I do not own Kekkaishi.

This is hard for me to write (I've been having writer's block since January), but I'm trying.

It was a year ago. Twelve months. Three-hundred-sixty-five days. Eight-thousand, seven-hundred-sixty hours. Five-hundred-twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.

That's how long it's been since the night he was killed. The night Kaguro slashed his torso so deeply and severely that he lost his life.


I never got the chance to tell him. We had only been comrades for a short time. What would he have thought?

I know how he would've reacted…

He would raise his right eyebrow so sneakily. His eyes would fill with fear and despair. The last time someone was that close to him…Ryo was almost killed.

But I wouldn't care.

"I can protect myself," I would point out. "I still love you, and you won't hurt me."

He would give me a look that says, 'I sure as hell can.'

"I don't care," I would whisper as I glance at the dirt by my white shoes that are light enough in material to allow me to sprint around campus. My long brown ponytail fell over my light violet clothed shoulder. "I would get hurt with or without you."

Like that would make him feel so much better. Gen would feel even worse, had Yoshimori been there to witness it.

…I never got the chance to run my hands through those dark brown spikes of his.

I never got the chance to look – really look – into his hesitant, angry irisis.

More than that, I never got the chance to hold him. To grip the purple fabric that covered his torso.

Or kiss him.

Or to pour out my heart to him. Heck, he couldn't even do the same to me.

I never got the chance to do anything with him except fight the creatures that shared half of his DNA. The Ayakashi.

And since Gen's death, I never got the chance to truly mourn him. Yoshimori did. He even went so far as to let the Kokuboro, who had been a part of the tragedy, kidnap him just so he could carry out his revenge.

He is such a simpleton. He is such an idiot. But for one year, I've wanted to live life the way he does. I know Gen did, too.

But Gen never will be able to.

I kneel on the side of my bed, my palms pressed together and my elbows digging into the soft, pink sheets.

"Gen," I whisper, a clear tear running down my face.

"I miss you. I mourn you. I want to run my fingers through your hair – just once. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you – even if it's just a quick, light one. I love you."

Suddenly, I feel pressure enveloping my slender figure from behind. I glance around me; there is no one around.

But why is this pressure…hugging me?

Then, the energy seems to lift my hand from the bed and lifting it to an invisible area behind my head. There isn't anything there, but there is a strange sensation. It feels like my hand is touching…hair. Spiky hair.

Not only that, but a drop of water falls onto my scalp. My eyes flash to the ceiling – is there a leak or something? – to find tightly sealed lumber.

A light, weightless force pushes on my cheek. Who – or what – is this energy?

"I love you, Tokine," a familiar voice mumbles in my ear. My eyes widen. My lips part slightly before forming a small grin.

Then, just like that, he's gone. With his final goodbye, Gen has moved on.

I finally got the chance to love him.

I finally got the chance to know he loved me, too.

...Sorry. I know this is kinda crap.

On the bright side, a little more of my writer's block has gone away.