A/N: Written for
The Ficletchap Competition (7.5-15k)
Diversity Writing Challenge, i20 – a multichap with chapters under 1000 words
Warning for character death and mentions of a canonical suicide.
when there are no second chances
1: Time
'Have you made your peace yet?' PuraPura asks, and in that moment Makoto is sure he isn't going back.
I'm sorry, he thinks. There's no point saying it out loud. The people he's apologising to won't hear him anyway. I'm breaking my promises.
PuraPura regards him, face as blank as it's always been. But there's a tinge of pity in his tone.
He'd known. Of course he'd known.
'I guess… I misunderstood.' And Makoto laughs, because he remembers the beginning, when he didn't want to take a free shot at a second chance and now, when he's actually invested in it and wants to keep on going and finding his future, he realises it wasn't that sort of second chance at all.
If he'd known though… He'd wasted a lot of time anyway.
'Your soul's crossed into the realm of death,' PuraPura points out. 'The higher ups can only keep you here for so long, but it can be the difference between going to heaven and going to hell.'
'Making my peace… huh.' Makoto plops down on the roof. It's cold under his uniform but that doesn't really matter. There's a chill spreading through his body anyway. 'I guess I have.'
Even if, in the beginning, he hadn't realised who he was, he's still gotten closer to his father, made peace with his mother, understood Hiroko better, made a friend in Sataome and apologised for how he'd tried to shove Shoko away. That's a good six months' work, he figures. He hasn't managed to make peace with his brother, though.
His brother who's tried to make peace with him twice over.
'Not everything is done with words,' says PuraPura. 'Not directly, either. Would the Mitsuru of before have sacrificed a year of collage so you could go to the best possible school for you?'
'He was wrong, in the end.' He wraps his hands with his scarf. 'But if I hadn't become friends with Saotome…'
'Then he would have been absolutely right.' PuraPura squats down. 'There's still a little time, you know. Not enough to make it to him, but if you wanted to…'
Makoto stares at his bag. His phone is in there, but what will he say? Will Mitsuru even pick up at this time? He'll be at cram school. His phone might be off. Or he might ignore the call. Or Makoto might trip over his own words…
There is also his sketchbook.
He can write a letter.
Or he can draw.
.
PuraPura watches him snatch his sketchbook and pencils. Watches the eraser tumble and tumble until it tumbles right off the roof. Watches Makoto sketch with a fever that rarely grips him. Watches a drawing form faster than ever before.
It's a memory, of the time Mitsuru carried him home. The time he'd tried to change his image, not quite grasping the enormity of what he tried to outrun. The time those older kids had jumped him and beaten him up and stolen his new expensive shoes. But it was also that which led Saotome to extend an arm to him.
The pencil digs into his fingers. The marks won't last long… or they'll last for eternity. Who knew? He can't stay to find out. His time here is nearly up. Both their times are nearly up.
Makoto drops his pencil, eventually. Its clatter rings loudly on the roof that houses just the two of them: two departing souls.
'Are you done?' asks PuraPura.
'Yeah.' Makoto continues to stare at his sketchbook. 'Yeah, I'm done.'
'You've made your peace?' PuraPura checks.
'I've made my peace.' Then he laughs. 'Though I'm not ready yet. I don't think I'll be ready soon, either. Isn't that silly? After killing myself…'
'There's a second chance if you almost die,' says PuraPura. 'But not if you do die. I'm sorry.'
'Don't be.' Makoto rubs at his eyes. He's crying. Crying because he killed himself without a care and now he has to pay for it. 'It's not your fault. And… you've let me do this. Thank you.'
'Thank me after you decide if you like heaven or not.' PuraPura smiles. 'And tell me how it is. I've never been.'
Makoto doesn't ask if he's been to hell. That's not the last thing in the world he wants to know.