Izumizu, "Death day"
loosely set in an au @sadhoc and I talked about. Izumi visits Mizutani's grave on the anniversary of his death.
Izumizu, T, 787 words, major character death
The cemetery is, of course, inconvenient to get to. Kousuke could easily ask for a lift, but he’d much rather get there when the Mizutani family is long gone. Not that he dislikes them, he’s just always found grief to be a very private kind of emotion.
It’s raining, bitter February chill creeping its way under the collar of his coat. The guy couldn’t have had the decency to kick it in June, of course, when it would at least have been warm. Still, it does set the mood better than birdsong and dappled sunlight.
Kousuke collects a pail of water and tromps down the orderly lines of tombs, barely paying attention to the familiar path. He swings around an ostentatiously dark granite edifice; a few steps more, and he’s finally there.
Fresh flowers are arranged carefully in the vases, the area already meticulously tidied and weeded. Another advantage to showing up late. He clears ash out of the incense holder, its scent still lingering like a heavy blanket even though it has long gone cold and mixed with the rain into a loose sludge. Getting his own stick lit is an ordeal of cursing and burnt fingers, but eventually, he jams the smoldering thing into place.
Kousuke sits back on his heels, then, giving up completely on staying dry, settles back on his ass with one knee cocked, regarding the stone marker coolly. Sighing, he reaches into his bag, and pulls out a couple canned coffees.
“Hey. You guys know I’m just here for that guy, so don’t take it personally. I’m sure you were great, didn’t know you, don’t care.” He blinks rain out of his eyes, opening the cans and setting one next to the array of snacks on a ledge. “I know you never really got the taste for it, but it’s cold out here. Got you one that’s 90% sugar, at least.” He taps his own can against the stationary one, then takes a sip. It’s just barely more than lukewarm at this point, but it’s something.
His eyes flick to the wooden stake with the most recent date, then back to a package of yogurt candies. Three years. Basically yesterday. Basically an eternity in a young life, something he still has. The memories still come far too easily: the smell of the sickroom, the papery feel of his skin, the soft rhythmic rasp of the ventilator. Kousuke has tried so hard to cling to the rest of it, the Before, and when he does talk to his friends about it, or to Fumiki’s sister and parents, he focuses on that. But in his own head, it’s just watching that stupid daisy-printed sheet rise and fall and waiting for it to stop.
Kousuke grimaces, shaking his head. He digs in his bag again, pulling out his earbuds, hesitating a second before shaking them admonishingly at the grave. “If these get ruined because you couldn’t hang on until a drier time of year…” He slides one into his ear, tucking the other under a package of okonomiyaki-flavoured chips, then wakes up his phone, tapping through to a playlist that’s still pinned to the top of the list.
EDM has no real business in a place like this but it’s perfect for drowning out ghosts. He’s not even really sure he likes it, but Fumiki did. Fingers twitching or head rolling slightly on the pillow after he’d lost the ability to really move with it, still borne up by the familiar tides of sound. Gave him something else to focus on, outside of the husk he had become.
They had watched a concert together on the TV, a sea of little lights and flailing bodies thumping in time with a shared heartbeat. Fumiki had talked about going to one together someday, even as he leaned on Kousuke’s shoulder with a boneless exhaustion that would not be refreshed by sleep.
“I got something else for you.” Even alone, he feels his heart thump, his cheeks warm. “It’s late, but I wasn’t coming out here twice in one month.” He snatches the small packet out of his bag hurriedly, almost throwing it at the grave, then swipes his hand across his nose to wipe away water and cover his mouth. “It’s probably for the best you can’t eat them, ran out of time to do a practice run.” He looks up with a sudden grin. “Found a mould with baseballs, so you can have a reminder of how much you sucked at that.”
Kousuke’s grin fades, his shoulders sagging. He grabs his cold coffee, tilting the can towards the grave. “Anyway. Happy Valentine’s Day. Happy belated birthday. And happy death day. Here’s to many, many more.”
