Rated: K plus because f*ck twincest.
Summary: She holds his hands and counts back to zero before finally answering.
Author's Note: So, the second part nobody asked for is here XD Take this however you like, the setting is not precise XD
Disclaimer: After countless disclaimer and you are still asking me to do this? :v Lemme check my wallet... Oh cool, a fly.
Mikuo could have ignored her, if he had wanted to. But he didn't. And in all honesty, she should have perceived this outcome.
Except that she didn't.
In her death-clouded eyes, he looked a little pale, neck too straight and back bent down, his hands trembling in terror and confused determination shone bright across black skyline; and she bit her lips hard enough to chew through red chapped flesh. He was not letting go. He was not letting go.
"Mikuo-"
He was white; pale and untainted, cut out from the not-cloud whiteness above them all; his not-sea blue sparkled in checkered dimension with simple pursuit, she knew, the same kind that drives people to follow their dream and fantasy, an ending unknown and the only thought running through his head wasn't really thought at all. The kind, she frowned, could easily lead to his downfall - more likely than any other crazy pink dreams about happily ever after. The kind that is always accommpanied by regret.
"Let me go!"
"No," his breath was hitched, uneven puffs and shallow exhalation; sorrowful frown fading and discoloring, "Don't die yet, Mii,"
She allowed herself a hopeful breath. Waiting for one slip of that exterior, finding one crack of guilt to loosen it all and drop.
"Mikuo, let me go."
"There is a lot more in life than just pain, Mii."
But she had come this far. Had made it to here. Had already prepared herself to just neglect everything.
"Let me go, Mikuo. I'm not changing my mind now."
It was a fight, her stubborn mind insisted. A mind game, a challenge of will. He drew in first. Yielding her up like she weighed nothing, pulling with much more force than necessary. His fingers would probably leave bruises on her tomorrow, Miku vaguely noted. Blue hair and tattered dress blurred together into one thin line; and she landed ungracefully on cold floor with a dull thud.
"Are you stupid, Miku? Why would you want to end yourself like that?!" Mikuo shrieked.
She wasn't thinking when shouting at him.
(But then, she was never thinking anyway.)
"Why wouldn't I?" her mouth taunted. Tears burnt in the back of her eyes, ringing with clear clarity and calm observation. Her knuckles turned white from ripping the balustrade, a flimsy line that kept the girl from her freedom. It was weird, like Miku was watching herself from another perception. Another angle. Another her to realize that it was somebody else crying and sobbing and laughing at the same time; a strangeness no-one should feel about themselves.
And then he was on her, tearing through the invisible barrier she had set up between them.
"You are an idiot."
The slap took away some of her air, and he quickly took the rest. It was meant to be a peck on the cheek, but Miku grimaced. His lips landed harshly on the corner of her mouth instead.
Her skin burnt from the after-sting of his hand. Her lips seared.
"You are an idiot," he choked out before shoving her away.
She is wearing the dress again - a simple white one; the dress, he dubbed in his mind, the equivalent to Gwen Stacy's green coat, the signal of an end.
He finds her on the rooftop, her dress painted on hidden curves, head tilted up to stare at the night sky. She doesn't so much as glance at him. She can't bear to grieve again. Not without trying to escape again. Mikuo sits besides her, legs longer and danglings of the wall, his sea eyes wandering aimlessly.
"I'm sorry," is whispered out, binds them together in a red thread; and if she looked back, she would see him turning to her, "I just... I just freaked out, and..," at this, Mikuo stares at her intensely.
"I need you, you know. You are more important than you think."
She doesn't turn. The dress trails after a breeze, hinting teasingly at the ground below, the distance between them and mother Earth. He tries not to notice.
"Thank you," her hand inches closer, "And... you don't need to be sorry." Her hand is icy. Mikuo doesn't go away, and the message is clear.
She has damned him.
His fingers closes around hers; they are warm, much warmer.
"Just..." an awkward smile, "it's going to be alright."
She holds his hand and counts to zero before answering.
"No," her eyelids flutter down, "no, it isn't."