“Let’s Fly as the Birds Do…” Chapter Twenty-Seven

11/11/01

By: Hikari

E-mail to: [email protected]

Notes: Excuse this chapter’s crudeness.

Music theme to chapter: “Sara’s Death” and track 17 from the Angel Sanctuary Original Soundtrack.

 

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                Till death do us part…

 

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                Grabbing the flower from the crystal vase, he threw the rose onto the tiled floor. Before the bud could hit the ground, a bullet shot through the air- bursting the bloom into innumerable fragments like shards of glass. The instant happened so quickly, that the only proof that it ever happened at all was the steam erupting from the hollow of the pistol that shot it. Kurama gaped at the blue petals. They were strewn everywhere, and left bleeding… A blue rose that bled true blood.

 

                “There are no blue roses in this world…” Haruhiko scoffed. “…Blue roses are a foolish fantasy that exists only within the mirror of the garden… And everyone knows…fantasies bring sorrow for they are unattainable… You may merely look at it, but never touch it…”

 

                “You destroyed it…” Kurama whispered, his eyes welling with hot tears made of anger. “The last dream in this endless void of shadows… How dare you!”

 

                “I dare to do as I please,” He replied, a sordid smirk dressed upon his contemptuous features. “For I know my own fantasies shall never be realized.” Haru’s fingers groped about the butt of his pistol, one finger readying on the trigger. The gun was held at ease and to his side. Kurama watched it warily, as he was knelt on the tiles with his palms gathering what left there was of the precious flower. Squeezing his eyes, Kurama opened them later and was shocked to find what lay within his arms.

 

                “Hiei?”

 

                His friend smiled sadly, a drop of bright blood resting upon the tip of his lip. Hiei’s body was bedecked with bullet holes. On the arms. On the legs. On the chest and abdomen.

 

                “Nothing lasts forever, Kurama…” Hiei choked as he took one of the other’s hands and held onto it tightly- that hand he had gotten to know so well. For a moment the demon mused over it. He liked it’s size- slender and delicate. He liked it’s scent- like a garden on the eve of new spring. But most of all, he liked how his hand looked possessing it. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Hiei said, his voice in between whispering and agony. “Normally, my senses do not betray me, however I know it’s true I may never really have you like this… It’s- it’s funny, isn’t it? No one may ever hold a blue rose- whether it exists or not- it makes no difference…”

 

                “Don’t talk like that!” Kurama cried. “It does exist! YOU exist! And no one has the right to take you away from me!”

 

                The demon closed his eyes softly, and relaxed his head within his friend’s lap. “But by the wing of a pure white bird, I shall depart from the sill of your window…” Hiei detached his hand to stroke his lover’s face- erasing the coursing tears with his palm. “…Who would have known that you are the one with pure white wings…?”

 

~~~~~

 

                “Mm…” Kurama squinted as he opened his eyes. The room he was in was washed with light that reflected off of the surrounding walls. Painfully, he turned to his left and was surprised to discover his mother sitting on a chair by his bed, fast asleep. Raising a hand to touch his pounding head, he batted his long lashes at seeing all sorts of wires and tags hooked onto his wrist. Following the wires, his green irises traced them to their origins. One came from an IV, one from the transfusion, and the rest from the pulse tracker. The tags on his wrist read his name and birth date. Kurama groaned at realizing where he was, and what had happened in preceding. “Kaasan…?”

               

His mother twitched in her uncomfortable chair- having only a thin blanket to keep her warm. Shiori’s eyelids lifted lazily- her face somewhat bewildered since so many hours had past. “Shuiichi…” She spoke, rising from her chair and sitting at a corner of her son’s bed. “How do you feel?”

 

                The redhead would have laughed at that question, only it wasn’t such a moment to do so. Instead he grinned slightly- allowing his mother to fiddle with the few bangs that sprouted out of the tightly done bandage over his head. “I’m fine…” he replied at last. “Things could be worse… Where’s Hiei? And Shidou?”

 

                “Shidou went back to your school to report what happened. But it’s nine at night right now, so he must be home… As for Hiei, I saw him last in the waiting room.”

 

                “I want to talk to him.” Her son stated firmly, emerging in bed.

 

                “What?” His mother asked quietly, having not recovered from grogginess. “No, Shuiichi, you can’t… You need to rest… Talk to him tomorrow…”

 

                “No!” He shouted, his long tresses whipping through the air. “I want to talk to him NOW.”

 

                With that he began ripping all the cords that were plugged into his body. Kurama didn’t care about the needles, or how they left fresh blood on his sheets as he pulled them out violently. He didn’t care about the fact that the transfusion was spilling over a quart onto the floor either. Such a mess he made- gruesome and vulgar. But what did it matter? He was stained to eyes everyone including himself. What little difference it would make to leave a puddle of cold blood- in HIS favor- on the floor.

 

                “Shuiichi-kun! Stop it!”

 

                Shiori tried to pin him in bed, but to her amazement, he pushed her brutally to the side. The woman laid twisted on the mattress- her face paling when Kurama looked back on her without a hint of pity on his face. There was a characteristic about his features that had abruptly changed before he staggered out of the room. It wasn’t exactly rage, it was more of… resentment.

 

                Sitting up, Shiori stared blankly out the open door. “In that moment…” she whispered. “He sincerely hated me…”

 

 

With his hands, Kurama used the wall for support as well as locating the elevator. Nurses and doctors who noticed him begged for his obedience, but the redhead repaid them with a flashing glare so dangerous it silenced them all. It was exhausting getting to the ground level of the hospital, and his chest was already heaving unevenly from lack of strength. He kept a vigil on the glowing numbers on top of the doors. It seemed to take forever to change from one number to the next. After a minute of two, the numbers even began to blur in and out of focus. Kurama shook his head jadedly, and squinted. Seventh level. Sixth. Fifth. It was unbelievably slow, but he knew it was better than having to go through the kind of stairs he dealt with a few days back.

 

 As the elevator door opened for him, Kurama limped passed the reception stand. Everyone was looking at him queerly, and he could hear those eminent whispers… Those wretched whispers…

 

‘What is he doing?’

 

‘There’s blood all over his gown!’

 

‘Mommy…why are there ugly burns all over his legs and face?’

 

‘Sweetheart! Hush!’

 

‘Is he crazy?! There’s frayed wire wrapped around his arm!’

 

‘That’s the boy from the picture…’

 

‘Was he raped?’

 

‘It’s hard trying not to listen to them…’ Kurama thought tiredly. ‘My ears are always swimming in whispers… Such horrible noise… and yet it’s so quiet…’ Eyes probing the facilities, all his vision came into counter with were patients waiting to be diagnosed, worried parents or relatives, and scared children clutching onto the sleeves of their mothers. The redhead moaned, feeling a surge of throbbing go straight through his temples. When it went away, he tapped on strangers’ shoulders, inquiring:

 

‘Ma’m, have you seen a young man about this tall? No? … I’m sorry, but thank you anyway…’

 

‘Excuse me, sir, have you seen a very good friend of mine… he has black hair and- oh, I’m sorry… I guess not.’

 

‘Little girl… do you know where my friend is? He’s- no! No ma’m… I was simply asking her a question; I meant her no harm. No, ma’m- I… Yes… I’m sorry…’

 

All they gave were unwelcoming gestures, save for the innocent girl who appeared as though she might have had an answer. Her protective mother intervened in the conversation. She actually accused the redhead of various things- a child molester, a pervert, and so forth. The woman went raving on and on about what letters she had received in her office e-mail, doubtless that Kurama was indeed the young man in the infamous photograph. Kurama could do nothing, but nod and accept. He was in no mood to argue, and he did not intend in wasting his time on nonsense.

 

Circling the entire area, his hand quaked as he gripped onto a protruding corner between two walls. He had already searched most of the room. All that was left was a moderate nook by the lounge. He literally had to pull himself past the corner in order to see the other side, but once getting there, he was faced with the disappointment of seven vacant chairs. He sighed heavily.

 

Without warning, he felt something tender rest on the top of his right shoulder. The gesture was so kind and gentle that he reacted with hostility towards it. Turning around, the redhead eased when confronting his mother.  It was evident that she had rushed to ground level right after Kurama had bursted out of his room. Her hair became disheveled from their small clash, and now her shoulders rose and fell from her own breathing. Her son felt guilty at the sight of her. He shouldn’t have shoved her so hard on the bed- by grabbing her by the elbows and pushing her off of him. Shiori’s eyes looked dreadfully sad, as if wondering if her concern had earned her his aggression. She didn’t know what to think. To castigate him, or to understand him? What COULD she do? Shiori feared him now.

 

“Is he here?” She spoke timidly.

 

Kurama shook his head. “No… I looked everywhere on this floor- nothing…”

 

“Maybe he’s home…” The woman suggested for her child’s assurance. “Do you…” She paused from certain hesitance, but shortly shrugged it off. “Do you want to see if Hiei’s there? I’ll ask for clearance from the doctor- if you like…”

 

Lips trembling, the redhead stepped up and gingerly wrapped his weak arms about her shoulders. ‘Gomen nasai…’ he wanted to say. However those words did not measure up to what he wanted to get out of his mouth. It was obvious there was a sense of forgiveness on Shiori’s part, but was it forgiveness out of fright? Fright of having seen what kind of person Shuichi may be?

 

From his chest, she hugged back. Gradually she raised her chin, forcing a smile upon her countenance. “Well, I can’t let you walk through downtown like THIS, right?”

 

Having the fragile woman inside his embrace, he hugged faintly. No matter what, there will always be one person to depend on- someone who is willing to help in spite of everything. Without fail, she will put her own interests away if things were this cruel.

 

 “I love you, mom…”

 

*****

 

                The ride home was a somber one. It had been like that for weeks. Wordless. Only this time, there was no fury heating within the car. There was no feeling, but numbness. All the roads were gloomy and quiet, and Kurama’s ears picked up the sound of thunder rolling not far away. ‘Even God uses the same omens over and over… It is better than mockery, I suppose. Then again, maybe the weather tonight is a mixture of both- an omen AND a mockery. After all, spring showers are meant to be beautiful, aren’t they?’

 

                “I used to like the rain…” Shiori murmured, her face attempting to be straight and poised. After looking at her for a while, Kurama reverted back to staring out the passenger window.

 

                “Me too…”

               

“It used to be the most beautiful thing- raindrops in spring. I remember how there would be sun when it sprinkled- it made the greatest rainbows…”

 

                “I know. I haven’t seen anything as close to lovely recently.”

 

                “Mm.”

 

                Parking in the garage, Shiori helped Kurama from the other side of the car. Entering the household, the redhead went directly to his lover’s bedroom. Opening the door, he did not flinch when observing the open windowsill and the bare quarters. He sighed, then, devoted the last of his hope into looking beneath the bed. No such fortune when Kurama did so. There was no familiar sword.

 

                The redhead crawled on top of the mattress- clutching onto the blankets beneath him. Kurama stared at his hands. They were taut and quaking. He frowned at that sight. “Why aren’t you here to hold my hand?” He sobbed, some warm water dripping and splashing in between his fists. “Why aren’t you here, as you always are?”