Work Text:
“I love you.”
The words tumble out of her, falling onto the ground. Between her fingers, engraved into the crevices of her lips. Into the early morning, a moment after summer rain. With its dew sticking to her shoes, her skirt, her legs.
“I love you very much, Onēsama.”
Too much. The words swell into her heart. And tasted like forget-me-nots. Soft, in colorful blues; petals brushed against dull-brown desks;—the bouquet that was waiting for her in her old dorm room, in the middle school dormitory. Nobody ever told her Yui had been there.
But they never saw anybody come by, they said. Almost like—
Like the letter wedged in a forgotten detective file. Lost in a time of mystery, of mystique. Brittle to the touch as she wearily grazed it with her good hand. Easily ruined, like fresh snow falling on the 12th of December.
It stings, the memory; of Yui’s eyes meeting hers for the first time. A stranger then. Someone that should’ve just been a passing shoulder afterwards. But.
“I love you.” Kyoko murmurs.
Did she hear her then? Muttering those very words into her shoulder in the middle of the night; a small, pathetic attempt at soothing Yui’s nightmares. Wishing herself as something more, instead of someone who selfishly let the other hold onto her tighter.
Did she ever look at her then? Someone who wasn’t just another excuse to stay in the past. To be lost in that thick mind of hers for days on end. Nights on end. In claustrophobic dorm rooms. With poems buried underneath old mattresses and forgotten textbooks.
Did she even want her? In the same way Kyoko did?
‘You’re so beautiful, Kirigiri-chan.’
Kyoko closed her eyes, pushing her face further into her hands. Further and further. To distract her from the feelings she was feeling; the same feelings she felt when she was told that—
“Onēsama…”
…
“Onēsama…I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
…
“If you could just hold me…”
…
“Please.”
…
But the graveyard was still silent. Just as it had been the day before. Still covered in small gifts and roses.
It hurts. Perhaps selfishly, that there were other people that still cared about her.
People that Kyoko doesn’t know anything about. And could only ponder about, as their letters left behind grew fainter in print. Lead smudged in her gloves.
“…”
It would be easy to wait for someone to show up.
“---It’s getting late, Onēsama.” She’s slow to stand; her heels losing themselves in the soft mud. “I’m sure you're probably getting tired of me now.”
The gravestone was still quiet as Kyoko placed down a small book.
“Sorry I took so long to return it. I know it was your favorite.”
Can stones mull over something? She would like to think that Yui is still thinking about what to say. Her answer was probably stuffed inside of another file in the Detective Library. She was always difficult like that.
…
She is.