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Your hospital room is a sterile white, the color of your hair. I count the cracked and dirty tiles on the floor while I wait for you to wake up, knowing that soon you will never. They remind me of my cracked heart. The only difference is that the tiles can be mended.
You are surrounded by machinery that keeps your corpse barely alive. The gentle hum soothes me; it reminds me of your old room in the League’s old base. It reminds me of those nights when I used to rest on your chest, soaking in the warmth while falling asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, a reminder that you were alive.
But now you’re in a tank, with your skin gone, with the only thing I can see being your eyes. Endeavor’s eyes. The eyes you used to hate with a passion almost as burning as your quirk.
Do you still hate them now? I wish that I could ask, but I can’t waste your few words with a meaningless question.
I look at your body, or what’s left of it. Wires and tubes surround you as you lie on a stiff, pale blue bed. I notice the way your heart rate spikes when I walk in the room, and the way you can’t take your eyes off me. It almost makes up for the pain I go through, waking up not knowing if you’re dead or not.
Your time is running out, we all know it. How many days do you have left? How many days until my first chance at love ends? How many days until the only person who made me feel alive, like something more than a [puppet] hero, dies?
I would give anything to go back to those days when I was infiltrating the League. Before I killed Twice. Before I betrayed you. I would give anything to lie in your arms again, feeling more alive than I ever did before. But I can’t. Those days were nothing more than a mission.
Our love was built on a foundation of lies, but it’s the only truth I know.
I cry myself to sleep every night, knowing that soon you will die, but I also know that even after we both die, our love will continue. We survived everything the world has thrown at us so far, and we could survive more.
I knew that it wouldn't last. I had always known that it was a temporary thing. So why does it hurt? Why does something I knew would happen still make me cry myself to sleep? We were always on borrowed time, but I would give anything to buy us some more.
Love was something forbidden growing up. My parents felt no love for me; they hated me, and they showed it. The Commission felt no love for me, so they treated me as less than human, a tool in their belt. But you didn’t. You felt love for me, and you made me feel love. You made me feel like a person instead of a hero, a puppet, a tool, and a mistake. You made me feel, and now I feel scared. Scared of a life without you.
Why does loving you hurt so much when you love me back? Love is supposed to be freeing, and it was, so why does it hurt now? Why do I feel trapped by something that should make me free? Why do I feel trapped by the love I’m lucky to have?
I would sacrifice the world for just another chance at being in love with you. Just another chance at a happy ending. Just another chance at a normal life, where we can be happy together. A chance where we’re not a hero and a villain, but instead just two happy people in love.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
You stand by my prison, crying. Knowing that we’re both trapped in feelings that will only hurt us. Your golden eyes that I used to spend hours gazing into, unable to get enough of, are full of tears. Because of me. Because I can’t do anything but stare and occasionally speak.
You’re holding rindous in your hand, knowing that they’re my favorite flower. The ones you're holding resemble my eyes. Did you buy them because they reminded you of me? You replace the old, decaying rindous, the ones that are wilted and close to death like me, with the new ones. Will I live long enough to see those die, or will a bouquet outlive me?
You start speaking, your voice is a melody I can’t get enough of. I’m too tired to register what you’re saying, but I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want you to ever stop.
Do you know how much I love you? Did I say it enough? Will I be able to before the cold hands of Death drag me away from the love of my life?
My family came by earlier. Shoto was doing homework while Fuyumi explained her day. It was monotonous. It felt normal, but it didn’t feel like home, not anymore. Now you feel like home. You feel more like home than my house ever felt like. Do you feel the same way about me? I’m full of questions I may never be able to ask, and you’re full of questions I’ll never be able to answer.
How did we end up like this? How did those sleepless nights in the League’s old base, curled up against one another, fitting together like a puzzle meant to be solved, searching for warmth when the heater broke, end up like this?
Our love is like the ocean. The water’s rough, trying to constantly sink us, but we keep floating because that’s all we can do, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. We may drown, but at least we’ll drown together. This love, no matter how high the stakes are, no matter how dangerous it can be, is still ours. It’s still something we made, and it’s still something I will nurture and grow until it doesn’t need me anymore.
I wish that we could go back to when our laughter was endless and our dreams were bigger than our fears. I wish that we could go back to when we were two fools in love, unaware of what the future would bring.
You suddenly stop talking, realizing that I’m not listening. I wish that I could tell you to continue, but you don’t. You’re lost in thought. I wish that I could read your mind. I wish that you could read mine. Sometimes it feels like you can, like we are a split soul finally reunited. And other times it feels like we’re two souls destined to always be in love, but to never be happy.
I love you, Keigo. You’re my other half. The love of my life. I love you. I can’t say it now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say it again, but I’ll think it until my soul moves on.
You start speaking again, and this time I can understand it. “I love you,” you blurt out, giving me further proof that you can read my mind. “I know you can’t say it back, and you don’t have to. I just needed to say it.”
I wish that I could say it back, but I can’t. Maybe later.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
But later never came. That night, the cold and cruel hands of Death, its silhouette illuminated by the light of the full moon, reached up from the Underworld and ripped his soul from his body, sending it to its next life before it was done with its current one.
Death laughed at the lovers, a sound cruel and inhuman, destined for love and tragedy in every life, knowing that they were stuck in a loop of heartbreak until the end of time.
It was in that hospital room, surrounded by the flickering lights and sterile walls that kept him trapped like an animal in a cage, that the boy who escaped Death and tried to burn down the world finally died.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
I breathe, knowing that it will be my last. My heartbeat is slowly fading. My conscience is leaving. I die hearing the nurses flock by my side, trying (and failing) to stop me from flatlining, but it’s too late.
I die seeing your face, knowing that I missed my final chance. I imagine your golden eyes by my pale, white headstone, crying as you replace the rindous by my grave. Then I see something strange.
My final thought is the picture of a man: He’s probably in middle school, with a boy-ish face. He has messy black hair that desperately needs a haircut, and black square-rimmed glasses that bring out his soft blue eyes. He’s wearing a school uniform, and smiling at someone I can’t see.
Then, a never-ending darkness.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
I get the call at 2:58 am, the call that changed everything. I knew that it was going to happen, so why do I still cry until my eyes are red? Why do I still curl up on my bed, surrounded by pillows, in hopes that I can pretend it’s you around me? Why do I still feel like the world stopped when it’s still going?
It feels like my soul has been shattered, like a part of me died with you. It did.
We never had a normal relationship. We never planned to get married, have children, and grow old together. I knew that it wouldn’t last, so why does it hurt now that it’s ended? Why does something inevitable still make me want to burn the world to the ground?
It feels as though time is standing still, while it’s still marching forward, marching towards the day I follow you to my own grave.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
It’s been a few months since you died. I sit at my desk, a flickering desk lamp is the only source of light as I lazily fill out paperwork. I’ve been absorbed in my work, leaving no time to grieve. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s all I can do. I rub my eyes; it’s been days since I last slept. I pick up my phone to see messages from my friends checking in with me.
I would respond if I had the energy to, but I don’t. I’m drowning in grief, and I don’t have time to contact friends when I’m just trying to survive. To swim to safety.
Sometimes I forget that you’re dead. I wake up thinking that I have to get ready to visit you in the hospital, then I remember. The room that used to hold you now holds some other poor person instead of the person I loved love.
They say that there are five stages of grief: Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression, and Acceptance, but I doubt that I will ever make it to acceptance. I doubt that I will ever get used to a world without you.
I had lived many years before I met you in a monotone world, but when I met you, you showed me colors I had never seen with anyone else. You brought color into my life, and I don’t want to go back into a monotone world when I know the colors that I could be seeing.
You were are everything to me, so how can you expect me to live without you? How can you expect me to go back to monotone?
I hate you. I hate how you made me fall in love with you. I hate how you left me alone. I hate how much I love you.
You told me that you loved me, that love would surpass death, that our love was so strong that our souls were destined to be together, that we’d meet again in the next life. You told me that you could feel the red string binding us together, the invisible string that I’d heard about in stories my mother never told me, that could never be cut, not even by death.
You told me that our love would last for eternity, and I believed you. Because that was the prettiest lie I’d ever heard, and it hurt to think of the harsh truth.
Forever was the loveliest lie your beautiful mouth ever told.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
Tsunagu told me that while he doesn’t understand our relationship, he knows that we’ll meet again in our next life, but will there even be a next life? Was reincarnation a concept created to get over death, or is it real? Will death lead me to you, or will my consciousness forever be gone like yours?
Rumi told me to go outside, to have fun for the first time since you died. How can I have fun knowing that you won’t ever be able to again? How can I ever move on from you?
She keeps telling me that I should talk to someone, that someone can help me with this, but I can’t. My parents taught me to shove everything down deep inside of me where no one else can see it, and the Commission only solidified that belief. I’ve been bottling everything up, and I don’t know what will happen when I finally let it loose. When I finally allow myself to feel things I don’t want to.
How pathetic is it that the former Number 2 hero is afraid of emotions?
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
The city, no matter how much I try to ignore it, keeps reminding me of you.
I see your silhouette in the streets, in the dark alleys no one checks.
From the moment I had first met you in person, despite the logic and reasoning the Commission programmed into me, I was attracted to you. Like a magnet. Maybe it was your staples triggering my bird-brain. Maybe it was your fiery personality that matched your quirk. Maybe it was the fact that it was forbidden that made it so alluring.
Somehow, meeting you was all it took for the charming persona ingrained into my being to evaporate, leaving me a blubbering mess.
“What are you staring at, birdbrain?” you said, smoking a cigarette. You took a deep breath, releasing a plume of smoke that left me coughing. I hadn’t even realized that I was staring, but there was something so fascinating about you, something that plagued my mind. “Do you want one?”
I had noticed your silhouette as well as the strong scent of burnt flesh that clung to you, and despite my brain yelling at me to stop, I approached you.
Smoking will kill me, but so will being found out as a spy . “Sure,” I said weakly. You raised an eyebrow and muttered something about dumb birds, but you still handed me one. “Uh- I- I’ve never before. Uh- This is- This is my first time,” I said, stumbling over my words. Why wasn’t this included in training?
You laughed, shaking your head slightly, making me blush slightly, or more than I already was. I hoped that it was too dark for you to notice.
“Well, you first put it in your mouth,” you whispered, suddenly a lot closer than you were a few seconds ago. Your cerulean eyes made uncomfortable (but not unwelcome) eye contact. You shoved the cigarette into my slightly open mouth. My brain shut down seeing how close you were to me.
“Uh-” I started, suddenly regretting every choice that led to me being in this situation.
“You light it.” You lit a small blue flame on the tip of your finger and held it to the end of the cigarette, ignoring me. “And you just inhale it.” I inhaled it quickly and doubled over in a coughing fit.
“You inhale a small bit, keep it in your mouth for a couple seconds, then exhale, like so.” You demonstrated, but I was too focused on the way your staples reflected light, the way your lips opened, soft and inviting. I want to kiss him. The sudden thought eventually led to me questioning my identity in my bathroom later.
I ended up coughing for a few more seconds before standing upright again. “No thanks, I-I’m good,” I mumbled, painfully aware of how you were less than a foot away from me.
“You took like a tomato, birdie. What happened to the charming and eloquent persona you’ve built?” You did.
“I have to- I have to go,” I said, clearing my throat. “Hero… things. Hero stuff. Uh… bye.” You laughed a little, but you didn’t stop me as I speed-walked to the exit.
“Bye, Pretty Bird.”
Just kill me now.
That night had played out in my mind for weeks, leading to me actively avoiding you at the base. If anyone noticed, they hadn’t mentioned it. I was a spy, and I couldn’t afford to get attached. You also didn’t seem to mind, apparently forgetting the night.
Or so I thought until you cornered me.
I was in a random hallway trying to find the bathroom when I ran into you. “Birdie, we need to talk,” you said, suddenly right in front of me.
“Uh- talk, about what?” I said, leaning on the wall in a way that (hopefully) seemed laid back.
You raised an eyebrow. “About the way you’ve been avoiding me. I promise that I’m not going to pressure you to smoke anymore, and I definitely don’t bite.” I wouldn’t mind if you bit me.
“It’s not that-”
“Then what is it, birdbrain?” You stepped closer, cornering me with my back to the wall. You were leaning against it, painfully close to me. Though you were normally two inches taller than me, your platforms (which you denied were heels) made you easily five inches taller. My heart rate increased dramatically, and the butterflies in my stomach started flapping around like madmen, seeing you so close to me. All I had to do was stand on my tiptoes to kiss you.
“It’s just- just-” I’m in love with you. The sudden realization surprised me. I had never felt love before, especially for another man, but… something about you was different than everybody else. Something about you ruined me and made sensibility fly out the window.
You sighed, appearing disappointed by my lack of an answer. “Listen, if you want me to leave you alone, just say so. There’s no need to play cat and mouse.” You left before I could tell you to stay.
True to your word, you did leave me alone.
Instead of you hunting me down, I was left hunting you down. What am I even going to say to him when I finally corner him? I love you? I miss you? I don’t hate you?
My plan was to see what happened and to go with the flow.
I soon realized that it was a horrible plan.
You were walking in the hallway while eating cheap instant ramen when I found you. “Dabi,” I said, appearing in front of you like you had once appeared in front of me.
“The fuck-” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you almost spilled the instant ramen all over your white shirt.
“I- I have something to tell you.” Just kill me now, please. “I never wanted you to ignore me, I don’t actually mind talking to you. You’re- you’re not that much of an asshole.”
You paused, confused. “Um… thanks, I guess.”
I took a deep breath. “I- I didn’t mean it like that. I meant- I mean- you are kind of an asshole-” What the fuck is happening to me?
“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, which somehow caused me to blush more.
“I meant-” I took another deep breath. “I- I don’t mind your presence. I-” love you.
“Birdie, this is almost painful,” you said, stepping closer with your signature smirk. “Just tell me to stop and I will.”
And then you kissed me.
I feel your touch in the warm breeze.
“Birdie, you’re late,” you said as you opened your room door. “Was your leisurely walk fun?” you taunted, leaning against the doorframe.
I was slightly out of breath, having rushed here as fast as I could, but your apartment was pretty hard to find. “I came as fast as I could,” I said, pushing past you before you could notice that I was blushing. “What are we doing tonight?”
“Chilling. We could watch a movie, we could cook dinner together, depends on what you want to do.” The door shut with a loud bang, causing me to flinch in a way I hoped was discreet.
The paint was peeling from the walls, and there were buckets on the ground to collect dripping water. Your furniture looked like it was about to break, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you got everything from a junkyard. There were probably rats and cockroaches sharing it with us, but I didn’t care as long as I didn’t see them. It was also significantly smaller than the apartment the Commission had given me, but it felt like home.
“I’m hungry, can you make dinner?” I asked, plopping down on the couch.
“How about we both make it?” you offered, standing in front of me.
“I can’t cook,” I said. You were such a good cook, I was honestly jealous. The Commission didn’t see cooking as a necessary skill, so I was left with instant ramen and takeout. Whenever I did try, I always ended up burning the food and myself.
“I could teach you,” you said, pulling me up. “You’ll be stuck with takeout for the rest of your life if nobody teaches you.”
“You can cook for me.”
“We both know that I won’t be there for the rest of your life.”
There was an awkward silence after that. I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with them. I hadn’t thought about the future of our relationship, it was too painful.
“Don’t look so sad, birdie. I’ll teach you, come on.” You started walking towards the kitchen, not looking back since you knew that I would follow you. I’ll always follow you.
The kitchen was plain, but it had everything needed. The walls had paint peeling off like the rest of the apartment, and the counters were messy. The sink had dishes piling up, almost overflowing, like high-stakes Jenga. The fridge had barely any takeout and instead had ingredients. Same with the cabinets and the two spice racks. Who needs that many different spices?
“Hawks, can you make rice while I make the curry?” you asked, gesturing to the rice cooker.
“Uh- how do I make rice?” I asked, almost as disappointed in myself as you looked.
“Hawks,” you said, disappointed as you turned around to face me. “How have you survived twenty-three years in Japan without ever making rice?”
“I- I just did.”
“Fine, we’ll make soba, it shouldn’t be too hard.”
It was too hard, but after a shit-ton of struggle and tears, it didn’t taste that bad.
We ate on your dingy couch with a myriad of mystery stains, curled up against each other while watching some shitty reality show. “This show is horrible,” I exclaimed. “Why would they do that?”
“This is a pre-quirk show, Hawks. Very pre-quirk.”
“Still.”
“It’s also American.”
“Oh.”
“If you don’t like it, we can change it,” you said, handing me the remote.
I hesitated. “This show has me in a chokehold,” I admitted. It was shitty, but for some reason I couldn’t stop watching it.
You laughed, setting your empty bowl on the coffee table beside mine. I leaned my head on your shoulder, curling up against you. You combed your fingers through my hair, detangling it as you went. Even though we had been together for a while, the small action still made my brain fizzle out, leaving me as a flustered mess.
Your touch was warm, like your quirk was on the brink of release. I breathed in the scent of burnt flesh and ash that I knew I would inevitably miss.
“Call me Keigo,” I mumbled before I could realize it. “It’s my- It’s my real name.”
“Oh,” you said, a mental battle raging in your head. “Call me Touya then.”
“Touya,” I whispered, getting used to it.
“Keigo,” you responded, kissing my forehead.
I hear your voice in the cars passing by.
“Come on Pretty Bird, you’ve been hiding in my room since you came here. The rest of the fuckwads are getting worried,” you said, sitting down on the bed beside me, wrapping a warm arm around my waist and bringing me in closer to you.
I had come to the League because I wanted to spend as much time with them before my betrayal, soaking it all in before I left, but it only reminded me of what I was going to lose. Who I was going to lose.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I shook my head. “That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.”
I looked up into your eyes, so full of love, knowing that I would soon destroy this. I would destroy this love, and this was probably my only chance.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ever going to be ready.
I buried my face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of ash and burnt flesh that I grew to love. My wings wrapped around you as I sobbed, unable to bottle this up like I did everything else. My tears drenched your shirt, but you didn’t care.
You didn’t ask why I was crying, and you didn’t expect me to tell you; you just held me, combing your fingers through my hair until I stopped crying.
I love you. It was the truth. The only thing I knew was the truth. [I love you.] I repeated, knowing that soon I wouldn’t be able to say it again.
“I- I’ll miss you when you die.”
“Uh- I’ll miss you too when I die, I guess.” I laughed softly.
“I- I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“... Everything.”
“I love you Pretty Bird, but it would be nice if you told me why you keep crashing on my bed and crying,” you said softly, your forehead pressed into mine.
“You’ll know soon enough.”
You got a strange look in your eye, but you didn’t say anything. We spent the rest of the night cuddling like two spoons in a set, meant to always be together.
I see your eyes in the shirt of a street vendor of all places.
“How could you?” you said, hurt dripping from your voice like Twice’s blood on my blade. “How could you?” you repeat, over and over again like a broken toy, your voice crescendoing until you’re screaming at me. “ How could you? ” you screamed, grabbing my shirt and lifting me off the ground until our faces were mere inches apart.
Those words would be repeating in my nightmares for months.
But at the same time, I had to resist the urge to kiss you. I would never be able to again; those memories I clung to would never repeat.
Suddenly, you dropped me. I “gracefully” landed on my ass and stared up at you. At your tears. You were crying to the point that blood was staining your pure white shirt and dripping to the floor where it met with Twice’s. You weren’t speaking anymore. I didn’t know if you could speak, or if a million words were running the moment you tried saying them.
I felt that way. My throat closed up, tears threatening to spill. But I shoved them down, I had no right to cry after I ruined the only good thing I had. “I’m sorry,” I tried to say before you looked at me, disgusted.
It was the first time you looked at me like that. Your eyes burned with an anger fueled by pure hatred. At me.
“You have no right, no right , to apologize,” you said, backing up, touching your lips, like you were trying to wipe my kisses off. “You have no right to apologize when you came in here, manipulated m- us, and then killed one of us.”
“Dabi-”
“Did you even love me back, or was it all some kind of trick to get me to trust you? You-” you paused, trying to get the words out. “Was any of it real?” you asked, so quiet I could barely hear it. “Or was it all a lie?”
“I love you-”
“So why did you do it?” you interrupted, “Why did you murder Twice?”
“It wasn’t going to work out, we both knew that. Despite my love for you, I’m still a hero, and you’re still a villain,” I recited like I had a million times in the mirror. “And I’m sorry that there will be no chance between us because of me, but… but there was no way to avoid it.
“I don’t know what the fuck you are, but you sure as hell aren’t a hero, Takami,” you said with a sneer, a small blue fire lit in your hand. “And there was never a chance between us in the first place. It was all a foolish mistake.”
My eyes widened as I realized what you were about to do. I backed away until I hit the wall. It hurt to hear you say that, but it was what I deserved. “Touya, please don’t make me do this-”
“You have no right to call me that, Takami,” you snarled, disgusted. “Now get out of my sight before I reduce you to a pile of ashes.”
So I did the only thing I could.
I ran.
I see your beautiful, pale white hair in a bed of rice.
The war was over, and it was strangely peaceful.
People were going about their day like normal, knowing that they didn't have to worry about the League or major villain attacks anymore. Heroes collectively started slacking, knowing that they wouldn't have to worry about dying a gruesome death anymore. Or, not as much as normal
I should have been at peace. I was finally free from the cage the Commission trapped me in. I was finally free to be myself. So why wasn’t I happy? Why did I still reminisce about the simpler days? Why did I yearn for the days when I was breaking the law and pretending to be a villain?
You plagued my mind. I didn’t even know how you were doing. All I knew was that you were alive.
Some part of me desperately wanted to see you, and the other part knew that you wanted nothing to do with me. That I was the reason you were constantly on the brink of death. I knew that it was selfish to see you, but wasn’t it you who told me that villains were selfish? I’m a murderer who has destroyed families and lives. What am I other than a villain?
Don’t I have the right to be selfish?
So I was selfish, and I visited you. I didn’t visit Spinner or Compress, I just visited you. I figured that you would at least not want to murder me on sight. Some idiotic part of me hoped that you were still in love with me, though I knew that it would cause you pain.
But this love also caused me pain, so why shouldn’t I share this pain with someone else?
The first time I saw you in that little glass coffin cage, you reminded me of Snow White. It was a story an older agent had told me, of a girl trapped in a little glass coffin until love set her free. With your white hair pale as snow and your cage of glass, I couldn’t help but remember the story.
Some part of me, some foolish childish part of me, wanted nothing more than to open your cage, kiss you, and set you free. I wanted nothing more than to be your Prince Charming, the one you were meant to be with. Your knight in shining armor.
The doctors warned me that you would be able to barely speak, that you would barely resemble a human, but I wasn’t prepared at all for seeing you again. You looked like a monster. Like a corpse desperately clinging to life. But you still had your eyes and your hair. You still looked like the man who taught me how to cook, how to love, and how to exist without pleasing someone. So I approached you.
I stood by your cage, staring at you. Staring at what you had been reduced to. Because of me . Staring. And you stared back.
“Get out,” you croaked, your voice gravelly. I could hear how much that hurt.
“I’m sorry, Touya,” I said, as I sat on a mildly uncomfortable hospital chair.
You glared at me.
“I still love you.” I started tearing up, feeling the emotions I tried to hide.
You continued glaring at me. You can’t do anything else, can you?
“I still love you so much that it hurts. And I know- I know that you hate me, but I’m still going to come. And- and you don’t have to respond, just… Just don’t shove me away,” I said, slowly dissolving into tears.
You still glared at me, but it seemed slightly softer, though it was likely all in my head.
“I’m going to- I’m going to still come, whenever I can, and hopefully… Hopefully you won’t hate me as much. Hopefully…”
You opened your mouth, as if trying to say something.
“I love you, and you don’t have to say it back, and I know that you don’t love me anymore, but I still love you. And- and I’m going to be the selfish villain you called me, and I’m still going to come back, I’ll always come back to you, Touya.”
I stood up from the chair, and as I opened the door, I heard something. Something so quiet I could have imagined it. But I didn’t.
“I love you too… Keigo.”
Our love was a modern fairytale, but maybe we could have our own happily ever after. However that may look.
Maybe we could still be happy.
I still see you. Even if you’re not really here, you’re still everywhere I look. Haunting me with all the words I never said and all the mistakes I can never take back.
And even though I see the car coming towards me, a blur of red, I don’t move. Even though I hear people warning me and trying to pull me away, I don’t move. Even though I still have something to live for, I don’t move.
Because a life without you isn’t worth living.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
Death wasn’t expecting to see the other cursed soul so soon. He returned to a street surrounded by news reporters to see the soul of Keigo Takami, ready to move on.
He phased through them, unbothered. He was an otherworldly spirit; he didn’t care about the insignificant lives of humans. He reached out, wrapping his skeletal hands around Takami’s soul, and dragged it down to the Underworld, and sent it to its next life.
It was there, surrounded by journalists and EMTs, that the boy who went through hell for love was finally reunited with his.
✧•┈••✦ -ˋˏ ༻ ❁ ༺ ˎˊ- ✦••┈•✧
Someone’s crying, but I can’t tell who it is. It could be Rumi, who tried to pull me away at the last second, but failed. It could be one of the countless people I saved, crying because they couldn’t save me. It could be anyone, but I’ll never know.
I’m done with this life. I was done with it when you died.
I imagine my body lowered into a grave, and I hope that it’s next to yours, so I can always be beside you. I imagine our bodies decaying side by side, alongside the flowers at our headstones, people crying for both of us. I imagine us finally equal, as two skeletons instead of murderers and villains. I imagine us as together, even in death.. Suddenly, I see something strange.
My final thought is the picture of a girl: She’s young, probably in middle school or high school. Her brown hair is short with a choppy haircut. She’s wearing a school uniform that’s slightly worn. She has hazel eyes that shine when she sees someone I can’t.
Then, a never-ending darkness.