Title: Wildflower (Part 6 of Torrent) - Chapter 2
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just another piece inspired by Kazuya Minekura's delicious boys.
Summary: "Bloom where you're planted." A long-overdue songfic of random ruminations by four souls bound by fate. Part 6 of the Torrent series.
"Take the gentle path." – George Herbert
"I love your hands."
Such a simple sentence, and it tears me apart.
I almost cannot believe that such happiness is now mine – pure happiness in your eloquent eyes the same color as my own… reverent awe at your face, almost the exact mirror of mine and yet a thousand times more beautiful… overwhelming joy in your laughter, and your always-present smile, and your soft voice so gentle and sweet… incredible bliss sharing your bed, and even more bliss sharing a home with you… and simple comfort just lying in your arms, knowing I belong somewhere at last.
Knowing I belong to someone.
Knowing I'm finally home.
I sometimes feel like I don't deserve any of this – and not only because of the unusual fact that you are technically my long-lost older twin. No, that has ceased to matter a long time ago; and you and I both silently agree that it is just an unfortunate circumstance, an ironic twist of fate to discover that we are in fact connected that way. It doesn't bear the same "shame", the same stigma, as having been aware of the familial kinship all along.
We fell in love not regardless of the fact, but honestly unaware of it, which is why it makes no difference to us now. Right, my love? We just don't talk about it, because it doesn't matter, having grown up apart, having developed into who we are at present separate from each other.
I just love you. That is all. I believe in soulmates; and perhaps there was some good in getting separated as we did, so we had a chance to find each other and fall in love without the guilt of the blood tie.
And not even discovering the truth of the matter is enough to taint the purity of what lies between us. I cannot feel guilty when this feels so very right.
Am I rationalizing, perhaps? Trying to find justification for our unusual relationship? No. I only mean to emphasize the union of our souls, of a bond so deep that it transcends all worldly connections. I truly feel that our love is so special that the world, if they knew, could find in their hearts to forgive us for that one unfortunate detail – yes, to forgive us, if not to understand.
I am not ashamed that you are in fact my sister. I don't have trouble reconciling it with you being my lover too; because I was your lover first before we ever found out the truth. And that is how I always think of you – as my lover. I'm not seeking to deny anything; nor am I ignoring the truth and pretending it's not there.
I'm just too blind; too consumed with you, Kanan the person, to even pay attention to anything else. You don't feel like a "sister" to me – and I believe that I don't feel like a "brother" to you. Given the circumstances of our pasts – those are just words to us now. In fact, I sometimes wonder if life didn't hand us a second chance, when the unfortunate accident happened and we were sent off to different orphanages. That way, our souls had the chance to come together without any knowledge of the earthly ties we had been born into.
And that is the crucial thing that makes all the difference.
We fell in love guilelessly. Innocently. And that is why our love now still remains pure, even with that inconvenient "truth".
No, that is not what worries me. The guilt I feel comes from the person I used to be – so cynical, so jaded, so disillusioned with the world. Yeah, right. Precious illusions, that's what they were. I used to be so angry – and it was the type of silent, brooding anger that drove everyone away from me.
I hated everything. I hated the orphanage that took me in, I hated the schools that vied with each other to take me as a scholar, I hated the carefree laughter of the other children, I hated God for taking away everything I had, and most of all I hated myself for being so weak, for relishing the self-imposed suffering I inflicted on myself by refusing to recognize all the other choices that were available to me.
I hated myself for befriending pain and refusing to let it go.
You see, it was all I knew.
Until you came.
You, who taught me how to smile.
How to forgive. To forgive fate, to forgive God, to forgive myself.
You, who awakened the better half of me, and how you marvel that I could have been anything other than the gentle man that you know now.
Looking back at that bitter little boy, I can scarcely believe that it used to be me. Your love has even the power to make me forget that those dark days ever existed.
I began to live only when I met you.
And now, lying in your arms, in our little home, with all our plans and dreams for the future – I can only pray that life won't take you from me again.
Looking into your emerald eyes, I see spring. I see renewal, and rebirth, and hope. New beginnings.
Surely I've paid for those years of anger and resentment by the very solitude they brought me.
Surely the world understands about us… and fate will be kind enough to forgive us for choosing to love each other, despite who we are.
Surely I've paid my karmic debts. Surely life will require no more of me.
All I want is to be together with you, for the rest of our lives.
"I love your hands…"
It is your quietness, your mildness, your kindness, that has imparted gentleness to these hands. Your love has gentled me, you have soothed my pain and quieted this restless soul. You have made me over, until I do not know how to be anything but this mild, simple man, so content, so happy.
And I swear to Heaven, these hands will do anything to keep you.
"That monster's child lives inside of me…"
"It's too late now…"
Didn't I swear it? Didn't I promise I'd do anything to keep you? These hands – these gentle hands that not so long ago you called 'pretty' – do you see how they are bathed in blood? All for you.
Anything for you!
Those can't be your final words… that can't be your last smile… this cannot be the very last time I look into your eyes--!
The sickening sound of metal tearing into flesh, the awful gurgling noise of life pouring out of the fatal wound… How is it that I only hear them now? How come the horror of death only dawns on me now, as I watch the light fading from those eyes that I love so much, why only now, after the river of blood I have left behind me…?
Only now that you are gone from me, dying before my very eyes, do I come to my senses and realize the trail of dead bodies I left in my wake to get to you.
Only now does my conscience come back to me – do their lives mean any less than yours, simply because I live only for you?
And now I don't have a reason to exist anymore, and I have no excuses for the terrible weight of the sins I have committed this night.
But above all that – and salvation be damned anyway – you are gone from me. Gone, forever, with no hope of reunion, no more second chances, and only endings are left to me now.
My spring has turned into endless winter.
And I cannot begin to imagine how I can bear the loss of you.
My screams cannot even pierce the echoing emptiness that is now my world. Even the terrible pain I feel makes no difference to the void, the blankness you have left behind.
My world, without you.
Somebody… Anybody… I beg you…
Somebody kill me.
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
"Resume" by Dorothy Parker
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