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the stillness of a youthful heart	By : emleefoot Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > Malice Mizer Views: 1193 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Malice Mizer. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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disclaimer – dis is not a claimer. dis is a pontifract cake.

A/N – okay folks, here we go… firstly, to set something straight. yes, i KNOW that gackt and klaha were never in the band together. i KNOW that kami’s being a pretty butterfly in heaven rather than still shuffling round this mortal coil. i KNOW that the outfits, hairstyles etc. in this fic don’t match up to any particular timescale, but i don’t care. s’my story, i can do whatever i want and it just so happens that i decided years ago when i started on this that i wanted gackt, kami and klaha all in it. also, that I wanted gackt and klaha to have a daddy-son relationship. see that daddy? that implies naughty things, so you’ve been warned and don’t get yer frillies in a twist. finally, a BIG warning in advance. this fic contains a major character death. it pretty much revolves around it. i’ve lost count of the number of times i’ve started out reading a huge fanfic only to have my favorite person die at the end, and it’s rotten not to be warned, so there we go ^^
also, this chappie won't be huge. just enough to hopefully get some feedback on what people think so far x

02. the funeral

A dark night. Cold, stone walls breaching the dark openness, the void brought forth by the shrouding of darkness. Lights streaming from deep-set windows and casting their glow onto the backs of the inhabitants, heads hung miserably.

Standing taller than his companions, Klaha, a breathtakingly slim spectre of a man sheathed in ebony. Satiny black hair framing his pale, high-cheekboned face. Frostily pink lips, soothing brown eyes.

Held closely to his side, Gackt, his student and protégé. Long-limbed and supple, shoulders hanging loosely beneath a black velvet jacket. Soft, messy blonde hair brushing Klaha’s cheek as we watch the youth cry, beads of blood dropping from his indigo eyes as he clutches the lapel ofha’sha’s thin jacket.

Before them stands Yu~ki, orange-haired and amber-eyed. No emotion other than disbelief on his sharply sculptured face, the collar of his long-tailed white jacket pulled high around his neck. His white-gloved hands thrust deeply into his trouser pockets as he stares at a small grave-marker, the focus of all their attentions. As he too begins to cry, an arm reaches out to his and we shall follow his gaze as we meet Kami.

Strong, slender hands, a dusky pink suit. The face of an angel, bloody tears flowing freely as he sweeps his long red hair away from his face.

“Walk with me?” he asks, an unspoken plea in his voice. Yu~ki allows Kami to take his hand as he nods. They depart, Yu~ki’s shoulders hunched as he continues to cry.

Klaha lifts a gloved hand to Gackt’s face, caressing the bloodied cheeks beneath his fingertips. Silently, they too leave, stranding us with the last of their group.

Alone, Mana gazes at a freshly dug patch of earth before him. The wooden marker stands slightly lopsided, and he steps forward to straighten it.

Deep below the earth, sealed in a wooden box, lies Közi. The lifeblood of this cold house, their laughing pierrot is dead. His head rests on a small pillow of red satin, soft chestnut curls surrounding his face.
The pale flesh of his face and neck, once warminstinst Mana’s skin, is cold now, dead and blemishless in the dark. His laughing brown eyes are closed, sealed by the kisses of a broken heart.

Fragments of love burn Mana’s lips as he steps forward, the thick lace folds of his beaded gown rustling. In one hand is clutched tightly a porcelain mask, the death visage of an agonized clown, and he stares at it with unbearable sorrow. Unthinking, he loosens his grip and cries out as the mask slips from his fingers to be caughrshlrshly by a mud-covered shovel, left over from the soulless grave digging of an hour before.
Trembling fingers reach down to pick it up and a ragged sob slips from Mana’s lips as he sees a jagged crack tearing the mask from eye to lips. He reaches forward and hangs Közi’s broken mask on the edge of the cross, suddenly overwhelmed. He gathers his voluminous skirts around him and rushes from the graveside, dew springing up in his wake and mingling with the pink tears dropping from his face.

Beneath his weeping willow, lost forever, Közi is left to decay.

A/N: waiwai! review! or i cut yer head off. with this ere’ gun…
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the stillness of a youthful heart