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The thing about the end of the world not many people suspect is that it’s a lot quieter than you’d think it would be. And most of the time the silence isn’t even charged with anything- it’s not mysterious or eerie. It just is, all encompassing in its presence. After the first days, after the cries and screams passed, after most people gave up, it embraced the world and hasn’t left since.
Because of this ever present silence, every sound is accentuated and at least ten times louder than usual. The ears of very few people who stayed got used to the quiet and are sharp, able to hear the smallest of noises.
That is why Hajime hears the stick breaking. This sound is the proof that he’s been waiting for for the past few days, in which leaves moving and fluttering on the ground followed him every way he went. He didn’t want to react then, just yet. He thought it was his imagination, as he can’t really rely on his mind anymore. He’s aware of this so he waited.
And now, he turns around. His hand wanders to his belt, where it knows a knife is seated, ready to pull it out and attack. But he sees nothing unusual. There is only the never ending forest stretching before him, the place he’s spent a few torturous weeks in, although it seems like an eternity, to him. A gust of wind flows by and moves the smaller branches, flutters the too-green leaves. He stares intently, willing his eyes to notice something, anything.
Please, he thinks. Please.
But there’s nothing in between the trees and Hajime turns back around, continuing his march with bitter taste of disappointment coating his tongue.
—
“Iwa-chan, what would you do on the last day of the world?”
—
There is a little paper on the glass door. 'Closed', it says when Hajime comes closer and is able to read it. He comes in anyway.
The store is empty and dark, and the stale air attacks his nose as soon as he steps through the threshold. There is nothing on the shelves except for a few cans of soup with a soon expiration date. Hajime grabs them along with a lighter that he finds behind the cash register. It’s not much, but it’s still something, he figures. For him, it's enough.
After all, it's only him now.
Back outside, he watches the last of the day slide down the buildings, warming the cold concrete with gold. He passes the ghosts of a previous life, wandering through the place which used to be filled with millions of souls. Hajime tries to imagine people. He fails.
Something grabs his attention. Looking to the side, he finds himself standing in front of a wall of books.
He stares, as if in tranz. He honestly forgot about such things as books, certainly hasn't felt the touch of paper and smell of ink in what feels like ages. The sight makes something warm settle in his chest, a wave of nostalgia so strong it's almost tangible in the air around him. Figuring he can allow himself to flow with its current, he grabs the book directly in front of him.
There is a picture of space on the cover- blackness dotted with little points of light.
“Don't you ever wonder what's up there? In the stars?"
His chest gives a painful pang at the image and the longer he looks at it, the more it seems like gravity doesn't exist, and he’s floating. Out of his body, out of his mind, high, higher. His fingers are numb, as if he clenched his fists for so long that the blood flew away from them and didn’t want to go back.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, looking at the book, but the next inhale he takes is so deep he can feel it in his bones. There is ground under him, still, he realizes, returns.
Taking his eyes off the book reluctantly he looks around. No one in sight, the only sound is the whistle of wind flying in between the buildings.
Not knowing why he's doing it, he stuffs the book in his backpack quickly, as if afraid of being caught in the act.
He turns around and after taking a few steps, he finds that something accompanies the sound of his feet on the ground.
He stops abruptly. A whisper. Or whispers, is a better word. They come from the direction his back is turned to- the bookstore.
He tells himself he's not going to look, swears he doesn't even want to, because it's not real and he knows it. But the sound gets louder and it seems like it's spreading, surrounding him from all sides until it's the only thing he can hear and it feels like it's drilling into his head and it's painful and-
A heavy thunk makes him whip his head around. The whispers stop.
There's a book on the ground and an empty space in the middle of the shelf.
—
The can opens with a dry scrape of metal against metal. The concrete is cold under him, the sun only getting ready to warm it. It looks weird- red, small, unnatural. Not like he remembers it.
Hajime looks straight into the sunrise, shoving the first spoonful of bland soup into his mouth. He would tell him that it’s bad for his eyes, looking into the sun like that.
He hasn’t slept all night, again. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he had gotten a full night’s rest, the days and the time staring at the stars blending together. They wanted to reach them, the stars, that is, but Hajime always thought he wasn’t the one destined to do it. He deserved it more, deserved it so bad.
But it doesn’t matter now. Maybe it never mattered, really.
Sometimes Hajime feels like things weren’t supposed to turn out like that.
His gaze lingers on the sky for a few more moments, when a thought comes to his mind. It’s not the first time it visited him, and it’s the same as the other times- it’s always the same. He looks at the edge of the rooftop and beyond it, knowing that the ground is a long, long way down. His brain supplies him with fractions of images, flashing and insistent, wanting his further attention. He doesn’t want to give it to them, yet.
Hajime continues passively looking at the horizon (it feels like it’s the only thing he’s been doing lately). He digs the spoon into the can and chews, chews, chews.
—
The creek is cold and it’s exactly what Hajime needed. He stumbled upon it yesterday, after following the sound of the flowing water for a couple of hours. It’s a bit weird for him how he could hear the stream from that far away, and he swears he wasn’t walking in circles, but he doesn’t strain his mind over it.
The forest is thick on either side of the slowly passing water. Sometimes it was quite hard to get through the bushes, with branches growing in every direction. One of them tore Hajime’s shirt when he tried to set himself free. It was almost as if the forest wanted him to stay and become a part of its ecosystem. He wonders if someone gave in to the wood’s calling, if he might be standing on someone’s bones, buried deep underground, forgotten.
Or perhaps, the water took them, he thinks as he dips the pads of his fingers in the cool water. The current might’ve carried them off, far away. Their body might have decomposed in this water, this crystal clear water he’s currently bringing to his lips and drinking greedily.
He looks down and finds someone staring back at him. Their face is distorted and unfixed, moving with the small waves of the river. They look tired and lifeless, he notes. Soulless . The emptiness in their eyes suddenly terrifies him, and he stands up quickly, stumbling back.
Heaving, he places his hands on his knees to stop them from trembling and doesn’t dare to look up for a moment. It was him, he thinks, it was his own face. Oh god.
And then he feels laughter tearing out of his lungs, because he knows what he would have said if he ever saw Hajime in this state. Wow, you look like shit and have you tried sleeping lately? and it’s ironic, really, because who is he to ask Hajime such questions? He who destroyed himself over and again at the cost of pride, his stupid fucking pride- the one that made him win so much and the one that made him lose everything at the end.
And Hajime is laughing hysterically, and it hurts. And he might be crying, too, now. Sobs are wrecking his body, mixing with wheezes, until they break through the laughter and bring him comfort, filling him with their despair. It's the first thing he's felt since that night a long time ago.
Tooru, he thinks, I miss you.
—
He’s in the forest again. He doesn’t really remember how he got here, but he’s here again.
He’s out of it. He knows it, he’s aware of his state, but it doesn’t stop him from hoping. Maybe the universe will finally show him mercy and let out it’s last breath today, sparing him the decision he fights with every day. Or maybe-
The same sound breaks into his mind- the small crack of a dry stick. He stills, staring straight ahead. He feels the blood pumping in his veins and the tips of his fingers are numb.
Maybe.
Slowly, he turns around. His hands don’t fly to the knife this time and he wonders why, but, even then, doesn’t force them to do so. Instead, they hang limply at the sides of his body.
He sees the same forest before him. Rays of sun float in between the spaces in the crowns of trees, giving the place a surreal look. Still, as much as he strays his eyes, they don’t see anything out of the ordinary. He’s here alone.
He resumes his journey, legs moving sluggishly through the forest’s soft bedding.
—
“There must be another way”
“There isn’t and you know it”
—
He feels presence behind him. He knows that someone’s or something’s eyes are drilling into the back of his head, but he doesn’t turn around this time.
The trees are swaying in front of his eyes and it’s not the wind’s doing. Sweat is beading on his forehead and he reaches to wipe it off. Breath leaves his lips in short puffs. He can’t feel his legs anymore. How long has he been walking?
He collapses, finding no more energy to continue. He always thought he was strong-willed, but as he is laying on the ground, leaves fluttering with the breeze and light warming his face, he realizes that it doesn’t matter anymore. Will is an illusion and there is no one he can lie to. There are no more humans to witness and judge the fact that he doesn’t have it.
The sticks crack, but he doesn’t care. Something is coming closer. He survived the end already, he doesn’t want to do it again.
—
“Don’t fucking leave me here. Don’t. Please.”
“I have to try! You know it's our only hope.”
—
The sky is too blue, Hajime thinks. Everything is too bright, the colors are too saturated. He still hears something crawling to him, coming to end him too, probably. He won’t fight if that’s what will happen.
Suddenly, there is a face in front of him. It’s upside-down, but he still recognizes the brown of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the brightness of his smile. Hajime feels like he’s falling.
Maybe.
“Tooru” he croacks, his voice weak. It’s the first word he’s said in a very long time.
There is some shuffling and the next time Hajime opens his eyes, Tooru is beside him, his expression soft and serene. His hand is on Hajime’s face and warmth seeps into Hajime’s skin. It feels good to have Tooru so close after so long and as Hajime is staring into his eyes, golden specks of light floating inside them, he realizes that the wetness on his cheeks is not sweat but tears.
“Hajime” Tooru says in that same tender voice and Hajime is in heaven.
Tooru’s hand settles on his chest, then skitters upwards, curling around the back of his neck. Hajime feels more warmth around him when Tooru hugs his unmoving body. The weight on top of him is welcome and comforting. Hajime wants so badly to hug Tooru back, but, for some reason, he can’t move.
“It’s okay” comes Tooru’s voice from under his chin, as if reading his mind. He feels the puff of breath on the side of his neck.
“You came back,” Hajime whispers. The words scratch at his throat.
“Of course I did”
“What did you see?” hajime asks, because he thinks it’s important. But if Tooru came back…
“It doesn’t matter now,” Tooru says.
Hajime’s face twists in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing” he responds with a soft smile. “Let’s stay here for a bit?” He doesn’t want to walk anymore.
“Okay” Hajime feels relief flooding his chest. He doesn’t want to walk anymore. “For how long?”
“As long as you want” Tooru whispers against him and hugs him tighter.
Hajime closes his eyes. He is so light.
“I’ve always regretted one thing” he says after a beat. Tooru stirs by his side, lifting his head a bit to look into Hajime’s eyes. “I’ve never told you-”
He is interrupted by a break in his voice. Tooru waits patiently for him to continue, not once breaking eye contact. He looks so real, Hajime thinks and his heart breaks for the millionth time.
“But you knew” he settles on saying, his voice barely a whisper. He’s staring intently at Tooru's face and blinks away the new tears filling his eyes, as to not let them distort the image before him.
Tooru doesn’t look surprised. His face softens even more, if that’s even possible. Then he comes closer and closer, until his lips are just millimeters from Hajime’s trembling ones. Hajime feels Tooru’s breath on his face, before the other closes the distance between them.
The kiss is gentle and it’s everything Hajime ever wanted. It’s everything he’s needed. This is the peak of his existence, he thinks, and believes it. Tooru’s hands frame his face, thumbing away the tears falling on his temples.
When Tooru moves away, his face is still close.
“You can go,” he whispers, caressing Hajime’s jawline.
“But I don’t want to leave you,” Hajime says. “I- I promised not to leave you”
“I’ll go with you” Tooru says, the corners of his lips upturned. And that settles it.
Hajime takes a few deeper breaths. It’s so surreal, the way Tooru seems to glow in front of him. He looks just like in Hajime’s dreams, but Hajime doesn’t think too much about it.
The only thing left for him to do is to hope- so he does, this one last time.