Chapter 11
Every day Chekov would hear Sulu's voice.
It wouldn't be faint, faded or a whisper; nor was it possible for it to come off another member of the crew. The voice was clear as a crystal, as though Sulu was stood next to Chekov, speaking the words into his ear.
"I love you Pavel." Sulu's voice would say.
Chekov eyes would open wide as he heard the statement. He knew it was Sulu's voice; the voice of the man who made him feel special, who protected him, who loved him for who he really was.
The operative word being 'loved'. He was gone now.
"Hikaru?" Chekov would ask blinded by hope that Sulu's death was a horrible dream and that he would appear from around a corner with a smile on his face and his arms held out for him to run into.
But as always, Sulu never appeared next to him, and Chekov never felt Sulu's hand on his arm as Sulu often did as a form of greeting when he was alive. Chekov never heard Sulu say the words 'it's all a bad dream' and 'none of what happened was real'.
But he knew he wasn't having a bad dream, he knew it was real, and now he knew how much reality could hurt. The naivety of youth and young love was gone.
His dreams at night were filled with Sulu. His face, his words, his expressions and touch - they all seemed so real and vivid as though they were really happening. Every morning that Chekov awoke though, he spiralled down deeper into his depressive mood when he realised Sulu wasn't there to tell him how beautiful he looked in the morning, or to say that he had sat for an hour just watching him, amazed at how someone could be so perfect.
Chekov winced at the memories of telling Sulu that he needed his eyes testing and his brain swabbed if what he was saying was really true.
He would do anything to have Sulu back. Anything.
Every time he heard Sulu's voice, the memories would flood his mind and Chekov would slide down the wall or drop to his knees, tears escaping their captivity and silently gliding down his face; the name "Hikaru" would leave his tongue as sobs began to take their toll on his body, racking it violently.
It seemed to him that he had an infinite amount of tears to shred...
... and everyday, he wished he was dead.