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i know that i ended it, but
mushitarou looked down at the lifeless body of his lover underneath him, the tears spilling from his eyes onto the floor, a few droplets of water landing on the manuscript. he needed to pull himself together and get out of their room, taking the final pages of the manuscript with him, but the feel of the lifeless body of yokomizo underneath him was almost too much to bear. the smiling face of yokomizo looking up at him, smiling and thanking him, all while he died, was ingrained into his mind. he had ended yokomizo’s life, the person he loved most, had died by his hands.
why won’t you chase after me?
as he collected the final pages of the manuscript from the room, he activated his ability. watching the ghosts cover his path and remove all evidence as he slipped away from the crime scene. he glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting yokomizo to be chasing after him, but they weren’t because yokomizo was dead.
you know me better than i do so
the shock slowly began to settle in as he left the [place] where yokomizo had been staying; they had died. they were gone and they were coming back. no amount of ghost stories would change that. mushitarou almost felt as though he were now missing a part of himself, after all, yokomizo knew him best. it made sense for him to feel as though a part of him had died with the other.
why didn’t you stop me? why didn’t you stop me and paint it over
why didn’t yokomizo stop him, they could have fought the cancer, or even just lived another year with him. but the young authors mind was set on death, the impossible murder, they had called it. something apparently only truly achievable in books. that was, until mushitarou’s ability was intoducded. he could erase all evidence of his crime, all he needed was to kill someone and vanish. the crime scene was then painted over with his ability, altering all evdience of the murder, leaving even the greatest dectives stumped.
i look for a picture of you to keep in my pocket
mushitarou bore a single photo of yokomizo on his personnel at all times tucked away in the breast pocket of his salmon undershirt. the rest of his physical photos of yokomizo were locked away, and his digital images were transferred to a small cheap phone, stored with the tangible images, only to be taken out and viewed privately. the personal and intimate life of yokomizo seishi continued to remain a secret to the public, bringing comfort to a sole person, their murderer.
but i can’t seem to find one where you look how i remember
mushitarou would swear on his life that yokomizo was all around him. on the crowded train, just a little out of his reach would be the familiar tuft of brown hair, or on a busy street the familiar brown yukata would pass on his side, but when he turned to look, there was no one wearing such clothes, or in a crowded room, he’d hear an all to farimilar laugh right out, and the room appeared to brightest just a little when it did. however he saw yokomizo the most was in the children on the streets playing detective games, he would see yokomizo in the distance, watching over the children with a smile, however when he blinked, the other would disappear, or rather become another adult watching the children.
look how i remember look how i remember
yokomzio had died but the spirit and memory of them had not left mushitarou. in fact, he saw them more often now, in locked rooms, specifically ones with blank manuscripts in them. the pair would exchange words, or simply stare at each other. mushitarou was never one to belelive in ghost stories, but this was one that he was willing to entertain, if only to see the person he remembered so well for a little while longer.
paint it over