I do not own anything.

After several failed calls, I abandoned my rock throne and decided to scour the beach right next to our usual spot. Yoru must have been somewhere near, since he always was the early one. The drizzling rain drops fell on my sleeveless dress with such ferocity that I pulled my leather jacket on.

Perpetually turning to the dark road, I waited impatiently for my boyfriend—well, soon-to-be former boyfriend. I would never have paid heed to the piling traffic and a mass of people leaving their cars. Weekends like this, a great amount of people traveled on this road, but the rising smoke off in the distance alarmed me.

"What if that was Yoru?" The thought of my childhood friend's death plagued my disconcerted mind.

Before I even realized it, my bare feet had already closed the fifteen feet margin between the sandy shores and the dark road. This roaring in my ears wouldn't cease until I saw Yoru, and believe me I never wanted to see him in that mess. Through my expedition, I bumped a fair share of shoulders and stomped on quite a few feet; but nothing was stopping me from seeing it.

As I reached the core of the mess, the people were much more compliant to me, stepping out of the way. The way parents held their children away from the sight, the way some men pulled their hats off in respect to the dead, and the way some unguarded children gaped with traumatized expressions perturbed me and strengthened my resolve. Within a matter of seconds, I was there—smack dab in the front of the crying flames licking at the mash of vehicles. Obviously the crashed family van had been on the wrong side of the road, and the motorcycle wedged into the van's windshield.

"Yoru." The breath caught in my throat choked the cry out of me. There in the midst of death was my Yoru. The burning figure trapped in the metal clump remained still and strong, knowing his fate. Though parts of him were charred and burned, I knew that was still my Yoru. The only way out of that clump was a small hole that only a child could fit through.

Before I could take my first step to his rescue, a burly stranger held me back. I threw my body against his arm and struggled to get out of it, but to no avail, he didn't budge. All my thrashing and screaming benefited to nothing. I cried for Yoru and, as any Hinamori would, hope that a miracle would happen. The roaring building up in my ears deafened the crackling of the flames eating at him.

"Someone, p-please help him!" My burning throat screeched for help. My eyes scanned the crowd for any familiar faces or helpful people, but my cries only turned their shamed gazes away from me and the burning heap of metal killing my Yoru. I could read behind those faces the excuses they gave me. Those faces all said that it was a hopeless cause.

I reverted my gaze back to Yoru, hoping that he had found a way out; but he, still as a statue, looked at me. A deceitful smile, that told me white lies like "It was all right", spread on his face. I knew that it hurt him as much as it did me, but that smile grew to a travesty of his signature Cheshire grin. I could feel an empty hole replace my heart. No one believed that he would survive this, even him… and even me. I was supposed to give him hope. Out of everyone here, I should have given him hope, but that was a harder struggle than the man's arms caging around me. I was a shame to the Hinamori name.

I involuntarily subjected myself to watching his body cremate. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He kept on mouthing words of comfort, even when it obviously pained him. In response, I would croak back an apology; but as my throat failed me, my lips mimicked it. The woman, perhaps the wife of the man holding me, tried to console me; but I jerked away from her every time, until I was tired of it all.

These few minutes felt like a life time. Finally the fire department arrived, but I could see the life in his blind eyes flickering away. We both knew what was coming. I could see him mustering his strength for something.

"Don't." My chapped lips moved, but he gave me a pitying look.

"I love you, but I know you love Ikuto." He mouthed back. It was hard to read in the bright flare of light, but I could catch the first three words and the last three words.

"I'm sorry." A whimper escaped my scratched throat; though, it didn't matter. No one could respond to my apology. Surprisingly, a bone-chilling, tragic scream, a raw product of my loss, rang through my body and tore through the confines of my tight throat; and with that, my body fell limp in the man's arms. Darkness embraced me.

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