A quick note about the style of this: It's in a similar format to quite a few other fan-fics I've written,with alternating viewpoints represented by italics and normal text (Normal for Twelve, italics for Lisa). However, it's closer to the Dangan Ronpa story 'Crossing the Line' in that I've added a bit at the beginning and the end in normal text that could apply to both of them.

It's a bit confusing, but hope you like it anyway.

Don't get involved.

Don't get involved. Stay away, stay far away. That's what best, that's what you should do is. It's the only way to go.

Don't get involved. I knew that, I did. And I stuck to that rule. I did. And I wouldn't say I was happy, but at least I was alive. I didn't get involved, and I didn't think that there'd be a reason to.

And then, one person came into my life, just one person, and changed it all. They changed it all. Funny that, how much one person can change so much.

…

My fate was decided the first time my world was shot through with that soft, soft yellow.

Everything was decided on the first day the sun really shone.

But of course, I didn't realise that this was new, this page in my story. I thought my fate had already been written, that I would do what I came to do, and then I would die. Simple as. My fate, it had no future.

And then there was a girl. And just by existing, she wrote a new page in my life, she extended my story. But when it was first written, I didn't realise. And so, I pushed, I pushed against it. I tried.

But I didn't try. Not really. I kid myself that I did, that I was really a sensible person, and that there was no point in setting myself up for heartache when it was just so much easier to remain numb. To pretend that the sun didn't warm me.

A silly idea, of course. No moth can ignore the light. Look in any book, and it'll tell you the same.

In the end, I could not leave her alone. She had eyes like the ones we once called friends, the ones we couldn't save. I told myself that I couldn't let history repeat itself.

What a liar. I was such a liar.

And of course, I should have died. When a moth reaches the light, they burn. They burn, die, become ashes. They are destroyed by desire, by something that looked beautiful on first sight. Why should I be any different? Why should he be any different?

And yet, when I did reach it, I stretched out my hands and realised that I was not burnt. I was glowing. And he noticed it.

The more I saw her, the more beautiful she got. Novelty should wear off in time, but not with her. She was special. The rest of the world would laugh at that, but who cared what the rest of the world thought? There was just something about her. I didn't want to let go. I should have, I should have. I shouldn't have even looked at her the first time. But I looked, and kept looking, and I couldn't stop, didn't want to.

My eyes couldn't get enough. I needed her colour.

He was the stuff of fairy tales and beautiful stories. He would brush against me by accident and fill my empty spaces for a moment, and then he'd be gone and all that would be left was a screaming breeze.

She couldn't cook, and it was too hard to pretend her food was any good. But I ate it anyway.

He smiled all the time, but from time to time his eyes would shift to me and that smile would change slightly. It became a gift.

I almost lost her-one reckless move and I almost lost her. But another reckless move gave her back to me. And I knew at that point that the only way I'd ever leave was to die.

As time had gone by, I knew that the light would be put out one day. I knew that I would eventually end up a destroyed moth. But…but…I wanted to feel the light against my skin. I wanted him to hold me .I wanted that smile to last forever and ever.

In other words: I wanted to know what it was like to feel. So the next time he brushed past me, I reached out.

And I didn't let go.

…

I had a pen in my hand for the first time. And not just any pen-this was the one that wrote my story. So I wrote in it. But all too soon, the pen was taken. Of course it was. People like us don't get control over their lives.

But while I had the pen, we fell for each other. It was just us, and our feelings. It didn't matter what anyone said, whether that was the world or the only other friend we had left. But of course, when control was snatched, we were scolded. We shouldn't have fallen for each other, was the only thing anyone could say. But at that time, I had already written myself the permission to fall in love. And so when the pen was taken, we had already started falling.

And we are still falling. We're still falling, and I don't know when it'll stop. All I know is that it feels good, this falling. For some reason, I am stronger, happier. We hold onto each other and fill in our empty gaps. When was the last time I was allowed to feel this full? When would I ever love this deeply again? Of course I would take this chance, take this opportunity. Of course I would. We have each other and we have no regrets.

But I'm afraid.

Because I don't know what will happen to us when we hit the ground.

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