"What future does he have now?"

My words are empty and rattle across the limo seats across from me. Black tinted windows dim the sunlight and surround me in cool darkness. Leaning back, I remove my glasses before pinching the bridge of my nose.

"He had so much life left—"

The silence declines to answer my hollow musings.

The limo comes to a halt and put my spectacles back on before I step out into the bright sunlight. I don't shade my eyes, despite the impulse to do so. I will face this as I approach all things, with cold impassivity.

Even at my best friend's funeral.

The others arrived before me and are arrayed among gravestones, ebony doesn't suit them, nor do grim faces they hold steadily in place. The air is heavy with the scent of upturned dirt and the grass is still damp from the sprinkling of rain earlier in the day. Glancing at the brilliantly blue sky, a part of me wishes that the rain would fall, that it would poor out the emotions I choose to lock deep inside.

The herst pulls up, his body is within. We line up in a morbid queue to take an honored position bearing his weight to its final resting place. I try not to imagine his blond hair lying on that silk pillow as the others and I carry him that hole in the ground.

As they lower his body into the earth, I let the priests words wash over me, while I stare blindly forward. Nothing else matters but this:

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

Haruhi is across from me, beautiful and demure in her black dress. Tears gather along her lashes but do not fall, my god she is an angel. And I must truly be one of the damned to look upon her even now and want her. Tilting up her head to me, those warm brown depths capture my cold gray stare and for a moment, I let myself I sink into them. When the priest finishes his liturgy, I look away from her. I'm shutting down and pushing away, it's what I'm best at. So, why not now?

You're damn fool.

Earth is tipped onto the casket, marring its perfection and encasing him entirely. He's dead; I can't deny this fact. But why him? I can't help but wonder. It just as easily could've been me as it was him. Subconsciously, my hand grazes over the bandages around head. That day, if I had responded just half a second faster or slower, maybe things would've been different. Perhaps I would be dead and he would've lived on.

When man is faced with death, it calls into question his own mortality. In that regard, I am not so different. What makes me different, is that I stare at this grave soil piled high and smooth, I stand completely still as my friends mumble words of prayer and slink away one by one their voices thick with both shed and unshed tears. For them, they can take solace in one another; they can easily embrace and share the pain. For me, I will not cry; my solace is gone. My confident, has turned to ash and dust.

Companionship is lost to me.

Desperately, I wish to let out a guttural moan of lose that tears at my heart. But I don't shout; I just stare. I am as the dead as he, and without emotion, cold gray eyes trace the words I still find hard to believe.

Rene Tamaki Grantine-Suoh

1988-2011

"Why?" The word slips out by its own volition.

A pressure like the weight of a bird is upon my elbow. I glare at this intruder upon my private moment and hate myself that I almost come undone in the wake of the pity and grief that is reflected in her eyes.

"Kyouya," she says softly, yet insistently.

I have two choices, I can crumble and give way to the emotions that I never express or I can shake her off and leave this place and never look back.

That way I can lock everything away, his death and my guilt at not saving him.

That way I wouldn't have to the face the fact that I love a woman I can never have.

In my heart, I know she loved him and not me. And even if she could learn to love me, now, it would never feel right because his death was the reason she could and that will forever taint us.

"Don't, Haruhi." I chose the latter. I shake her off and head for my car.

The others are gone; I don't miss them.

"Don't walk away from me!" Her voice is taut as a harp string. I'm compelled to face her. "Don't shut us all out because of this, Kyouya." Tears are gathering in those large brown eyes.

If I was a different man, I'd comfort her.

If things had been different, I'd be holding her.

If he hadn't died, I could love her.

But I can't.

"Too late." I said coolly, "there's no future for me."


A/N: Written for Musicroom # 3 'Future' Prompt. I am the proud mod there and this was a non-voteable entry that I did just because I had a sad idea.