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The warm summer wind ruffled through Nene’s hair like a greeting as she eased the rooftop door open. She walked to the edge, her fingers curled around the slim rods of the metal fence. It burned from the heat, and she welcomed it. The sunset was golden and beautiful. The twilit clouds looked as though they were embroidered by the gods themselves.
It was days like this where she missed him the most. The days they’d sit on the rooftop together, whether it was on her blanket she’d pack or on the edge, legs dangling, knees accidentally bumping.
Did he think of her?
Like she thought of him?
As the clouds slowly moved, the crescent moon glittered above, and a star right next to it—and Nene gasped.
“It’s Scorpio,” he had said, up on the rooftop.
She could remember how animately he’d talked about it in the fake world. But she couldn’t remember the details. She made a choking noise. What did he say? Why couldn’t she remember? Her heart stammered, and her legs shook.
If she had known...if she had known that she would never get to hear him talk about stars again—she should have paid more attention! She should have listened better. She should have—her thoughts came to an aching halt—to an aching word.
“Hanako-kun.”
Her voice just a silent breath. Her eyes prickled, and she slid to the ground. Her palms burned on the scorching metal, and her knees scraped against the pavement. A sob escaped her lips as she stared up at the moon, at it’s mocking smiley-shape.
“It’s so beautiful—I hate it!” she cried, fingers tightening around the fence until her knuckles turned a bruising white. “I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” Her voice was a wail of pain.
And she lost it.
She lost herself.
Her head slumped forward as she sobbed. “I want to see you.” Her heart hurt. The pain in her chest was like no other—like a part of her soul had completely shattered and the shards of it stabbed her from the inside-out. “I want to see you—I want to see you—Hanako-kun!”
And the wall she put up—the way she tried to convince everyone she was okay—it crumbled like sand slipping through the cracks of her heart.
“I wish…I wish…” I could see you. But she couldn’t speak. It was like all the air had vanished—like she was lost in space, suffocating in her grief.
So, that’s what this is.
Grief.
And she curled in on herself, her forehead smacked the ground, and she shoved her hand over her mouth and screamed—silent or muffled—she wasn’t sure, nor did she care.
She loved him.
And he was gone.
And she never got the chance to tell him.
The pain was like a tsunami, crashing into her—battering every part of her. Every part that belonged to him.
Something touched the top of her head. A chill raced down her spine.
“Yashiro.”
She jolted up—and through her teared-stained eyes, she saw him. His mouth curved into a frown, his eyes dark.
“H-Hanako-kun?”
“You don’t make it easy, you know.” He reached his hand out, and wiped her cheek, slowly and tentatively with his sleeve.
“Make what not easy?” She barely heard herself speak. It was as if her voice was galaxies away.
He ducked his head, and crushed Nene against his chest, and with his voice so low, he murmured, “Staying away from you.”
Her heart skipped, and her breath caught. And slowly, she relaxed in his arms. The familiar feel of his uniform soft against her skin, the feel of his firm body against hers.
She pulled back. And stared at him—his body so translucent in the fading sunlight. He looked so otherworldly, and yet, human all at once. His face flushed, his eyes nervously glancing at her. The way his throat bobbed up and down.
“Yashiro,” he said her name like an oath. And he reached his hand out once more. This time, his hand wound its way into her unruly hair, cupping the back of her head gently.
And he leaned in, eyes closed, and he kissed her.
Nene’s eyes widened.
The gentle press of his lips. The flutter in her stomach. The silence that surrounded them—it was as if they were the only two in the world. That time truly was an illusion—and it had stopped. Completely and utterly stopped.
And all the words she couldn’t say—all the words he couldn’t say, she felt through the kiss—through their bond.
He pulled back. His hand slid down the nape of her neck, and she shivered.
He loved her.
And she loved him, too.
But neither dared to speak it.
“Don’t leave.” Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t leave me again—I don’t care how difficult it will be to say goodbye.”
He gasped, body stiffening, but then his eyes softened, and a tiny smile eased onto his face, and he patted her head. “Silly, Yashiro. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
Her stomach fluttered, and she had to look away, unable to hide the smile on her face. It didn’t matter what was to come, or how painful it would be later.
“Tell me about the stars!” she requested.
Because all that mattered was right now.
And she would savor every moment with him.
~Fin