Chapter Text
PART ONE: Déplore.
"My beloved has gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to browse in the gardens and to gather lilies." — Song of Songs, 6:2
***
He dreams of red camellias. 1
Kou shouldn’t know what to call them– wouldn’t know, in fact– if not for Mitsuba’s instruction, long ago.
…
The walk to the flowers is a pleasant one, even if short. It's gloomy outside; Mitsuba's favorite type of weather. He refuses to admit it (insists that it would "ruin his reputation" as it "wouldn't be cute!") but Kou knows that he's fond of when the clouds hang low. That Sousuke likes the fog the clouds bring when they drift close, spreading heaps of mist to the areas around the mountains. He takes more pictures those days, and gets a glint in his eye when he sees the developed results.
Mitsuba never gives in when Kou confronts him about it, of course. He’ll shake it off, claiming that the weather simply “makes for an interesting atmosphere” in his photos, and refuses to elaborate.
But it's alright with Kou. He may refuse to admit it out loud, but Kou knows that he's right about Mitsuba’s affinity for such dreary weather.
He doesn’t know why Sousuke gets so defensive. Who is Kou to judge? He likes Mitsuba just how he is– really, he does. They've been inseparable since the third grade, for crying out loud. (That's five years!)
He'd trust Mitsuba with his life. All his companion had to do was ask for it.
(And not even that, if he was being truly honest. Sousuke wouldn't have to ask; Kou would give it up voluntarily.)
He’s beginning to regret the trust he put in Mitsuba, however. Specifically, how he let the boy drag him along for this trip.
It turns out that the so-called “flowers” Mitsuba is so determined to capture are from a graveyard.
Sousuke insists that the dead should be “grateful” for how his “wonderful photography skills capture their seriously unflattering graves.”
Kou just thinks that he has a twisted way of interpreting the phrase “rest in peace.”
…
“Why take photos of ‘em now?” Kou wonders aloud, eyebrows furrowing in a sign of careful, hesitant confusion. Before they’d come, Mitsuba had handed him a gardening book. He’d then proceeded to give Kou a detailed explanation on the flowers planted before them: camellias.
Said explanation had mainly comprised of what they symbolized, and the various colors they came in. Mitsuba considered himself to be an artist, after all. It was only natural that he felt a call to educate people about the different names for varying colors. (Even if the distinction between said colors was so small that Kou couldn’t tell them apart.)
However, the sight before Kou didn’t match any of Mitsuba’s descriptions. In fact, the “flowers” could barely be considered “flowers.” Instead, the plants before him were sickly-green buds. Sprouts, barely beginning to bloom.
They were far from the elegant descriptions Mitsuba had provided him with earlier.
Sousuke had confided in him, once, that he only took pictures of things important to him. It had been that way since he’d picked up photography years ago, back in first grade.
Therefore, the lack of presence– color– in the “flowers” shocked Kou. They were as dull as rocks, failing to have a single petal on them.
Then again, Kou was the only one of the two currently failing art class. What did he know?
He’s confident in Mitsuba. Kou knows that there must be some form of reasoning behind his companion’s decision.
Scoffing, Sousuke casts an expression of disbelief towards the blonde. “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, idiot Kou”, he chastises. His words are criticizing, harsh, and suggest some sort of disappointment– but his body language is defenseless, as he reaches down to caress a flower.
(Kou is not jealous of something that can’t even speak.)
…
Mitsuba’s camera goes off with a click (his one hand still on the flower) and Kou blinks, surprised that he’s finished so soon. He may not have moved to put it away just yet, but Kou can always tell when Sousuke is satisfied with his photography.
Each time, he shifts the strap of his camera to his other shoulder.
By now, Kou has come to register it as a sign of his completion. It’s a nervous habit, of some sort– Mitsuba has a lot of them.
Huffing, Sousuke releases the flower. He turns around, now back to facing Kou. His body language is back to being guarded, his fingers harshly gripping the front of his camera. He moves to put it away, and Kou grins to himself, a sign of quiet victory. He’s never wrong when it comes to Mitsuba; never has been.
Sousuke jabs a finger into Kou’s chest, and proceeds to dig it in further when the blonde attempts to protest. Stifling a sigh, Mitsuba rolls his eyes.
“Art’s a process, just like nature, dumbass. This isn’t the last time you’re coming with me to see these flowers, okay? We’ll be back, and they’ll have bloomed by then. I can make the same things look good in a photo more than once, you know!”
He turns away as he finishes, retreating with false bravado. Kou stands there, in shock, for a few moments– longer than he’d care to admit, honestly– before he chases after Mitsuba.
***
The flowers are in full bloom now, their petals vibrant and flourishing within his dream. If Kou wasn’t distracted by the sheer number of them (as well as the considerable amount of space the flowers take up, reaching past his vision), he might have taken the time to appreciate their rosy sheer. Bursts of color spring from the flowers’ centers and make their way towards the top, becoming sparser and sparser with each petal.
And boy, are there a lot of them.
The camellias surround Kou, encompassing him from all directions, as if they were holding him in imprisonment.
Or rather, purgatory.
(Their intense, threatening, vermillion pigment certainly seems reminiscent of a flame, Kou thinks to himself.)
But none of the flowers… touch him.
Kou finds himself frozen, wholly unable to move. He relies on his gaze alone to gain a better understanding of his surroundings.
The flower’s can’t go on forever, can they?
He pauses as he takes it all in, before he notices the person before him. Their face leaves him chalk-pale with shock.
He is face-to-face with Mitsuba; albeit, they are not his Mitsuba. Before him, now, is a younger one. In fact, this Sousuke appears how Kou first met him. He has every attribute covered, down to the small smile Mitsuba used to sport– the one that compliments his fine, delicate features.
That’s how Kou knows something is wrong.
(For it’s the smile that Mitsuba used to give him. Before months and months of Kou’s constant badgering wore him down, and he’d finally given up that godawful facade around Kou.)
His concern overweighs his initial caution. Hesitant– but determined, nonetheless– Kou calls out to Mitsuba.
Suddenly, a sea of flames bursts open before Kou, engulfing Sousuke’s form completely. The inferno shifts and churns, cackling as if mocking Kou’s compromised state.
He screams, and finds himself choking as camellias, red ones and yellow ones 1 and some type of purple flower–
(distantly, he can recall Mitsuba mentioning them once, he’d called them hyacinths–1)
–escape from his lungs, emerging from his mouth and falling onto his hands.
He’s able to move, finally, and he falls to his knees.
He considers looking up, facing Mitsuba’s fate. Then again, the sight of his charred body might be worse.
Luckily he is unable to decide, as he–
***
–wakes up with a start, shaking, a headache already forming at the base of his skull. The sides of his temples ache, and he moves a hand up to massage them. The faint pulsing is going to stick with him all day, and he’s already exhausted from the nightmare he just had.
He’s come to despise his nightmares, recently.
(Particularly, their frequency.)
It wasn’t that he’d originally liked them, per se; no soul is fond of nightmares, after all– but his mother used to say that dreams were a sort of language. Claimed that they served as signs from higher powers. She’d stroke his face, smiling, and whisper that whatever he’d seen was fate; neither good, nor bad, but a gift from the ones above.
Kou doesn’t feel grateful to “the ones above”, for once.
(In truth, he hasn’t since his Mother’s passing.)
Outside of his room, Kou can hear the steady, pattering rain. It raps at his window lightly, as if gently coaxing him to come outside.
Sighing, Kou gets up to open his curtains. The view outside is a devastating one, completely ill-suited for his original impression of the rain.
Then again, it may simply be due to the influence of the Minamoto’s home.
Kou sighs, once again.
He hasn’t been fond of this house for quite some time.
***
Teru awaits his presence in the kitchen.
(Once upon a time, Kou would have had breakfast ready by now.
It’s been months since he’s last had the energy to.)
“Where are you headed?” the elder asks him, tilting his head and leaning against the doorframe in subtle scrutiny.
Kou knows the meanings to his gestures, now. How Teru calculates them in order to lower people’s guards.
It had taken a while, but he’s learned them.
A lean means disappointment, disapproval. The head tilt signals concern and caution, a motion meant to provide Kou with (artificial) freedom. It’s Teru’s attempt to make him feel comforted.
It doesn’t work.
“To see Mitsuba,” Kou responds, intent on leaving the house before the downpour grows any harsher.
Teru frowns, the gesture distorting his handsome features. Exhaling, he makes his way towards his brother.
“Kou–” he begins in protest, only stopping to sigh as the latter ignores his obvious disapproval. His brother makes his way towards the hallway closet, where Teru has been keeping Mitsuba’s camera. It rests on a small coffee table.
(Kou had wanted to keep it in his room, but Teru had refused. He knew how the sight…affected– agitated– his brother.)
"You know that Father's not going to like this."
Kou contemplates the words so clearly meant to change his mind. They should affect him, he knows but–
It’s not like he’s ever home.
They only see their Father for serious punishments. And funerals, of course. Gloomy ones, where Kou can’t recognize a single cousin. Or any other type of family member, for that matter.
Does he even have cousins? He has to, right?
Teru speaks again, but Kou doesn't register what he says. He knows that his brother’s simply trying to be helpful– can appreciate his attempts– but– he’s just–
Well. He's not in the mood.
Kou has a plan. He knows what he has to do.
“Visiting him isn’t going to change anything, Kou–”
He slams the door on his way out, silently hoping that Tiara had already awoken.
***
The community library is his first stop, approximately two blocks away from the Minamoto estate.
It’s a dreary building, the front of its beige surface peeling from years of wear-and-tear. Kou finds that its vileness increases tenfold with the tracks left behind by the rain.
Yet, once upon a time, this building had been his nirvana. A coven, of some sort.
He had used to come to the site with Yokoo and Satou, Mitsuba in tow, the former protesting the entire trip there. The group of boys were forced to walk in order to reach the library (which was located quite far from the school, much to the student's chagrin), and Mitsuba claimed that his body was, “Not made for such rough physical activity.”
(The blonde hadn’t missed the tone he had used, of course. Releasing Sousuke from his hold, Kou had scrambled to regain his composure as his face rapidly went through several emotions. Gleeful, Mitsuba’s snickers quickly became full, rambunctious laughs as Kou stuttered something about him “needing to heed his choice of words.”)
Looking back on it now, Kou realizes that their trips had become something of a tradition. Like clockwork, they happened every Tuesday and Thursday, the journey a weekly occurrence.
It wasn’t long (around the end of the first semester, Kou surmised) before the library had transformed into his Elysium, their small group a community, serving as Kou’s only escape.
He steps into the library once more, searching for any sign of that lost euphoria. It’s exactly as he remembers it– only duller. There’s no one there but him, save for a few people shelving books.
Quietly, he makes his way to the tables tucked in the back. He prays that no one takes notice of his residence; he’d like to be alone, right now.
He pauses upon seeing the furniture. It shouldn’t be a shock that they’re empty–it’s a Sunday, after all– and yet, he can’t seem to bear the sight.
It was here that Mitsuba had taught him all sorts of things. A vast array of subjects, ranging from flowers, to photography, of course. Here, they’d studied English, Mitsuba adding a doodle on his skin for each question he got wrong.
(And if he’d missed a few problems on purpose, well. Kou had never been good at any form of linguistics, anyways.)
Later, in the slow hours of the library, (long after Yokoo and Satou had taken their leave) Mitsuba had even confided in him about his photography.
He and Sousuke had laughed here. Learned, teased, jeered. Grown closer together, as a pair.
Kou moves, abruptly, to wipe a tear from his face. It startles a girl at a table across from him.
(Why was he crying? When had she gotten here? How much time had he spent at this damn library?)
Kou turns, his hand clutching at his chest. He runs out of the building, as fast as he can, the more distance between him and the library– him and the memories– the better.
***
Kou’s next stop is a place he’s come to known as if it were his own; the Mitsuba residence.
He doesn’t bother knocking. Mitsuba’s mother had insisted, years ago, that he “let himself in anytime he wanted." She claimed that he was practically family, and Kou had physically struggled in order to stop himself from bursting into tears at their dining room table. After a few minutes of struggling to get himself under control, his face was bright red from the effort.
Mitsuba had a field day with that one.
There's a pair of shoes by the door now, lined up neatly in the second of three cubbies.
Mitsuba's cubby.
Kou moves to place his own within the last one. The third had originally belonged to Mitsuba's father– but over time, as the amount of Kou's visits increased, it had been phased into his own.
The presence of the shoes in the second cubby should alarm him– Mitsuba isn't here, after all– but Kou doesn’t stop to contemplate his friend's whereabouts. He knows where Mitsuba resides; and he'll be going there soon after.
(Sousuke had moved out months ago, to a place within their neighborhood. The pair had explored the area plenty of times, long before Mitsuba had moved in, so Kou knew the residence like the back of his hand.
Mitsuba’s place was rather close to the Minamoto home, actually. In fact, it was within walking distance. If you jumped from the window of Kou's room, crossed onto the street, and took a detour to the right, you’d find yourself there in under five minutes.
Kou knows. He’s counted during his trips there.
What Mitsuba probably loved about it even more, though, was how close it was to the mountains. Sousuke loved those mountains; joked that he wanted to be buried beside them.)
Kou doesn’t acknowledge the table with incense on it as he makes his way into the house.
...
The door to Mitsuba's room whines as Kou opens it, a sign that it hasn't been used in quite some time. The sound can be traced back to the house's very structure, and it almost seems as if it's protesting Kou’s presence. Like it’s calling him a nuisance, referring to his visit here as if it were a mistake.
(First Teru, now this– that's twice in a single day.)
Kou can sympathize with the door's opinion.
(Projecting onto an inanimate object, and then agreeing with its non-existent criticisms, all because of his own self-hatred? He must be losing his mind.)
With a small shake of his head, Kou journeys farther into Mitsuba's room, all prior forms of anxiety lost on him.
...
Kou shifts, taking in the space around him. It’s not at all familiar– alarmingly so.
Sousuke’s room has transformed into a lonely space, with no soul to reside within it. The contents left behind are few and far between. They’re organized alarmingly well for a room that once belonged to a fourteen year old boy.
Kou infers that the room's size may contribute to its desolate state. (That, and the fact that Mitsuba has moved out.) It's half of the size of Kou’s own room.
(He remembers inviting Mitsuba over to his place for the first time. He hadn’t been allowed to, in all the years that they’d known each other– a rule of his Father’s– but Teru had been on an overnight watch, and Tiara had knocked out cold at 7:30 p.m.
At first, Mitsuba had feigned suspicion, claiming that Kou had only brought him there to “take his innocence before it was too late.”
Sousuke quickly shut up as Kou gave him a tour of the estate.
(Yes. The Minamoto property was big enough to warrant an entire tour.)
“You really are rich,” Mitsuba had said, breathless and a tiny bit awestruck as he stared up at the ceiling of Kou’s room.
The blonde hadn’t even invited Sousuke to sit on his bed. Mitsuba had simply made himself at home, all on his own.
So much for “protecting himself” and “being invulnerable to Hella-Lame-Traffic-Safety-Earring Boy’s attacks.”
Mitsuba flipped over on the blonde’s bed, once again, limbs outstretched as he made himself comfortable.
Kou flushed, ears burning like the chili oil he ate at dinner.
His bed would smell like Mitsuba later.)
…
He’s in Mitsuba’s room now, though. It holds a vast array of memories– they had been allowed to come here whenever they liked, after all.
He’d stayed over, one night. The week of his thirteenth birthday. Teru had allowed him to break a rule, just this once.
Finally free of his dinner duties, Kou slept the best he had since his mother’s passing.
…
It was also here that Mitsuba had finally let him model, after months of begging and protest.
Kou sat on Mitsuba’s desk, spinning around in a pink chair, and failing to hide his grin as the other boy looked for his sketching materials.
After what seemed like hours, Mitsuba finished gathering his plethora of items. Kou recognized the sketchbook (Sousuke commonly brought it to school), 0.7 pencil lead (he’d begged Mitsuba for extra led on more than one occasion…), and colored pencils, all placed at Mitsuba’s side.
Sousuke had a serious expression on his face. It was uncharacteristic, and it made Kou nervous.
“If I’m going to draw you,” Mitsuba said, steeling his resolve, “I’m going to have to work extra hard to get your ugly face down in a flattering way. I’m practically torturing these colored pencils by using them to draw you!”
Kou interpreted it as: “If I’m going to draw you for the first time, I’m going to get it perfectly. Colored pencils are the medium I’m best at, which is why I’m using them!”
Naturally, Kou was right– excluding one small detail.
Little did he know, Mitsuba’s sketchbooks were filled with drawings of him. They ranged from crude, little doodles, to full art-pieces. The type of media Sousuke used for each one varied largely, as well.
Furthermore, there was a simple reason for Sousuke’s level of concentration. The boy was so focused because he couldn’t draw Kou right.
All of his previous attempts had been worthless!
It was unacceptable, and Mitsuba swore to himself that he was not going to fuck up and draw something unsatisfying, (Especially with the model right in front of him!) even if he knew that Kou would be happy with practically anything.
Mitsuba, on the other hand, would not settle for anything less than perfection.)
Kou fidgets once more, cringing at his mistake and failing to stifle a laugh as Sousuke glares at him for moving.
He can’t help it– the boy’s gaze is unexpectedly intense.
Mitsuba gets after him each time, without exception. Mutters something under his breath about Kou “getting distracted” whenever he squirms in his seat, tears his gaze away from Mitsuba’s vicinity.
Little does he know that Kou’s thoughts never stray from him once, all throughout the entire session.
***
Kou exits the Mitsuba household without looking back.
It feels like goodbye.
That's wrong.
It shouldn't.
…
The rain begins again on his way to Sousuke’s new home. Grating, and more demanding than ever, it prods against his umbrella. Nonexistent knuckles rest upon him as it comes down in droves, harder and harder, harsher and harsher.
It seems that plenty of things are determined to keep him from seeing Mitsuba today.
No matter. Kou's making it to Sousuke– whether the rain likes it, or not.
His hands don’t shake as he grips his umbrella in one hand, and Mitsuba’s camera in the other.
***
He comes to a pause right before he arrives at the entrance of his school.
It's a Sunday– the place should be empty– but no. Instead, his Senpai stands before him, a purple umbrella clutched within her palms. He wonders if she originally forgot to bring it– drops of liquid run across her face, fall from her jawline and drip onto the floor.
He realizes that they’re probably tears.
"Kou," she starts off shakily, voice cracking. And yeah, those are tears–
"I- I know you miss Mitsuba," she fiddles with her hair, twisting the end of a long strand between her fingers.
"But," she begins, resolve suddenly clear.
"You can't keep doing this! You're- you're throwing your life away. Mitsuba-kun's Mother is long gone! You can barely bring yourself to look at Yokoo and Satou anymore! And you're breaking your brother's heart!”
He flinches at the last sentence. Feels his grip on the umbrella falter.
“I know how you feel–” Nene starts, cautious.
(She's careful not to mention Mitsuba's name. Knows from experience, that it sets Kou off.)
“When Aoi got injured, last year–”
His hold on Mitsuba’s camera tightens.
It’s not the same. She knows it's not the same. She should realize that you can't compare the two. Can't compare a mere injury with–
“Well Aoi isn’t dead!"
(His voice breaks off at the final word. Composure lost, Kou comes completely undone with the truth splayed out before him.)
It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
He sees his umbrella fall. Feels it slip from within his grasp.
Mitsuba's camera stays within his grip, and before he knows it he’s clutching it to his chest.
His hold on it tighter than ever.
(It’s the last piece of Mitsuba that he has left.)
His heart is pounding, pulsating and frantic, worked up from the scene. Nene's shock is visible, her eyes glassy and wide.
She didn't expect this.
But no. No, no no no, this isn't good, because if someone sent her here, to the school, they know his every move. They know where he's going next.
It means they're coming for him.
Coming for Kou, to take Mitsuba's camera away, the boy's livelihood, and then Mitsuba himself, and Kou can’t let that happen–
And so, he runs.
***
He comes to a slow stop at the start of Mitsuba's new home.
Or rather, not “new.” Mitsuba had “moved in” months ago.
…
(It still felt new to Kou.)
Mitsuba was fine. Mitsuba was coming home, so everyone could stop looking at him, boring their eyes into the back of his skull and staring at him with their unwanted pity–
And yet, deep down inside, he knows.
(Knows that he’s arrived at a gravesite. Mitsuba's "new home.")
Knows that Mitsuba is gone. And that he won’t ever be coming back.
(Unless he takes action, that is.)
***
The process begins with reminiscing.
(And so he does exactly that.)
It was dark, the night of Mitsuba’s passing. The day of his mother's birthday.
That night, he and Sousuke had made their trek to the grocery store.
Kou had been high on adrenaline the entire night, giddy and cheerful, his smile a bright beam of light.
He’d confessed to Mitsuba two days before– a nervous wreck the whole while through– and Sousuke felt the same. Reciprocated his feelings.
(Although, he had accepted Kou’s confession with a (weak) punch to the gut, tears (and an expression of joy!) upon his face as he questioned “what took him so damn long”, and stating that he’d “been waiting forever.”
He’d rested his face on Kou’s shoulder as soon as he’d finished.)
Things were blissful, happy around them. Saccharine sweet seeped into Kou's thoughts whenever he was around Mitsuba.
(And the boy was constantly on his mind, even when he wasn’t nearby.)
Who was Kou to deny his boyfriend a trip to buy potatoes, when he so-clearly wanted to fix the perfect dinner for his mother?
(Truthfully, Kou thought the curry was perfect, but Mitsuba was dead-set on buying them. He’d only go by himself if Kou refused. Then, after he’d arrived back, he would complain about Kou “being a terrible boyfriend” and “abandoning” him.)
And so the two had journeyed together, the night air chilling them to the bone.
He should have been paying more attention. He'd trained his entire life for this– to be able to protect the ones he loves.
And yet, he’s not the one who notices the car.
Kou’s word slows in mere seconds, and he hears a noise, his vision blinded by white. He must resemble a deer in headlights as he freezes. That is, until a force pushes him forward and–
…
Kou hits the concrete hard, the rubble angry and biting as a flame. Little signs of fury are left behind in the marks the pebbles leave on Kou, which run across his elbows to his forearms.
(He can see a particularly bad gash on his wrist– courtesy of his spear– and the top prong must be stained with his own scarlet blood. Kou can’t feel the wound just yet, but the pulsing ache that’ll begin once he’s out of shock is sure to be a sign of its severity.
What’s more concerning is his leg, the cloth surrounding it no more. Without the material there to protect him, the wounds on his skin lie exposed, invaded with gravel from the concrete.
Kou recalls that his leg’s not supposed to lay in the position that it’s currently in.
Despite his own state, Kou manages to turn around using his good arm. He props himself up, frantic, desperate.
(He must have gotten the brunt of the truck, the leftover force from the impact, and if it's this bad for him.)
His mind is blaring a constant stream of Mitsuba. Mitsuba, Mitsuba, Mitsuba.
He looks down and,
Mitsuba is–
Unrecognizable.
Sousuke's body is a mess, even with it being dislodged from the surface of the truck.
The boy’s cardigan (once a vibrant pink) is torn, mangled and ripped from the floor’s impact. It was always too loose on him, but now it truly pulls away from his body, as if determined to lie flat against the stony road. What’s more prominent, however, is how the yellow of his scarf slowly shifts into a dark, crimson red.
(It’s with some sort of sick sense of humor, some delay in reason– or memory– that Kou finds himself reminded of the sunsets that Mitsuba used to paint.)
Tracing the scarf’s trail (or, at the very least, what he can make out of it from his line of vision), Kou finds himself staring at a pile of maroon blood.
It’s big, and–
(that isn’t good, he thinks, lost in a state of delirium)
–only increasing in size, oozing, swirling, pulsing, around Mitsuba’s body.
Mitsuba, who (from what Kou can see) is lying still on the floor. Mitsuba, who is unresponsive, who cannot respond to Kou's frantic calls–
The truck’s headlights are reflected within the blood. His vision must be beginning to clear. Next comes his sense of sound, as he vaguely, faintly attempts to make sense of the noises that surround him.
Come to think of it, Kou can recall hearing a “crack” during the accident. He looks further down, down at Mitsuba’s head, and there’s–
There’s-
Kou catches a glimpse of white–
bone–
Kou gags.
And yet, he can’t force himself to look away. It’s not quite white he realizes, dizzily. The bone is cream-colored, tinged pink, which is most likely due to it being tucked snugly inside Mitsuba’s head.
Mitsuba’s brain. Where his blood is.
Was.
Is rapidly leaving–
The front of his skull (where his scalp begins) is butchered, messy, and it reminds Kou of a grapefruit. Fleshy and oozing liquid.
He's never seen this much blood in his life, he realizes, awestruck at the sight.
(It hasn't fully registered that the body before him is Mitsuba.
That is, until he properly sees the next part of Mitsuba’s body.
Because it turns out, the worst part is Sousuke’s face.)
The side that’s facing up from the floor is particularly jarring, skin that once protected his cheek detached from its original location, position, at his jaw. Now, it’s loose and bloody and raw, hanging exposed as if it were an old, abandoned Christmas wrapper.
Even so, there’s a single piece of it still attached to him, rubble and dirt caked within the ripped skin.
Faint, hysterical giggles of laughter escape Kou.
He can see Mitsuba’s teeth.
Distantly, he feels the sensation of tears falling from his eyes.
(If he could manage to raise his right arm, he’d make an attempt to wipe them away.)
The sensation of nausea suddenly rips through Kou, and his mind is reeling, making desperate attempts– and failing– to rationalize all that is happening to him. His wrist throbs, aches, as a result of his clumsy attempts to sit up and make his way towards Mitsuba–
what’s left of Mitsuba–
But he moves too fast, the motion accidently pulling– applying pressure– to his leg. He looks down, down to see what can only be (what he can only assume is) exposed muscle, and–
that’s not supposed to be there–
His vision goes spotty, bursts of stars rushing behind his eyelids. He wills his eyes to open, and there’s flashes of red and blue before him now. He can make out a blaring alarm, and several voices, loud and frantic. They carry hurried tones in their delivery.
One of the figures moves towards Mitsuba, grips his body and lifts from the shoulders, but it fails to be enough support because Mitsuba’s head rolls, lulls back far enough until it’s facing Kou, Kou who meets Mitsuba’s lifeless eyes and–
The last thing that he registers before he passes out is his own ear-splitting scream.
***
It’s no different from the one he lets out now.
“Why won’t you just come home,” he screams, voice raw and throaty from his earlier breakdown. It’s a guttural, debauched sound, but it fails to bring Kou any comfort.
He’s on his knees now, Mitsuba’s camera within his lap. He cradles it, shields it from the rain, which pelts at his back in incessant, ceaseless droves.
The weather drowns him out, covering his desperate protests in defiance. Denies their existence, refuses to acknowledge them, just like Teru, Nene, everybody else–
The rain’s pouring now, coming down harder than he’s ever seen it. Harder than it did when his Mom died. Harder than on all the days he had been stuck at home alone as a child, his only company a mop and a broom. Harder than on the day of the accident–
“Hey Mitsuba,” his voice cracks. He, alone, registers the noise.
“Your flowers are gonna bloom soon.”
He chokes out a final–
“So you can come back now.”
He pulls out his weapon from his back, underneath his shirt, where it’s been tucked throughout his entire journey.
The flash of his spear is the last thing he sees as he aims it towards his own chest.
***