. I’m sorry for hurting you…” “I don’t care, kitsune…” I could hear the tears breaking in his voice as he struggled to follow my trail. “I don’t care…” “I love you, do’aho.” I shouted. “I love you!” I tried to reach out for him even though I knew it was useless. It was time for me to leave. My fingers brushed gently across his cheek, as if saying one final farewell. “And it doesn’t matter what people say… because I love you … I’ll always love you … till the end of time …” “Kitsune!” The sincerity of his voice rang like music in my ears one last time. And I smiled at the bright, beautiful, brown of his eyes. And then everything faded away. Let me take you away while time looks past us Without leaving a trace behind us Without bringing emptiness before us Between two standpoints I’ll watch over you Let me take you away while time looks past us This isn’t stubborn This isn’t escape For only running unbridled will set you free End Notes: As stated above *points to comments at the top*, the lyric passage at the end was translated from Jay Chou’s ‘Split’ – ‘Fen Lie’ … I struggled a lot to capture what Jay Chou had when he was writing these lyrics … >_< *looks at passage and cringes* Ahh… I still haven’t been able to capture that feeling… *sighs* Maa maa… it’s okay ^_^ I’ll give you the original version, the way Jay had had it… (in pinyin – that’s Chinese (mandarin), just in case you don’t know ^_^”) ~* Chen shi jian mei fa jue rang wo dai zhu ni li kai Mei you le zheng ming Mei you le kong xu Ju yu liang zhong li chang wo hui zhao zhu ni Chen shi jian mei fa jue rang wo dai zhu ni li kai Zhe bu shi wan gu Zhe bu shi tao bi Mei ren bang zhu ni zhou cai kuai le If you haven’t heard this song, I highly recommend it … because only through listening to it will you understand why I was inspired to use it to end this fic – the song is simply wonderful … ^_^ The piano notes and the cello playing in the background … *sniffles* And the lyrics… carrying their original meaning in mandarin… *sighs* It was perfect for this fic… perfect … *sheds tear* I don’t know what it is with me and angst… I realized that I’ve already written two fics with happy endings…and I should try writing a sad ending … so here… a death, drama, and angst fic all in one *sweatdrops and sighs* I’m getting upset by my own fic, can you believe that? ^.^” It’s too bad there’s no way I can let you guys listen to the song here and now … But … if you happen to hear it one day, think of my fic ne? ^_~ *laughs* If you download songs, pleeassseee *falls down on knees* try to download this song… it’s wonderful, I tell you …wonderful … *drifts away* Mmmm… all the Chinese speakers out there would have heard of Jay Chou ne? *grins* I’m a big fan of him and this song was from Eight Dimensions … just to remind you guys ^_~ Get the album and listen to the song now!!! *laughs* It sounds like I’m in the advertising industry or something -_-“ Ahh… anyway… I wrote the first chapter of this fic between bus trips –Hanamichi’s POV that is – which explains the difference in length *sweatpours* I feel more comfortable writing in Rukawa’s POV… haha… *frowns at fic* Pretty obvious ne? >_~” *sighs* I seriously need to work on keeping the guys in character… I don’t think I’m doing that very well o.O But oh well *shrugs* Two people joined together by love, broken apart by death, and joined back together by love again (then split apart by death again of course -_-“)… an idea revolving around that theme struck me – I’m not sure when – and I got down to writing this angsty death fic ^_^ *grins* I hope you like it… Leave a review ne? Tell me how it was… ^_~ Until I think of another plot…ja! ^.^ All the best and God bless ~* ~Lanie~ 3/10/2002