Drowning is one of the worst ways to die, or at least Matthew has heard. It cuts off your ear supply, and you can't do a damn thing about it. Sometimes you start to choke, and you start to spit, but water just fills the cavities that used to close in oxygen.
Your ability to bring in oxygen is what's killing you. Your life's supply is out, none left to help you. None at all, and instead water fills it. Salty, sad tasting water that leaks from your eyes.
You can drown in your own tears too.
"What do you want?" Matthew whispered, more pleaded, as he leaned over the side of a pure white hospital bed, small tears running down his face.
"I want you to stop crying." The other in the bed whispered, shifting atop the blankets that were stretched out perfectly across the stiff mattress, "I want you to get up and leave, and I don't ever want you to come back."
How do you argue with that? How do you argue with somebody telling you to get your ass out and leave; just in a politer way to say it.
"N-No… No! There's still hope…" The small Canadian whispered, sliding his hands along the soft blankets, and fixing the crinkles in them, "It's only been a couple of hours. Only a couple of hours…"
"Your brain goes dead after the first couple of minutes. Even bringing somebody back after then would leave them completely brain damaged, and a vegetable."
The voice was hallowing. The voice was a fake.
"I… I promised…"
Matthew shifted his head down, resting his wet cheek on the clean hospital pillowcase. It smelled of antiseptic, and cleaner.
It smelled nothing of the person that the voice belonged to. Nothing of peaches, and a little dabble of beer. Nothing of clean after-shave, that sometimes Matthew would sniff when the other was across the world. Nothing like the chlorine from the pool they should be swimming in.
It smelled of death, and cleanliness that would never really wash out the stench of a dead man.
"I know you promised… I know you did… but I'll still be here; so I'll keep my promise to you and don't you worry about your end of the deal."
"I'll be here for you…" Matthew whispered, clenching his eyes closed, "Just tell me… tell me something you want. Something else, I'll give you anything."
"I'm happy, my little Canadian. I don't need anything."
"Do you want the moon? I'll give it to you, for only you and to never share. I promise I'll be there for you."
"Five simple words…"
"What about the good times? Those times when you used to laugh so hard you cried, and I had to bring you tissues?"
Matthew shifted over, grabbing hold of some of the blankets; and clenching his hands into fists to hold onto them with all the strength he could muster.
"That stuff is only hiding for a bit… those memories will come back."
Matthew sniffled, and his shoulders shook, his fingernails ripping a hole into the blankets.
He'd probably have to pay for that later. Like he gave a damn.
"I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to miss your birthday, I was going to give you the most awesome present."
Matthew stood abruptly, wrinkling up the blankets as he pulled them out and let out a cry, holding them up and letting his muscles contract to rip them apart. Of course it didn't work, and he stood there, struggling with cloth for about two minutes before he slumped back onto his knees, sobs breaking out of his chest.
"I wanted to be your valentine too. But you know what I will be?" A soft hand slid over onto Matthews's cheek from the side of where he was resting on the ground.
The Canadian didn't even notice.
"I'll be the wind and I'll be the rain on your lips on a dreary day. I'll be the tingle of coffee on your tongue in the morning, and the taste of chocolate when you haven't eaten it for a while. I'm the alcohol when you get drunk, and the oxygen that fills your lungs. I'm the fresh baked apple pie, and the smell new books give off."
Matthew sniffled once more, dragging in a deep breath and holding it in, then letting it blow out.
"We've had some good times in the past, and I'll secretly be in the ones for the future too. I can't promise you tomorrow, but I can always help you remember yesterday."
Matthew shifted onto his rear, pressing a hand over his face, and pulling it back to gaze at the water on his skin from his crying.
Matthew stood up very slowly after a few moments of silence, pushing the blankets back on the bed and smoothing them out slowly. He looked around the room, gazing at each open corner, before turning and walking out completely.
Because he was the only one in the room. The other man was fake, he was hallow, and he was dead.
Matthew turned around in the hallway, running his fingers over the name card outside the door for a final time.
"Goodbye Gilbert Beilschmidt."
Then the blonde was gone, and the white haired soul closed his eyes and drifted away, because that's what they do.
They're the small things in life that help you remember the ones you've lost. Gilbert Beilschmidt just had a few things to promise, and he needed to make sure his Matthew Williams lungs filled with pure air every single day, so he could wake up to the tingle of coffee and taste of chocolate.