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Hanako has not felt love in a long, long time.
There are faded memories of soft laughter and syrupy-sweet words, comfort and care folding into each other naturally. He remembers soft hands carding through his hair, all blurry-edges and burnt tapes.
He does not remember this type of love.
a love that burns inside out, threatening to consume him and everyone near. He sees Yashiro’s poorly hidden concern and adoration and thinks, “I will grant your wish. I promise.”
because she is his, his, his. Her life is in his hands and he would not dare put a scratch on it. She did not have a choice when handing it over, but he will show her that it was not a mistake. That he is worth her trust and care, that he does not make empty vows.
Hanako sits on his windowsill, the night air cold and biting against his melted flesh, and loves with whatever is left of his rotted heart.
His plan flows flawlessly, each detail coming together in the end, a picture perfect puzzle that he will not regret. He has a job to do, a wish to grant. He will not let it go unsatisfied.
He sacrifices a soul for a soul, the small flame mercilessly snuffed out within seconds. Fate does not care who meets their demise, as long as the death toll runs true.
Yashiro will live another year, and that is all that matters to Hanako and his waterlogged heart.
he breaks into tiny pieces, shatters in her arms. He prays to a god that has abandoned him long ago that she’ll forgive him for this, that it was all for her and no one else.
He may not be perfect, but he loves her.
and he hopes it’s enough.