A/N: Because I hated the fact that Yukari didn't end up with George. Excuse any errors.

Disclaim Her: I do not own Paradise Kiss.

Title: Closure

They had said it was stress. Had said it was an accident. That he wasn't well, that he hadn't been stable. Lies. All lies, each more intricate than the next, and all the more bitter for it.

They had known.

They had known and had not seen it fit to tell him. To tell him that he had been mistreating her, hurting her, breaking her. And when they had found it fit to tell him, well, it was a bit too late wasn't it?

George's lips turn into a bitter smile as he watched the coffin slowly lowered into the ground. He expects her to jump out of it, laugh yell 'Surprise!' kiss him, and tell him she'll never leave him. Alas, he thinks as a single tear rolls down his cheek, we can't all have what we want. But once, just once, ten years ago, he came damn close.

He hears more than sees Miwako, hears her choked sobs as she watches her best friend being buried. He hears his heart beat, slow and steady, always in control. Always. Except maybe when she was around. A sharp laces through him and another tear escapes.

He sees Isabella out of the corner of his eye, pale, stiff, and not a tear in sight. But there is a darkness in 'her' eyes, anger and sadness. So much sadness. Birds sing in the background and the sun shines cheerily. He hates it. Beside him Arashi curls his lips into a mock of a smile,

"Not really funeral weather, is it?" He doesn't respond, instead continues to stare steadily at the rapidly disappearing coffin. The headstone says 'Beloveddaughter and sister.' He smirks, they couldn't very well put 'Beloved Wife,' could they? Not when her own husband had been the one to kill her. Miwako's sobs have turned into wails and he sees Arashi trying to calm her. Resentment wells up in him. He hopes they suffer, he hopes that they go to bed every night knowing that she wouldn't be dead if they had just told him.

They must have known he would have dropped everything at the drop of a hat to go to her. He never was truly happy without her at his side. They simply must have known. He has asked her to come with him to Paris hadn't he? She had been the one to say no, to go running into the arms of that…that- bastard.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, but it is long enough that everybody has left except him. He drops to one knee, paying no heed to the dirt he is getting on his expensive trousers, and brushes his thumb reverently across her name.

" I would have come back for you, you know," he murmurs, "but you never asked, never called, never gave any indication you wanted me too." He chuckles softly and closes his eyes, forehead resting against cold marble "Poor, little, rich girl, still on the outside looking in." He lets out a low hiss of breath as he says his next words, "I would have killed him for you."

But I would not have your hands stained with his blood.

His eyes snap open and he looks desperately for the source of the voice. He hears a tinkling laugh, her laugh, but it sounds ethereal, more like the wind blowing than laughter.

I am here.

And he sees black lace flapping in the corner of his vision, blown by wind that is not there. He looks up and she's there, right beside him, where's she's meant to be, and she's just so damn beautiful. So beautiful that he can hardly breathe, hardly speak. He didn't remember her being so beautiful. She's perfect, like an artist's dream, her hair in soft waves down her back, eyes bright and lips curled into the smile he knows so well. And he knows this can't be right because Yukari is six feet underground and she had needed a closed casket.

"Why." His voice breaks on that word and for a moment she looks so sad, so very, very sad.

You were happy. She pauses. And I would not take that away from you.

"Never. Was never really happy without you."

You have Kaori.

And for a moment he is angry, because she has dared to suggest he had been anything less than faithful to her. "She isn't you." She's quiet for a moment, and her image flickers a bit, just ever so slightly.

You loved me, didn't you George?

His breath catches in his throat and in that second a thousand thoughts run through his mind. "Wasn't it obvious?" She smiles sadly again,

You were always so hard to read.

He feels her regret as clearly as it was his own. "We didn't have enough for you to learn how." Her smile turns rueful,

We didn't, did we.

"No," he shakes his head and prepares to continue, when she seizes his chin with an icy, almost see-through hand. Her gaze is clear and hard.

Don't blame yourself, George, never ever blame yourself. Nor the others. They did not know, and I tried hard to keep it that way.

" But why…" he trails off, "How could you let him do that to you?" She sighs and drops her hand, looking at her own headstone.

It was my fault, in a way.

The horrified look on his face almost brought a smile back to her face again, but she sees the true horror in his eyes and the amusement fades away.

I was his wife. Bound to him. But I belonged to you.

He can see the longing in her face and knows it is reflected in his own.

I was his, but you were all I could think about. I simply kept comparing him to you. Measured his accomplishments to yours. It wasn't fair to him.

"Don't you dare justify his actions," he spat. "He does not deserve it"

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Her head turns, and she stands still, listening to something he cannot hear. She touches his shoulder and her touch is icy, almost excruciating, but he relishes it.

I must go.

"No." He doesn't want her to leave. This could be their second chance, this time things could be right. She smiles tenderly, a smile reserved only for him, and lays an icy kiss on his lips.

Be happy George. Live and be happy for me. I'll wait for you, you know I will.

She kisses him again, the barest whisper of cold air upon his lips, and her image fades completely. He stays like that a little while longer, then gets up. He walks away from her grave and knows he will not return. There is no reason to, she does not linger there.

Now, all has to do is be happy. She'll wait. She said she would.


A/N: Yes, I am perfectly aware that sucked. And that it was a western style funeral. In Japan. I just don't care. I'm just so frustrated about the ending. I am, sadly, a closet romantic. The idea of true love makes me squeal like a little girl but I'm enough cynic to know it hardly ever comes true. But George is teh love. Reviews are welcome.