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It didn’t feel like death.
He was exhausted, pulled ruthlessly in and out of consciousness.
It was difficult to focus on anything at all. Nothing ever came into focus, just a blur of color and sounds that couldn’t be connected to anything significant.
When Reo rests he dreams of memories that aren’t supposed to exist. They blend like water and oil; never making sense. A person talking to him that doesn’t exist, a smell so familiar but never having been, ghosts of touches that he never felt, a life he never lived.
Nothing was real, nothing had ever been real, and Reo was so, so tired.
Nothing stayed, nothing wanted him, nothing connected with him.
Grief made him sick but he couldn’t understand what he was grieving over, what he missed so dearly.
It pulled him out of an unconscious state and consumed him.
The simulation of being strangled without even having a form requiring breath.
His memories began to make less and less sense. The colors fading, the language of the conversations he had losing meaning, everything was cold and uncaring.
Maybe he deserved it.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t resist.
As harsh as the grasp of grief was, it relented with ease to the warmth that made itself present.
Gentle hands laced with kindness and understanding carefully unraveling the hands that choked him. The overwhelming sadness and grief binding him now gone, and he found himself inhaling that familiar smell.
Arms wrapped around him, legs entangled with his. This warmth consumed him differently, like a blanket draped over him on a cold winter night.
Nostalgia flooded his senses and cleared his mind.
Memories of days spent together with someone so invaluable, so indispensable that he felt ashamed for ever having forgotten them.
The words spoken to him became more vivid, each syllable played like a melody in his ears that made his heart nearly burst. Tears burned his eyes but that same gentle hand wiped them away, lips pressed to his cheek and a body flush against his.
Evenings spent eating god knows how many sweets, as someone so precious stands close, watching him eat with an expression so fond yet intense with the desire to be good enough. Feelings expressed to him through food as words were difficult and clumsily spoken, never seeming like enough, but always meaning so, so much.
He grasps at the warmth surrounding him, holds it close and keeps his eyes shut, tears bubbling out in a cascade he can no longer control. A hand that had one been on his back makes its way to his hair, rubbing soothing motions as someone murmurs comforting words into his ear through their own strangled sobs. It hurts, hearing them, his mind is still waking up, trying to slot together pieces of a puzzle that weren’t supposed to exist. He holds them close, with a determination to never let them go again.
Freezing nights with little heating run through his mind, with someone laying next to him that shivered so violently it made Reo laugh. An unspoken request met with him scooting closer, his body heat compensating for what the other lacked. That same touch, same smell, same feeling in his heart, that he felt now. More gentle, not as intense, but full of affection nonetheless.
Memories of a baby found on a plate that they had raised with all the love in the world. That stayed with them so briefly but grew up mature and kind so fast that she no longer needed them.
An angel that made their relationship so much stronger, that brought the best out of them. She had been so patient with them, neither one knowing how to care for a baby but doing their best to give her the world. Sleeping in the precinct, bickering over what she could eat and changing diapers, learning there were different kinds of crying for different kinds of problems. Learning that gratitude could be expressed in so many different kinds of ways.
Something cold shot through him, at that.
How stupid he had been.
Of course gratitude could be expressed with more than just words. Of course it didn’t have to be perfect or obvious or declared with such burning passion and desire.
No one had to die.
He must have been speaking aloud, as the next time he’s pulled from his memories he’s greeted with reassurance that no, this wasn’t his fault. That it was him that should have tried harder and should have pushed harder and that he loved him so much he should have told him earlier, before all of this happened.
Reo, through all his sobbing and hiccups, laughed. It was hysterical, lacked any kind of humor but no bite.
It should have been obvious, with how they danced around each other. Making up excuses to get close and to do things for the other. How he told him how much he enjoyed watching him eat and how extraordinary he wanted his sweets to be just for him. How they were always made just for him.
He would do anything to taste another pancake made by him. To pick up the tossed shirt and pants left in a fervor to cook, to nag at the other to at the very least wear an apron so he doesn’t burn himself again. To hear him whine about having to wear anything yet complying nonetheless.
Life had been so simple then.
It really had.
He was so tired now.
It didn’t drown him like it had earlier, didn’t force him down and demand he sleep, only to have him pop his head back from above the depth of an undesired unconsciousness, the need to remember and to be with who he missed so dearly overwhelming anything else he could possibly feel.
This time, he had what he had been searching for. Or rather, it had found him.
It was like that late winter night, huddled next to someone so dear to him for the sake of warmth and comfort. When everything else failed them, they had each other.
Limbs tangled together, tears dried, heartbeats nonexistent but the sound still ghosting a rhythm, lulling them both to sleep.
Reo sighed, finally relaxing underneath the other’s embrace. His face pressed against his bare chest, eyes fluttering open and looking up, finally prepared see what he had been searching for just one last time.
He’s met with Mabu looking back down at him, his own eyes rimmed red and puffy, but his expression is full of warmth and happiness, something he hadn’t seen in such a long time. Exhaustion was evident, however, and Reo knew he had been keeping him awake for much longer than he wanted.
He brought a hand up to the back of Mabu’s head, scooting his way up enough for them to be face-to-face. He stroked the hair between his fingers, Mabu’s eye’s fluttering shut at the motion.
Before he can rest, Reo pulls in for a kiss. Chaste, quick, but it conveyed everything he wanted to say. He rests his forehead on Mabu’s, his own eyes beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion, and his heart finally content to let his mind submit to it.
“Love you, Mabu.”
“I love you too, Reo.”