Song

Chapter 17: Helpless

It seems that Shu is late tonight; somehow, Song can't help but feel relieved, even though he specifically came to his room to see him. The subtle scent of lavender hangs in the air, Shu's favourite bath salt. In other words, Shu's scent.

"Hmm?"

The sight of Shu's bamboo flute catches his attention. Song makes his way towards the meter-long instrument at the far end of the room, placed on top of an intricately crafted cross stand. His sense of relief quickly returns to sorrow as memories of their past come rushing into him.

Many of Song's brethren believe that he's the crudest, most unrefined and uncultured Purger within the Blossom, and he can't even blame them for thinking that way. Every Purger within the Blossom is proficient at an art form by the age of 13, be it visual, literary or musical... every Purger aside from Song. With Song's lack of ability to properly express his emotions, it was easy to make fun of his dull nature. 

Uncultured though? Although Song has seldom shown any interest in learning the three forms of art, he's always loved listening to Shu whenever he plays the flute. Shu's skill with the flute is extraordinary, unrivalled even within the Blossom, and it always finds a way to put him at ease.

It's odd, but ever since Shu gave him the cold shoulder, Song's first thoughts were his partner's music. When was the last time he heard Shu play the flute? Song isn't sure. It's then when he realises he doesn't know how much he's had all this time until he's lost them.

Will I ever hear him play again? Song muses dolefully as he gazes at the flute.

Someone knocks on the door, and Song looks back to see Mei eyeing at him with a woeful smile. "Don't tell me you're thinking of playing a tune right now."

"I could, but your ears would bleed."

Song casts one last look at the flute before walking to Mei. He closes the double doors behind him and strolls along the stone path with his friend. Their walk is filled with silence. Song's mind wanders off again, this time bringing him back to Mei's words before.

"You know you can't win! Kiin is the one who gave us our powers! Why are you so intent on throwing your life away like this? Why?"

Nobody is truly ready to die, and Song is no exception to this. As the Festival of Moons draw closer, he can't deny that he's starting to feel afraid, so very afraid, and alone. His eyes drift to Mei, one of the only people in this world he can trust. His heart yearns for him to scream, to cry, to beg Mei to stop him from partaking in the suicidal duel... but he just can't do it. This is what he lives for, his reason of existence— to fight for freedom from the Blossom. But what is freedom? What is peace? Is death the answer? Song isn't so sure of anything anymore.

"You're always like that," Mei says softly. "It's so hard to tell what's on your mind."

Song says nothing. He can't. He's afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll blurt out things that he'll regret later.