Characters: Yasuda Shota, Shibutani Subaru, mentions of Maruyama Ryuuhei
Warning: Character death
For about three weeks after that incident Yasuda was conspicuously absent from school. It seemed as though he had disappeared off the face of the earth. That naturally set the perfect environment for rumours to thrive. Perhaps he just ended it all. He was gay wasn't he? Him and that Jutted B'z. Ah, so he followed him in death. But Nagashima said that he saw the shadow of a man wondering around a lake which is supposed to be close to his house. Do you even know where he lives? It must be his ghost, trapped in the living world.
Very surprisingly the one who most had already deemed dead returned to school. But he came back a very different person than the one who left. I typical Yasuda fashion he tried not to dwell on the loss of his friend, but instead try to still see the bright side of life and graduate Maruyama's stead. Everyone knew that it wouldn't last. Not even Yasuda could heal that quickly and so he was once again ignored, but they kept a watchful eye out for his imminent mental breakdown. Perhaps someone would later write a book about it. And if it became popular the book might be made into a drama, or even a film! People would definitely be interested in that and watch it. I certainly would!
Turning away from the wolves in disgust, Shibutani-something of a loner himself- turned to look out the window. There he saw the hot topic of gossip and vicious whispers overestimate a kick and land on his face. Before Maruyama's death he would've easily gotten that he idly thought. Even from his distance he could see the beginnings of sorrow creep into Yasuda's eyes. But he caught himself and laughed unconvincingly with all his other classmates.
He was the last person left in the class. A group of girls had been moaning about not having enough time to get changed and see a film, and so he volunteered to clean the entire room by himself. Now it was well into the afternoon and he remained at his desk, head down, breathing heavily. He hated to be alone. When he was alone he could stew and dwell on all the possibilities of what could have happened if he had only walked home with Maru that day. But still....some days at school were harder than others and today was certainly particularly difficult. he hated to act as though nothing had happened. Not only was it an insult to Maru's memory but he was not a fake person. Playing that role was tiring. He didn't feel like seeing anyone for a while, and no-one would waste valuable weekend time at school at any rate.
He was so lost in his musings that he did not hear the door open and close. he also did not hear footsteps approach his desk, nor did he see another person's shoes beside his desk.
'You're hurting aren't you. Badly.'
Yasuda immediately shot up from his desk, too shocked to say anything. Shibutani watched him closely. There was short pause in which Yasuda wondered if it would make sense to even try to deny the almost accusing statement. His visitor seemed to sense that.
'Don't.' He turned away from Yasuda to look out the window, hands folded over his chest. 'You know, you ever used to be such a fake person. What happened?' As if he didn't know. Everyone knew. In the pit of his stomach Yasuda felt a spark of the beginnings of rage. He didn't bother to hide it. Shibutani turned back to him. 'Eh? Something happened then?' Without realising it Yasuda had leaped up from his seat ad had grabbed his tormentor by the collar. 'Go ahead....Do what you have to.' He wanted to smash his face in, but a small part of him cried out against such violence and so he turned over the adjacent desk. And another. And kicked a chair. Soon he was letting out all the pain, rage, depression, frustration and self-loathing on the entire room.
Gasping for air, he surveyed the room half-shocked at what he had done, half-impressed with his own strength. Shibutani also seemed impressed. 'You're really intense you know.' He raised a slightly shaking hand to his face, surprised to find wetness on his cheeks. Suddenly all the emotion which fuelled his outburst left him, and he sank to the floor. Shibutani caught him and adjusted them both on the floor. Yasuda weakly clutched at his shirt and wept. After what could have been days Yasu finally stopped crying and simply held on, sniffling every now and then.
'Sometimes....just let it out.'
Looking up, he saw a gentle if not a bit awkward, smile gracing the other's face. Seeing it made the corner of his own lips twitch. 'Hey! That's the first real smile that I've seen from you in a while.' He laughed weakly, voice scratchy, his lips twitching a bit more. He shakily got to his feet and brushed off invisible dust off of his uniform. There were a few moments of pregnant silence, both waiting though neither knew what for.
'I'll walk you home today.' That was it. Subaru took Yasu's elbow and began to guide him out of the room. He tried to resist, remembering the state of the room, but he had no energy and Subaru was quite stubborn. He gave up ad let himself be lead outside. 'Forget about it. Someone will probably just start a rumour that a thief broke in or something. Speaking of rumours, someone actually thought that you had run away to join the circus.'
'What?! Why the circus?'
'You're sort of a circus on your own you know.' Spluttering, Yasuda spent the next fifteen minutes defending his choice in fashion and accessories. Soon enough they were passing by the very same lake that he had contemplated throwing himself into a month ago. Now, as he looked at his reflection, Subaru beside him, he simply smiled.
My first Subassan ever! I hope it wasn't horrible. I feel so insecure now... @.@ Honestly with SBAs, tests, essays, exams and mum breathing down my neck I'm surprised that I even found time to write these....
Title: 勇気 [Yuuki]
Charcters: Yokoyama Yuu, Murakami Shingo
Warning: Character death, some swearing I suppose
I'm not brave at all. Even though I force myself to be, it's not natural. But Shingo was the bravest person that I've ever met. It was by sheer chance that we even ever met, and though it was many years ago I remember it clearly. I was walking home from school when I got hit in the face by a football. Really hard too. It had always amazed me, how he had difficulty writing his own name, but he could work a ball like it was a part of him. At that time he laughed, the little shit. His mother was horrified and she bowed so low that she could nibble at the blades of grass, but he laughed. 'Funny.' That was just one more thing that I admired about him. He was always honest and forthright, if only because he was not mentally developed enough to learn how to hide them. I sometimes envied him for it. He was also quite talkative, rattling off his words as though the ability to speak might suddenly vanish. Most of what he said was lost to his heavy tongue, but it was a pleasant white noise.
But when he got sick he couldn't talk at all, the only sound was able to make were pained whines and moans, the universal language of suffering. I then took it upon myself to speak for the both of us, telling as many stories as my mind could come up with. He always loved my stories. He would grin in that open way of his, eyes sparkling as I frantically waved my arms around my head.
He recovered but for a while it still hurt for him to talk. I never realised just how much I missed his babbling before. With some strange perception I think he knew this-I never really did know how much he understood- because he tried to make more attempts to talk, despite warnings that he shouldn't. Still I appreciated his effort. He always was so eager. In everything. After he fully recovered he tried to rope me into actually playing football with him. Whenever I did I took great pains to make it seem as though I was losing on purpose to encourage him, but honestly he was just that better than me. I think he knew that too. But it was a nice routine that we formed. Until I destroyed it.
By my final year of middle school I had managed to get past my shyness and make a few friends. 'Friends' used loosely as we were not so much friends as we stuck together to increase our chances of survival in school. Somehow we ended up walking by the park where Shingo and I occasionally played football, the place where we first met, and I am ashamed to say that I was gripped by fear. Fear that he would be there that day. Fear that I would be associated with him. In private was fine, but I wouldn't survive if it got back to school. Such shameful thoughts. We almost made it out unspotted, and to this day I torture myself and wonder if anything would have been different if we had.
Shingo, all smiles and slightly crooked teeth called out to me, waving excitedly. His speech was never coherent to those unused to it, and so it seemed as if he were calling out the wrong name-which I secretly was happy for- but I knew who 'Yuu' was. he never could pronounce 'Kimitaka' and so he came up with that. I pretended not to notice him. I half-hoped that he would take the hint, but belatedly realised that he couldn't. Instead he called more persistently. Then I did the worst thing. I turned around, looked him straight in the eyes and said 'Go home kid. I have no idea who you are.' My companions took great glee in mocking him. 'He too retarded to even tell who's who!' 'Why do't his parents put him on a leash?' ad the like. But I could only focus on Murakami-san who looked at me with more fury and disappointment that I had seen in my entire life. Little Shingo only looked sad. He did not understand. He tried to run to me, but was held back. I couldn't look at them any longer ad so I turned around and ran away-figuratively- with Shingo's distressed wails piercing my back.
Had I the courage to go to their house later, beg on my hands and knees and publicly acknowledge Shingo as my friend, Murakami-san would have forgive me. Shingo would have simply hugged me and make me promise not to leave him the next time he saw me. But I never saw him again. I never visited his house again. I was too afraid. I didn't even attend his funeral. I was too afraid. Fearless Shingo had darted to the other side of the pavement where he rescued an abandoned kitten. As thanks was hit by a car driving way too fast in a residential area. The driver didn't even stop or call the ambulance the news report stated. Just left him lying there, pretending not to care. In some ways I feel as though I hit him that day. Murakami-san left town as soon as she could. It must have been too painful for her to remain in that house. I stayed. because I had no choice, I stayed. I hadn't even told my parents about Shingo. He was just my dirty little secret.
But that was years ago. I'm not inertly brave like Shingo, but I try to be as brave as I can now. I'm now able to pass by his old house-now occupied by another family. I'm even able to talk to them about the family that used to live there, but I don't call Shingo my friend. I don't deserve to. But I'm trying. So that when we eventually meet in the afterlife, I can present myself as someone worthy of his friendship.
Bwaaaaaa! So angsty today. ;.; Excuse me as I cut my wrists and bleed over my diary. But OMG you guys, I made Hina retarded . And Yoko a chicken shit. @.@ I suppose I just wanted to try out something new.