It was a balmy spring afternoon; cherry blossoms fluttered down, littering the pathway to the small gravesite behind the Naganaki Shrine. The sunlight was gently showering itself in its golden decadence against a certain whitewashed gravestone. The silence was finally broken with the arrival of a hard-faced man in his trademark maroon pea coat. He walked briskly towards it, before stopping abruptly at the foot of the grave.

After realizing the truth of what she had died for, after seeing how idiotic he was when he failed to attend her farewell, he stood idly in front of her grave, thinking of what words to say.

Yet, It was obvious he didn't want to be here. No, not in this place that reeked of the sickeningly sweet scent of osmanthus. There were a hundred other places that he could've thought of to spend his day, yet after being pressed incessantly by Akihiko and the others to finally pay his respects, here he was. Removing his beanie out of respect, his brown hair brushed against his cheeks as the wind held it in its caress. He had dissuaded the others from accompanying him, but to what point? Privacy was what he wanted, and now that he had it, he found it too much to bear.

He was Shinjiro Aragaki; he was someone who wouldn't take shit from anyone, but in her presence, he could only stutter or remain quiet. He could only listen to her cheerful, upbeat voice. It was the same, even now. Thinking back on it, he had tried to dissuade her from getting close to him, but in the end, she had gotten her way. Her persistence was one of her highlights. He… should have died back then, on October 4th. He was a part of the past, he was supposed to die. He was prepared to die.

But she saved him.

She saved him, just by loving him. He hated that, yet he loved her back at the same time. He loved her quirks, and admittedly her smile. He would never say it aloud, but he loved the way she called his name, when she would spend hours just being near him… but for several weeks now and most likely forever, he would never hear her call his name again.

"Oh? Whom might we have here?"

Shinjiro heaved a sigh before putting up his well practiced façade. Turning around, he saw someone who he could only classify as a 'freak'. A pale skinned, platinum blond man with yellow eyes in a navy blue suit stood before him, with a piqued look on his face. If not for such a thing called 'self control', Shinjiro wouldn't have hesitated to wipe the smug look off of his face with the floor.

"…What do you want?" Shinjiro asked brusquely.

"I am here for the same reason you might be." He said calmly, with a nonchalant tone. "This… is what you humans do your dead, correct? Pray? To tell the deceased of their progressions through the arduous journey they call 'life'?"

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Ah, forgive me if it sounds like I have been waxing nothing but lyrical nonsense." He said apologetically. "You see, this is the first time I have chosen to leave without my master's permission or the escort of the young woman who sleeps beneath that impressive slab of marble." With a brief pause, he shook his head with a knowing smile. "No, that would be incorrect to say, wouldn't it?"

This caught Shinjiro off guard. With a perplexed expression, he blinked at the stranger several times before asking, "You know what happened her?"

He nodded. "Why yes. You do know what became of her as well, correct?" He asked in affirmation with a nostalgic look. "…She… is someone of great importance to me. Make no mistake that she could never be mine. Alas, her heart always belonged to someone else…"

Shinjiro was extremely confused. How did he know what happened to her if the only ones who learned of her fate were those who were trapped in the Abyss of time? Frowning, he recalled seeing the platinum blond somewhere before…

"You… you were in that weird elevator in the end after Aigis used the key." Shinjiro finally said.

"Indeed. I'm surprised you remembered such a small detail." He chuckled a bit to himself before sighing contently. "However, that has nothing to do with my business here. I have left that place for the reason of beginning a new journey of my own accord; one I have chosen for myself!" He said proudly.

Shinjiro merely blinked. "And you're starting here of all places?"

"Why yes! You see… a long time before, she lent me a book of hers. It was a request of mine actually." He said contently, tapping his finger against the smaller book on his person. "It has long fulfilled its purpose to me, but I never got a chance to return it to her. Since she is not tangibly here at this moment, I'd like to return it to the person she held dear. That would be you, correct?"

"You've got me mistaken for someone else." Shinjiro said dismissively as he thrust his hands into his pockets. "Go give that to Aki, or someone else who needs it."

"It seems to me that no one else needs that book more than you do, sir." His yellow eyes stared unwaveringly at Shinjiro as he held the book out to him. "It's not my place to say, but I imagine she would prefer it that way."

That got him. Staring warily at the book, Shinjiro took it deftly out of the blond's waiting hand before asking curtly, "… Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"Theodore. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance." He bowed his head slightly before turning his gaze at Shinjiro again. "This marks the first step of my journey, you see. I can't say I'll know when I'll be able to step foot at this gravesite again, nor will I know how long this perilous excursion will take, but, I choose this fate of my own free will."

"…Again, what the hell are you going on about?"

"That… has no need of your concern." Theodore replied with a slight smirk. "I only hope that the people who are dear to her wish for the same thing I do as well. Perhaps it wouldn't be out of the way, to say that she's watching over all of us at this very moment…"

"…What are you talking about?" Shinjiro asked hotly, feeling his calloused hands ball themselves up into fists. "How can you talk about her that way? She's dead…"

"Is that so? I don't believe that at all." He replied eccentrically. "Perhaps, one day, you'll see the truth. Even if you've seen the fate she has undergone and deemed her 'dead', I believe strongly that she's waiting for the day that you won't need her anymore. Her soul is alive in the hearts of those she touched… wouldn't it make her sad if you, the person she held dearly the most, forgot about her? If you have sentiments to say, by all means, let them be heard! Let her hear them!"

"What the fuck would you know? I…" Shinjiro began to say, but for naught. He found himself at a loss for words. Instead of countering or waiting for his temper to get the better of him, Shinjiro turned around and left the gravesite post haste without looking back.

When he returned to the complex where he and Akihiko were roommates, the silver haired boxer was content to see that Shinjiro had finally went and paid his respects. Of course, Shinjiro knew that nothing of the sort had taken place. He had his pride hurt by some egotistical yellow eyed freak, and as a result, he had thrown the book on the coffee table where it had remained untouched.

Still, what Theodore told him bothered him. Would Shinjiro be lying to himself if he said that she was alive? What the hell did he know anyway? He didn't know the feeling of having her die in his arms, to feel her breathing stop and her body go limp. He had never realized how heavy she was until he felt her body relax itself in his arms… She always knew how to hold herself up, but once it was apparent that she would not open her eyes, he was hit by despair.

She had died with a smile on her face, and he couldn't understand that- even after all this time. Was she happy that she died? Was she smiling so he wouldn't cry? Shinjiro snorted to himself.

He hadn't shed a single tear for her. Despite that he wanted to, he couldn't allow his emotions to get the better of him. Not when he helplessly stood by as the orphanage burned down all those years ago, not when he waited silently by Akihiko's side as he cried at her viewing, not even when he caught Ken waiting for hours outside of her empty room, expecting her to come out. No, he refused to cry, even when alone. It was his way of being strong.

After hours of deliberation (or lying down on the couch), he picked up the book he had thrown earlier that day, and left the apartment to get some fresh air. Absentmindedly, he found himself at the same spot he had been standing on hours ago, staring at the now moonlit gravesite. It was surprisingly cold, despite it being spring.

That prick he had ran into earlier, Theodore, was no where in sight. Sighing with relief, he tightened his grip on the book, since he had nothing else to vent his frustration on. Why did he bring the stupid thing anyway? Grumbling, he gave the grave a hard, long look.

If there was a time to prove his love, it would be now. He had to choose his words carefully.

"…Hey." Shinjiro croaked, his voice a rigid whisper. "…I…" He stopped again, and scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Everyone… misses you. Fuck, even I do… and that's saying a lot." He began to say, imagining her laughing face if he had said that in front of her. Was this any different? Summing up his courage, he began speaking slowly once more.

"…Aki and Kirijo are in college now. Your friends- hell if I know their names- are doing well too, if it matters. Ken and Koro-chan… miss you a lot… Dammit…" He frowned, as he found himself clenching his empty hand again. "But I bet you already know all this, huh? They visit you a lot more than I do…"

Shinjiro heaved a sigh as he continued.

"Shit. Shit! What the hell am I saying… I don't even know what I'm talking about. You always knew everything. You always knew what to say, what to do, you knew how to lead, to fight, you could do just about anything… and you chose to kill yourself- no, sacrifice yourself just to save US? There were thousands of things you could have done, yet you- GODDAMN IT!" He yelled in his frustration. Shinjiro began shaking with anger after receiving no response but the sounds of the deafeningly quiet night. He waited for minutes that seemed like hours, before allowing his hands to slacken and release, causing the book to fall out of his hand. Shinjiro followed the suit by collapsing on his knees in front of the grave, still staring at his dim reflection in the marble.

"…Don't be so quiet." He murmured as he stared helplessly at the moonlit grave. "…Say something. You're supposed to be the talkative one, not me."

Again, he received no response.

"You… you're… I… just can't believe you're gone. No, I know you're dead- no, wait, let me rephrase that dammit." He cringed. "… I know where you are, and It's impossible for you to ever come back. Did you plan to leave this all of us this… pain… after you went and did what you did? Did you want this? Answer me, you idiot…"

Laughing mirthlessly to himself, Shinjiro lowered his head in his despair to see that the book he had dropped had opened. A platinum bookmark lay nestled in between the pages, glinting with the light of the moon. The damn thing's too flashy for her tastes, he thought with a slight scoff as he picked the book off of the ground. He stopped as soon as he laid eyes on the title. He stared long and hard and page, his eyes widened as he read the passage slowly.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I did not die.

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

…It was a poem. It was his answer. Whether if she had planned this or not, he didn't care. Alone in the quiet moonlight, in the world free from the dark hour, he silently broke down and pulled his beanie over his eyes, and clutched the book to his chest. For the first in an extremely long time, he cried cold, copious tears.