Chapter Text
1905. April.
The north wind blew, swaying the foliage of the trees. There was a damp smell in the air, foreshadowing an imminent precipitation. It was long past midnight. The lanterns had long been lit, indicating the way out of the cemetery. The last people came out to the lamentations of the man. It's not the first time a gardener has kicked out night visitors.
The silence of the cemetery was broken by the sound of garden shears, but with it came another noise. It sounded like hitting wood. The gardener went by the sound, raising a garden tool in one hand and a lantern in the other, thinking to scare away small hooligans with huge scissors. The knocks grew louder with each step. There was a new noise, as if a tree had been smashed to pieces. Lightning flashed threateningly in the sky, warning of the imminent sultry cold. And along with the light of the lightning appeared...
In his horror, the gardener dropped the scissors and fell to the ground, slowly crawling back. The sounds came from the grave of a man who died more than twenty years ago. Two pale hands could be seen from the ground, randomly tearing the ground apart. It was impossible to see the dried blood on his hands in the darkness of the night. Unknown hands began to quickly tear up the ground, freeing the pale guy from the grave site.
The chalk-white guy carefully climbed out of the broken coffin, out of the once perfectly laid earth, shaking off his suit. He looked around with a blank stare and noticed the gardener almost fainting. Slowly approaching him, like a child just learning to walk, he stretched out a white, almost transparent hand to him, but it instantly hung down near the body.
"You're not him," he whispered and walked past the poor man.
The weather poured down from the sky without mercy. The sky was bursting with a roar, the wind was blowing right in my face. But the rain will no longer be able to wash away the blood on your hands, will not hide the tears on your cheeks, and your clothes will never get wet again. He's dead.
***
— "The weather is terrible today! Heizou, why don't you wait her out indoors? "The officer stared at their employee, the young criminologist of the Tenre Commission, in disbelief.
Heizou buttoned up his raincoat, pulling the belt tight, then turns to the elder
—"Senior, I'm driving. Thank you for your concern,"— and throwing on his hat, the detective went out into the cool street, immediately getting wet.
Quickly getting into the car, he began to warm up a little. And he was soaked through. Hair could be squeezed out, shoes squished disgustingly. A newly purchased couture hat, by his helpful woman, left nothing exquisite. What kind of shoddy weather is this?
He took out the pocket watch he had inherited from his late grandfather from the inside pocket of his raincoat and the time had long passed two o'clock in the morning. Oh, he's been working on this report.
He started the car and drove out onto the sidewalk, not realizing that something strange had smelled him. There were no cars passing by because of the late hour, and there were no pedestrians at all. Heizou was about to turn left when he was shaken back. Forgetting about his already soaked shoes, clinging clothes and wet hair, Shikanoin went outside, looking at the man whom he had not fatally knocked down. But Heizou was sure that there was no one on the pedestrian. Where did this white guy come from?
After examining the motionless young man, Heizou began to turn around, thinking about what to do, but someone's icy hand grabbed his ankle. Despite the fact that he himself was soaked and almost shivering from the weather, but he could distinguish the corpse cold perfectly. Seriously afraid that he had killed a man, Heizou looked at the guy and staggered back, falling backwards into a puddle. The man lying on the sidewalk was lying on his stomach and animalistically holding his ankle, scanning his face. The scarecrow was not at all deathly pale, but blood-red eyes. They shone dangerously in the night darkness. And they were too familiar.
— You ... — the weak voice was drowned out by the roar of thunder and Shikanoin had to strain his ears, but could not.
— The groom…
Out of fear, Heizou could not utter a single word and he was completely deaf to hear the signal from other passing drivers. The pale guy began to slowly crawl closer to him. Shikanoin glanced at his hands, still holding his ankle, and a herd of goosebumps went through his body. The hand was too pale, cadaverous blue in some places, and there was a bone on one finger. Terror grips him with his head, preventing him from thinking clearly. All he has in his head is "run."
Panic hit his head.
Heizou frantically began to unhook the unresisting guy from himself and slammed the car door in his face. Without worrying about him at all, he drove past him. He no longer cared if he had moved him, he would rather be in his cozy apartment and think about this moment with a sane head. And even so, a sober head did not want to think clearly. Not remembering how, once in his entrance, Heizou began to jump the steps, ending up outside the door of his apartment. He slowly slid down to the floor with his back to the door, covered his face with his hands and combed wet hair back. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Count up to a hundred of all the sheep and the nerves stopped straining.
— What the hell was that?
Heizou walked with a snail's pace to the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. Tea or strong coffee always helped him cool his head. After drinking about five cups of tea, the guy went to the shower. There's always something to think about in the shower.
And so, he hit a man, if you could call him a man. An unnaturally white face, a hand with a protruding bone instead of a finger. The sparse red eyes were terribly empty. If it was October outside, he would have mistaken it for a halloween costume, but it's April and it's definitely not a halloween outfit. The detective also saw the cadaverous blue and cold, typical only for dead people. But the guy was... alive?
His head refused to analyze the situation further. She was buzzing with recent adrenaline and exhaustion. Heizou turned off the drainpipe, pulled a terry-cloth robe over his body and saw an unmade bed. He left the house at the crack of dawn and came late at night, was there any point in refueling it?
Seeing as someone had already fallen asleep on his bed and realized that the bed was not made for another reason. Shikanoin lay down next to the sleeping man, hugging her to his chest. The old fear was gone, replacing it with the reassurance and living warmth of someone else's body.
***
The young man slowly got out of the way, not taking his eyes off the hidden lover. He didn't understand. Why did he leave? Didn't he love him? He had sworn his love to him! Is this all a lie?
Kazuha looked around. Inazuma has changed. This was not the Inazuma he lived in. Out of habit, he took a breath, although he could smell the smell of his homeland, but found that he could not take a single breath. Kazuha reached the window of one of the shops and saw his reflection. There are bloody streaks on his cheeks, and hair has lost its former splendor. Expressionless eyes, weathered lips. All the clothes are completely covered in blood. There was no longer the attraction that was idolized. He doesn't look quite alive.
Kazuha placed his palm on his chest, where his heart should be pounding. Every living being has a beating heart, telling him that he is alive. Look, the organ is beating — it means it's alive. But his heart remained silent. There was no previous pounding in his chest, which was once bursting with feelings.
Life will never separate us, Kazuha!
But she separated us...
Kazuha swallowed the nonexistent saliva, weakly hitting his chest with his fist, causing the withered organ to beat again. My head is ringing wildly with awareness of the situation. There is no feeling of rainy cold, sticky clothes and wet hair.
You're dead, Kazuha!
And he's dead too!
You haven't found your happiness!
The call of the wind in his ears, carrying the scent of his beloved. He's dead, but he's here. God heard his dying pleas. God gave him a second chance at happiness. Completely different, but he gave it to him. He is dead, but his beloved is alive. So he'll drag him away with him. Into a wonderful world where only the two of them can be.
— I will open up a wonderful world to you, my betrothed.
Blissfully closing his eyes, Kazuha walked slowly at the call of the wind, following the road along which his lover had left.