Author's Note: Loveless! Who saw that one coming? ..I HAD to. I'm sorry but I prefer SeimeixRitsuka over SoubixRitsuka. So this isn't meant to be spectacular or gripping or anything like that. This is just a little drabble I wrote for fun...I didn't plan any of it and it's not meant to follow grammar rules or anything. When I'm upset my words flow and jumble thoughts into each this is meant to be read as if you yourself are Ritsuka and the narrator is speaking to you. Weird, yes, I know.

Disclaimer: Don't own Loveless.

Gone: Symphony of Sin-

It was always Seimei.

It started with Seimei and it ended with Seimei, and you never really noticed until now that sometimes it makes you mad. Sometimes you hate him because you love him and because he's everything and he's nothing and whatever falls in between is just make-believe. The good, the bad, his smile pulled taught between the two and blurred with the illusion of hope and love and forever that would never be, because if he snapped to either extreme you know which side he'd fall on, and what hurts the most is that you don't even care because he was always everything you ever wanted and nothing you ever wanted to be, and that's probably what hurt the most, even more than the lies and betrayal and tears that prod like demons at the back of your mind.

He was rain and sunshine when rain was soothing and the sun was glistening between leaves made golden from Autumn's touch; the gentle breeze that cooled hot tears and whispered breath into your lungs. And you think it's his hands you miss the most, out of everything, even the melted honey-drip of his voice shushing you to sleep because it was his hands that protected and petted and pleasured and caressed away all of the pain.

Pain--it's all you know now, because Seimei was everything you knew and everything you believed in, and Seimei wasn't pain, he was beauty like butterflies and wild grass; the ointment that kept your brittle heart from breaking all to pieces and bleeding out chunks of your soul.

So now the shards are scattered like lily's and every touch leaves another prick that never seems to stop bleeding, and maybe you don't want it to stop and you like that it hurts and you wish that everyone would stop trying to ebb the crimson flow of glass splintering in outward spirals from your soul because they can't make it better the way that he could, because they were them and he was him, and happiness from others was more than a flaw--it was sin.

(Sin, sin)

And now that he's gone, so long gone, all you seem to be able to do is drowned in that sin. The pictures you take and the smiles you fake and the echoing laughter that's hollow and weak is beating you down and stringing you out, and sometimes you know what it's like for The Mother; know why she shrieks and smashes, hits and crashes-- because you're screaming inside, and no one can hide from how loud heartache is when it's resounding like out-of-tune bells in your head.

And maybe it is all in your head, because at times it doesn't seem real that he's gone (that he's actually gone) and never coming back no matter how hard you believe he's still there- so you pray and you weep and you beg and you sleep... and you sleep and sleep in his bed like he always said that you could because you knew you were always so safe in his arms. If you stay there long enough, if you just close your eyes he'll be there again, and then all this hurt and this hope and this sin will wash away with the gray lamination of dawn.

You're sorry like teacups spilt and broken on the floor, and you think that maybe you were made just for him--Loved you because you're Loveless, and Loveless because he loved you, and isn't it sad how that felt so safe?

But safe is gone and pain took its place, or maybe you're just numb, you can never be sure; all you ever find when you open your eyes is hair like tinsel and eyes of violet and kisses that taste just like sin. His hands are all wrong--too gentle, too shy; built not to protect but obey. And you wish you could trade him, one half for the other, a slave for a master, a fighter for a brother.

But your brother is gone; your brother who's your lover -- your lover who's your brother who's gone.

Long gone.