but, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

it had started years ago, back when you were just a little kid in elementary school and this shaggy haired boy was paired with you in hopscotch. you didn’t protest at the time, but oh should you have, because you weren’t aware of the can of worms it would open in your life—the container of sparkles you were still finding in undesirable places; by the name of jake sim.

it was bordering an obsession.

but, in reality, all he was obsessed with was your reaction; the way your face would flush when you heard his annoying voice; the way your body would tense under his annoying gaze; the way your blood boiled when his annoying laugh rang through the air; the way your fingers dug crescents into your palms when his stupidly-white teeth would show themselves for another classmate; the way your stomach would turn when he'd brush his stupidly-styled hair from his face. or bite his annoying lips. or crack his stupid knuckles. or stretch and reveal his stupid abs.

he made you so sick. so fucking nauseous that you couldn’t stand being around him for more than a few minutes at a time.

he was so egotistical. so cocky. so adored and admired by just about anything that breathed.

so why’d he choose to follow you around like a lost puppy? even after you had screamed and cried at him to leave you alone—all those years ago now—to go about his perfect fucking life and leave you to yours.

why’d he, of all people, have to bother you?

you tried so hard to ignore the everlasting presence behind you, and if you and jake didn’t happen to be neighbors you would’ve started sprinting. but, it was july and nobody really wants to run in the scorching heat. especially not you, and jake played soccer so it would've been no use trying anyways.

you had exited your house, preparing to walk to the gas station instead of deal with your parents outbursts about god knows what, when perched on the front lawn in front of you was none other than someone you really didn’t want to see either. and, for a moment you thought he was going to give up his annoying-you act as he didn’t trail you for a good couple of strides. but, that was short lived as you saw the man take off from his porch, causing you to grumble and cross your arms.

you kept your chin high, not acknowledging jake in hopes that it would steer him away; because he liked to get a rise from you. and, if you took that away, he wouldn’t have a reason to bother you. the plan was fool-proof in reality… well, at least it should’ve been.

jake kept following you, all the way into the drink isle of the gas station. he even went as far as grabbing your favorite and shoving it in the back pocket of your jeans—but you weren’t in the mood, and frankly you were far past angry; at ur parents, at the heat, at yourself.

but, not at jake and, for that you didn’t know why.

he was everything that annoyed you, but he was also the only thing that stayed consistent—and that was oddly comforting—because you knew that if only you looked around jake would be there in some form or not.

like the stars in the sky, the wind through air, the smell of sea water, and over exaggerated accents; jake was there, within them all. and, somewhere along the way it all stopped being the vain of your existence.

you weren't kids anymore, and the petty competition between you two had ceased some time ago, which only left room for something else to bloom; something far from those two kids on the hot asphalt.

you rolled your eyes at him. "why won't you just leave me alone?" he shrugged in response, going off to the isle with snacks, but you weren't hungry. sick, actually. so, so sick to your stomach at the very thought of actually thinking fondly of the one thing you're supposed to hate with all your will. you were convinced you were going to be buried with a rotting heart, but even the slightest twinge from his stupidly-pretty lips melted your ice-cold feelings.

you paid for the drink, no longer seeing the boy. a sigh (of relief?) left your lips when you exited the station. you scouted the place, only the scorchingly bright sun reflecting off peoples cars as they filled up. no sight of the man who trailed you here—

wait, why were you looking for him?

you told yourself it was to make sure you got away before he came out—you wanted a peaceful walk back with your drink, and thoughts, not a puppy-like man. but, you knew deep down you also craved the comfort he seemed to bring whenever he was around. and, maybe it was especially needed now but, you began to walk anyways, prepared to ignore him some more if need be.

it was better that way, that’s what you had to tell yourself. that’s what you’ve always told yourself.

it was better you stay away from everyone. you were content with yourself, weren't you?

that's what you were always programmed to believe, anyways.

"miss me that much, y/n?" it should've been dangerous how fast you spun on your heels. he smirked. "that's why you were looking, isn't it?"

you scoffed to his face, cracking open the drink in your hand and taking a long swig. "absolutely not." you leveled your head again, humphing and turning back around to begin walking.

you were always two peas in a pod, and petty respected petty.

it was like a game you two played without rules, no start, and definitely no end. it was the unspoken regular, no peace when you were in each others presence. if you weren't at each others throats then hell had to have frozen over, one of you died, or anything of the sort.

you wanted to tell him to stop following you but, whether you did or not, he still lived across the street. he had just as much a right to walk this street as you did. but, you were still annoyed.

and, on your shared (desired or not) walk, you couldn't help the emotions welling up within you. everything was just getting a little too much for you to keep bottled inside. first it was the migraine you woke up to after staying up half the night studying for a future you weren't even sure you wanted to have. then, it was the yelling between and by your parents; about what? you still weren't even sure. but one thing you were sure about was the tears that began to prick your eyes. you tried so hard to swallow them down with the drink, but even with your head tilted back, they fell. and, just like your game, they showed no sign of stopping.

you needed something, however you never knew what it was, just always slightly out of reach. you felt incomplete, hallow, empty. but, what made you worthy of being sad; you had everything.

it angered you. however, you were just like your parents, weren't you? never knowing how to express yourself healthily. they told you what was expected and you followed like it was a goddamn marionette show. your whole life was planned before you even spoke your first word; be top student. be well liked. be nice. be pretty. be in clubs. don't make friends. don't talk back. and, don't fucking cry.

you felt a gentle hand pull you back, and out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times, trying to de-blur the splotched scene.

you must've not realized how loudly you were crying. "are you okay?" jake asked. you'd never seen concern on him before—it was something you weren't sure you'd actually ever seen—and, you were supposed to hate it?

you weren't sure of that anymore either.

your brain wasn't working as his eyes met your tear-filled ones, but everything still boiled over like you were sat on the back burner.

"stop it!" you shouted at him, throwing your wrist from his hand. "stop fucking following me!" and suddenly you were back in middle school—the only other time he had seen you cry—screaming the same thing at him in the middle of the playground. "stop trying to be around me! i hate you! stop playing this stupid game! you're annoying, okay! i hate your stupid laugh, and stupid smile, and stupid hair, and stupid everything! stop liking me! you make me so fucking sick, jake! i can't stand you, okay? you win, for gods sake!"

his eyebrows creased, but he didn't back down from your words. actually, he got closer, and you swear your breath hitched. but, before he got a chance to reply to anything another wall went up, and you practically whispered. "...let's j-just stop, jake." through a broken voice; utterly defeated. "i'm tired."

tired of feeling like you had lost all control over yourself. tired of hating everything you're supposed to be grateful for. tired of being so goddamn tired and confused. tired of being angry and frustrated. tired of romanticizing the late night mock-exams and good grades. tired of being friendless. tired of being fake. tired of being molded into an emotionless vessel. tired of being the class president and always-too-busy girl. tired of being you. tired of being alone.

and, so tired of pretending to hate the one person who never let you get too far away from him.

"i-i'm okay, okay?" you sighed, wiping your cheeks with your forearm and hand. "i'm fine!" you mocked a smile. "just go home, jake."

maybe it was because, ever since the moment he was paired with you, you were never able to convince him of your perfect lifestyle. your plastic covered couches and white piquet fences. and, when he moved across the street it's like he could see through all your lies even better.

"are you really okay?" he asked, knowing you were only telling him an otherwise well-sold tale (to everyone else, at least).

you huffed angrily. "yes! so, just leave me alone now, okay? go back to your school friends, and soccer team, and loving parents, and brother. get out of my life, please—i hate you! i hate you so much—how many times do i have to tell you this?"

his voice was soft yet well-defined. "until you mean it."

his words echoed so painfully loud inside your head, taking you aback. he'd never spoken to you like that. he'd never said something other then teasing comments and pushes to get you to roll your eyes at him. he had never been more than the thorn in your back; the one side of your stuffed-up nose; the one question of a test you had to guess on; he was never more than someone who liked to pull pranks on you to get a rise. never more than jake sim: your relentless enemy.

so, why was your heart thumping with something more than anger and frustration?

you knew the answer deep down through your rising stomach bile. your nausea. you knew it was because he was everything you needed, and that's why he made you so sick.

you hated that he could see through you like a goddamn window. you hated how he wouldn't run away. you hated how he could watch you cry. you hated how he'd look at you. you hated how you didn't even want him to actually leave. you hated how you looked for him in the simplest things. you hated how he was consistency in an ever-evolving world. you hated how he was supposed to be the one thing you hated. you hated how you craved a stupid-smile from him. you hated how attractive his stupid-hair looked. you hated how you desired to hear his stupidly-tuneful laugher. you hated him and his extensive knowledge on you. you hated that you didn't even hate him—no, you actually loathed him so fucking much that somewhere along the way, you loved him.

you loved him so much, and that's why you hated him.

you hated that you couldn't have him. you hated that he was always the something that was just slightly out of reach. you hated that he knew you didn't hate him. you hated that he didn't even hate you for it. you wanted him to, and that's why you hated him first.

maybe, in reality you knew it wouldn't have hurt less either way, but it was the path you chose—had chosen for you—and turning back now wasn't something in your sights. you only had one option.

"i hate you."

his hands found your cheeks, forcing you to look into his stupidly-pretty eyes. you didn't even protest, knowing not-so-far past surface level that you wanted to give in. "well, i love you."

you wanted him to hold you. you wanted him to kiss your tears away. you wanted him to be the man you could run across the street to when things got tough. you wanted his comfort. you wanted him to tell you it would all be okay. you wanted to be his comrade, not his enemy. you wanted him to fix your broken heart and mind—stick you back together with glitter-glue. you, truthfully, wanted him as much as he wanted you.

and, that's what you hated the most; jake—the only silver lining in your life—sim. the man you're supposed hate, but love.

© loserlvrss 2024 / 25. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱.

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Hope was a funny thing. Finicky, complicated. And maybe it was not lost. But the days got longer, and eventually death and gore was all anybody knew. You were forced to grow up to survive. You had to take care of yourself. Days turning into weeks. Weeks turning into months, and months into years. 

1070 days it's been since the fall of every societal structure that once dominated day-to-day life. The apartment building cut power some time during month two, the rest of the city going dark hours later… but at least he could see the stars from his balcony now. The constellations that he had no idea what their names even were—pretty, he thought. 

The news stopped giving updates and the radio turned static after day six. Running water was a luxury after week three, but he remembered more of Dr. Stone than he thought. Until he didn’t. 

Then he ran out of food on day 392… but at least he saw you. 

Now, Yuma wouldn’t call himself much of an optimist anymore, but the sentiment can often be confused with momentary hopefulness. Another emotion that left nothing but disappointment in its wake. 

Watching from a far was weird; Yuma knew that. But when you were so down-right encapsulating, practically dancing with every swing of your sword—the one he didn’t know when or how you learned to use—he couldn’t help it. It looked natural clutched between your once perfectly manicured hand, body wrapped in faded-colored cloths, hair tied into a tight braid. You looked… straight out of an Anime. There were splotches of mysterious guts and dirt that littered your skin, scars now from what he could only assume were the monsters that owned Japan; the place he could once call home. 

He knew you from back at school, almost 3 years ago now before the world had fallen into ruin. It took him a while to muster the courage to leave the 9th floor, only seeing the chaos below from above. But humans were designed with flaws, and one of them was the need to eat. Though, for about a year and a half, he’d break into the surrounding apartments and rummage through the things that were left behind. Eventually, things were scarce, either taken by passersbys during the early days or too rotten and gross to even identify. And when his stomach growled louder than the monsters, he feared he had no choice anymore.

Water, on the subject of survival, was just another thing when he’d seen so much on how to boil out the bacteria from the pails he’d left on the roof to collect the rain. Of course that only worked with his little gas powered stove, which's tank eventually ran out. And planting vegetables, much less from seeds, on the balcony was something he was, unfortunately, in the dark about. Though desperate times call for desperate measures, so, he tried it. 

Spoiler alert, they died. Much like most every living thing nowadays. He didn’t know if it was pure luck or something entirely different that got him this far; and he was even less sure if he was grateful.

On the other hand, you’d be surprised how fast nature reclaimed the terrain in such little time. He thought to himself that it could’ve been beautiful, the first time he’d been practically forced to leave his sanctuary, jealous that it couldn’t be luxurious fruits intertwining the railing instead of varieties of vines climbing overrun apartment buildings, flowers springing up between the cracks in the sidewalks, and trees twisting with the wind. 

All things considered though, it was beautiful.

“She’s beautiful,” Yuma looked out the open window, the soft breeze of spring tousling his hair. There was a faint scent of cherry blossoms and roses (your favorite) in the wind. Lunch-time chatter echoed in the room, people coming in and out with the quiet drag of the door. He stretched as the sun warmed his uniform-clad body, as if he was a cat in the sun, letting out a hum (pur) at the feeling. “Jo, she’s smart and neat, and you can tell she’s dedicated to her studies—But even so, she makes time for her friends. I really admire a woman who is disciplined, you know. It’s about balance and she… has it.” 

Another one of his friends, the more outspoken transfer student, Nicholas, chimed in. “Why don’t you just ask her out, dude? You’ve had a crush since, I don’t know, God knows when! We’re going to graduate in a couple months, and with exams coming up you know she’ll be busy. Wouldn’t it be nice to study together? Decide on universities together? Build a foundation, maybe. Think about it.”  

Yuma’s head collided with his palm, giving the boys beside and in front of him a dramatic sigh. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. That's all I think about actually.”

The silence was deafening, but not brutal, just how Jo was when he was deep in contemplation—Nicholas shutting up to give someone else a chance at an opinion. 

“Maybe it’ll be better for you, you’ll focus more if she was your girlfriend, maybe even a top student. Better late than never, right?” 

Nicholas scoffed, looking around the room until his eyes dragged over your slouched body; studying, of course. “Then he’d have to dethrone his beloved—and that’ll never happen. He’d give it all up for her.” 

“Why are you just standing there? Run, idiot!” 

Yuma damn-near pointed his finger back at himself—were you actually talking to him? He saw you running towards him, but maybe there was someone standing behind him, someone you knew. Or maybe he’d finally lost it and his imagination was taking over just like the monsters did. But that would be so much worse than them. That would be just down-right cruel. 

You grabbed his arm, looking over your shoulder at the Hell which was just released; hoards of them, more than you could handle with a mere blade. 

They weren’t human, not anymore, that was as much as you knew, skin slimy and rough like a fish, but still anatomically correct. Their legs went in all directions it seemed, but their movements swayed steadily, allowing for a faster pace than what zombies were portrayed in movies as. Though they also didn’t have a craving for human-flesh, it was more like a compulsion to hunt for fun, for sport. Like it was just a big game.

It was disturbing more than horrifying. 

“Yuma! I’ll leave you here if you don’t get up! It’s every one for themself, you know.” 

But, despite that mindset, you stopped to help. Of course you stopped to help! What else would you have done? Maybe the world had lost humanity, but it was oddly obvious that you hadn’t. You were you after all. The same person who would help someone who’d been tripped in the hallway, one who had dropped their books, or was upset after a mock-exam. You’d spend your time, even in a hurry, to assist because that was just who you were—and that’s why Yuma liked you so damn much. Because you were admirable, everything he wasn’t able to do, you did. 

He liked you because you were you unapologetically. You laughed loudly, smiled so brightly and had a soft glint in your eye for everyone regardless. You seemingly had so much love to give and life to live and Yuma would do anything to share the sentiment with you. 

Anything to be with you. 

Yuma eventually got up, shrugging off your grip on his arm as you made a beeline for the nearest shelter. Though, when you got to the metal ‘employee only’ door, you held it open, ushering him with a hurried motion. It was millimeters until they got to him, you saw it, but still you risked your life to aid his—someone you hadn’t seen for what felt like decades at this point. 

Yuma thought that he should’ve been just another face to you. 

You slammed the door, in result a loud bang echoing the building. Your body jolted quickly, scanning the area. You could hear a faint clicking, getting louder with every passing second. 

“This way,” You took off, and Yuma had literally no choice but to follow; like his feet only took direction from you. 

It was a shopping mall you found yourself in, displays thrown around, floor littered by merchandise and hazards. One wrong move and your location would be given away. 

Why were you doing this? you asked yourself, you were better alone. People made you weak, and you weren’t made of porcelain anymore. The world made sure of that. 

Finally, you turned off into an opening, a maze of dark structures that surely only went back so far. You felt around until you felt what you presumed was a handle, taking a breath, gripping and pulling. Thankfully, it opened enough for your body to fit through, taking hold of the man with you and dragging him inside as well. 

Your finger pressed to your lip, eyes cracked like you were focused on reading something very important—though the only thing you were trying to gauge was how far away the clicking echoed. Yuma had no idea though, too busy being distracted by the thump of his heartbeat in his ears to notice. 

One thing he didn’t understand (from seeing you before) was how you feigned such bravery when he was quite literally about to throw up. 

Or maybe you just were always like that; though the hair clips and nails did a good job hiding it in high school. 

Just another reason why you’re perfect. 

He tried very hard not to make a sound, but his breathing was heavy, and so was the ever-present feeling of doom. He could imagine it already: ripping skin, pooling and spurting blood, your lifeless body laid out in front of him as he awaited his turn. 

Fuck. 

His eyes shut tightly, trying to imagine anything else. But the way his back was pressed to a cold, plaster-plastic wall—enclosed by three others in a tiny display room that sold bathtubs and showers—spelled out a word he’d been so irrationally afraid of his entire life. Death. 

Mostly because he fought with what he believed happened after. Was it reincarnation or void? Was it Heaven or Hell? He hadn’t seen much of it growing up, so the concept was somewhat foreign, just something he saw on TV. The same channel he’d see the dead thanking the fans during an award show on the next day. It was contradictory, creating a false sense of security. 

You stayed silent for a while, a long while, eventually sliding down the wall, bunching your knees to your chest. He stared down at you for a couple of minutes after (that felt like hours; an askew concept of time) before copying. 

The silence was deafening now that he’d heard someone after years of only talking to himself to remain sane. He chewed on his lip, constantly checking through the clouded glass, and then back to you, and the wall that wasn’t see through on his other side. He was sure you could feel the anxiety radiating, but you ignored it, lowering your head and closing your eyes for a moment. 

Maybe you could finally let out the breath you’d been holding, chest tight, throat clogged… head pounding. 

“I-is it okay?” You couldn’t even count it as a whisper, a mouse wouldn’t even have made the small of a sound. Nonetheless, it was the proximity that allowed you to hear his words somewhat comprehensively. “Are we going to die here, yn?” 

You figured that what he wanted to hear was reassurance that his worries could subside, but you were never much of an idiot to begin with, and thinking you could relax anywhere nowadays was pure stupidity. 

Your head remained down, voice almost at a normal talking volume. “What kind of question is that?” 

He shushed, body instinctively stiffening towards you. 

“They’re not here anymore,” You replied, his eyes narrowing, though you couldn’t see anyways. His eyebrows also came together. How could you be so sure? 

But he’d trust you. 

You seemed to have been outside more than he did over the last few years, maybe you knew all about them and were hiding behind that mask. Maybe you’d never been cooped up in a place for years, like he was. Maybe you were forced to be this way—cold and blunt.

“Just listen and tell me if you hear anything.” 

So, he did. He shut his mouth and tuned into his surroundings. Nothing. Not even after a while did he hear anything but a couple drips, creaks and natural building sounds. 

It left him room to be haunted by his thoughts, a parasitic lace in his veins as he picked at the skin around his fingernails. Questions circled the walls of his brain, clawing their way to the surface, things he’d kept to himself for too long. Worries that kept him awake all night. He needed to tell someone—something—and for some odd reason, he thought maybe you could relate in some fucked up way. 

His voice invaded the stale air between the two of you. And maybe you weren’t listening, but it didn’t matter. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d stop without spilling his guts. “On that day it happened, my parents were taking my sister to her friend's house.”

God, he hoped you understood. He didn’t want to be the only one suffering from the crushing weight of uncertainty and doubt. But he also didn’t want you to be suffering as he was. “They never made it back, I waited for three years, stuck it out for three damn years—what if today was finally the day they made it back to me and… I wasn’t there.”

You’d made it out of that building about two weeks ago, and, of course, Yuma has been following you around ever since. 

He’d seen you during the early mornings perfecting your swings after watching the sun rise. You looked so peaceful under the golden hour of dusk to dawn. Again, he didn’t want to stare, but you made it hard not to. 

You’d been moving from place to place, only a couple of bags to pack up—which he did for you, pretending that it wasn’t just an excuse to get dragged along. 

The thought that you’d leave him to fend for himself in the middle of the night did cross his mind… once. You didn’t need him, his protection, his company, his anything. You were fine alone, you’d been fine this whole time, while he was what? Blissfully unaware of the horrors that went bump in the night, and during the day? It was a waking nightmare that you faced alone. He was the one who needed saving, not you. Never you. 

But, if it ever came down to the roles reversed, he’d save you. In every life he’d save you. 

Today, after walking more than a few miles, you found yourself sitting in a mattress store as Yuma rummaged through your things for something canned to give you. 

He tried his best to get you to want him to be around you before you’d run off with the excuse of perfecting skills or picking through trash and leftovers. 

He knew why it sunk his heart every time you’d perk-up with something to say. He feared it would just be a goodbye in the making, one he had no say in. Nonetheless, he listened. Every time. Every damn time. 

“They have no sense of smell, and most of them cannot see after the infection takes hold—it must’ve been a recent mutation that caused their eyes to develop. Yet, despite that, it wasn’t enough to allow them to in dark places, hence the clicking. Probably something to do with their light receptors and pupil dilation. They’re not human, obviously, and when I raided the universities in Tokyo they hadn’t found anything distinct about their DNA, which was weird.” You hummed a moment, remembering the papers you sifted through, questions with no answers leaving you feeling hopeless. You risked your life to continue the work the scientists never got a chance to during the evacuation. You had some experience in labs, doing tests, because of a pre-university course you took in preparation. “The weirdest part was that Hyogo Health Science had a specimen, a sample from one of the early cases… but all it said was illness: cause unknown. Parasite?”   

Yuma remained silent as you looked off to the side, the small amount of light you let him put on illuminating the features that hardened over the last couple of years. The ones that dimmed as the world grew darker, colder. He stopped shifting things around in the bag, studying your emotion on an otherwise emotionless face. 

He liked it, in a strange way. He liked to know you weren’t just made of plastic. 

“You know, before all this, I was going to find the cure to cancer.” You huffed out a half-laugh—almost like it was so audacious and naive to believe such a thing could be true. 

The void you left as your noise died off was worse than being left outside to die, in Yuma’s opinion. Which he’d admit was very biased when it came to you. Regardless, it had his heart racing and hands shaking ever-so-slightly—the anticipation was killing him slowly.

In the time you’d spent together, albeit, short, you’d remained closed off. All Yuma knew about you was what he knew from high school, and even that was second-hand. He’d try to ask questions, however, you’d brush them off, or pretend to be asleep even if he knew you weren’t. You didn’t do a lot of that. He didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that much.  

He couldn’t figure it out though. Why—no, what made you like this? Was it the normalization of death, grim and gore? Or was it before? 

Every notion he thought he had for you was crumbling, being rebuilt by little bits of the truth. It’s like the fog was dimming the halo he put over you, and suddenly the pedestal didn’t seem so high anymore. 

“Before losing my mom in middle school, she asked me to make a difference, be the shining star in an unlit city. Be the hope that was lost. Be good.” His breath hitched when he saw the shiny outline of a tear roll down your cheek. He fought with the urge to reach out and wipe it away, afraid of the comfort you’d reject if he did. Maybe you saw him hesitate, maybe you didn’t, despite that, you continued, hands gluing together in your lap. “She told me that I could do anything I wanted in the entire world—no, universe. I was her pride and joy all the way up until the moment she passed… an–and I couldn’t even be with her—too focused on studying for the entrance exam to Keio University. I was 13, I didn’t need to. I should’ve been there for her last breath.” 

“Stop,” It wasn’t your fault; was what he wanted to say, but all he could focus on was how his hand clutched yours so tightly. And how you just… let him. He waited so long to feel your touch, fantasizing about living in your skin since what felt like ages now, that there was no allure to it. It wasn’t catastrophic, like he once believed it would be. It wasn’t everything he hoped for, but what was anymore? What did he even hope for, time to stop so he could forever live a life with you, where nothing mattered? That was mindless dreaming. 

 “Don’t say tha—“ 

“I didn’t even get to tell her I loved her. I missed her daily call because I was so fucking focu—it was meaningless, Yuma! I applied three years ago, and I–I didn’t even get in.” 

And that's when he knew every show you put on, every smile you lit up a room with, the unwavering bravery you fronted was… fake. Yet, it didn’t sway his feelings towards you. In fact, he was seeing you as more human now than when humans were the dominant species.

Drip, drip, drip. Until it was a constant rhythm against the silence that fell upon the room. A comfortable feeling you relished in. The rain picked up, the clouds gloomy and low all day. 

Yuma's hand was still in yours, and maybe deep down it comforted you more than you’d like to admit. Nobody had done that for a long time. Nobody had wanted to be around you long enough to get between the barrier of good and bad. 

Well, that was until Yuma followed you around like a lost puppy. And that’s why you told him the one thing that had the tightest grip on your heart, metaphorical fingers digging into every ventricle and cavern. 

You had secrets. Big ones even. You've been lying so long (to yourself) that you didn’t even know where the line between fabrication and reality was. It was too much. You put too much on yourself. 

It was the studying. No, it was the keeping friends. Or maybe it was something entirely different. Perhaps the school lighting, or the wishing you could change the past. Maybe it was the gravestones you’d imagine faces on as you’d walk a familiar path. A path a teenage girl shouldn’t know, full of shadows that followed you around. The tears that stung—burned—burdens that weighed you down. It was the twisting guilt that left you so full of resentment towards yourself that you didn’t eat anymore. It was the constant reminder, the sirens and alarms, to be good. Better. It was your wrists. It was your throat being so choked up that your voice was quiet and low. 

It was the life you lost the moment your mother lost hers. 

But, you kept living even though you didn’t want to. The silent promise to her that you’d be okay even if she was just a guardian angel now. 

Truth is, you weren’t okay, and you didn’t know how to tell anyone that you didn’t want to fight anymore. You’d give anything to just stop it all. You were tired of being haunted, being alone, being so angry and afraid. You just wanted to breathe in and not feel like it should be your last. Like you didn’t deserve the air you took in. 

Maybe you were just a coward in disguise. Never getting close to anyone in fear that they’d leave you the same way. You said it was protecting your heart, but who were you kidding? 

Flash. A loud echo of thunder following it. That brought you back to Earth, focused on the way Yuma’s hand had shifted your sleeve just a little higher. 

And there it was. The reminder of the night that you’d had enough—snot and tears clouding better judgement; The pain and hurt too much to bear as you prayed to whoever was listening to take your life instead of hers. 

Instead of waking up in her embrace, you woke up to a sterilized room. Dull and blank. Expressionless. Emotionless. Depressed. 

However, they’d describe the outcome as a miracle, a second chance, a temporary feeling. 

“It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”

You didn’t know how you slept so well, but when your eyes cracked open, you felt like something inside you was shifted back into place. Your dream wasn’t even something worth remembering. Not painful, not pleasant. You don’t even remember waking up once during the night, much less, falling asleep. 

That was a luxury nowadays, and most of the time you never hit REM unless you’d been up for three days prior. And if you did get some shut-eye, that’s all it was. 

But the drained, crusted lacrimal ducts, and the pang in your chest sang a different song. You don’t just feel nothing, you feel everything. You feel it all. 

You stifled a laugh, hand shooting up to cover your lips to capture the sound as you watched a ball thump against the side of some kid's head. He’d been stealing glances your way more often than not—paying absolutely zero attention to the football game going on. The game he was currently in the middle of the court-yard playing with a few other friends during free time. 

At this moment, you couldn’t remember his name, somewhere in the archives of the hundreds on hundreds you’ve heard. But you knew he was in your class at least, sat a couple rows behind you. Notably, he wasn’t the best at school—a class clown, if you will—though not the bottom of the list either. 

It was your duty to know the competition, nothing more than that. 

The girl sat beside you, a friend, Rei, lowered her smiling face back to her phone, stating, “he’s got a crush on you, yn.” 

You angled towards her slightly, though fronting indifference. 

“Who doesn’t?” You joked. 

“Nicho told Taki, who told Maki, who told Harua, who then told me, who is now telling you that Yuma has a crush on you. A big one from what he described. Well, I guess, obviously, he did just get hit in the face with a ball while staring at you—Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you stretched your arms up to reveal some skin. You practically set the poor boy up.” 

It was warm, and your eyes drifted open and closed occasionally, not sure what was a dream and what was just your imagination. It didn’t seem to matter though, you weren’t concerned with the trivial details. Not when the mattress underneath you felt too comfortable, and the rain that continued from the night before was lulling. 

You’d happily stay like this forever if you could. The hollow feeling that usually was close, somewhere else entirely for the moment. 

“It’s not supposed to be done like that,” You explained, pink nail dragging along the worksheet between the pair of you. 

A couple minutes prior you were paired with the student who was, supposedly, struggling the most to grasp this concept. Of course it had to be you who helped, you were the top of the top and you knew it like the back of your hand. 

It was just this unit the boy was struggling with, and usually you were happy to assist, but you couldn’t help but find it a little comical that now that you knew Yuma had a crush on you—suspicious in the first place—he was the one you were paired with. 

How was he supposed to focus? 

“I’m sorry,”

The pencil dragged excruciatingly slow, over and over in the same line that you guess was helping him think. Maybe ground him? 

Though you only stared at his hand flexing—knuckles white from how hard he was gripping it. It probably should’ve split by now. 

He turned his head to you, eyes wide, eyebrows knit. “C-can you show me how?” You found it slightly endearing.

Snap out of it! 

A smile plastered to your face. “Sure. Yeah, I can.” 

And maybe you were high on the power trip that you didn’t realize the effect it would have if your hands brushed while bumping him off with your own… to make room for you to show him an example, of course.

Nothing else. 

Your eyes shot open again at the rumble of thunder, arm coming up to rest over them for a second. You sighed out, chest rising and falling steadily. 

Why were you dreaming of this—of him? And why did you have such a glow in your chest at the memories? 

You tried to sit up, only now realizing that there was an arm over your midsection… and a body pressed against your side? 

Yuma only pulled you closer in his sleep, tightening the grip on your side. You froze immediately, your breathing not-so steady anymore. 

What were you doing? Why weren’t you trying to escape his grasp? 

How could you when it felt like the concept of home, something you’ve lacked since who knows how long? Was it the first diagnosis? Or was it when it relapsed that you misplaced the feeling? 

Maybe you never wanted to be distant. Maybe somewhere deep down you wanted to share the sentiment with him. Maybe it was the timing that wasn’t right. Or maybe it was just you who wasn’t right. 

You’d drag him down with you, and you knew he’d let you. But you’d never let you do that to him. He had all the potential you didn’t. If you could give him everything that was handed to you, you would. 

Then it would make it painless leaving it all behind.

His voice was low. Like you’ve scolded him to do, countless times at this point. “Yn,” 

You continued to walk ahead of him, cursing yourself for letting it get out of hand. You should’ve left him in that mattress store when you had the chance. He barely even stirred when you slipped away. 

Nonetheless, you didn’t go far. 

“Slow down a sec,” 

But here you were, almost a week and a half later replaying the same damn things. Why? What was he really doing for you? Making you vulnerable, susceptible, weak? 

At first it was small, starting with ignoring attempts to get closer with closed-off answers, until you completely started to avoid him; Going to bed after it got too hard for him to stay up, making up excuses to do things alone, anything to get away long enough to feign ignorance. 

The frigid air wasn’t the only thing that sent a chill down your spine. Not even the monsters fazed you now. 

Instead it was the blossoming of something you couldn’t back away from that scared you—terrified you. You might as well have been dead with the sense of dread that consumed you. 

You spun around, words spewing out faster than a thought could form. “Can you stop following me? I don’t need you.” 

But you weren’t even sure if that was just another wall being put up or a thump of your heart that beat too fondly in his direction. 

He stopped, taken aback, evidently. Then his expression changed, something along the lines of reassurance, features softening though it was only poison you hit him with. 

He’s never been anything but gentle. Never anything but infatuated. It made your breath hitch, your heart skip a beat, palms sweat, stomach sink—

“I need you though.”   

Grumble, grumble. 

Your attention, that was on sharpening your knife as quietly as you possibly could, shifted to the man’s sleeping figure. Yuma, who you've grown fond of, comfortable with, even. He was across the room—granted, it was small—curled up by the sleeping bag (worn and torn) that you’d been using for God knows how long now. 

For a moment, you only admired him, ignoring the stirring of discomfort, arms cradling his stomach. Though that only lasted a second before you were, as if possessed, clutching the suede cross-body bag that you kept all your non-perishable snacks in. 

The least you could do was find him something to eat before he woke up. After all, he gave you such a good night's sleep a few weeks ago—and recently sleeping next to him, in closer proximity, was alleviating some of the hardships. Albeit, unbeknownst to him. But you knew; you’d never felt so well-rested. Not even before the world went to shit, too busy with your nose down a book to shut your eyes longer than a blink. 

Consequently, it was because if you did, you’d be haunted by the memories you weren’t able to get back. You’d see the flashing lights, hear the heart monitor's consistent beep: a reminder of your failed attempt to be amongst the only person who mattered to you again. 

But she was gone, and you were (unfortunately or fortunately) still living and breathing. 

Maybe it was a sign, or maybe you just didn’t cut deep enough. Whatever the reason was, it drifted off as Yuma blinked awake. 

You were staring, though your eyes were glazed over in a very not present in reality type of way. He noticed. 

Of course he noticed. 

“Are you okay?” 

You bit your lip, hesitant, before nodding. 

“We need to get some food, we’re just about out.” You tossed a crackling wrapper his way, watching as it landed on the tile before him with a small sound, sliding across it. “This is all we have.” 

He picked it up, holding it out to you. “You take it,” 

“I had some before you woke up.” 

“No you didn’t, don’t lie to me, yn.”

You swallowed hard, slightly overwhelmed by the dominance he possessed. You should’ve known that it went hand-in-hand with his nature to want to care for you, to give you a reason to trust him enough to.

You didn’t know what to say, putting the weapon down and getting up. His hand only went to his side after you took it, opening the package and taking a bite though you felt nauseous. 

“Have the rest, Yuma, please.”

You laughed slowly, looking at the foil package squeezed between his forefinger and thumb. It was barely visible through a sliver of moonlight. 

Before you thought of the consequences, you joked so casually it caught the boy off-guard. You haven’t been ignoring him for a couple days now, but still.

“That’s not how you ask a girl to have sex with you, you know.” 

Yuma turned to face you, almost horrified at your joke—face obviously red, though you couldn’t see it. 

He’d seen you under almost every light now; harsh, dim, nonexistent. 

But fuck… he loved you. Yearned for you. He knew that now for sure. From the moment he saw you, he knew there was something below the surface, something he needed to see. And though he thought, in high school, that there was no bad and ugly, in some fucked-up way, he was glad there was. He saw it—saw all of it. And even if you thought that you were no different than the monsters outside, he was glad it was you inside. With him. Because maybe the monster in him loved the monster in you. 

And maybe that’s where the true monster was unleashed. 

Desperation laced every movement of his; lips on yours faster than his brain could comprehend. It knocked the wind out of you, to be honest, grip tight on your hips even through the layers.

Layers he desperately wanted to take off. 

Despite that, he knew he shouldn’t… couldn’t. Not with the things that lurked around—what if you had to run? He’d never put you through mortification, though, honestly, he’s not sure it’d faze you. You’d find a way to make it look natural, beautiful even, laugh about it later, blade drawn as you looked like the deadliest ballerina to keep on living through this nightmare. 

It’d probably just make him want you more. 

He kissed down your jaw, holding your head back with his hand on the side of your face. One that felt like fire against you. He probably sucked purple and blue and green marks into your skin, though you didn’t have to hide anything from anyone anymore. Not that you really wanted to. Who was even around to say anything? 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly—which made him come back down from the Heavens and right into your arms. 

Oh, it’s real. 

Your lips were back on his, kissing him like a school girl virgin. But, it’s just been so long since you’d felt anything for anyone that something about it was enlightening. 

He broke off, noticing the lidded eye-contact that you shied away from.

“Should I have said, yn, will you please let me have sex with you?” 

You whined, seriously, and Yuma thought that he died on the spot—knees damn-near buckling. 

“Mhm,” You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and jaw, and lips. But he didn’t kiss you back, only held you firmly in place. 

The answer wasn’t good enough. 

“Mhm isn’t a yes or no.” 

Your eyebrows knit, and desperation clawed its way from you. “Yes! Fuck, okay? Yes,” 

You’ve been in control of him, you always have, but there was always something alluring about breaking you. Maybe you’d be the one to bring a different side out of him. 

He wanted you to let go of all the things he knew swirled inside your head and be present. He’s wanted you to since high school—since he figured you out a couple months ago. He’s wanted you to just lay it all down and not think three-steps ahead for once. 

You dropped to your knees in front of him, the sight making him harder… somehow. He was sure that if you did what he thought you were planning, he’d come immediately. So, he dropped to his too, eyes wide as you let out a surprised laugh. 

There was the resolve cracking for you. It’s just the effect you have it seems. You made him so nervous, yet confident, so turned on but scared to break. You heightened every sense of his. So beautiful, so… perfect. 

“Yn, I—“ You cut his confession (caused by the heat of the moment?) short, clashing lips, tongue, teeth so much so that he groaned louder than intended. 

You pushed him back impatiently, throwing a leg over his torso and sitting. It was almost too natural the way you fit together, making his hands shake against your thighs. 

Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his, feeling the grip he had, tightening with every drag and pull. 

His mouth opened then closed with nothing and everything to say, only short breaths—huffs of air—leaving instead. 

Yuma needed you so badly it hurt, fingers working quickly to unbutton the pants you had on, dragging them only so far down your hips before getting stopped. But even the little sight of skin spilling over was going to send him right off the edge. 

“Get up,” He said, stopping your movement entirely. You whimpered this time—pathetically, might he add—so different from your usual that he was convinced that maybe it wasn’t you. “I’ll give you what you want.” 

And he did. Taking his jacket off and putting it underneath you before laying your back to the ground. He didn’t even take his time dragging the fabric down your legs, throwing it off to the side like you’d never need them again. 

He hoped you’d never need them again. 

His rough palms dragged your knees apart, running a finger down your slit before attempting to dive in. 

You stopped him before he had a chance to breach, too impatient for that. You needed some sort of relief before you actually started to cry. “Please, I’m good—I don’t need it—just you, please.” 

This isn’t exactly what he imagined your first time would be like with him. Actually, he’d imagined almost every scenario, except this one. 

But it didn’t matter, whatever you wanted, he’d give to you. 

As he fumbled to get his pants down too, you found the foil-wrapped square that started this whole thing. That broke the growing tension. Shattered whatever built inside you after you’d woken up in his arms. 

You ripped it open, pumping his cock a couple of times. Yuma faltered above you. The sight was the most unholy thing he’d ever seen: thighs spread, eyes wide but still full of something he’d mistake as love or lust, hand on him. 

Oh, he could die right now. 

He grabbed the condom from you, putting it to the tip and using his other hand to help you roll it down with each stroke. Then he was dropping his body, almost, on yours, hips resting together. 

Your hand pushed his shirt higher, feeling his hot skin, which you wish was fully against yours. Though, the thought was long gone by the time he pushed in slowly, giving you inch by inch and watching how you’d take it. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him down to you as you pressed your lips to his in an attempt to quiet the pleasure that overcame you. It wasn’t even the stretch or burn that could cloud it. You could feel it, he could definitely feel it. 

You were losing it. 

This was too much. 

Every pull back, and slam back in had your back arching against him. Maybe it’d been too long, but this is probably the best you’ve ever felt, ever. 

Then, through the ringing in your ears, you heard it; faint clicking. His movement stopped completely at the sound, heart dropping out his body right onto the floor—metaphorically, of course, as he was still very much on top of you. 

But fuck it was like possession the way he couldn’t stop flinching now that you were wrapped around him, clenching so deliciously like you didn’t want him to either. 

Your wide eyes rolled to the back of your head as he dragged his hips, rolling back into you shallowly—like he couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop now that he has you completely at his mercy. Your mouth fell open, but before a sound escaped you, Yuma muffled you with a hand, and then pressed his lips to it. 

He was obviously trying to gather your attention from the monstrous world outside, even if just for a moment. He’d dedicate the rest of his days to shielding your eyes from the horrors and making you feel like nothing had changed from bright to so vastly dark. 

His other hand found a place around your neck, squeezing only enough to blur your thoughts away from reality—like he wanted. 

He felt you tighten around him, hitting a peak you couldn’t back down from, arms wrapping to hug him as close as possible. 

You wanted him to live in your skin—and maybe you always have—but now you’re not sure you’ll be satisfied any other way. 

“Merry Christmas,” Yuma held out a poorly wrapped box; other scraps of cardboard and newspaper plastered to the sides. He even went as far as making a little origami crane—probably because he didn’t know how to make a bow—but it was the sentiment that brought tears to your eyes. “Thank you, yn.” 

You choked it down. 

“How do you know it’s Christmas? There’s no snow on the ground yet.” 

You took the box as he replied, “I don’t, but I’ll start counting now and next year it’ll be Christmas again. Traditions are formed that way, you know.” He eagerly waited as you carefully put it on your crossed legs. You picked the little crane off, setting it aside after admiring how spotless the paper looked. 

Maybe there are still untouched things in this world. Ironically, the little thing gave you the same feeling the man, who looked ragged and dirty now, did. 

He watched as you took the lid off, inside was a few pieces of candy (which also looked relatively new, considering), a piece of paper, and a keychain of what resembled Miffy—now an off-white color. 

It was pure overwhelming gratitude, white instead of red, that you saw making you lunge at him, caught by his arms around your lower back; a hug of the decade, no century, lingering a smile on your face so bright it'd probably last the rest of the night at least. 

He was taken aback, hesitant to hold you tighter. Still, you squeezed, and it seemed like you wanted it. You literally started it, but regardless he felt like this was a dream. One he would be happy not waking from, as long as you were there in every moment of it, of course. 

You never defined what you were, or what happened a couple days ago on the dingy floor of a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Japan. Maybe it was the heightened emotions. Maybe it was primal instincts. Maybe it was pure selfishness, or preservation, or something completely different. 

But you haven’t spoken of it since, continuing old habits like they die hard or something. 

You wish you had Google to ask: How do you tell someone you love them before you go? 

The pain that struck through you like lightning wasn’t something you’d felt in a long time… not since your mother. Watching her get lowered into the ground was the worst thing you think you’d ever done—tears a tsunami against your face. Fists clenched. Stomach turning with guilt. 

“Yu—“ It was ghastly, and you don’t know what overcame you, but as you threw off your bag, charging, blade so far forward you probably should’ve been off balance, rage overtook you. You only saw one thing: a life alone. 

It was like a slideshow of everything you could’ve had played behind your eyelids; A compound with fences so high they bordered the clouds. Watching the sun dip below the edge of what the eye could see. Maybe you’d even find more people one day and have a stupid flower garden. You’d get to sleep in Yuma’s arms every night and wake up smiling. There would be a purpose for your existence and contentment would fog up your judgement.

You'd let it because nothing mattered if he was there. There was no need for a cure, to go back to life that left you feeling unfulfilled. 

Wishful dreaming, perhaps. Complacency… naivety. You’d gotten so comfortable over the last couple of months that you’d forgotten what was real. What was right in front of you. 

It went fast, the slash of your blade against tough skin—scaled like a reptile but still penetrable. They weren’t human, you had to remind yourself, but under certain lighting, they could’ve been. It made your stomach churn. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that caused such a reaction, raw strength fueled by the ache in your heart. 

You couldn’t save her, save anyone, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for that. 

It took everything within you to not yell, scream out all your frustrations, but if he was going down, so were you. 

Three years you’d felt empty—and before that, the same—silently scouring the island for answers, for people, for anything left. And now that you’d had the opportunity to hear your own voice again, after forgetting what it even sounded like, to regain some sort of warmth you’d lost, you couldn’t go back. 

You’d die either way. 

The monster fell with a thud, and for a moment you were prideful, until it was fear that sunk in. You dropped the sword, circling the scene quickly, but you ignored the dizziness. You stopped only when your eyes fell upon Yuma, splayed on the ground as he clutched at his stomach. You rushed to his side, scraping your knees against the gravel as you got down on his level. Warm pooled under your hands, which pressed over him automatically, as your eyes blurred over. Tears fell freely, and even if you wanted to stop—who are you kidding, you couldn’t even gather a thought long enough to think of that possibility. 

You were cracking. The bravery and confidence you presented opening like curtains during a play. You were see-through, emotions laid on the table for everyone to pick through.

And that used to be your biggest fear. But now it was this. Watching helplessly, hopelessly. Losing him. 

You pressed harder, shaking your brain-fog as far away as you could get it. You didn’t know what to say, stomach bile choking you, what would you even tell him?

It didn’t matter, he looked past you like you were a ghost anyways.  

“Look,” He barely whispered, voice cracking.

Yuma raised one of his hands, centimeters from his torso, turning his palm up. You saw small flakes land and disappear immediately against the crimson. “It’s snowing today. It must really be Christmas…” 

You swallowed hard, wiping the snot and tears from your face and trying to pull yourself together. The mess didn’t matter, the blood was just another substance. You didn’t care about how it rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the salty-water in your eyes. 

You didn’t care. 

“It’s okay, yn.”

“N-no.” You pleaded, dread filling every crevice of your soul. “This can’t be hap—no,” You tried all you could to get him to his feet, wrapping your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder, huffing out shallow breaths. But you couldn’t get him to move, too weak to pick him up like you know he’d do if the roles were reversed. He’d get you to safety. Whatever it took. You’d be okay. So why couldn’t you extend the same fate?

His arms wrapped around you, not in an attempt to help, but only as a gesture… a goodbye. You knew it was, though you ignored it. Ignored him whispering nonsense in your ear, heartbeat too loud, he could tell you later. 

Yeah, he could tell you later… 

He’d tell you after all this was over. As he’s holding you close, just like this, arms around you. He’d tell you all the things he never has, and that everything was going to be okay. And he’d tell you every day after that too. 

But, you were never much of an idiot, you said it yourself. Optimism wasn’t your role to fulfill, it was his. And right now it felt like sand through your hands. The hourglass was almost empty—no, completely shattered on the floor, your heart in a pile with it. 

“It’ll be okay,” 

But nothing would be okay if he wasn’t forever by your side. How could you even believe that, much less make him. His grip loosened, and it felt like being dropped from the top floor of a skyscraper. “I lo—“

Like the setting sun, you’re beautiful. The hues of oranges, pinks, and reds, against blue skies. Thank you for showing me that even after life has ended, I can still look forward to another day. As long as that day is with you, of course. 

I thought I loved you in high school, but as I’ve grown to understand I never loved you then. I just admired you from afar every day, infatuated with the girl who was perfect. You had it all put together, your puzzle was always seemingly complete. And, I had it figured out, at graduation I was going to tell you all about how much I loved your smile, your lingering scent in the halls, how the roses in the courtyard reminded me of you. I was going to say everything I’d ever wanted to you that day. And I imagined the life we’d have together after. Everything you ever wanted, I’d give it to you. But, reality is, I probably would’ve let you go to Keio University without ever uttering a single word to you. You were like an unreachable deity I worshiped, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Maybe that’s what devotion is in hindsight. 

You might not need me, but I need you. So don’t stop walking in front of me, okay? 

You’re the last frost of winter before spring. The bumblebees on a hot day. The breeze through an open window. You reminded me that home doesn’t have to be a place, and that hope doesn’t have to be lost. You’re so much more than what you think you are, capable of everything I’m not. You’ll always be something to me, yn, everything to me. So, thank you. You taught me over these years, and now months, that love consumes you, debilitates you, suffocates you, destroys you. And in every life, I’d let it, as long as it’s because of you. I’ll be counting the days until next Christmas. 

I love you, Yuma. 

You grasped the pen in your hand tighter, writing a single sentence at the end of the paper—the note—before folding it up and putting it back in the poorly wrapped box. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I love you.