This Is Not a Tragedy

32 | Reunion

Tall, pale, rain dripping from the ends of brown, dishevelled wavy hair, he stands with one hand in his pocket and the other loosely holding a single red rose. He lifts his head and turns to gaze towards me with eyes I see in the mirror every day.

A smirk forms on his lips. "Long time no see," he says in Japanese. He looks back at the grave and finishes in a mutter, "Katana Natsu."

Never before in my life have I been filled with so many different emotions at once. Confusion. Horror. Fury. Disgust. Animosity. Relief. Pain. Offense. Weakness. Embarrassment. Shame. And so many others that I can't name.

I'm at a complete loss for words. What could I possibly say to this man who I have not spoken to in fourteen years? To this man who dares to visit the grave of the woman he abandoned? The woman he killed?

Yet he's silent too. As if he doesn't know what to say either. We both stand frozen like statues. He looks not a day older than when I last saw him. The longer I stare, the angrier I become, knowing that my reflection truly is a close mirror of his.

After some excruciatingly long minutes, he finally says, "I'm surprised you haven't hit me yet," with a sad or perhaps sarcastic smile.

"What would I gain from that?" I retort. When my attempts at looking cold and uncaring fail, I try to make my involuntary glare radiate a hatred that he can't think is childish. One he will take seriously.

He looks towards me again. In a second, his smile fades and reappears. I now notice the dark circles under his eyes and the grey undertone of his skin. He looks older than when I last saw him.

"I wish you would hit me," he mumbles.

"I won't give you the satisfaction," I snap, my voice louder than I anticipated. "Why are you here?"

"If I tell you... will you promise not to respond for at least a minute?"

My eyes narrow. "You want to make a deal with me?" I ask, appalled.

He shrugs. "It's just a small one."

I take a deep breath and swallow. "Why are you here?"

His eyes shift to my mother's grave. "I loved her."

Now I know why he wanted me to wait to respond. He wants me to think over what he said because he knows all the accusations I can throw at him after hearing that remark. I give him that minute, counting the seconds in my head. Somewhere around 60, his eyes roll back to me, narrowed in something similar to a wince as if braced for an attack.

"And she loved you. That's why she's dead."

His widened eyes show he didn't expect that response. They relax as he replies, "Mn. That's right, eh?"

He lifts the rose between the grave and his gaze. A drop of blood slides down his palm. The rain drips from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt, the shirt's collar, the tip of his nose, the dark strands of his hair, and his eyelashes. His eyes, heavy with pain, focus on the bouquet of white roses already carefully laid under the engraving of my mother's name. I see that pain and my empathetic quality grips it.

The sky purrs.

He places the red rose atop the white ones. "I loved you both."

The rain murmurs.

I don't know how much time passes, but I've gotten used to our deafening silence and the deafening chatter of nature and don't even realize the words that come out of my mouth until they're already in the air. "Past tense?"

"Well, I've lost you both."

A thought automatically comes to my mind: 'I'm still here.' "Yeah," I say aloud, despite that thought. "I don't need you."

"I know."

I push the empathetic thoughts away, bury them, refuse to let them change me.

"So you're going vampire hunting?"

"Hunting?!"

He chuckles. "Ah, that's what we call it for fun."

Sounds like sick fun.

"Good luck."

I don't reply.

"Have you and Amara grown close?"

"Eh?" Nina? Why is he asking?

"If you fall in love, a vampire would be best."

Is he serious? I give him a disdainful look. "You're giving me love advice? You of all people?"

"Because it's me."

I frown.

"Ah, speaking of..." He gestures with his thumb behind him. "You have someone waiting to see you."

I turn in the direction he points and far away through the cascade of rain, I see a black figure sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs. Who?

"I'm glad you've made friends. They're life's most valuable things in rough times. Cut Sergius some slack, okay?" He flashes a small smirk, "Then..." and takes a step away from the grave. "Then." Right as he walks past me, he whispers, "son."

I roll my eyes. Cunning bastard. I stomp over to Mom's grave and drop the umbrella to clap my hands together.

'Mom, I'm doing well. Sorry he showed up. But I hope he gave you a suitable apology. I'll forgive him if you want. Or if you want, I'll hate him for the rest of my life. Let me know.'

I pause, waiting for some sign, but get none and close my eyes again. 'Well, okay―Oh, being half-vampire isn't so bad. So silly, you worried for nothing. But thanks for doing your best. Sorry, I didn't bring flowers.' I came in a daze, and it didn't cross my mind. 'But looks like you got enough.' I peek down at the bouquet of roses. 'Well, I suppose you can't decide whether to forgive him that quickly either.'

Hearing the tweet of a bird, I open my eyes to notice the rain has abruptly stopped. I half expect the clouds to part and rays of sun to shine down, but the sky remains gray. Coincidence, right? I hope to god that's not my mother because I'm not ready for another type of supernatural. 'Then, until next time,' I tell Mom in parting, then stand up and close the umbrella. Gazing back towards that figure on the stairs, I make my way over.

As I get closer, I see their face is between their knees, arms wrapped around their legs. The frame is small. A woman?

Hearing my footsteps splash in the puddles, she lifts her head, but I still can't see her face behind the hood of her jacket. She shoots up but ends up tripping, hands and knees smacking onto the wet ground.

I freeze in my tracks as it sinks in.

Head lifted, eyes sparkling. "A-ah..." Twitching legs.

As I take a step closer, he gives in and closes the distance between us, the momentum blowing the hood off his head as his small, rain-soaked body slams into mine. "Natsu-senpai!"

I'm frozen. His damp, dirty hands grip my shirt.

Finally, I wrap my arms around his small shoulders.

Hitori.