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Necrophilia	By : Saranwyn Category: +G to L > Junjou Romantica (Junj? Romanchika) > Junjou Romantica (Junj? Romanchika) Views: 3440 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Junjo Romantica or any of the characters! I do not profit from these fanfictions!

Chapter List
- 1-Necrophilia
- 2-Red
- 3-Despondency
- 4-Voice
- 5-Death
- 6-Cold
- 7-Mine
- 8-Snow
- 9-End
- 4
- 5
- 6
April 23, 2006 – Writer’s Journal Entry 1,126
Don’t leave me alone!
Embrace me for eternity, heedless
As the world spins on.
Take my hand, and never let go.
How else am I to survive?
It has been ages since I last wrote an acrostic poem…my last was in middle school, I think. They’re cheesy and over all pretty superficial, but this one wrote itself. It seemed like I was somehow talking about Misaki, then. It’s been thirty-four hours since he left. I haven’t slept, at all. I haven’t done much of anything else either. I can’t understand how one boy can come into my life and have this much impact. I hadn’t realized how much light he brought, but now he’s gone. He didn’t say when – or if – he’d be back. He didn’t take anything with him, but then again, I also found him with nothing. Who is that woman? How does she know Misaki? Why did he go with her? Isn’t he the one that came to me? I didn’t ask for him to come become my drug. But he did. He came and with his smiles and tears and innocence, I started to need him just to keep going…
My mind and heart have been in agony so long, I still can’t feel the pain of his loss. I can feel the apathy that had slowly begun to recede now filling me again. But I’m numb. I need something. I need to feel…I need to feel something.
Akihiko shut his journal. He knew that train of thought – he’d followed it before and it had ended in several years’ worth of scars on his arms. The desolate skeleton of a man let his eyes drift shut, recalling distinctly the feeling of what used to be his “favorite hobby.” It wasn’t pleasure – nothing nearly as sweet – but relief, like somehow that physical pain released the torture of his soul.
He stood up. It didn’t matter, anyways. Takahiro had left him, and now Misaki was gone, too. No one would know. Why not indulge himself. His feet carried him to the kitchen. The whole world felt surreal and hazy. Hands moved of their own accord to open a drawer and take out a knife he vaguely recalled Misaki said was used to fillet fish. Pushing the thought from his head, the author took it over to the counter and rolled up his right sleeve, settling his arm over the sink. He hated leaving a mess of blood he’d have to clean up later. Eyes riveted to the pale, scarred flesh of his right forearm, Akihiko drew a thin red line across it with the tip of the knife. His breath came in sharp with pain and left deep with relief.
That familiar feeling of dismal appreciation wrapped its arms around him like an old friend. It took ahold of the knife and drew zig-zagged lines all up and down his arm. The violet-eyed man stared in total fascination as ruby liquid bubbled up from the cuts, slid down his arms, and swirled down the drain. His breathing became deep and ragged as he embraced the sweet, lingering sting of the knife’s cold, sharp edge.
Suddenly he realized it had gone too far. As if on cue his head began to swim. Exhaustion from lack of sleep mixed with blood loss took over him, causing his vision to blur. He dropped the knife into the sink and stumbled backwards a little bit. He didn’t hear the door opened or the footsteps sprinting towards the kitchen. He didn’t hear a voice call his name. By that point, he’d already slumped to the floor, and by the time Misaki got into the kitchen, he was completely unconscious…
“Usagi-san…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I left. I never was going to leave you forever, you idiot…” Misaki’s words started out quiet in Akihiko’s ears then slowly got louder, more pronounced. His eyes cracked open. They were still on the kitchen floor – there was no way Misaki could carry Akihiko anywhere – but his arm had been wrapped in now crimson-stained bandages. The teen was sitting beside him, on the verge of tears.
“Misaki?” the author’s voice cracked as he spoke. Am I hallucinating? He wondered. The boy looked at him and smiled sadly, taking his face in his hands.
“I’m here…I’m sorry for leaving with no explanation, but I’m back now.” He’s…he’s back? Akihiko slowly sat up, a frown settling over his face. What right does he have…to come and mess me up more than I already was? To just come and go, like this…jerking me around!
“Why…?” he asked, trying to clear his still-buzzing head. Misaki sighed. “Who the hell are you?!” the author was suddenly, inexplicably furious. He was sick of the emotions this boy sent through him. The soaring hope and then crashing despair in an endless cycle. He was sick of being so dependent on him. “What give you a right to do this to me?!” Misaki reached out and took his hands, and he felt his anger subsiding.
“I know…I know…this is not how things were supposed to be.”
“Supposed to be?”
“I wasn’t…allowed to tell you before, but now I can so please listen carefully and don’t hate me.” The eighteen-year-old took a deep breath. “My name is Takashi Misaki. I died ten years ago in a car accident. I was brought back as an angel so and came to you to keep you from killing yourself.” Akihiko stared, unable to comprehend what was just being said. Then…slowly, he understood. An angel? Is this some kind of sick joke?! “I’m not joking. H-here…see…” Misaki began to unbutton his shirt. Akihiko stared as the shirt fell to the floor and Misaki closed his eyes. He seemed to pulse for a moment before he flung his head back with a soft cry and white, feathery wings exploded from his back. The author’s jaw dropped open. “See?”
“But…M-Misaki died when he was eight years old. Do angels age?”
“Not exactly. Not everyone becomes an angel. We are chosen for a purpose – mine was to save you – and with that, we assume characteristics that are best suited for that purpose. I guess eight-year-old me didn’t stand a chance of giving you a better life.”
“So…everything that’s happened now…was any of it real?”
“All of it was real! Usagi-san just because I’m supposed to save your life doesn’t mean I don’t want to. The reason that woman came to get me was because I left early…I was only supposed to meet you for the first time today, but I couldn’t wait…seeing you like you were.” He placed a hand on Akihiko’s chest. “Because I’m your guardian angel, everything you feel…I feel. I can see your doubts, your fears, your pain. And when I touch you…I take some of it from you, for a while. I can share your load. So please don’t send me away.”
“Is that why you were always hugging me and grabbing my hand?”
“I like you, Usagi-san. I want to help you. Let me help you.”
“How else…do you affect me? What part of my feelings are a product of…this.” He gestured to the wings. Misaki cringed a tiny bit.
“I can’t create feelings, if that’s what you mean. Besides, until I met you I didn’t know what lust was – I still have the soul of an eight-year-old, after all. But you’re more comfortable around me. It’s probably why you let me stay at your place, even though you didn’t know me. I don’t really know all of it myself. I was in the middle of training when I ran away to find you.”
“So that day in the park…?”
“Was my first time out of heaven. And of course, because you can see my wings, I couldn’t fly, so I kind of had to just jump and…hope I landed in the right spot…I actually didn’t mean to fall on you, but that dumb tree got in my way.” Akihiko couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, his anger completely faded, now. “I would’ve told you, but the first rule was never to let anyone know who you are, so…I figured it was there for a reason.”
“Why are you telling me this, now, then?”
“Because, um…well…” The angel blushed looking away. “If you…eh…f-fall in love…with a human you’re obligated to not only tell them everything but y-you are supposed to stay with them…their whole life…s-so…” Fall in love? Akihiko stared in shock and then smiled a little. Stay with them their whole life?
“Can I…touch them?” Misaki blushed slightly and nodded, scooting closer. Akihiko grabbed him and pulled him down against him in a hug. “Here, this will make it easier,” he murmured. The color of Misaki’s cheeks brought a new meaning to the word red as he nodded and hid his face in the older man’s chest. Akihiko reached out and stroked one hand along the bony ridge of one wing. The angel shuddered in response. “Does it feel uncomfortable?” Akihiko asked.
“N-no…it f-feels good.” The author nodded, allowing himself a small smile. Misaki was just so cute when he stuttered like that, in that pitifully small voice. A soft sigh escaped the older man. The feathers were so soft and slightly warm, and with Misaki pressed against his chest, like that, he was fairly certain he was as close to happy as he ever could be.
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Necrophilia