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Polnareff knew he was missing something; he felt it in his bones, his muscles, his blood, his every move. He felt it in his arms, felt it in the room he sat in, on the couch he sat on. Polnareff felt wholly incomplete.
He used to sit with Sherry on this couch. It was more of a loveseat than a couch, really— they'd sold the couch soon after their mother had died. A loveseat was all they needed, after all, with only two members of the family. He remembered braiding her hair, listening to her talk about her day at school, talking about her latest crush. He remembered her asking if girls could like other girls, if whatever God there was would still love her, if Jean would still love her. Of course, he'd said, why would you think they couldn't? The memory was fresh and fond in his mind.
Polnareff missed her, as he always did, but she wasn't missing. He had dealt with her death; it had taken three and a half years, but he had come to terms.
In truth, he knew what was missing, but he didn't want to accept that he felt so empty now that he was gone. Someone he had known for less than 50 days, no less. Even as he tried to not let his mind wander, he imagined braiding another's hair, imagined a warm feeling in his arms, imagined hearing about a school day, listening intently. He had never been to this house, but Polnareff hoped that he would've felt safe there.
He imagined getting that question, is it ok to like guys?, and of course, he imagined his response, obviously, why wouldn't it be ok? Polnareff could see it all so vividly, could feel the weight and warmth in his arms. Frankly, he hated it. Inserting his friend into these stupid daydreams felt like a stain on his memory, but he really couldn't help himself.
Noriaki Kakyoin. He mouthed the name on his lips. Polnareff had never been a very religious man, but it felt like sacrilege.
Alone on the loveseat, he wondered what Kakyoin would be doing now if he hadn't been killed. It was just getting dark, Polnareff judged it would be around 2 in the morning in Japan. Kakyoin would be sleeping. Or not, he thought, he could had been awake. He might've been having a bad dream, or maybe he'd woken up to get a snack. Countless different scenarios, however mundane, played out in Polnareff's head.
Kakyoin , he mouthed again, and this time, a sound came out- no more than a whine.
He imagined holding him on this loveseat, in the way he'd used to hold Sherry. Kakyoin had in no way been a young child when they'd met— he would've hated being babied like this, actually. Polnareff laughed under his breath. He couldn't help but see him as just that: A child. Kakyoin was just a child. Another life taken too soon. Another kid with a bright future ripped away.
Another grave to visit on birthdays, this time just with a farther trip. Another baby sibling to mourn over on the days he felt most alone, sitting on that loveseat, wishing he had just done something, anything, differently, with little left to remember and everything left to imagine.
He imagined that lonely farmhouse filled with music. Polnareff couldn't help but think of Hierophant Green slinking through the house like his childhood cat, and how Kakyoin would've made fun of him for the holes in the cabinets, the cobwebs in the corners, the boxes of expired food he didn't have the energy to throw out.
One side of the loveseat was stiff— it hadn't been sat on in years. It was always Sherry's side, but now, he imagined someone else sitting there, creasing the pillows. Polnareff wouldn't have told him the spot's importance to him, but Kakyoin would probably be able to tell by his face that the seat held meaning. He probably would've stood up and apologized briefly, before asking if it was ok to sit there, and Polnareff would assure him it was fine, and would've called him uptight, and that would grant him a jab in the side, and he'd double over from the surprise of it all rather than the pain itself and his friend would snicker and laugh and laugh and he had to breathe, he needed to breathe, he needed to stop thinking of this and catch his breath and wipe his eyes and ground himself and BREATHE.
Polnareff did just that for the next few minutes, trying to remember how to breathe instead of how Kakyoin used to laugh. Once he'd calmed down, he laid his head on the other side of the loveseat, and talked to his brother, who would never respond, and would never know he was ever a brother to begin with.