The Crimson Lotus

"Come, Maddie-chan, the water is not so bad." He was smiling, and his eyes, void of the eyeliner that had surrounded them when she'd seen him last, were brilliant. He held out his hand, and she took it, laughing as she did so, smiling as he pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. His lips found her forehead, and she hugged him tight, smiling as he touched her hair, resisting the urge to look up at him as he sighed against her skin. "You are so beautiful, Maddie," he whispered, and he touched her face, gazing down into her eyes.

She almost ruffled his red hair. "And you. Except it truly is a travesty that the eyeliner had to go..." Her smile was coy, and he turned his head so that his lips could gently kiss the ring on her third finger. "Although you and wet hair might not be so bad." He grinned at her, and she closed her eyes as they kissed. His mouth was soft on hers, and from the way that his hands shifted on her waist, she knew that he loved her. His hands pressed lovingly onto her hips, and he pulled away from the kiss so that he could smile at her, his eyes shining.

"Ashiteru," he murmured, and held her face in his hands, his cold wedding band pressing into her cheek. "Ashiteru, ashiteru, ashiteru." He was still smiling, and his fingertips, comforting on her cheek, barely grazed her brown locks as he adjusted them to pull her into a softer, longer-lasting kiss. He felt the longing pulling at his insides fade away, and he felt a satisfaction that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Her hands rested on his waist, and he felt happy.

"Ready?" She nodded, and he let his hands slip from her face, folding one around one of hers, smiling over at her as he led her to the end of the dock. "Close your eyes." Two pairs of eyes drifted closed. "San...ni...iti...rei." They jumped together, their bodies meeting the water, and he let go of her hand.

They resurfaced, and she closed the distance between them. "You're right. It's never as bad as it looks." The water should have been freezing. She should have been shaking from cold, from fear. She hated the water. But not in his arms. He made her feel better, and he knew that there should have been symbolism in her words. He knew that she shouldn't be here, that she shouldn't be in his arms, that she should be somewhere else- someplace colder, someplace awkward, and someplace uncaring.

He knew this couldn't be real. He kissed her again, his arms around her waist, hers at his neck, and he knew they shouldn't still be afloat. They should have been sinking by now, something should have gone wrong. "Ashiteru," he whispered, and to her, he sounded suddenly broken. He sounded far away.

He sounded all wrong.

The tears were uncontrollable when he realized that it had all been a dream, a fabrication of his hopes, a lie created by his mind. He held his face in his hands, at the edge of his bed now, and the tears fell from his face. He could not feel this way, no, not after a week, not after so few days of being around her. He could not wish for the things he dreamed about. It was wrong of him to ask God for the things he wanted to request.

What was this thing that he had begun to feel? Love? No, not possible. Absolutely not. The girl was seventeen, three weeks from her eighteenth birthday. She was too young to be entrapped by a man of his age. He was twenty-seven and undeserving of such a pure heart to claim as his. He could not ask for her. He could not. She had three months left, so why was she changing him so? Why was the fact that she knew she was going to die so soon impacting him so much? How could a girl with no hopes other than a single track capture his attention so unwillingly, asking for almost nothing from him?

What was this need that he felt? Why had that dream been so troublesome? Why?

The flow of his tears intensified as he realized he couldn't answer his own questions. And yet, Nakigahara played on, uncaring, unaware, unstopped. The sound of the music made him feel worse, and he thought that he had never been as broken as this, no matter how unexplainable the feelings were. Stop it, no, it's not right, you can't ask for this. But still he cried more.

No, Takanori, you cannot be so sad. She cannot mean this much. Iie, iie iie. You cannot feel this way.

And then he felt angry. Angry at the God that had done this. Angry at the higher power that was ruining Maddie's body and taking her hope away. The tears dripping from his eyes became hot, and he curled his fingers against his skin, his nails pressing down, the muscles in his arms tensing, his lips tight, the knot in his throat keeping him silent, the short sobs becoming coughs of anger. He hated God. He hated him. Seventeen-year-old girls should not go through this pain...

"Iie."

His hands shifted to his hair, pulling frustratedly at the strands, his mouth opening, releasing a silent cry of agony.

He could not understand why he felt this way. He could not understand why it felt so wrong to him, so foreign, so unwelcome. He glanced at his phone, hopefully almost, wishing that she would call, telling him she couldn't sleep, telling him that her dreams were as disturbing as his had been, pleading with him in that weak whisper of hers to make it all be okay.

But the call never came. Maddie was sleeping without trouble. Maddie was content, Maddie was fine.

And suddenly, Ruki knew that she was more important to him than she had been when he'd entered her hospital room that first day. Slowly he pulled his hands from his hair, and he slid them down his face, his features contorting, becoming agonized.

I love a dying girl.

He shifted on his bed so that he could lie on his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, wrapping his arms around it. He was not the rock star that so many idolized- he was an anguished man of twenty-seven, waiting for a resolution. It didn't feel right to him, he wasn't satisfied with identifying his feelings. He felt pain. Undeniably, this was emotional pain tearing him apart. And this was emotional pain that did not belong - he was supposed to be utterly strong all the time because Maddie needed him.

Wrong, all wrong. Awkward, unwelcome, unneeded, were these feelings. Wrong, wrong, wrong. No, he could not feel this. He could not ask that of her...he couldn't fathom asking a dying fan something like that.

But what was the question? What was the thing he sought for so much? What was the want that so troubled his mind?

He groaned as he shifted on the bed. There were too many questions. There was too much insecurity. There was too much pain swirling around in his head. He closed his eyes, no longer feeling like the Ruki that so many fans adored, and forced himself back into slumber, shutting out his thoughts, desperately silencing the small voices in his mind that said 'no'.

Uncaringly and unresponsively, the depression in the final words of Nakigahara played on.

In her hospital room, lying on her bed, Maddie stared blankly at the window, picturing Ruki, her favorite musician, the man that had given up three months of his life for her, asleep soundly in his bed, because that was what she hoped for. She hoped that her sickness wasn't hurting him. She hoped that when she was discharged and robbed of her last inch of hope, he wouldn't end up going back to his hotel room broken up about it inside.

She didn't know how troubled the last few hours had been, how unsettling his peaceful dreams had been, and she was regretfully unaware of what he really thought. She wanted to know. She wanted him to love her. She wanted him to know that for six years, the only band she'd followed so loyally had been his. She wanted him to know that of every musician in the world, he was the one whose hand she would want to be holding while drawing in her final breath. She wanted him to know that because of him, she became slightly less and less afraid of dying every day.

He had to know. He had to realize that any sort of love was what she wanted- her mother had no hope for her, and there was little compassion in the nurses as they poked and prodded her with their needles for their daily tests. It almost hurt her to think that he did not. The idea of him being unknowing of her secret wants was too much to bear- she'd said she wanted him as a friend, and that was true, but...was it so wrong that she wanted him as the last person to look into her eyes before she died?

She shook her head, wiping her face of the sweat that covered it.

She was a teenager. She'd never matter. She had no right to expect to be important. She'd already asked so much of him.

"I love you," she whispered into the empty room, her eyes closed just for this. "I wish you knew, I really do. I wish you knew everything, and..." Her voice drifted off when she realized that she couldn't voice her wants, not even here. The walls were too open, they would hold her secrets in and then reveal them to the people she didn't want to know. She felt insecure, unsure, saddened, frustrated, and everything in between.

But she couldn't call Ruki. She couldn't always bother him to make herself feel better. That was too selfish. His voice was still clear in her head, and that was enough. She leaned back against the pillow, her head tilting back, her eyes remaining closed, her hand resting on her forehead. She felt drained of energy, as though she had nothing left, and that was the only reason she went back to sleep.

Morning would come. Morning would save her. Morning would save him. Morning would put her at ease. Morning would bring him back to her. Morning would make his insecurities disappear. Morning would make it all better. There had to be hope.