Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, terms, and affiliates of Noein: Mou Hitori no Kimi e are not mine, but belong to their respective owners, Hiroshi Onogi, Satelight, Manga Entertainment &c.
Blur
A wall may have separated them, but he could still hear her breathing. Could still easily imagine how her light green comforter all but swallowed her small form on her bed. How it would bunch at still boyish hips before smoothing down her thighs—
Karasu's nostrils flared for a moment and he swore softly.
He smelled of her. Hours had passed since he had set her down in this storage room turned sanctuary, but still it clung to him, remnants of that scent all young girls carried with them—breezes and sunshine and utter innocence.
He stirred for a moment before drawing his cloak tighter against his body. He was no fool. It was dangerous, this obsession.
Haruka was the Ryuu no Torque. La'cryma needed her to survive.
Except...
Before that, she was just Haruka.
Mine.
He remembered then, faces and voices that may or may not have been memories at all. They could have been remnants of a past life or a parallel universe invading his mind, he no longer knew. No longer cared.
Let's run away together.
A slight tensing of his muscles and a quick spatial distortion that still left him a little cold in the gut, found Karasu on the other side of the wall.
A soundless step brought him to the edge of her bed, and he marvelled again at how small she was. How fragile.
Even the Haruka fifteen years her senior had been like that. Maybe that was why it was even harder for him to separate the two.
Who was real and who was not?
He stood for a moment longer before bending down. A hole appeared in the Layze of his cloak and through it, he stretched out a hand.
Just...
Karasu stopped short of actually touching the sleeping girl, though he longed to smooth away the stray hairs on her face. Test the softness of the skin on her temple. He wasn't sure if he would make contact at all, and the idea of seeing his hand go through her was something he could not tolerate. Or handle.
His Haruka, he couldn't touch through the glass. This Haruka, his too, just shouldn't be touched.
Instead, he formed his hand to follow the curve of her cheek and moved his arm down; passed a small neck and over a gently rising and falling chest. He paused to let his hand mimic the up and down motion before sweeping over the slope of hips. He finished at her feet, still many inches away before reaching the end of her bed.
Haruka slept on.
Karasu straightened and shifted back to the storage room.
Who was real and who was not?
It didn't really matter in the end. Haruka was real because he made her real. He failed to protect one, so he would make up for it with this one.
And he would always be the illusion.
He could hear her breathing.