Warnings: Death mention.
Fuuta wakes up.
It's a slow, quiet thing. Gradually, he comes into awareness. His lips are cracked and painfully dry. The scratches all over his feet and legs itch as they scab over. He's lying on something soft, and he's warm, but it's a comfortable type of warm. Not the warmth that comes from fire.
He's kind of surprised he woke up at all.
Blearily, Fuuta opens his eyes. The wall he's facing is made out of wood. The dry, burnable kind, the type that would belong to a log cabin in the mountains. It would've been one of the first ones to be reduced to ash.
…So it wasn't a dream, huh.
Slowly, Fuuta sits up. The soft, white sheets over him slip off his torso, and Fuuta takes the time to admire their fluffy texture. Something like this, he muses, would have been turned brittle and dry due to the constant exposure to heat, if it somehow survived being set on fire in the first place.
Shaking himself out of his trance, Fuuta sets about to looking around and scavenging. The room he's in has plenty of useful things. The blankets over him could provide warmth and protection from the sun. That potted plant could be planted outside, and the pot itself can serve as a box to store things in— or a weapon, if necessary. (Back when there had been people other than Fuuta, everyone was desperate and willing to do anything to survive, and Fuuta was no exception. He wasn't the last one because of luck, you know.) There's a small drawer next to the bed he's on, and a glass of water on top of it. If Fuuta drinks the water or saves it elsewhere, the glass cup can be saved or shattered and used as a weapon as well—
A woman comes in.
In a flash, Fuuta's pressing his back against the wall, eyes wide and startled. Belatedly, he realizes he's clutching the blanket to himself like a child that's just woken up from a nightmare.
He is a child that's just woken up from a nightmare.
Fuuta recognizes the woman. From…before he collapsed. He should thank her. He opens his mouth and closes it after wincing. Fuuta's throat is really, really dry. Also, his mouth has a funny taste. Pushing aside the uncomfortable sensations with practiced ease, Fuuta retries and ends up asking cautiously, "Who…are you?"
Wow. So much for being polite.
The woman smiles. It's pretty, and makes her eyes twinkle, and suddenly she looks so very alive. Fuuta can't help but stare.
"How are you feeling?" She walks over carefully, form open and inviting. It's not unlike how one would approach a frightened animal. Fuuta finds himself relaxing, and he hides an embarrassed frown.
"'M…okay."
He isn't burnt anywhere, his skin is soft and clean and new, and he's comfortable. It's more than he usually asks for.
Still, the woman frowns, disapproving.
"You shouldn't lie," she scolds him, worried. (Why? They're strangers.) "I saw the scratches on your legs, you know! You need to be more careful."
Fuuta ducks his head, feeling oddly sheepish. "Sorry."
"Here you go."
He looks up, and the woman is holding out the water to him. Tentatively, he takes it and sips, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He tilts the cup back down after a second, wanting to save the water for later, but then the woman clicks her tongue and chastises him again.
"You should drink more. There's plenty of water to go around, so don't hold back."
Fuuta blinks.
Right. Not back there anymore.
Carefully, he gulps the rest of the water down, not wanting to waste a drop. It's sweet and refreshing. Is this the taste of mountain water? He's forgotten.
Once the cup is empty, the woman takes it away with gentle hands. Fuuta lets her, dropping his hands onto his lap, suddenly unsure of what to do. The woman seems to notice this, and she smiles kindly at him. "I'm going to put this away, okay?"
Fuuta nods, watching her close the door with a quiet click. He hears footsteps pattering down what seems to be a flight of stars, and after he's sure that she's gone, he exhales. The quiet is unsettling. He's alone.
He's alone.
Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Where? Where are they? Fuuta's breathing starts coming out is silent gasps. He searches frantically, squeezing his eyes shut, but no matter how hard he strains they aren't there. Fuuta curls up into a ball, nails digging into the sheets beneath him. This isn't right, isn't right— he's not supposed to be alone!
He tries to scream, but his voice comes out cracked and small. "Where?!"
—ere! fuuta, fuuta, fuuta, can't you hear us? listen, please!
Fuuta's eyes snap open. It's barely there, a whisper in the wind, but he can hear them loud and clear.
shh, it's okay. we're right here, fuuta.
Slowly, his hands unclench. He's shaking like a leaf. Relief hits him like a tidal wave, and he sobs, a shuddering, pitiful thing.
sorry. we're sorry, fuuta. we'll always be here.
"Always?"
always. always.
Always.
Fuuta's eyes droop. He feels empty, tired. Crying is exhausting, and Fuuta decides that not only is it a waste of water, it's a waste of time, too. He'll try not to do it again. Crawling back under the blankets, he closes his eyes, shutting out the world around him. Stars burn brightly behind his eyelids, comforting whispers echoing throughout his head, and Fuuta shakes even as he falls asleep.
.🌟.
we can't keep this up forever.
are we saying we should leave him alone? we can't do that! he's important, precious, you can't, we can't!
we never said we were leaving him. but always is a lie. if it rains again…if the skies are gray, if we lose our connection, what'll happen to him?
…that's…
…we won't always be there for him. and…he won't always be there for us.
.🌟.
…forever is only a dream, you know.
Aaa this story's a bit slow-paced, but I want to reveal Fuuta's problems as they crop up. Today we're starring: separation anxiety! Yay!
Leave your thoughts in a review, and/or point out any mistakes! I'll come back to edit them if I find any!
Also, new cover photo by yours truly!
Thanks for reading!
