It's had always started that way with you, hadn't it?
A pat on the head for a job well done, a small brush from your small hand against your cheek in an attempt to cheer you on, a kiss on the forehead for a silent "I love you."
Always needed someone else for feedback- always needed someone else to tell you what to do. A lonely existence entirely dependent on someone else for strength.
The first year was bad, but for the both of you- unable to meet halfway, always at odds. The second, you thought something changed between you two. The end of the second, she broke and crumbled. You helped her steadily rise to her feet. The third year became an obsession, a search, a hunt.
You've only known her for about three years and yet she's become the very symbol of hope, the salvation you, and all humans, have been seeking. The answer to every riddle, the untangling of every thread.
A requiem for your worries.
He rips open her coat; fingers fumble and his arms tremble- he barely can find the strength to see the full extent of damage. Sees the laceration begin from the base of her neck and deepen as it cleaves in half her slender body, dark red entrails peeping out pitifully from underneath the torn flesh, white bone exposed pitifully to the dull storm-covered skies.
He stops breathing. If he inhales, then the world will begin to move again. As long as he doesn't make a single move, then everything will freeze in place, freeze like a screenshot in time, all actors suspended in a fluid moment between grace and hell.
"I-it hurts," she whimpers. The silence is broken. A hoarse, pained cough emerges, hacking up the saliva and mucus blocking up her airway- a red bubble swells and bursts from her mouth. "I…t hurts."
"No." He presses his hand heedlessly against her stomach, as if he's trying to push back the spilled intestines to where they rightfully belong. Blood loss is too high, he knows- he's seen enough death to understand she can't be saved, but that logic is pushed away in the face of the anguish in her face. Anything to relieve her, his soul, his life- an eternity in Hell-
Whisperings of demon claws shredding his heart to pieces is preferable to being alone.
"H-h-h-h-" Already it's over; the beginnings of blankness, the kindest reality for her. Her strong heart- the one organ that refused to patter out- is still beating, pumping blood out into a system too broken to be able to continue its tenuous existence. "T-T-T-T-Toki…"
Her face is wet, and he dimly is aware of the tears that are splashing down from his cheeks. With his free hand, he grasps her quaking fingers, enveloping them easily with the roughly worn palms of his own she had (had? no not had not in the past tense he mustn't think that way no) loved to trace on rainy afternoons.
"No, no, I'll save you, no, you can't die no I'll save you there has to be a way I'll most definitely save you no no no—"
She starts crying. It's the second time he's seen her cry this way- weep quietly and silently, sound punctured only by shallow, rattling breaths.
"I'm scared." He has to strain to hear her whisper; ice chill stabbing pin needles all over his body. Vomit threatening to rise and defile their last moments.
"No-" It's the only word he understands. His own countenance is twisted with the strain of merely watching her struggle; displayed across it is inhuman despair. "W-we'll fall into Hell together, Mikado. Together. Take me with you; we can be together for all eternity, you promised-" His voice rises hysterically. "Mikado, Mikado, no, I love you, don't go, please stay with me you said you were born for me don't betray me now!"
"Don't leave me-"
And he feels the thread binding the two snap with that single plea.
A/N: I'm tired and I headachey so I decided to write yeha