Chapter Text
So, that’s it.
He’s dead.
All that’s left of him is his body hidden under piles of dirt.
The only thing letting people know he existed was a small marble pillar with his name etched in.
He ran his hand over the cold material, his fingers dipping into his name.
He stared at the flowers that pooled at his feet. He watched as the smoke from the incense blew through his transparent body.
Once again, he looked at his name. The words felt foreign to him.
Touya Aoyagi.
That name felt fake.
It is fake.
He’s not Touya.
He’s just another body, a poor person who fell to the hands of death.
Someone who doesn’t exist anymore.
Bound to the grave for the rest of eternity.
Yet people cried for him.
He watched as people prayed and cried and stared with dull eyes at his tombstone.
One boy who kept returning. The one that made his heart race. Who cried until tears wouldn’t fall anymore, then he’d sob with his voice instead.
He felt bad for the boy.
His bright ginger hair was a mess, he could tell. He tried running his invisible hand through it, it was all tangled.
His green eyes were always swollen and filled with tears. He always cried out, “Why did you leave? Huh? Why did you leave me? ” He’d shout as he punched the dirt. After he finished wailing, he stayed hunched over. The boy would always stay there for a good while, before looking up with tired eyes. He would put fresh incense into the little vase and fix the flowers.
It hurt his heart. It made him feel bad. He’d always reach out to comfort the boy, trying to rub his back. Instead, the boy would shiver from the touch, and he’d snuggle into his jacket.
And his hand never touched the boy. His fingertips would phase through his back, and he’d never feel the warmth of him.
Oh, how it hurt. This boy, his heart was drawn to him. He couldn’t remember why or who he was, but all he knew was that he had to stay for the boy. Maybe the boy knew he was there.
Every day as the sun began to set, he would come by holding a small bag. There were always fresh sunflowers poking out of it.
And the cycle would repeat.
The boy would cry until he couldn’t, ask why he left, stay curled up in a ball, fix the flowers and incense, and leave.
When he came late he would apologize to the pillar, before returning to his schedule.