Piko was freaking out.
Armed with only a flimsy umbrella, a pair of jeans, soaked converse and a thin wool jumper, he felt weak to the force that was nature. In the midst of trying to regulate his breathing, his short puffs and choked whines beginning to psych him out, he wondered why he had decided to be here in the first place, it wasn't his job to find the nut-jobs roaming around.
Piko stumbled across the area, his mind raced as his skin burned, but his composure still spoke of indifference, as if he weren't affected by the idea of being swallowed up by the rain oh so slowly. He stared down to see how bad his shoes looked and saw the glistening wet concrete beneath him, sparkling like gold within a pan of sand. He did try to focus on anything but the ankle deep puddle he stepped in, but it was hard to ignore the, well, ankle-deep puddle he stepped in and he gulped.
He felt like his legs had been tied together with rope and the rest of him was being eased into the rest of the murky darkness he so feared. He had wanted to be alone. There was no space to breathe indoors, so he went through the back door, and climbed up the winding staircase there were no more cases for him to scale. There had been a door, however, and he'd opened it out of curiosity. But, damned by bad luck, he'd been met with the miniature sea-worth of rain, engulfing the top floor of the building.
Ohhhhhhhh god. Even his thoughts gave him a preview of how he'd choke on his words like he were struggling to stay afloat in the air. His anxiety just made him sink lower and lower and lower...
"…dangling off the edge…"
Piko didn't even realize that he was still holding onto his good-for-nothing umbrella until he stabbed his own forehead as he looked up. He strained his ears automatically, trying to confirm whether or not he was hearing things. He squinted, and quite a few metres away from him, at the edge of the building, sat a boy, dressed only in a thin t-shirt and a pair of white shorts.
"… I think I slit my wrist again and I'm…"
How a guitar could still be playable in this hellish storm, Piko didn't know, but he was still unsure as to whether or not his mind was just making fun of him. Mocking him as he suffered in the rain. A few strums later, his motor functions decided to cooperate with him momentarily. He couldn't help but let out a choked sob as he slowly stepped out of the puddle of water. Piko just wanted to end his suffering and tried to move even faster, only to notice the loud sloshing of the water. He couldn't breathe again, and he fell to his knees, weak from his waist down.
Shock waves of fear surged within him, rooted his knees to the ground. And yet, his curiosity just only seemed to skyrocket. Ungracefully, but uncaring, Yuma dragged himself, using only his arms, towards the boy. Abandoning his umbrella, closer and closer he got to the boy, and louder and louder the boy's voice became. A mere few metres away, he used whatever was left of his strength to pull himself to his feet and clutched onto the edge of the building as the rain began to roar in his ears.
He noticed how the figure didn't even care at how loudly he was breathing before he looked down from the twenty-something storey building. Almost instantaneously the pedestrians running for cover weren't there, and instead the street quickly rose with water. He wanted to throw up.
Tearing his gaze from his imaginary death, he looked to the figure indeed holding a guitar. As if his voice were enchanted, the more Piko listened to the boy's voice, the more his ears could shut out the howling of the rain. His heart felt like it was beating in time with the strumming.
"My legs are dangling off the edge…A stomach full of pills didn't work again…"
And suddenly, he felt sick again.
Piko wobbled backwards, one arm still clutching the edge of the building. His head started spinning and his vision blurred, both by the searing burn of the raindrops, and several black spots popping up.
"I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm-"
The moment that Piko's side made contact with the wet concrete, the boy seemed to have stopped strumming and turned around. As he curled into a ball and choked on his own breath, Piko saw the boy's features, but he forgot them. He seemed to have registered a colour other than the black and navy that his surroundings had become, but he forgot what it was, too.
The young boy noticed how terrified, weak this other boy was, despite the fact that he seemed to look way older than him. But he smiled, uttering the last of the lyrics to his dark song as Piko's heavy eyes closed.
"Gone, gone, gone, gone…"