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He wishes he could forget and move on, for the dead no longer speak or move.
But maybe… just maybe…
These flowers would be seen as a sign of respect and nothing more. No one would know what they were really meant for.
With a head full of thoughts, he heads for a flower shop he found a little absurd considering most customers were teenagers buying bunches for their lovers and whatnot… and certainly not for people 6 feet under.
Kiyoharu almost snorts at the irony. Here was the living celebrating each other’s existence and instead he was mourning someone dead.
You, of course. Who else?
By the time he understood his complicated feelings, your mutilated corpse was the last memory he had with you. If he had known that was the last of it… what could’ve changed before your demise?
“Hey. If you survive, then you just move on to the next case. That’s all there is to it.”
So when his eyes landed on that figure stained in unforgivable crimson, he bit back his words.
One hand jammed into his pocket, the door opens with a ring as he steps inside the shop. This time, it was a lot emptier than all the other days he passed by.
Good grief. What would you have wanted if you were here?
Today, the store lacks nice flowers. Those damn highschoolers must have taken them already.
—
The weather still consisted of layers of mist coating all over the cemetery. There was one gravestone more polished and refined than the rest.
It was a couple weeks after you were curse-killed. Kiyoharu held back visiting under the excuse of his occupations or paperwork… but hiding was pathetic. Best he comes up front and personal with his feelings rather than lock ‘em away forever.
Did people talk to graves? He considered talking for a moment; yet the thought seemed incredulous.
Wind blowing through his hair and coat, his stance was stiff. Tired. He slumped his shoulders slightly to stare at the ground, not knowing where to begin.
By now, any normal person passing by would think he was talking to his dead wife or his girlfriend… or whatever wild imaginations they could make up.
“You know, what I said that day…” words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. Kiyoharu sighed, and continued.
“I didn’t mean any of it seriously. It was just a detached way of life.”
What was there to even say? Should he even bring up your death? Would you be offended? For all he knew, you were probably cursing out his name for letting you die.
Either way, he couldn’t ignore visiting here forever.
“...Along the way, during our partnership. The way I had seen you changed. Whenever you looked at me, you didn’t feel like a companion. Not an assistant. More like..”
Like what?
“Geez, I don’t…” he inhaled sharply, “…I don’t know entirely. Because, my heart pounded whenever I saw you.”
Kiyoharu waits for his head to swirl with unfamiliar regret or dizziness. At least something in him to murmur a snarky comment on his uncalled for feelings. Who knew he’d be spewing such nonsense? Nothing was normal about this situation he found himself in. Foreign pain throbbed in his throat and he nearly struggled with his words, something no one has ever caused.
“I shouldn’t have let you die, by yourself.”
All his instincts screamed at him to forget everything and run away. But he couldn’t move, deadened eyes wavering over that damned tombstone that shouldn’t have your name etched on it, or your body 6 feet underneath.
“..I’m sorry. It took me forever to say this.”
The cursebreaker pauses, realizing something about the scene in front of him.
Your flowers are vibrant red, just like your blood.
“Rest well.”
Smiling bitterly, he slung his lab coat over his shoulder.
Even if it wasn’t a direct confession.
—
Kiyoharu is completely different for the next few weeks.
He avoided snapping at people, priding upon himself, as a matter of fact he barely even talked to anyone…
None of them compared to the person he failed to save that day. None.
Even when facing the victory of his new cases, it all felt bitter on his tongue. Though, no one really bothers to ask why considering it was too matter-of-factly.
Right now, Kiyoharu was helping to clear out your office for the next person.
Initially, he wanted to bite back at the manager “Can’t you just leave it how it is?” He holds his tongue instead, for no one has ever caused him to have this silly suggestion. Maybe his composure is ruined more than he realizes. But he wouldn’t mind you coming back to ruin it even more, if it meant he got to see you.
…Occasional polaroid films here and there, a detailed murder bulletin behind him, and some creepy vials he gifted to you as a joke.
He doesn’t want to clear it out.
Like living or dreaming with the false hope you were alive and well.
But he has to…
One at a time, Kiyoharu collects the polaroid films to set aside. Running a hand through his hair, he pulls out the pins on the board. Just about everything in this room reminded him of the person he should’ve confessed to, but didn’t.
The least Kiyoharu can do is wear a miserable smile here and there to savor what was left. Appreciate while it lasts, even when it’s already over.
Except, he can’t smile anymore. It only fuels the hole in his chest.
After several minutes, the office that was once yours was erased clean from sight and organized neatly into boxes. All that was left were four, empty walls for the next person.
Hopefully you didn’t mind too much.
His heart ached for someone who can’t see it anymore.
…Not that he can do much. Because if it was one way to remember, he’ll savor every last memory.