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Everyone knew not to get involved with him.
She knew, better than anyone, a little too well in fact. His deadly unexpected swings of impulses, his notorious reputation as a violent and dangerous gang leader, or his outrageous delinquent behaviors that evidently differs from her own perfect records. She knew of it all.
Yet, not once did that stopped her from seeking for him, yearning for him and loving him. Her adoration for him started from when, she had no recollection of it. But her feelings needed no reason. All that she needed was for him to be happy, to not lead a regretful life, to shine as bright as he always did.
Though, everyone knew fate can often times be cruel.
“Sano Manjiro.” His name rolled so smoothly off her tongue, almost like butter, oh how she adored speaking it. It was still him, the same Manjiro, the same Mikey, the same boy she loved. Yet, whoever was standing in front of her seemed so foreign that she thought her mind was playing tricks on her.
The unfamiliar did not come from his bleached white short hair contrasting his once flowing head of gold, nor did it come from the pale skin hugging his now small bony frame. His eyes. His eyes spoke different from they did before. Ebony black eyes were full of life and ambitions, yet replaced them now were voids that screamed silence.
If only she could burst into tears and jump into his arms mindlessly, she would. But how foolish would she be to ignore the fact that the boy she loved was merely just a ghost of the past? No longer would it be strong warm arms that welcomes her in an embrace, but the cold dead air instead. Maybe even a gun to her head.
Stood on the old cracked concrete were the two, eyes bored into each other’s, time seemed to drag out way longer than ever before. No sense of familiarity was present between them, almost as if the bond they created was just that of another life. The thought that, perhaps, her insignificant friendship with him was merely but a delusion she harbored since all those years ago, ate away at her mind.
“…You.” His voice was cold and lifeless, as if it belonged to a corpse. The years he spent away must have stolen every ounce of emotion left in him, leaving him nothing but a shell with an echo. Salty tears threatened to surge and burst from her eyes, reasons hard to tell.
Was it the fact that the voice of the blazing Sun, which blared through the empty nights all those years before, was long gone? Or was it because of the longing for his voice, which she so desperately tries to deny, tricked her to daze at merely the sound of it? Oh, how desperate she was.
“How long has it been?”
“How did you find me?”
He was still straightforward and to the point, which she had found to be an endearing and charming quality of his that he kept. However, the endearment is limited when paired with the chilling glare directed straight at her, like he could pierce through her skull with just his eyes alone. And he would.
“I always find you, Manjiro.”
“…”
“You hid so well for the past 10 years, but I still found you.”
“I told you not to look for me.”
“You know how I am.” He did. He knew much very well how she was like, he knew each of his friends like the back of his hand. Whether or not he still does, she could not recognize. And for the very fact that he knew her so well, she had no doubts that she had to find him. From the shining gates of heaven to the darkest depths of hell, he needed to be found.
“Leave.”
“No, Manjiro, I refuse.”
“Keep your stubborn act and you die.”
Despite his warning, she took a step closer with gentle movements. It was not that she wanted to spite him, nor did she doubted his threats of spilling her blood, she was simply not afraid. She knew death was close to her doors when she decided to seek for the Sun.
Oh, the vicious he, a man of overbearing power and pervasive fear across the lands. His name bought fright, at times even hatred. Yet, he was just Manjiro. Her Manjiro. The boy that was so very warm. If ever his warmth fades and leaves him cold, then naught can stop her from embracing him in her own blaze.
Her lips pressed, eyes alarmingly calm, sauntering with unsourced confidence, unseen was the sorrow she felt within. He knew of her obstinacy, he knew the simple request to not search for him would go on deaf ears, yet he did not undertake any further actions to prevent himself from getting discovered. Maybe, just maybe, she would like to be the small flicker of hope for him this time.
The vacant basement voiced no sound but the clicking of a gun. Held against her forehead, threatening to paint the floor with her brains if she dared to get any closer. His eyes still empty and unfeeling, almost as if one hand is not pointing cruel death towards his light.
“Don’t shoot.”
Black eyes imperceptibly widened for an instant, the gun sat still. She lifted a hand to lightly graze his, slender fingers wrapped around the gun’s handle were so frigid and scarred, so dried and bony. He stared at her, not a word left him yet she was adamant to decipher what he was trying to convey. Their skins felt like burning against each other when her warm palm met his scraped knuckles.
The slight flinch when they touched, she did not miss. His eyes narrowed, daggers dug into her head, yet he did not move. She held his rough hand holding the gun delicately, as if handling cold hard porcelain that would shatter to pieces if touched a little too harsh. Her fingers slowly guided the gun down to his side as she stepped closer, hands never leaving each other’s. He basked in the long forgotten comfort given from her touch.
Eyes to eyes again, her lips lifted to a soft smile at the familiar shade of caliginous black, one which she had always adored. Her form was reflected on his dead eyes. She could only wish to be the only one ever centered in the dark pond of unlit sky ever again, it was her one selfish desire. Selfish she very much is when it comes to him. The proximity almost brought nostalgia upon her, whispering back to times where everything was not collapsing. He was not collapsing.
His gelid breath fanned her cheek, she wondered if she was the only one feeling anything at all. Her hand left his and instead, hastened arms wrapped around his stiff torso, holding him tight. He stood unmoving, almost as if his feet were stuck glued to the dull concrete. She rested her face on his shoulder, the sore shoulder that endured abundant weight and torment alone for one too many years.
“It’s okay, Manjiro. You don’t have to take on everything on your own.”
Faint scent of cigarette and familiar warm butter infiltrated her sense, she could not help but nuzzle into his bare neck. His chest heaved slow against hers, perhaps if she focus enough, she might be able to feel his heartbeat. His breath was unsteady and ragged, contrasting the still composure he presented. He was so, so very cold.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice your suffering earlier.”
How long has it been since she was able to embrace him in her warmth? The two fit together similar to a puzzle, her arms felt so right when clasped around his body, if only god heard her prayers for their moment to last forever. Latching onto her dearest even when she knew it could potentially demand a hefty price, she is undeniably such a fool.
“I don’t know the pain you have been through, so I cannot say that I understand it.”
“…”
“But from now I’ll go with you through hell, I’ll share a shoulder with you, I won’t let you bottle it up alone.”
“…”
“Even if you push me away, I’ll crawl back.”
Tense shoulders gradually shifted and drooped, his statue-like demeanor fading by the second. Hesitant inhales and exhales beside her ear only made her hug him tighter, their body heat meshing together. Her eyes shut when he lifted his arms and clung onto the back fabric of her shirt, almost unsurely. He must have tucked the gun away for the time being.
She smiled against his shoulder, joyous that he broke through his thorn sheathed adamantine facade, even if it was for a while bit. His snow shade strands tickled her cheek as he leaned his head against hers, arms squeezing around her torso firm, as if he was afraid to lose her warmth again. They stood basking in one another’s comfort, small flare shared by two to battle against the cold harsh world’s treatments.
“Sorry.” Manjiro mumbled. Even though the apology was monotone, his dejection was echoed.
She tenderly patted his back as her shoulders became dampened, how her heart ached for the boy she loves. Salty tears seeped through her shirt, he was unmoving yet wrecked emotions flooded down her skin. Her throat was dry, droplets were difficult to keep contained, but they cannot be shed. She was the one taking in his agony, she will house all of it for him.
“You’re a bastard, Manjiro.”
“…I know.”
“Live well for me, okay?”
She savored the warm embrace. If she did not know any better, she might mistaken the arms around her to be reminiscent of his former protective loving ones. She loved him, adored him, cherished him, he was her blazing Sun. Nothing changed, ten years ago or this very moment, she still loved him and she could only see him. In front of her was still her shining light, just battered and bruised from fate’s heinous games.
“I love you, Manjiro.”
“I know.”
Even if his blossoming smile was replaced with an unfeeling scowl. Even if his eyes no longer held endearment when reflected her. Even if his welcoming warmth was long gone. Even if he was to walk on the path of blood. Even if he places a gun to her skull. Even if he was crying his anguish out on her shoulders. Even if she was no more. She knew him, and she loved him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Manjiro.”
She softly smiled, feeling his skin against hers for the last time. The cold metal held next to her head signaled it was time to let go. Since when did that get there, she wondered.
“I’m sorry, (y/n).”
“Goodbye, Manjiro.”
Bang.