Don't Open Your Eyes (PandoraHearts)

Don't Open Your Eyes

"Oz...?"

Something hadn't seemed right. Indeed, with the death of Oscar Vessalius the moon's light seemed to dim in the midst of black night, but that did not change how disturbing it was to see the bright sun of Oz Vessalius completely go out.

Oz had been through so much in his life, so much struggle and agony, and Gilbert had thought it impossible to break him. After all, this boy had survived. He'd survived the death and the rejection and an amount of pain Gilbert himself probably could never handle.

How could he have forgotten? How could he have thought that Oz was above the laws of being? How could he have decided Oz was mystical enough to have no limit? Because no matter how beautiful and ethereal and strong Oz was, he was a human being, and human beings always had a limit.

Oscar had been undeniably dear to Oz, his uncle in reality and his father in heart and soul. Oz had been disowned and pushed aside by his real father countless times, but Oscar had always been there, whether truly or simply in his heart. Oscar had always been there reminding him that he did have a father, that he wasn't worthless or disgusting or undeserving like his birthfather said.

But now, Oscar wasn't there, and for the first time in his life Oz found himself completely lost.

He'd been lost before—many times, in fact—but never this lost, never so lost that he had no idea whether he wanted to wake up tomorrow.

Oz didn't say any of this. But Gilbert knew. Gilbert was closer to Oz than most people could possibly imagine, his best friend and servant, not to mention Gilbert loved Oz in ways he hadn't found words for yet—in ways that most people probably said were wrong. The light had evaporated from Oz's normally shining green eyes, vanished in an instant, and Gilbert knew something was terribly wrong.

As usual, Oz went about like nothing was wrong. It was the middle of the night, and Gilbert reflected on what had happened during dinner.

He thought it might make Oz feel better if they had a picnic outside, gazing upon the stars. He didn't keep Alice away, either. Hiding his distaste, Gilbert allowed Alice to join in without any restrictions whatsoever, hoping Oz would be delighted and think his raven-haired servant and his ambitious friend—and probably girlfriend-to-be—were finally getting along. Gilbert was more than willing to lie for the sake of his master. He always had been.

Setting his jealousy aside, Gilbert watched as Alice blathered on about useless things to Oz, and Oz laughed and smiled like he always did, as if Oscar really hadn't died earlier that day. And maybe nobody else noticed, but from the sidelines, Gilbert paid close attention to Oz's eyes—and saw his worst fear look back at him.

Nothing had changed.

The light that was usually in the blonde's eyes, that hope and awareness that life went on no matter what, was gone. His laughs were drier than they should have been, his smiles were not real, and it seemed nobody but Gilbert could see it.

And yet, Oz hadn't stopped Gilbert to talk. Oz hadn't said a word to Gilbert between the end of the outdoor picnic and going to sleep. It hurt, it really did, despite the fact that the fifteen-year-old hadn't ever wanted to come to his more-than-willing best friend for help.

Gilbert hadn't been able to sleep at all from the moment his body, aching from stress, set itself down on the bed. And so he was immediately able to hear when footsteps penetrated the silence.

At the call of Oz's name the footsteps had quickened significantly, so Gilbert was sure it was Oz. And he found himself worrying, his heart beating ten times its normal speed, as he got out of bed and swung open his door. It smashed into the wall hard enough to wake up anyone else sleeping in Pandora, but miraculously no one did—and if they did, they stayed in their own rooms silently.