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There was no one Fraw blamed more than herself. She had always felt helpless. From the day she watched her family die, then hearing about her other family die, and Amuro becoming so unreachable. He shined bright — he always did. Yet in doing so, it meant people like her were left behind. Was Fraw ever good enough? Did she do well enough to be worthy to those around her? Despite some troubles, she had convinced herself she was. Sure, there were always obstacles to hurdle over, but that was normal…wasn't it?
Every day she relives those taunting words.
"I'm sorry, Fraw…Katz and Hayato are no more." She thought it was a joke. It had to be a sick joke. There was no way they both—
"We..I…" Fraw didn't want to hear more. Bright was honest to a fault and was very kind. He was hard to get along with at first but she knew deep down that he was doing his best to look out for everyone. It didn't erase this pain, though. It didn't take away the pins and needles that settled in her chest, digging in further the more she repeated Bright's words in her head.
He was there with Katz. With both of them. Up until their last moments.
"Goodbye, Bright," she remembered stuttering out through fresh tears and heavy sobs that shook her shoulders. She was breathless and thirsty. So thirsty. She didn't want to see him walking out of the door, tears pricking his eyes, too. She wasn't sure if it meant farewell forever. Everything hurt. It never stopped hurting.
Fraw heaved over the bathtub that night, and for many nights after. The more it kept happening, the harder it was to hide from Letz and Kikka. She felt so lost when she broke the news about their brother and father figure. Kikka was biting her lip to stop herself from wailing but it was like a dam that had burst open. Letz was quiet. Too quiet. He had always been the more quiet one. Not shy like Katz was, but he never had much to say. As he grew older, he found his voice more. It was difficult in front of strangers, but Letz always had something good to say.
She wanted nothing more than to gather the two in her arms and never let go. How much more did this need to go on for? Hadn’tthey suffered enough? She never found the energy to reach for them. Instead she stayed sat, legs crossed and eyes fixated on the floor as Kikka continued sobbing.
She couldn't remember the last time she ate. This was a normal routine. Something that never changed in all her years of living. There were really good days where she didn't feel self-conscious about stuffing her face. There were the really bad days where even the thought of food had her gagging into her hands. This time was no different. She didn't want to eat, nor did she feel like doing so. It almost felt like there was a ball inside her stomach. She felt full from the second her eyes fluttered open from her restless slumber. She laid in bed for the rest of the day, only forcing herself out to use the bathroom.
"Mom…" Letz knocked one day. She was in a half daze. She glanced towards the door, at Letz's face peeking in — it was quite adorable. She almost forgot how to smile.
"What's wrong, dear?" Her voice didn't sound like herself. Letz shuffled into the room. She felt bad that she hadn't been doing anything for the kids. How could she? She was the one who let both Hayato and Katz go. There must have been something more she could've done. Did she not love them enough? Was that why it was easy to let them go? How could she face her other kids? It was her own fault for not keeping the rest of the family close.
"Fraw Bow."
A flinch. Amuro walked in after Letz did. Fraw sat up further on the bed. He looked well. He was dressed comfortably. So unlike Fraw. So unlike the girl who loved to try on new outfits and ask if a skirt looked good with this jumper she bought or if the dress was a nice colour on her. It made her mouth feel bitter.
Letz almost looked regretful as he studied the two, his eyebrows etching into a frown. Fraw was barely stable enough to get out of bed. She held onto the headboard for a moment before taking baby steps and stumbled towards the boy. She pulled him into a tight, quick hug and kissed his temple.
"It's okay," she whispered to him. He silently took the reassurance and left the two adults in the room.
The silence held them in a chokehold. It was like being back up in space again, floating, not knowing if you were going to survive or not. She constantly dreamt about that voice telling her where to go. That sweet, pure voice. She held it so close to her heart; she wanted to let it continue burning in her ears and mind. She always believed in him.
Now it was wavering. This was the same person who had that voice all those years ago. Dizziness washed over her and her knees buckled. Amuro grabbed onto her. He sat her back down on the bed, joining her. When was the last time she had been this close to him?
"Fraw." Her eyes darted up. She disliked how quickly it took for him to get her attention. She would call herself a patient person — that was something she learned how to be when she first spoke to Amuro. She didn't necessarily like it, but scaring him away was the last thing she wanted.
Amuro licked his already dry lips. Fraw felt tears already building up. Why?
"I'm sorry I never came to see you after the news." Fraw kept her stare on him for ten seconds longer until she mustered the energy to blink. She honestly couldn't remember how long it had been since Bright broke the news to her. He never called her again, but she also didn't make a move to call him either. She was angry. It felt wrong and maybe it was…but she was exhausted. She couldn't count how many times she blamed herself for every single thing that kept going wrong and was sick of it.
"I wanted to," he licked his lips again then brought up his fingers to gnaw at his nails. She felt the itch in her hand to grip his hand and hold it close to her. "But I thought you would want some space first." Space? How dare he—
"No." Her mouth moved faster than her brain. "You don't get to decide that for me." She rarely raised her voice. They used to argue a lot when they were younger, but teenage years meant you could let anything slide.
"You…it was you that I needed. To come through the door and tell me that it was going to be okay!" She gripped the bed sheet under her. "You're never there when I need you the most." Her voice started to quiver. It was Amuro's fault. It was hers too. When was it ever not?
"Was it that hard? To face me?" Fraw looked away from him completely. It hurt when she thought about how she would never be on the same level as Amuro. He was always growing more distant from her. She continuously questioned what she didn't do enough of, what she kept doing wrong – why he never seemed to look at her. They had been young and dumb. She couldn’t keep saying that forever.
Fraw felt a hand place itself on top of her knuckles. She weakened her hold on the bedsheet and Amuro linked his fingers with hers. His hands were always cold.
"I am sorry. I really am," he whispered. It was almost enough to let Fraw forget about it all…if this was her from seven, eight years ago. Being forgiving meant you were the better person. She let herself remain blind because of it. It was easier that way. Fraw drew in a breath from her nose and glimpsed at their hands.
"I'm sorry, too," she whispered back. She squeezed his fingers for a moment then slowly broke her hand away from the hold. The coldness lingered on her fingertips. Amuro opened his mouth but she shook her head. It was better this way. At least, for now. She couldn't stop the ghost of a smile when he held her cheek. She brought her arm up to his wrist and took in as much as she could from the faintest touch on her lips. It was over in mere seconds.
Fraw felt the gust of cool air take Amuro's spot.