When the Wind Carried Your Name Away

Kaguya’s hand stilled against my cheek, his warm touch contrasting sharply with the sudden chill that enveloped us. The cacophony of the city around us, the honking cars, distant chatter, and rhythmic clatter of footsteps, faded into a muted hum, leaving only the two of us in this fragile moment. I could see the shock written on his face as his lavender eyes widened, glistening with an emotion I could scarcely interpret.

“Alvar…” he mumbled, his voice trembling, barely rising above a whisper that hung in the air between us.

I felt a lump form in my throat, a raw mixture of hope and despair. Twenty-three years of pent-up regret, longing that had transformed into a constant ache, and a lifetime of unanswered questions all surged forth in that instant. These were feelings I'd bottled up for far too long, desperate to keep them hidden from the world.

“I love you,” I repeated, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I’ve loved you for longer than I knew what that word meant.” Each syllable felt like a weight lifted, yet it was also a release of the vulnerability I had kept at bay.

As my confession hung in the air, I noticed tears forming in Kaguya’s eyes, shimmering like the first droplets of rain on an arid desert. Yet instead of granting me the answer I craved, he lowered his head. I could see his delicate fingers curling into tight fists, turning his knuckles a ghostly white from the pressure.

“Kaguya?” I said, my heart racing, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

His shoulders trembled as if he were wrestling with an unseen storm inside. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he whispered, his voice shrouded in an almost unbearable sadness.

The impact of his words struck me like a physical blow, harder than I had anticipated. “What?” My breath caught in my throat, disbelief flooding my mind.

“I shouldn’t have let you find me again.” His admission hung like an anchor around my heart.

I couldn’t let his words go unchallenged; an urgency rose within me. I reached for his hand, grasping it tightly, feeling the warmth and strength that remained despite his turmoil. “Why are you saying that?” I demanded, desperate for clarity, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

A melancholic smile cracked the surface of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. For the first time, I truly noticed the toll that exhaustion had taken on him. Not mere tiredness that anyone might shake off with a good night’s sleep, but a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that seemed to seep into his very being. The glow of the alleyway light cast a pallid hue over his skin, emphasizing how lifeless it looked. Dark circles deeply etched beneath his eyes hinted at sleepless nights, despite the expensive makeup he likely donned for photo shoots and glamorous advertisements.

“Kaguya…” I began, my voice barely a whisper.

He released a quiet, humorless laugh. “You finally noticed,” he replied, a hint of surprise weaving through his tone.

A terrible weight settled in my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. “What happened?” I asked hesitantly, my heart racing as I searched his gaze for answers.

For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his eyes unfocused, as if longing for a past free of burdens. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his designer jacket and pulled out a small, familiar orange prescription bottle. A cold wave of dread washed over me as my heart sank.

“What’s that?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a murmur.

“Medicine,” he stated simply, his fingers tightening reflexively around the bottle as though it were his lifeline. “I have a neurological disorder, Alvar.”

I stared at him longer than was comfortable, a heavy silence thickening the air between us.

“It started years ago,” he continued, his gaze drifting upwards to the dark sky, as if seeking solace among the stars. “At first, I just had trouble sleeping.” His smile faltered, becoming distant as if recalling a painful memory. “Then it became impossible.”

The blood drained from my face, leaving me momentarily speechless and cold.

“I can go days without sleeping,” he added, almost matter-of-factly.

“Kaguya…” My voice trembled with a mix of concern and heartbreak.

“The longest was eleven days, I think?” His voice was laced with an unsettling calm, but beneath it lay an undercurrent of despair.

I felt the air leaving my lungs as panic took hold. Without thinking, I instinctively reached for him. His body felt frighteningly fragile beneath my touch, as though one wrong move might shatter him.

“The medication helps,” he said softly, though his eyes were clouded with uncertainty. “It forces my brain to rest.”

I glanced at the bottle, then back at him, searching for reassurance. “Then you’ll be okay,” I said, forcing a weak smile, hope glimmering in my eyes as I desperately wished for him to affirm my words.

A heavy silence lingered, thick enough to stifle any flicker of optimism. My heart raced as I repeated his name. “Kaguya?”

He smiled again, but this time it was small, fractured, an echo of the warmth he used to radiate. “The doctors don’t think I have much time left.”

Time itself seemed to freeze. No. Not again. Not after finding him again. Not after eighteen years apart. Not after everything we’d shared.

I shook my head violently, disbelief coursing through me. “No.”

“Alvar–”

“No,” I grit my teeth, my hands gripping both of his shoulders fiercely. “No.” Tears I had carefully locked away for decades finally broke free, spilling down my cheeks. “You don’t get to do this to me, Kaguya.”

The midnight-haired boy laughed through his own tears, the sound bittersweet and haunting. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning to.”

“You just came back.”

“I know.”

“You just told me–”

“I know,” he replied, his voice cracking on the admission as he inhaled sharply, the weight of his revelation pressing heavily upon us.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us broke the silence that enveloped us. Finally, Kaguya leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against mine. “I’m tired, Alvar,” he confessed, the words tinged with a deep-seated pain.

“I’ve been tired for years…” he murmured, his expression shifting to one of vulnerability. Kaguya’s smile returned, but it was marred by the heaviness of his exhaustion. “Alvar, could you hold me? Even for a second–”

Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close before he could finish his request. In that embrace, for the first time in twenty-three years, he allowed himself to unravel in my arms. Just the two of us, sheltered in the shadows of the alleyway, while the world outside continued on, oblivious.

Three months later

A shrill ringtone sliced through the silence of my office like a knife. I nearly ignored it. Almost. Until I saw the caller ID flash: Unknown Number. A sense of dread nipped at my instincts, urging me to answer.

“Hello?” I said, my voice tight with apprehension.

“Mr. Hyde?”

The voice on the other end belonged to a woman; professional, careful. My stomach plummeted.

“This is St. Vincent Medical Center.”

The world around me began to spin, the edges of reality blurring as my knees threatened to buckle beneath me.

“Kaguya Yoru listed you as his emergency contact.”

The room hushed, as if time itself held its breath. “What happened?” I managed to choke out.

The woman hesitated, her voice laden with care. “I’m very sorry.”

No. Not this. Not again. “No. No,” I muttered, disbelief creeping into my voice.

“The medication he uses for sleep was found beside him,” she said gently, but her words felt like jagged glass slicing through me.

I couldn’t process the rest. The phrases blurred together. Accidental overdose, unresponsive, attempts to revive, time of death, fading into a surreal wave of anguish that drowned out everything around me. The phone slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor, and I crumpled to my knees, utterly shattered.

Rain poured over New York City on the day of the funeral. A steady downpour that mirrored my grief. Thousands gathered, models, actors, designers, fans, all mourning the public figure of Kaguya Yoru, but none truly knowing the boy behind the facade.

None understood the boy who had once gotten lost in a maze of tall grass fields, who wore a cheap red hairpin because it was a gift from me, his best friend. The boy who laughed until he cried. The boy who dared to ask me to run away with him, to chase dreams beyond our reality.

The boy I loved.

When the crowd eventually dispersed, leaving behind muted echoes of grief, I lingered beside his grave. The rain soaked through my suit, chilling me to the bone, but I felt no inclination to move. My fingers curled around something small nestled within my pocket. The red hairpin, a remnant of a shared past, a piece of him that the nurses had found tucked among his belongings. Even after twenty-three years. Even after the fame. Even after everything. He had kept it.

My vision blurred, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I knelt there, the weight of my heart too immense to bear.

“I waited for you,” I whispered into the relentless rain.

The wind seemed to carry my words away, mingling them with the falling droplets. For a fleeting moment, I dared to imagine I could hear his laughter again. The same warm, bright sound from that summer afternoon long ago; alive and untouched by pain.

A broken smile crept onto my face, bittersweet and fragile.

“Sleep well, Kaguya,” I said softly.

And for the first time in years, I truly hoped he finally could.