Blesséd Desire


Wait for the night.
Wait for the cold,
Let it consume you.

Don't even try
to fight,
Not when it feels
so right.

A strange desire
but nothing new,
The feeling was always there
waiting to get to you

Is this weakness
or is it strength?
There is no answer
but do keep faith.

He went out into the cold. Why? He was not sure, but he could feel strong desire in his soul. The combination of night and cold called to him, trying to lure him out. Calls and howls reverberated through his skull. Follow the frost. Follow the stars. In the small hours of the night, he slipped away. Now, he walked among the white- bright and yet dim against the shadowed sky.

No long did his vision show him the sea of white before him. Why was that? The snow, the cold, he felt it pressed against him. Why? Had he fallen? He supposed so. The cold reached out to him, welcoming him into its chilly embrace. Something about it felt right to him. His desire was drawn to it. With a smile on his face, he succumbed.

It was cold. Freezing. How did he get here? Where was here? The memories weren't there. Or maybe they were. It was hard to tell. His thoughts were fuzzy. The smallest attempt to focus was a challenge. Each breath he took was shallow. He tried to move. Nothing happened. His body refused to respond to the signals his brain sent. It hurt- physically and mentally. His body was numb, his mind wracked. He felt trapped.

What could he do? Absolutely nothing.

The cold overcame his weakened body, and the darkness consumed his mind once more.

A sharp pain woke him. There were voice. Whose voices? He could not place them at the moment. His mind could not process what they said. It was like drifting. Someone had lifted him. He was being carried now. He could feel the bobbing movement of walking. Whose arms were holding him up? Whose shoulder was his head rested on? The contact felt like fire against his icy skin. He could not move. He could not even feel his limbs. Something shook him. He was shivering something fierce. A voice spoke to him. All he heard was buzzing. He tried to open his eyes. Eyelids stayed in place. He tried to speak. Lips parted faintly. No sound emerged. More voices spoke around him. What were they saying? The buzzing voices were rushed, panicked even. Was it because of him? He wanted to apologize. He hated being a bother.

He tried to speak again. A single, pained sound emerged from lips blue from cold. More voices. The grip holding him became tighter. Another round of shivering wracked his body. Whoever was carrying him began to move faster. What little focus his mind had was becoming fuzzy. He did not want to return to the darkness. He wanted answers. He wanted to stay aware until he could provide the answers himself.

The resistance was useless. The darkness overpowered him again.

Consciousness returned again. It was warmer and he could feel his limbs. Why could he not move them. Were those blankets wrapped around him? Maybe. Everything was warm. His skin, his head. A thought he didn't quite understand passed through his mind, some wispy feeling of longing towards the cold. It made little sense to him. He tried to move again and heard the sound of footsteps getting closer.

"God, I don't know what to do with you." He head a voice laced with concern and worry. The voice was familiar this time, but his mind was still too fuzzy to place it. Only a soft groan escaped his lips when he attempted to reply. There was a brief pause before he heard the voice again. "Are you awake?"

He felt a cool hand against his forehead. "You're still burning up. Why do you do this to yourself? I've been so worried- we all have." A sigh. So he was being a bother. He desperately wanted to apologize. "If you can hear me, then go back to sleep. You need to rest. Hopefully when you're awake you'll be able to eat something."

The hand brushed lightly across his forehead before its presence left him. Footsteps sounded, but he could tell they did not go far. It had to be a friend of his who was taking care of him. Since he didn't have many friends, there weren't a lot of people the voice could belong to. He wanted to work out who it was. His mind protested at the strain. Sleep pulled at him and though he did not want to sleep again, his mind readily gave in.

This time, eyes fluttered as consciousness came. So those were blankets on him. He was not at his own home. This bed was not his. It was probably the voice's home, the home of the friend that was caring for him. He tried to sit up, but only managed pushing himself higher up the pillow his head lay on. He decided to test out his voice, but all that came was a cough that wracked his frame. A moment later footsteps could be heard rushing towards the door of the room.

"You're awake!" It was that same voice. He now registered that whom it belonged to could probably be considered his closest friend. He saw said friend standing in the doorway and then yelling out it. "He woke up!"

Weakly, he tried to speak up again. "Hi."

He nearly flinched at how course and hard to hear his voice was. How long had he been asleep for his voice to become so choked? The friend was now beside the bed he lay on, once again with a hand against his forehead. "I am so glad that you're finally awake. For real awake. You really gave us all a scare, you know that?"

He looked away from the friend in a moment of guilt before returning his gaze. There was one word he knew he had to croak out. "Sorry."

As he expected, the friend only waved it off. "How are you feeling, Ryou?"

AN: So I have this feeling that there might be a bit of a style shift between the prologue and the rest of the story whoops.