XXI: The Universe's Farewell
Of course, insomnia decides to fuck with him even after all the fighting he's been through.
He sighs. The others have already gone back to sleep, and by tomorrow, it seems like their memories will either be erased or forgotten. He doesn't really mind it; he's used to loneliness, he's used to the cold shoulders. Just watching them live their lives is enough for him to carry out his two last promises that he still could've kept, but it'll remind him of the ones he couldn't.
Ryoji hadn't said much, but he knows holding on to this piece of his soul even while the rest of him is stretched beyond the scope of his eyes would be painful and exhausting. He thinks it's going to be fine for a while, and he'll start to feel the effects later. He could just deal with it then, but right now, he has to figure out a few things.
Should he tell Yukari that he's going to die? Should he reconnect immediately, later, or not at all?
It's a question with pain waiting at the end, no matter his choices. He knows they'll eventually remember their ordeals, their trials, their bonds… but when will that be? He couldn't have known that. But those questions and what-ifs are unnecessary; right now, he should be focusing on the present. About what he could do to spend more time with them, even a little.
His passing will come, eventually, and he thinks… he wants to leave a solid proof – or proofs – that he was here, that he was alive and had lived a good life. He knows exactly what he wants to do, and thinking about it now, it's sappy as all hell. But he's going to die anyway, so no one's going to care if he's being a bit more emotional than normal, right?
So he just acts like normal. The only change is that no one in the dorm is as close to him as they should – hell, they don't even realize they were friends, since his connections to them (all of them) are deeply tied to the existence of the Dark Hour. Without it, the bonds they've shared are sealed away into the pits of their souls, and he's truly alone, in a sense.
What actually surprises him is his chance encounter with Yukari, thrice, in the same day. She doesn't remember she's the one teaching him about the flowers, or the one introducing him to the flowerbed on the rooftop. She doesn't even remember there being a small garden, and yet, here she is, eating from his bento box, smiling, laughing, blissfully oblivious.
It might've been better this way, but he knows better – that if, when, they remember, they'd have liked for him to tell them everything. She would have wanted him to tell her everything. But right now, he just couldn't bring himself to. At the end of the day, all he does is enjoying a quiet lunch with the girl he loves (always have, always will), even if she doesn't realize it, and ends the school hours on a normal, high note.
Once the class is adjourned, he heads for Paulownia Mall, having gotten used to the layout after months and months of coming here for all things and everything, from stationaries to, surprise, the bar. He wishes Shinjirou would remember him a little, because he'd love to drown himself in alcohol and pours the vodka down to flood out the sorrow. He sighs (who would've thought he could've become an alcoholic in a few weeks flat?) before heading for the stationary sections of the mall and looks for a few things.
Pens. Papers. Thin diaries. For each of them, there's a tie that bind them together. He wants to express everything he has in his heart, but words won't make it past March 5th, he knows this much. So, he's going to write them all down – all his thoughts, all his joys and regrets, all his happiness and pain. He's going to convey them to the family he has made, and leave them proofs of his own existence.
As for Yukari… he knows exactly what else he wants to give her.
A question he wishes he'd have had the chance to ask, a vow he wishes he'd have had the chance to take, an item that speaks louder than any words he could've said; if he had lived, they might've bound themselves to death together. The idea brings him as much joy as it is sorrow; he couldn't carry it out. But he could still tell her this post-mortem, so he will.
After a bit more shopping, where he just throws his savings away buying things (he earned millions just going in and out of Tartarus, so who cares, right?), he goes back to the dorm, hands full with bags from various shops. Each of his friends are unique, so each gift is thought out, and it took him quite a while to figure the perfect items for everyone.
When he's at the dorm, he goes to the kitchen first to grab a bite before heading up to his room. Much to his surprise, a familiar voice greets him. "Where've you been?"
He turns around to see Shinjirou there, standing tall, hands in his coat. Makoto eyes him a little, unsure, since his interaction with Shinjirou without the Dark Hour is minimal, at best. "…Paulownia Mall."
"I remember."
That makes him does a double take, and a grin splits across the older boy's face as he chuckles lowly. In a manner that's all too familiar, his rough hand finds his head, patting it, ruffling his hair out of place. He laughs a little as the older boy pulls him into a hug. Without missing a beat, he hugs back, burying his face into the red overcoat that's so warm and welcoming.
After a moment, he pulls away, smiling up as the older boy keeps a hand on his head. He doesn't mind it in the least. "But… how? Everyone forgot."
"Maybe because I'm the only one who knows that you're—" At this, he cuts himself off, frowning a little. A cough, then he continues, his voice low. "—Dying."
His smiles sadden a little as he nods. "…I still am."
"Do you know how long you have left?" He says, helping Makoto carrying his things without his consent. When he tries to pry the bags away from the older boy's arms, all he's given is a stink eye, so he backs away.
"I don't know, but… I plan to hang on until Graduation Day," He murmurs, his eyes chancing a glance at Yukari as she laughs with Junpei and Yamagishi. "…My bonds with all of you are so deeply tied to the Dark Hour that, without one, I'm just a stranger."
"Hey, don't say that," Shinjirou says, patting his head again. "I'm still here, dipshit. You ain't getting rid of me that easily. Besides, I'm sure they'll remember before then."
"I hope so, too," He says with a small chuckle.
"Anyways, what're these for?" He asks, but not taking a peek. Makoto quietly thanks him as they make their way up the stairs. "You sure bought a lot of stuffs today."
"Mementos," He replies. At this, Shinjirou frowns, but says nothing. He takes the older boy's silence as a permission to continue. "I'm not sure when they'll – you'll – remember, so… I plan on leaving something behind. My thoughts, my thanks, for all of you."
"A parting gift for each of us, then?"
"Yes."
Shinjirou chews his tongue a little at this, a small frown settling on his face. When they reach his room, they just stand there in front of his door for a while. When he thinks the older boy's not going to say anything else, the man proves him wrong. "So… if you just want to talk, or want help with anything, just tell me, 'kay? I'll be there."
"Thank you," He says with a smile and a laughter. "Then, meet you at Club Escapade later tonight?"
Shinjirou blinks. "…Wait what."
"I'm in need of a few stiff drinks," He says, putting the bag down on the desk before walking back to the door, a few coins in hands. "I'm going to start writing into those diaries first, then… I think I'm going to drink myself under the table."
"Makoto, wait, hold on, backtrack a bit—" Shinjirou seems to half-splutter at that, taken aback by his sudden request for drinks. He could only let the mirth dances in his expression as the man just looks at him stupidly. "Wait, fuck, are you an alcoholic?"
He shrugs. "I think so."
"Fuck me."
They pause, standing before his door for a few seconds, before they burst out laughing simultaneously. After they catch their breaths, he smiles, bowing his head a little. "Thank you for everything, Senpai. I'm going to be in your care for a month."
At this, his smile falters a little. He reaches for Makoto's head, again, and he still doesn't mind it. "It's alright, I don't mind. Just wish you'd be in my care for longer."
"Yeah," He hums. "Me too."
After another encounter with Yukari at the vending machine, he's gotten himself even more things to think about.
It seems like the memories are leaking, incomplete, shattered. She doesn't remember that he gave her that hairpin, but her heart seems to know, as she's wearing it even though she usually doesn't like any color other than pink. It makes his heart aches. Fate is indeed a cruel, merciless mistress that would mock you for your own incompetency and your failures.
But… he's not as upset as he thought he'd be. For all the things Fate forced upon him, there are both curses and blessings, mixing together, making his life unique. It hurts to live, but it's also worth every seconds of it, no matter how painful. Even if they all forget (he's so glad Shinjirou remembers), it seems their hearts still remember something, deep down. Now he has hope that they might recall the promise they've made to meet on his final day, and so he has even more reasons to complete his gifts for them.
Even after he's shot, he's always used his right hand to write, since it's much faster than his left. But because he lost much of the dexterity in his fingers, his handwriting became a sloppy mess even he has trouble making heads and tails out of sometimes. But, secretly, he's been practicing with his left. Thanks to all the Tartarus fighting, using his left is not as hard as he thought it would, and soon he improved it enough to be somewhat passable.
He puts as much care as he could into each line, each letter, as he writes his thoughts for all of them. First, addressing everyone in the SEES as a whole in an open letter that he hopes someone will read aloud after they discover it. He smiles a little at each memory, joyous and painful, bright and grim, warm and cold – they all make them who they are today, and he's thankful for everything and everyone.
So, he writes, slowly, carefully, turning his thoughts into words he'll not have the chance to say, so that they may have the chance to see, to know, how much they mean to him, how much he loves them. It's not hard to turn them into words, but it's still painful to know that they won't know he'll be gone until after he is. It saddens him that he'll not get the chance to see their tomorrows they've fought together to protect, that he'll not get the chance to live his life with them – and with her.
He makes sure to leave a little space, so that he may add more content should the need arises. But the open letter itself doesn't really need any more words than it already has, he thinks. The personal ones that he's intending to write for each of them, however, are different. There are so many things he wants to say, but he isn't sure if he'll have enough time to write them down or not. Still, he could try. He still has a whole month, after all.
A month, to leave evidences of his existence behind. A month, to watch them bloom. A month, to see the world as it is, for the first time.
A month… to live.
He smiles a little at his thoughts, convoluted and morbid, unhelpful. It's how he is, even after his PTSD has improved, even after his baseless guilt is gone, it's just how his mind works. Thinking about things over and over, finding solutions, wishing for things to be different. He couldn't quite change this habit of his, unfortunately.
He puts the pen down. It's already late, and he just knows he won't be able to write anything more down with how tense he is now. He sighs and gets up, donning on his turtleneck and his winter coat before heading out for his late-night destination.
He notes the absence of the usually loud Mutatsu, who has finally left to reconnect with his own family that he's left behind. He smiles a little and heads for the counter, seating himself next to Shinjirou, who promptly slides a shot glass his way. A whiff, and he immediately knows this is pure vodka, his favorite.
"Drink all you want, tabs are on me," Shinjirou says, shrugging. The bartender, who has grown too used to their presences by now, just sighs and shakes his head.
"I think the bartender thinks we're ridiculous," He muses, fingers caressing the glass playfully. "It's a miracle he hasn't booted me out yet."
"He knows a man in need of alcohol when he sees one, that guy," Shinjirou hums. "And I, despite my better judgement, think you can just drink yourself under however much you like."
He laughs lightly. "If that isn't the truth."
They clink their shot glasses together before he downs the content in a single gulp, the hot burn of alcohol washing his worries away, corroding it into the pit of his heart. A tap of his hand, and his glass is refilled, this time almost to the brim.
"What're you gonna do on Valentine's?" The older boy asks. "Since, you know—"
"Writing, probably," He hums, sightly amused. He has an idea in mind already, but after giving her the gift without the key (if she accepts it, that is), there's not much else left for him to do after.
"Wanna cook up a storm?" Shinjirou asks.
He pauses a little. Of course, a meal with all of them, even if they don't remember a thing, still sounds like a solid idea. He wants to see them, even if he's no more than a stranger.
In the end, he nods, chuckling lightly. "Sure. And, maybe… the night before Graduation, too."
"Then it's set," Shinjirou hums. To his surprise, the man raises his glass with a smile, one that's not tainted by sorrow. "To a good month."
He raises his own. "To a good month."
Cooking has become something of a ritual to him.
He's, surprisingly, a pretty task-focus person. He can drown out almost everything, inside and out, when he cooks. Counting the steps, counting the seconds, preparing the ingredients; they all require delicate dedication, disallowing him spare time for thoughts, morbid and repetitive. It helps him calm down, it helps him forget the rising pain in his limbs and the tiredness in his sinews and bones.
It helps him forget that his friends — his life — do not remember him.
Much to his surprise, Yukari actually agrees to let him cook for her. He knows her favorites by heart, so he needs not recite the recipe or even think about what to do next, with his body moving onwards on its own. It allows him a bit of time to hum out Burn My Dread, the sound resonating inside his eardrums softly.
He couldn't help but smile at how much she loves what he's cooked up, while he himself couldn't eat anything more than porridges since the third day of coming back from Nyx. His stomach churns at even the thoughts of solid food, but he can still endure the smell and the taste sometimes. It allows him to blend in, to act normal, somewhat.
He tries his best to eat, he really does, but each bite almost makes him gag, so he has to slow down. The gloves don't help with eating, either, but he has to wear them. They'll question everything if they see even a glimpse of his scars, and that's not an entertaining thought. He sighs as he continues to eat his breakfast the best he could. He still needs energy to make it to the Promised Day, after all.
"Why do you wear gloves all the time?" She suddenly asks as she takes another bite. He unconsciously curls the fingers of his right hand, the scars making themselves known. "It's not that cold outside."
He takes a moment, frowning, chewing on his tongue as if to find an appropriate answer. But, even without her memories of him, he knows Yukari won't be satisfied with a half-ass excuse, so he just bites the bullet and murmurs. "…Hand's scarred. Don't want people to see."
"Can I?"
He looks at her eyes fully this time, at her firm gaze and her tensed expression. She's worried, minute as it may, and perhaps a little curious. He jumps under his skin when her hand touches his, and then he realizes he's shaking under her grip. When she tries to take the glove off, his immediate reaction is to curl his fingers, to stop her from tugging his barrier away.
He doesn't know what he should do. Should he pull away? Should he let her?
In the end, he simply nods, allowing her to continue.
He doesn't look her way, at first, but turns to face her when he hears a soft gasp. Her eyes are glued to the bullet wound, to his crooked, deformed fingers. She traces the scars with her hand, fingers light and so warm (he misses it. He misses her touches. He misses her) before she murmurs. "…Does this… hurt?"
He shakes his head and quickly tugs his hand back into its confinement. He's going to make her worry more than she should, and he can't allow that. He won't let her have any worries, for as long as he could, however short that period may be.
"Yuuki-kun…"
Please, call my name, He silently begs, he wordlessly wishes. Just call my name, like you used to. Touch me, hold me, kiss me, like you used to. I want you to remember. I miss you.
In the end, he just forces himself to smile, shoving the despair away. It's only one month. Just watching her is already enough for him. He then says (lies), "It's okay. It doesn't hurt. I'm alright now."
He isn't sure if she actually believes that one or not, but she doesn't question it further, so he lets it be. He continues to eat, his heart beating painfully inside his ribcage, his fingers so, so cold.
He misses her touches. He misses her everything.
Giving her the box makes him want to kiss her even more.
The feeling of her fingers brushing him through the gloves, her sarcastic laughter, her gentle smile, they all remind him of the things he's going to miss sourly. He absently puts a hand on his chest, feeling the silver key – the key to his gift for her – pressing against his skin. It's cold, and he wants to just hand it to her and let her open it, so that he would—
He quickly kills the thoughts off. He's made his choices long ago; that no matter what, he'll not tell her anything unless the time's almost upon them. He'll tell her only when the cherry blossom at the Shrine starts to bloom – if it does. Because, if he doesn't set anything to stop himself now, he's going to end up telling her everything, and she'd be confused and scared, and he doesn't want that to happen.
Instead, he makes it as vague as possible. He knows she's not one to back out of promises made, no matter how absurd, as long as she says she'd keep them. He'll give her the key on the final day, that much he can be certain. And when the letters reach them – then, he'll get to ask his question, and she won't have to give him the answer.
Much to his surprise, she actually decides to tag along to buy groceries with him. He isn't sure why, since he knows she's not the type, but questioning it won't change a thing, so he just doesn't.
The shopping is pretty normal, by his standards; some vegetables, some meat, some seasonings. Yukari, however, is watching him with curiosity that's borderline nerve-wrecking. He doesn't mind answering the questions, but he thinks she's being a bit more observant than normal. She seems to frown every time he flinches, every time he draws back like he's burnt.
He knows clinging to the final month is going to be a bitch, but to think it'd start to show halfway through – it's not unthinkable, but it still annoys him. He chances a glance, and sees that indeed, she's watching him. A little bit of worry mixing into her curious gaze as he picks out the last of the seasonings needed for their dinner. He tries to reassure her with a smile before heading for the cashier.
"So," She begins. He turns to her, tilting his head slightly. She seems like she knows something's starting to go wrong, but much to his relief, it's not like she knows what exactly. After a moment's pause, she says, "Why did you pick up cooking?"
The same question she asked months ago, before the October's full moon. He curls his lips into a small smile. This is the question he has no need to lie about. "Distractions."
"From what?"
He's about to answer truthfully, but then he remembers that right now, she doesn't know (doesn't remember) about his… past issues. So he backtracks a little and decides to go for something that's nearest to the truth instead. "Thoughts. Convoluted, morbid, unhelpful thoughts."
"Ah," She hums. "OCD, huh."
He shrugs.
"But you're a pretty good cook," She says, rubbing her chin a little. "I still don't get how you can make one of my favorite dishes with so little interactions with me."
"Beginner's luck, probably," He responds.
"I'd hardly call your cooking beginner's level," She counters.
"It feels like that against Shinjirou-senpai's, though," He replies, scratching his chin a little. He's starting to get used to the gloves, so cooking's getting much easier. Besides… his fingers are starting to get cold, probably because of the Seal. He's going to be wearing it constantly, now.
At this, Yukari seems slightly amused as she giggles a little. "If you say his food is good, then I guess I'll be looking forward to today's dinner, then."
He smiles.
He shoves every other thought away; for today, he's going to live a normal life.
The fatigue and the pain start making themselves known two days later.
Even if he's mentally prepared, he couldn't possibly have steeled himself for this kind of physical torment; every breath is starting to hurt, even if it's a little right now. Every step is shaken, and it hurts his joints, making them creek and groan. He's used to pain – he's always been used to the pain, from his own hands, from the fights, from his times in the foster homes and the streets. But to feel them constantly with barely any time to catch his breath is quite a tiring experience.
The first one to notice, of course, is Shinjirou. The only one who's been staying by his side, keeping him company, watching over him all this time. It's a weekday night when he first mentions this while Makoto is sitting at the dining table, a cup of hot chocolate resting snuggly in between his palms. The man puts a small bowl of porridge in front of him before sitting down beside him.
After a moment's pause, he says, "Are you in pain?"
He knows there's no point in lying. Experiences teach him better; lying to his closest confidants, to his friends, usually brings him no good. Being honest is mostly the way he should go about this. So, after a moment of steeling himself, he nods, taking a small sip out of the cup before speaking. "…They're starting to make themselves known… the consequences of my choices."
"…You speak a bit slower than normal, too," Shinjirou comments. He frowns a little, but finds that Shinjirou is right; he does speak slower. Mostly because his tongue is a bit numb, he thinks. Hell, he bit on it a few times today, and he couldn't even tell until after he smelled blood. "Don't push yourself too hard, okay? You still have nearly three weeks left to go."
He laughs a little at this. "Your attempt to cheer me up… really sucks, Senpai."
"Oh, shut up."
They spend the next few minutes in silence, with Makoto trying his best to eat the stale, tasteless porridge while the older boy just watches him, his hand patting and ruffling his hair lightly. After a few bites, he feels nauseous, so he puts the spoon down and breathes through his mouth a few times. He immediately follows it through with a groan.
"…If you ain't eating, I'm force-feeding ya," The man says, scooting a bit closer, a hand on his shoulder. "I know it sucks, but you've gotta eat more."
"Nauseous," He manages, his voice hoarse. He leans his head into his knuckles. "Tongue's numb."
Instead of chiding him or force-feeding him like he's threatened, Shinjirou just stands up, walks to the cupboard, and returns a moment later. He's about to ask what the man did, only to see a pill and a glass of water being pushed his way. He looks up, a little confused.
"Drug for the nausea," He says. "I ain't letting you leave that seat till you eat it all up."
"…I love you, Senpai, but I really… really want to punch you right now."
The man lifts his fist up. "Wanna try?"
"…No, thank you," He backpedals instantly. He does not want his nose broken, thank you very much. He sighs, looking at the porridge and then at the pill. He decides to take it. "…Are you going to, like… watch me eat?"
"Yes, because I know you ain't above throwing the thing outta the window," He says. In contrast to his harsh words, the man pats his hair lightly, carefully, as if afraid to hurt him. "Take your time. I ain't in a hurry."
In the end, he just nods and does as told.
Even if it hurts, he makes sure to visit the cherry blossom tree behind the shrine as often as he could.
A part of him wants the tree to bloom, so that he'd be able to keep the forgotten promise. And so that he'd be able to tell her at least something. Maybe an I love you that's locked deep within his soul, that's always sitting there at the tip of his tongue, that's waiting to be free. He wants the cherry blossom to adorn that tree, sitting at the very top of the lonely hill, so that he'd have the chance to feel her skin against his, to feel her warmth, to kiss her again.
He's getting weaker, so much so that it's starting to become obvious. Sanada would occasionally ask if he's okay, Kirijou would offer some help, Amada would try to cheer him up, Yamagishi would give him something for the fatigue, and Junpei would withdraw his arm from Makoto's shoulders whenever his knees shift and buckle slightly under him. He always tells them that he's fine (he's really not), and they would all believe him.
But Yukari is different. He knows she's always watching from afar. He'd often see her looking at him worriedly as he clings to the railings, trying to keep his body standing up. Sometimes, he'd see her eyes, that's full of uneasiness, as he tries to catch his breath or to even out his erratic heartbeats. She always knows because she's so perceptive, but he doesn't want her to pry more than she already has. He doesn't want her to see him like this.
But, as Fate would have it, she actually catches him lingering behind in class today.
He's feeling especially sick, having eaten some snacks Junpei's brought from Wild Duck Burger – snacks that now taste like rotten fish innards and tar and charcoal. It doesn't take long for him to throw up every last scrap of the meal into the toilet, and even hours afterwards, he's still feeling sick. He wants to barf all the time, and his stomach's churning and twisting. It takes all that he has just to not heave out whatever remains inside his stomach, and she notices this.
Unfortunately for him, she's not willing to let it slide. With a sigh, she says. "Are you okay? Are you sick?"
He wants to lie. Everything's fine, he's going to be okay – that's what he wants to say. But he knows she, unlike the others, would not be satisfied with some half-truths like that. So he closes his eyes, trying to ground himself, and murmurs. "…A little. I'm… going to stay here awhile. I'm nauseous."
"…Okay," She says, reluctantly so. And then, to his surprise, she sits right back down. "Just tell me when you want to leave."
It's not like she remembers anything. Rather, this is just… how she is. He's just a stranger, living in the same dorm. To show care is just… so much like her it hurts. A part of him wants to grab her and hugs her and kisses her, but he reigns those wild thoughts in. He swallows before managing to find his voice again and whispers, "You don't have to stay. I'll be fine in a few minutes."
"It's just a few minutes. I can wait. I've got nothing to do today anyway."
Don't bind yourself to me. Just go, be free, don't worry. I'll be alright. There's only two weeks left now. I'll be okay. "…I see. I'm sorry."
I'm sorry for letting you see me like this. I'm sorry for worrying you. I'm sorry for leaving.
He doesn't say any of those words out loud, however much he wants to. She doesn't know (yet), and when she recalls everything, he'll tell her all of those in the papers he's been writing anyway.
"It's okay," She says softly with a shrug, a warm, gentle smile gracing her lips. "I want to stay here. You seem like you need help."
He laughs a little (it sounds like a cough, to be honest), but keeps silent, not trusting himself enough to not spill out everything he wants to say. Instead, he focuses on his ragged breaths, calming down his beating heart, slowing down his wild mind, just enough to think straight. He thinks he can make it to the Shrine today, just… maybe he'll need to take a bit more time than usual. He's alright with that.
With a sigh, he pushes himself up shakily, his arms trembling. He isn't quite surprised when her hand is on his arm, supporting his weight. He smiles at her slightly as he staggers up fully. He takes a pause, one that's too long, one that hurts, before he breathes, "I'm better now. You can… go on ahead. I'll follow."
"We can walk home together, if you'd like."
He doesn't want her to see him like this. Not now, not ever. But he knows she won't back down, so he settles for a compromise. "…I have to go to Naganaki Shrine. We can… go to Iwatodai Station together, I suppose."
Each word hurts. Each breath hurts. His tongue is numb, and he couldn't even taste his own saliva as he gulps for air that's never enough. He hates this. Not in a sense that it hurts, but that he has to let her see him like this, in pain and broken. She shouldn't have to worry. She's living a happy, obliviously blissful life, and he doesn't want to disrupt that.
"…Why Naganaki Shrine?"
He smiles a little at the question, his eyes shifting towards the far horizon. This moment reminds him of memories that feel like a lifetime ago, where they'd hang back together, fingers intertwined. He wants to hold her. Wants to touch her more than this. But he knows he can't.
He shifts his eyes back to her and whispers, "I made a promise," To you, who's my everything. Always have been, always will be. "I want to see it through."
She seems… upset. Maybe it's because the way he said it, or how he looks, but in the end, she just sighs and shrugs, hand careful around his biceps. "I'll walk you to Iwatodai Station. After that, you're on your own."
"Okay," He hums, relaxing slightly.
He silently wishes for the cherry blossoms to finally bloom, so that he can say I love you to her, just one more time.
The petals fly into the air, decorating the gale with beautiful, sorrowful color.
It is three days later when it finally happens. His trips to the Shrine have been tiring and physically taxing, but he's rewarded with the fully-bloomed cherry blossoms, way out of its usual seasons. He smiles as he pants, staggering forward. He finally makes his way towards the bench and drops down onto it, exhaustion seeping into his bones.
Deep breath, and then he closes his eyes.
He feels like he's constantly trampled and whipped and torn apart, his heart feels like it's burning and exploding. His lungs can never get enough air, and he's left breathless even after a few steps. His arms and legs are groaning like he's always been using them, the soreness and the pain accompanied by sparks of lightning that'd leave him numb and cold.
But it's alright. He's used to the pain, and all of those are nothing he couldn't handle.
He could still cook, albeit with needing a bit more time and a bit more help than usual. He could still go to school, even if he has to time himself half and hour early to catch his breath. He could still write, each stroke of the pen needing more care and focus than the last, but he could still relay his thoughts into the paper, to write down his wishes and his questions and his requests for them to live their lives into the diaries as his clock ticks his life away without pause.
He lets himself breathe deeply, the taste of spring and the cherry blossoms filling his usually blood-tinted tongue, the peaceful odor making its way into his sense, relaxing him further. He smiles slightly, his mind recalling the night of the summer festival, with her by his side, gripping his hand, calming him, laughing lightly. So warm, so gentle, like the sun.
He reaches out a hand, and a single petal falls down into his palm. He takes it between his finger and inspects it carefully. It reminds him of her, and now, he can tell her what he wants to. Not everything, but the things that would remind her later on that he still loves her, that he remembers, that he will always remember, no matter what.
"Thank you," He whispers into the wind as he looks towards the skyline, as the sun starts to sink past the horizon. The yellowish-orange light gives Port Island an almost picturesque sight, save for a missing person he'll be bringing here tomorrow to complete it.
Thank you, whatever gods or Fate there is, that's giving me this one chance.
He breathes again and pushes himself up, his legs shaking. He looks up at the tree, at the dancing leaves, at the fading sunlight.
A bit more than week left, before he has to go.
And he'll make sure he won't regret anything.
He approaches her days later, on the first day of March, the first day of spring.
Four days until the Promised Day, and his body knows this. It's still hanging on by the thread, with his heart still refusing to stop, as stubborn as he is. Each breath is like dragging molten lava down his lungs, each movement slow and painful, as if his arms and legs are laden with lead. And he knows that Yukari notices this, too. He's been trying to avoid her as best he could, but he couldn't possibly account for his legs suddenly stopping functioning when he tried to go up the stairs, or when the pen just slipped out of his grip during lectures.
His mind is a mess, jumbled and slowed. It feels like trying to squint his eyes through the fog, with no end in sight. His tongue is numb and tingling and, combining that with his burning lungs, are making talking equivalent to climbing Mount Everest. Every small task is like lifting heavy loads – and he thinks he's still here now only because his unyielding heart is refusing to give up. And he won't; not until he could meet them again on the roof. Not until everyone's there.
When he approaches her, he knows she's going to ask things he couldn't possibly answer. So he steels his heart and keeps his despair, his fear, all the things he wishes to say bottled up deep within his own soul, then smiles. The first thing she says when she sees him is, "Are you sure you're really okay? You look like you could fall over any seconds now. You should go to the hospital."
He's been to the hospital times and times before, and the notion of just going back there is making him physically sick. He smiles and shifts his eyes to the horizon again. He speaks, the feeling of sandpaper being scrubbed along his throat making it hard to even put volume behind it. "There's… something I want you to see."
"…What thing?"
He wants to keep it a surprise. He isn't sure if she's going to play along or not, but he has to try. If she doesn't, well… telling her what he wants her to see's still an option. "Can you… walk with me today?"
She looks like she wants to say something, to say a lot of things. But she seems torn, unsure. In the end, much to his relief, she decides to play along with his little game and says, "Sure, I guess."
He tries his best to keep his steps as steady as he could, and his breathing controlled, as he leads her to Naganaki Shrine in silence. He couldn't speak much – he has to save up his energy for the walk, after all. Thankfully, she's not saying anything to him, possibly finding it awkward to even strike up a conversation with a weird introvert like him, and he's fine with that (he's really not).
When they finally reach the cherry blossoms, he couldn't help but smile at her awestruck expression. She then starts walking around, inspecting the place, light of happiness dancing in her soft brown eyes, her smile gentle and warm.
"It's beautiful," She says.
"It is," He hum, eyes shifting up, hand gathering a single petal in between his fingers. He silently thanks the gods again before asking her quietly. "Do you like it?"
Her smile is bright as she says, "Yeah! I don't even know there's a hill here! I should come here during the summer festival this year."
"It'd be… quite a sight, I'm sure," He says, remembering that night where they sat there together, their fingers interlaced. She was so, so warm. It was one of the moments he wishes had never ended. He then staggers over to the bench and sits down, his legs too tired to keep him up for much longer. He leans back against the stone that was warmer the last time he was here, and murmurs. "This is all… I wanted to show you… you can leave… whenever you want."
"I'm just going to admire this a bit longer, I think. What about you?"
"I'm going to rest awhile," He says. Walking up the stairs is especially tiresome today. He wonders if it's because he couldn't eat anything at all and throw up all of his gastric content this morning. He guesses that must've been the case. But, oddly enough, he finds himself quite relaxed like this. "I'll be back… after sunset, maybe."
"Can I watch it with you?"
He's surprised, but… he doesn't mind it. "Of course."
He keeps his eyes closed, letting his body half-pants, trying to gather as much oxygen into his lungs as he humanly could. He tries to relax a bit more, and finds himself focusing on the warmth radiating from her as she sits there beside him.
He wants to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her how much she means to him. He wants to feel her hands on his skin, her lips against his own, her warm breath tickling his hair, like all those nights ago. But those are just that; wishes, hopeful but improbable. But he thinks… he might be able to tell her the three words, just to make sure she knows. He isn't even sure if he'll be capable of talking in the next few days or not, so he guesses today is his best bet.
Again, she starts, her voice unsure. "Hey. Are you okay?"
He smiles slightly, eyes still closed. His chest hurts at every breath, his tongue's burning on every word, but he wants to talk to her, just a minute, just a second longer. "No."
It takes her a moment, and then her reaction is immediate. His word is not what sets her off, no, but it's a confirmation to her suspicion, he thinks. She quickly grabs his shoulder (it hurts), shaking him. "What!? If you're not alright, then you should go see a doctor! I'll—"
He cuts her off by placing his hand over her own. "It's alright… This, too, will pass."
I won't be suffering for long. You don't have to worry about me.
"Yuuki-kun, excuse me, but you look like absolute shit right now. Come one, I'll take you to—"
"Please," He says. He knows she won't back down, but this is the one thing he can't let her do. The doctors won't be able to help, and they'll only make keeping his promise harder. "It'll pass, eventually… I think… I can hold out until then."
Four more days. I can make it.
She seems to give up and bites at her lip. He knows she want to push him more, but she also knows he won't let her. She might've forgotten him, but her heart doesn't, it seems. "Why're you so stubborn?"
"Am I?" He laughs a little at that. He's gotten that a lot, especially from her and a certain senior with a beanie and a scowl.
When he glances sideways to look at her again, she's looking so worried, so uncertain. Questions at the tip of her tongue, worry outlining her brows, subtle fear in her expression. He couldn't help but feel like he wants to ease her pain, even a little. She deserves to be happy. She should be happy, yet here she is, tying herself to him without her own knowledge, forcing him to fall in love all over again.
Before he could think on it, his hand – crooked, scarred, unfeeling – is already on her cheek, caressing it, feeling it through the glove.
She jumps a little, but doesn't pull away, so he just smiles at her, thumb drawing little circles under her eye, fingers touching her jaw, feeling her shivers just minutely under his palm. He wants this moment to stay like this forever, frozen in translucent snow globe, unchanging, so kind and so gentle. He wants to keep feeling her warm skin, wants to hold her tighter than this, wants to do more than just cupping her cheek in his deformed hand. But… he couldn't. He can't take advantage of her, not like this.
He settles with freezing this feeling, this moment, into his memories before he pulls away and murmurs slowly. "You're beautiful," Always have been.
"Uh… Thanks," She stammers, her face slightly red, flushing like the first time they kissed.
…He has to leave, before he does something more. Something that she will regret. So he forces himself to stand up on his weakened, numb legs, and says, each word more painful than the last. "I'm sorry… About that. Just… I've always... wanted to do it, you see."
"…Why?"
This time, he says what he's always wanted to; the feeling he's buried deep within his heart. The feeling he's always had just for her alone.
"Because… I love you."
He can't make it to school by himself anymore.
Bone deep exhaustion is rendering him immobile, each draw of breath and each twitch of muscles so painful and incredibly tiresome. He wants nothing more than to sleep the day away, but he knows he can't do that. He has to keep writing — he's nearly there, the diaries are almost finished — and he has to keep acting like everything is alright, that he is okay, so that they wouldn't worry.
Shinjirou helps him tremendously during this last stretch; a silent arm around him to keep him warm and keep him standing. A pat to the head that says I'm here for you, a sad smile that is as gentle as his heart. He's grateful that the man remembers him and their bond, and pained that he has to see him like this, barely breathing, barely living, undeniably dying, a foot already past the gateway to hell.
Shinjirou takes his time walking him to school in his arm in the early mornings, and helps him back after class, waiting for him at the front of the classroom door, not giving two fucks about what anyone's saying about him. Always so kind, so understanding. He has been blessed with a company of this man, he really has; and he's glad he's managed to save his life from the jaws of death. Without him, he thinks he mightn't have made it to the Promised Day.
After Yukari helps him back to his room, seeing him like that, her eyes confused and afraid, he staggers to his bed and drops down, panting, his mind a jumbled mess. He could barely think at all, and talking to her is nearly an impossible task; each word is like bellowing at the top of his lungs, yet the sound that manages to come out is naught but a whisper. He closes his eyes, not bothering to change out of his clothing, an arm over his face, unable to shift from his position. But he still needs to cook for them tomorrow – and he will, no matter what.
There's a knock on his door, and Shinjirou wastes no time opening it, not even waiting for his consent. The older man drags the chair to the bedside and sits down, placing something on the floor. He then says, quietly, "You should skip school tomorrow."
"No," He denies, trying to push himself up. Shinjirou wordlessly pulls him into a sitting position, a hand on his shoulder as he breathes shallowly. After a moment, he continues. "I can do it… Only two more days… I want to."
"You can't even breathe right," The older man mutters, eyes glancing towards something on the floor. He follows, and sees a bowl of porridge and a glass of water there. "…But… I know. If I were you, I'd have wanted to spend the time with them, too."
"…Thank you," He says, blinking dazedly.
After another few minutes, Shinjirou puts the glass into his shaking hands while he stirs the porridge with care. Makoto doesn't want him to waste so much time with a dead man walking like him, but the older boy insists, and he likes (needs) the company, so he just relents and lets the older man helps him. He even goes as far as to feed him in these past few days, since keeping the spoon steady is something he could only accomplishes half of the time, now.
He obediently eats a half spoon of warm, tasteless meal as Shinjirou feeds him slowly, his expression so fond and so pained. After a few bites, he pauses for breath, fingers digging deep into the damp sheets, cold and numb. He pulls his hands to his chest and grips them, trying to warm them up a little. Three more breaths, and he murmurs. "…I wonder… would they… forgive me?"
"They will," The other says calmly, resolutely. "They will, Makoto, trust me. How can they be angry at someone who choose death for their lives?"
"But… I've never… told them," He whispers. "I've known for… a while, before Nyx… I could've told them sooner… but I chose not to…"
"How could anyone choose the right thing when they're facing their own deaths?" Shinjirou counters, pushing a spoon to his lips again. "I don't think I even will, if I was in your shoes. They might be a bit salty for a while, sure. But I know they won't resent you. I won't."
"…I see," He says quietly, his vision starting to swim. He sways a little, and the man promptly steadies him with a firm hand on his arm. He breathes again. "…Senpai, I…"
"Hmm?"
"I wouldn't… have made it, without you," He smiles at the older man, his breathing finally calming down to the point where speaking isn't as painful. "So… thank you, for… everything."
Shinjirou chuckles at that, mirthless as it may, as he fondly pats his head, like he always does. "It's not a problem, kid. You've helped me before. This is the least I could do for you."
"I wish… they remember," He says, clutching the silver key he intends to give Yukari tomorrow through his shirt, its firm, cold steel against his palm. "…I want to see them… there… just one more time."
"They will, kid. They will."
After their last dinner together, he finds himself before Yukari's door.
Talking with Shinjirou before coming up here gives him enough courage to give her the key himself. He has already told the older man about the diaries, so he thinks those written words should reach them all not too long after his death. But for Yukari, there's the box he's given her, and the key he's torn between handing it to her hand directly or putting it inside the diary. But Shinjirou insisted he should do it like this, so… he guesses he will.
After he knocks on the door, it takes her but a few seconds to open it, and she looks dumbfounded when she sees him standing there. "…Yuuki-kun?"
"…Hey," He greets her, his voice rough and cracked at the end. He's trying his damn best to stand, and he's pleasantly surprised at how much strength he has left in him still.
"Uh… can I help you?"
He's about to just hand her the key and wait for her tomorrow on that roof, but her expression and her eyes and her everything are bringing the feeling of nostalgia back to him. He wants to feel her again, just one last time, under his fingertips. He wants to hold her, to kiss her – and he remembers Shinjirou saying that he should follow what his heart has to say, for once. It's his last chance, after all.
So, deciding to follow his heart, and not his head, he looks away briefly before nodding. "It's… going to sound strange, but… I want to ask a favor… if that's alright with you."
She shrugs. "Sure, I guess… what is it?"
Sometimes, he thinks her hidden instinct is a bit too sharp. It looks like her subconscious knows who he is, and is making an effort to reconnect again. He smiles. "…Don't slap me, okay?"
Whatever words she's going to say die in her throat when he reaches his now gloveless hand to her cheek, caressing her skin under his thumb, feeling the minute shivers under the pad of his fingers. She looks a bit confused and unsure as she asks. "So, um… You said… you love me?"
And there it is, the words he's said to her a few days ago, under the cherry blossom tree, under the falling petal and the setting sun. He smiles a little more as he thinks of what he should say. But then he glances up to see the hairpin, and slowly, carefully, he reaches his hand towards it, brushing her hair away and tugging them behind her ear, tracing the outline of the pin that means immortality – the opposite end of what he is, what all humans are.
She then gasps, realization dawning on her. "It was you. You bought me this pin. You're the one who put it there in the first place. It was you."
Just a touch, and she recalls it. A part of him is horrified that she does, but another, treacherous part of him is glad that she still knows him. So he smiles, nodding in confirmation. "Yes. It was me."
"Why didn't you say anything?" She inquires, her eyes so lost, so confused.
"You didn't remember. I don't see a reason… to remind you of such things," He says truthfully, a finger under her chin, lifting her face up. He misses this. He misses everything, and he hopes… he hopes that she'd still remember her feelings, just a little.
She's saying something, but he couldn't quite hear it, too focused on her lips. A part of him feels wrong for even thinking of doing this, but his heart says to trust it, says that he should do it – because if he doesn't now, he won't get another chance again.
Despite his better judgement, he leans down to kiss her.
She seems surprised, at first, her mouth clamping shut. After a moment, she parts her lips slightly, her hands grabbing and pulling at his coat as he lifts her face up, deepening the kiss, eyes closed, savoring every little taste, every little feeling, and committing them to memories. And she tastes just the same; like lily and sunlight and spring, like a brand-new day waiting to arrive, like hope dancing at the horizon, waiting to be reached, waiting to be grasped.
He circles his arm around her waist, another resting on her neck, touching her pulse, feeling her alive under his hand. She hums into his lips, her tongue dancing in an all too familiar manner. He could feel her legs shaking under her, and he puts a little more effort to hold her to him despite the pain building up in his limbs, despite his lungs' screams for air.
And when he pulls away, she's not letting him go. So he smiles a little before murmuring against her lips softly, carefully, "…Thank you, for… not punching me… Yukari."
Before long, his face is in her hands and she's looking into his eyes, searching for something he couldn't possibly provide her. "…Who are you? Who are you… to me?"
He isn't brave enough to claim to know what she thinks – thought – of him, but he knows what he thinks of her, so he settles that as his answer as he puts his hands over hers, and lowers his forehead to her own, touching them, allowing himself to feel her warm breath on his lips. "I don't know. But… you are – always have been, always will be – my everything."
He could see thousands of emotions raging inside her heart, so he just presses his lips on her forehead, like she used to do for him. He could see that she's distressed. Maybe because she doesn't remember, while he does. But that's alright. He doesn't mind it.
"It's alright, even if you don't remember… I'll always be there, right beside you… okay?"
She grabs his coat again, not letting him go. "…Why? How can I become so important to you when I can't even remember anything?"
"Does it matter?" He asks, truthfully so. He knows even from before they're in each other's arms, even before she even talked to him the first time, that not knowing someone doesn't mean you can't love them. She's shown him that herself, and now… "Love… doesn't need to happen both ways, does it? All I know… is that you don't need to be loved in return just to love others… I don't mind if the feelings aren't mutual, you know. You… mean more to me than anything. You're my world, my guiding light, my sun. Even if I'm no more than a stranger to you… you'll always be everything to me."
"I… I don't understand you, Yuuki-kun. I don't understand. It feels wrong. It shouldn't—"
He stops her with a finger to her lips. They're so soft, he notes. "Shh. You don't need to understand now… But I promise you, that… in the end, you will."
"I…" She tries to speak, but she seems lost. He takes the momentary pause to continue, even if he's starting to feel lightheaded and breathless.
"You gave me this life. I owe you everything. So… thank you."
He pulls away, and is about to turn back to pull the key out of his shirt, but she stops him, her fingers hooking into his sleeve. He turns around to see fear painted clearly in her eyes – she thinks he's going to leave, isn't she?
"Please," She begins, she begs. "Please, please, don't go away. I don' want you to go away. I don't want to lose you."
He pulls her fingers away and pulls it into his hands, kissing the fingertips lightly. He then points at her chest and smiles. "Even if I'm not here… as long as you remember me, I'll always be there for you."
"No, no, no, don't say that. Don't say that like you're going away. Don't say that like you're—" She cuts herself short with a gasp and a sob, her shoulders trembling, hands clinging to him tightly. He could do nothing to stay with her – but maybe, just for tonight, he might be able to.
He huffs a little before pulling her head to his shoulder, hugging her, feeling her breath through his coat, feeling her body shivering in his arms. He whispers into her ear, rocking her slightly, like she used to do for him. "It's alright, everything's okay… I'm still here, I'm not going anywhere… I'll stay with you… for as long as you want me to… okay?"
He ends up being dragged into her room, sitting on the bed. They stay in complete silence for a while, and he could see her thinking, contemplating, confused. He knows exactly what conclusion she's reached, and he couldn't help but smile sadly; her subconscious knows he's going to die, soon. He couldn't quite lie to her, couldn't quite say that he'll stay forever. But, right now, he's still alive, he's still here; the least he could do is to help her relax, just a little, just for today.
"Yukari," He calls her name softly, and when she looks at him, he pulls her hand to his chest, letting her feel his beating heart, giving her the prove that he's still alive, right here, right now. He might not be alive tomorrow, but tonight, he's here. It's the best he can do. "I'm right here."
She whimpers a little before murmuring, "Are you… are you dyin—"
He stops her with a finger to her lips. If she asks that, he'll be compelled to say yes, and she'd break down, she'd cry, she'd be sad. He doesn't want that. At least, for tonight, he wants to make her just a little happier. So he reassures her, deflecting the question to the abyss. "No more questions tonight. I'm here… I'm still here. And I'll be here… for you. With you. Always."
To his surprise, she kisses him.
It's desperate, frantic, unsure. He doesn't want to take advantage of her again like this, but it's getting harder to wriggle his way out of her alluring scent or her soft, warm touch. He sighs slightly, recuperating the kiss, a hand on her hips. When he tries to pull back, she hooks both her arms around his neck, pulling him in even closer.
His lungs are screaming and begging for air, but he couldn't give two shits to it right now, too delighted and too engrossed in the feelings of her lips against his own. He puts a hand on her cheek, then down to her jawline, feeling the minute shudder under his palm. This time, she pulls back, panting, her face slightly flushed. He only smiles, and is slightly surprised when she hugs him tightly, her ear against his chest.
He pats her head softly, carding his fingers through her soft locks, another embracing her loosely. He doesn't want to leave, he doesn't want to let go, but he will have to. But, for now, he knows he can at least calm her down, and he definitely will.
"…Can you stay here? Just… for tonight?"
"Mhm," He hums. He will, until she's fallen asleep, until she's no longer terrified. But after that… he has to get the last rest, or he won't make it to tomorrow. He shoves the thoughts away and kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of roses emanating from her hair. "I can… and I will."
"Okay," She mumbles, still holding onto him tightly.
After a moment, he sits up fully on the bed, his back against the headboard. He gently pulls her towards him and lets her hold onto his torso, her head just under his chin, his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't resist, humming slightly, as if satisfied. He buries his nose into her soft, brown locks, and breathes slowly, keeping the oxygen flowing, keeping himself alive.
"…Yuuki-kun?" She begins, her voice low, still unsure. He only hums in response, a bit winded. She takes it as a confirmation to continue, he thinks. "I'm… not sure how to say this, but… having you here, it feels like… home. Why is that?"
"I don't know," I do, He inwardly says, but she doesn't need to know that. If the gods and Fate are willing, then maybe… she will, by tomorrow. "But… I can say… that the feeling's mutual."
"I see," She murmurs, snuggling just a little closer to him.
He thinks she's trying to say something more, but doesn't, in the end. So he just leaves her be, and murmurs sweet nothings into her ear until she falls asleep in his arms.
He puts the key and the note on the table, tugs her under the covers, and leaves just a few hours before sunrise.
He could barely feel anything, could barely think, but his stubborn heart refuses to die. He's glad that it does, somehow, against all odds. He slowly staggers back to his room, and once there, he knows that he'll not wake up again if he falls asleep. He grabs the cold cup of coffee he's left on the table and drinks it in one go, to keep himself going just a few hours longer, and sits down on the chair, panting.
It takes him a while to get up again, and when he does, he gets himself changed into his school uniform, for the final time. He sits back down on the chair, back hunched, his hands and feet cold and numb. He could barely feel anything anywhere, so he settles to look out the window, his vision hazy as if looking through a curtain of fog. He breathes in and out slowly, trying to keep himself grounded. It's the last day; he'll not fail it, no matter what.
Time flies by in a blur, and he's jolted out of his half-stupor by a knock on his door. He staggers up and opens it, and is surprised to see not just Shinjirou, but also Aigis there, the latter smiling at him sadly, her eyes glistening with tears that shouldn't have been there.
"…Makoto-san, I'm sorry. I… remember, now," She says slowly. He glances up at Shinjirou, who's saying nothing, eyes still as kind as he remembers. He turns back to Aigis again. "That day, we fought against the impossible, and you saved us, all of us. I'm sorry it took me so long to remember you… remember us."
He smiles. He wants to say something, anything, but he couldn't find his voice anymore, his tongue numb and unfeeling, his throat dry. Aigis looks alarmed, but he just shakes his head before stepping forward.
His legs give out suddenly, and she catches him, her strong, metallic arms around his torso. She then says, panicked, terrified. "Makoto-san!"
"Aigis," Shinjirou says, stopping her. He closes his eyes, focusing himself on his breathing, and opens them again when he feels the older boy's hand on his shoulder. When he nods, the man sighs. "Alright. Aigis, I don't know how to put this, but…"
"…He's dying," She finishes, surprising both of them. She then shifts him out of her embrace, and put him right between the two of them, their hands around his torso, lifting him up, keeping him standing. Her eyes are scanning him, and she must've picked up his fading vitals, his pale face, his rapid breathing. He smiles slightly, and she looks like she wants to cry. "…Why?"
"He told me that… stopping Nyx requires a power that's its equal. So, he has no choice but to…" The man trails off, looking away, a hand on his beanie, pulling it down. "…I don't want you to die, Makoto."
He groans, summoning his lost strength from the bowels of his soul and murmurs silently. I know.
Aigis puts a hand over his chest, over his heart, as it beats his life away. "Makoto-san, I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head again before mouthing the words he couldn't say, hoping that she would catch his meaning. Don't be. I've had a good life, thanks to you.
She smiles back, tears that he's seen a month ago returning to her bright blue eyes.
"…Let's go to the roof, time's wasting," Shinjirou says, a sad, sad smile on his lips. "I'll make sure they all see you there, kid. You want to keep this promise, right?"
He nods.
One last time. He will see it through.
They're sitting on the stone bench, waiting for the others to arrive.
The wind is warm and welcoming, the dancing petals scattering across the bright blue sky are just so beautiful. The sunlight, too, is warm; not too bright, not too scorching. The view from the rooftop is always the best – the ocean is reflecting the light away from its surface, the sound of the wind whistling through the building is just right, and he thinks, absently, that it's a beautiful day to die.
He's leaning against Shinjirou as the man pulls him to his shoulder, letting him rest his head on it, letting him feel the welcoming warmth, letting him feel the slight rise and fall of the other's shoulder as he breathes. Aigis is squeezing his knee reassuringly, as if to say that they'll be here. She doesn't need to, though; he believes they will. He knows they will.
"I promise," Shinjirou suddenly says. He sees Aigis looking at the man, curious. He could barely move anymore, so he just hums, as loud as he could, to say that I heard you. When he does, the older boy says quietly, his voice trembling. "That I won't cry. You wouldn't have wanted that, right? So… I won't cry. At least, not in front of the others, not in front of you. So don't worry, alright?"
He hums, nodding slightly. He then exhales.
"…I wish we could've seen this spring together," Aigis says. He closes his eyes, and hums again. He agrees; he wants to see the world with all of them, but he knows that he can't. Still, the knowledge of the world having a chance to live on and prosper doesn't fill him with regret, but rather, with joy. He feels her hand squeezing his knee just a little more. "I want to protect you, but..."
You already have, he thinks, but couldn't quite say it. He wants to reassure them both, that he's alright like this, that it's okay, that everything will be just fine. But he couldn't, not anymore.
And then, the door's slammed open.
The moment stretches into an eternity as he looks at the girl he loves standing there, recognition in her eyes, tears collecting at her lashes. When she runs towards him, he musters the energy he has left and smiles, freer than ever before.
The warmth of her arms is soothing, slowly lulling him into his final slumber. She's saying something into his shoulder, frantic. He feels the arm around his shoulders and on his knee backing away. He thinks she might be apologizing for something, but he doesn't know; he couldn't hear anything. So he exhales into what he thinks is the crook of her neck, and uses all of his failing strength to hug her back, just one more time.
The hands are back down to his lap when he couldn't move them anymore, too exhausted, too tired. And then, she pulls back a little. He could barely see her features at all, but he could still feel her warm hands on him. He sees her lips move as she asks him softly, through murky water of his slipping consciousness. It takes him a moment to interpret the movement of her lips; Are you tired?
He nods.
He feels her sit down beside him, and pulls him down onto her lap, his head against her thighs, eyes facing the bright blue sky above. It's so warm, so peaceful, that he nearly forgets to keep his eyes open just a little longer, against the sleepiness that's clawing at the insides of his eyelids, compelling him to close them. Each blink takes longer than the last, and each time, he could feel the soft hum getting louder and see the scattering starlight of the world above clearer as they beckons him closer still.
He rests both his hands on his chest as he forces himself to breathe just a while longer. He wills himself to blink one more time, and manages to see her smile through the white fog. She's saying something more, but the world has already been silenced, and darkness is creeping into the edges of his visions.
He wants to hear her voice, but hands of Death are pulling him away. He doesn't mind dying like this, with the person he cherished most. He just wish he'd be able to do more than just lying here, unable to move. And he hopes… that they'll meet again, someday. Perhaps in her dreams. Or in another lifetime.
He lets his eyes slip shut, for the final time.
Before he drifts off into his final rest, he feels her hand on his, so warm, so kind. With the last of his strength, he manages out a few words – words he hopes she'd hear them.
"I love you."
Always have, always will.
And then, he finds himself being carried away by the warm spring wind, into a place far beyond the reach of light, into a place far beyond the scope of dark.
He opens his eyes to see—
"…Mom?"
She smiles, and before he knows it, he's a little kid again, running at full speed into her waiting arms.
Did I make you proud? Did I live right? Did I do okay?
"I'm proud of you. We are proud of you, Makoto. Always have been."
His laughter is light, and his smile is free.
I'm home.