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He must have seen this same thing a thousand times in his life.
Sumeragi Subaru was sixteen years old, and he had experienced more death than anyone else he knew. No, not experienced—he had known death. Intimately.
He romanced death every day.
When he was a child, he had learned to cope with his natural born ability to see spirits—to hear spirits—because that was enough to drive an untrained onmyouji insane. In fact, Subaru had been the one to track down many such onmyouji—they didn’t know why they could do the things they would do, so they would unintentionally misuse their powers and cause chaos.
Then, of course, there were the untrained onmyouji who chose to misuse their powers, despite the fact that they didn’t have any training. More times than not, they would only end up killing themselves out of their own errors in a curse. Sometimes, though, Subaru would make it in time.
He still had hope for everyone—everyone but one person; himself.
He had romanced death for too long. Death was his one true love, and his one true hate. Sometimes, he wondered, how it was that someone who was as admittedly naive as himself could become so obsessed with that aspect of his job. How it was that after years of experiencing things that no human should ever have to go through, he had actually become fascinated with it. More specifically, with the emotions of a spirit that refused to move on.
Motivations confused him. He would never understand why people did the things they did, because there seemed to be so much hatred in the world. He never understood how people could die feeling so much animosity. Even if they were murdered, violently torn from this mortal world, it wouldn’t accomplish anything to remain on Earth. Wasn’t it better to give their families peace than to remain and continue to hurt the ones they loved for someone else’s crime?
Subaru had never been seriously injured on a job, but his clients had, by these vengeful spirits. Like any onmyouji, he was in serious danger any time he took a job—more serious than anyone could understand. When he left on a job, especially one he knew was going to be complimented, his mentality was more that of a professional soldier than an exorcist.
Maybe that’s how he had become so obsessed with death. His seemed to loom around every corner. His life was worth defending, but he couldn’t help but think that he was going to be spending a long time doing just that—defending.
Defending his ideals. Defending his loved ones. Defending his life.
There was only one person in the world he thought would understand. His grandmother had tried so hard to understand him—but they would never think on the same level. She believed an onmyouji ought to be disciplined and determined in his duties while muted and solemn in life. Hokuto, his twin, he loved dearly—but she also didn’t understand. She thought Subaru should be taking his job more lightly, and just living his life. They were the two extremes—one believed deeply in living a life prepared for death, the other believed in dying a death at the end of a vivid life.
Then, Seishirou had come into his life.
Subaru had romanced death since the day he left Kyoto. He would steal glances at death, and would be equally gently embraced, seduced toward death. Death would try to reason with him, and he would enjoy the debate. He would hold death’s hand. And, at night, when he slept, he would dream only of death, blood, and sakura.
There was so much death in Tokyo. In Kyoto, the spiritual capital of Japan, Suabru had quickly normalized the idea of masses of spiritual energy surrounding him everywhere he went, but so little of it was death. So few of those spirits that lingered in Kyoto hated Japan’s fomer capital.
Spirits hated Tokyo. The living hated Tokyo. Death loved Tokyo.
Subaru didn’t have a chance to win death’s fancy, despite flirtation, because death was already clinging to Tokyo. It was Subaru’s job to pry death away from Tokyo—to change things.
His ideals, his beliefs—all those things that no one understood, Seishirou understood them. He understood that Subaru wanted to change things. He understood that in Subaru’s mind, there was nothing right in the world they lived in—every small bit of happiness he had ever found became tainted.
He sometimes wondered if he lived in a world of lies. Everything and everyone lied to him. The animals in Seishirou’s clinic lied to him. Clients that thanked him profusely lied to him. Death lied to him. He wondered what it was about him that attracted so many lies—what was everyone trying to protect him from?
Seishirou was not a lie. Seishirou couldn’t be a lie, because if everything else was—then at least this one time, things should go right for him. Seishirou would support him, and he would change the world. He wasn’t ready to accept that the state of the world was as it was, and that there was nothing he could do about it.
He had been romancing death for sixteen years, what was one little affair?
Subaru stood over the body of the dead boy—only in his pre-teens—that had been killed by a demon. He could see thick blood half-dried onto the cloth of the boy’s shirt where three parallel gashes ran down the boy’s chest. There was a pool of dry blood below the boy’s head where a small portion of his skull had been removed, and clung by a small thread of skin to his body. His skin was sickly white as though he’d been a corpse even before his death, an Subaru could distinctly make out bruising on his wrists, and all up his arms.
The boy had been abused badly by his father. Subaru even believed, possibly, that he had been sexually abused. Only the coroner’s report would tell. Some of the more minor injuries Subaru could see on the boy’s body, for example the small lacerations on his face and some more bruising and scratches on his legs, were from previous abuse.
And, to get back at his father, the boy had toyed with magic—placing a curse on his father. The curse had backfired, and had killed him. Unfortunately, Subaru had not been called until the curse had already backfired, otherwise he might have been able to prevent the boy’s death.
Vaguely, Subaru could hear two policemen arguing with the detective who had called him about whether or not a young boy should be on the crime scene—especially one so fresh, but Subaru ignored it, leaning down to lightly brush over the boy’s eyes with his gloved fingers. He didn’t want death to stare back at him—death wasn’t supposed to know he had been watching it all this time.
“Who are you?” A voice asked. Subaru’s head raised to see the spirit of the boy standing just behind his dead body. “Oh—you can actually see me?”
“I’m an onmyouji,” Subaru explained. “My name’s Subaru.” He glanced from the spirit, down to the body, and then back at the spirit again. “Do you understand what happened to you?”
“I’m dead, right?” the boy asked. He looked at the gruesome portrait his body painted, and frowned deeply. “Subaru-san, I wanted to kill him for what he did to me. I wanted so badly for him to die. I didn’t…”
Subaru nodded. Motivations. This boy was fueled by hatred. Why did he live? Why did he die? It was all still a mystery to Subaru. But, somehow, looking at the spirit who stared so resentfully at his own body, Subaru wondered if it was the father he hated, or if the boy was made to hate himself by his father?
It all came back to hatred. Everyone in Tokyo felt this same deep hatred.
But—there was one person who didn’t. That person loved Tokyo. He loved Tokyo because it hated.
“The police will handle this from now on,” Subaru told the boy evenly. “So, please, move on peacefully. I can help you rest.” Subaru moved to sit in a position where he could perform an exorcism, but the spirit made a noise of protest. Subaru blinked at the boy, stopping.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I promise—I’ll move on—and I’ll do it on my own. I just want one last chance to see my dad. I want him to know that I love him.” The spirit reached down, caressing his dead body’s cheek lightly, translucent fingers brushing over dried blood.
“You—you love him?” Subaru was stunned.
“He may not seem like a good person,” the boy said, “and he probably isn’t. But, I love him.” With that, the spirit quietly faded from Subaru’s view.
Subaru was romancing death. He had been since his birth—but he wondered if he could really die for the sake of someone who had hurt and betrayed him and still love them. He wondered if there really was a love so absolute in this world.
He wondered what Seishirou would say.
---
Subaru had never failed to stun him since the day they had met—otherwise he never would have made the bet. But, after getting impatient and going inside the building to find Subaru, he was amazed to find that Subaru had kept his calm through a frightening crime scene. And, not only that, but Subaru seemed to be lost in thought—completely detached from the real world.
“Subaru-kun, is something wrong?” Seishirou asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the boy in his passenger seat. Subaru startled, blushing, and shook his head. Seishirou frowned. “What you saw in there—it was pretty scary. You don’t have to be embarrassed to be frightened.”
Subaru swallowed loudly. “I’m not scared,” he said levelly. “The boy who died—what he said to me…”
Seishirou raised an eyebrow. “The dead boy? His spirit lingered behind?”
Subaru didn’t answer. Instead, he looked out the window at the other side of traffic that was moving slowly over Rainbow Bridge. It seemed like they were passing the cars too quickly, but Seishirou was doing exactly the speed limit on the button. Besides, the clunky van couldn’t do much more than the speed limit.
“Seishirou-san… if someone is motivated by hate… how can they love the person that motivates them?” Subaru wondered. “If this city is driven entirely by hatred, why can so many people love so much? How could that boy love someone who tried so hard to destroy him?” Subaru put his face in his hands, hiding his eyes against gloved palms.
“Love and hate are very close kin,” Seishirou commented lightly. “The one you love the most, Subaru-kun, you’ll also hate passionately.”
Subaru’s head snapped up, and he gave Seishirou a horrified look. “That’s terrible! How could… Seishirou-san, do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, Subaru-kun,” Seishirou replied honestly.
“…Then—the one you love the most…?” Subaru’s voice was a mix of confusion and pain—which was more comfortable for Seishirou. Unlike Subaru’s behavior up until then, this sounded like the young onmyouji.
“This city, Subaru-kun,” Seishirou replied evenly.
Subaru bowed his head. “This city… this city is motivated by hate.”
Seishirou nodded. “It’s the way of things, Subaru-kun. People are possessed by their strongest emotions, and act irrationally upon them. No human is truly above emotions. No human is logical.”
“That’s terrible,” Subaru repeated dully.
Seishirou glanced at Subaru again, just to see that the boy had once again turned his attention out the window, leaning his temple against the glass. A tear ran down Subaru’s cheek, prompting Seishirou to give the boy some privacy.
The rest of the car ride back to the Sumeragi apartment passed in silence.