Work Text:
The concrete rooftop was cold. Grimy, the metal fixtures rusted flaky scatterings of copper—it hadn't been used in several years. Grey, like the clouds had painted themselves onto the building, swallowing and blending it with its surroundings, dressing it in the uniform of age and abandonment.
It wasn't a foreign sight—nor was it necessarily pretty, in Eiri's opinion, but he didn't need that: overlooking an industrial complex in some city, secluded, as hidden as the unremarkable building he sat upon, looking down, onto the earth—where he'd sit for hours on end, tightness balling in his joints, his muscles, a soft fuzziness spreading over his senses, allowing him to block out any bodily necessity—a pristine, infallible machine with nothing but a gun and a goal. Now, however, was different—he found himself lacking the latter.
Yesterday, he'd returned to Haku leaning limply against that soiled surface, blood smeared on his face, pale, and nearly lifeless. Later, they'd found his body covered in sallow, dark bruises, particularly centered around his chest and neck, as well as a large cut along his jawline just short of his jugular (of which not even Misu knew the origin). His body was beaten and disoriented, but more than anything, there was a dim, terrifying light of defeat in his eyes that Eiri had never seen before. And when Haku saw him, the light caught fire, wonderstruck from the myriad of emotions he was probably feeling, disbelief, anger, joy, hope, rolled into a ball whose size conveyed nothing of its presence. Stumbling, falling, letting his injuries and his tiredness take over him, reaching for Eiri desperately with that box clutched to his side like it had been his last grounding source of reality, all stained from the blood and dirt and grime they were used to.
He still reached out for Eiri.
“I'm sorry I deceived you.”
And when Haku had come to his senses the next day, that typical—Eiri had had trouble finding the word for it, but he'd finally settled on sullen—demeanor had been replaced by something hauntingly alien.
Eiri had witnessed Haku go through several emotions in the, honestly, quite short time they'd known each other. Much earlier, in the beginning, he'd seen that recurring (infuriating), smug little smirk whenever he'd something particularly obnoxious—set seven alarms at five-thirty on a Saturday that incessantly screeched Wake up, Haku! It's time to get up! Wake up, Haku! (how he'd gotten it to do that remained a mystery to Eiri), for instance—to push Eiri's buttons: a feat so easy for Haku that Eiri had the immense pleasure of witnessing such an expression every single day. Eventually, the antagonism was slowly replaced by more gentle, softer expressions that sort of came in waves, like whenever Eiri had successfully protected him during a mission, and vice-versa, and Haku would never thank him outright, but Eiri knew he was grateful. And he saw the quiet ones, when the air was dead asleep, save for himself, and Haku was laying pale and cold and peaceful (he was always so cold), just a meter away, reachable and safe (they'd both wake up with their hands numb regardless of the distance between them—they'd swear that the heater was broken, only to later see the hallway was a normal temperature).
All of that was gone. And Haku was naturally quiet, a mood which Eiri had learned to find comfort in over the years, in places where it had used to be troubling and odd. Now, he felt hostile, reclusive, defensive, like he used to be, before they became comfortable, like they had returned right back to square one.
It made Eiri's skin crawl.
Haku had stood on the far side of the line for their meeting, the air so tense that Eiri was sure nobody else was paying much attention, either, distanced from the rest of the group, hardened, almost intimidating, combined with his height. And when Eiri had stepped closer—a question, an invitation, seeking some sort of comfort, Eiri wasn't sure why he'd done it—he watched from his peripheral vision Haku turn, ever so slightly, but too much so to be conscious, in the opposite direction, teeth clenching under his already-locked jaw. Eiri didn't step back.
When they were dismissed, Eiri didn't go back to his room. He had no idea where Haku had gone—he should've made sure where he was, in case anything were to happen, and worry had been boiling in his stomach since he'd left, but he didn't have a choice. It felt nothing but irresponsible, nonetheless. It was so, so long ago that they were strangers; Eiri couldn't have ever prepared himself to start all over again.
Eiri's train of thought shattered like glass when he heard the rooftop door open, but he instinctively relaxed upon hearing the familiar pattern of footsteps—silly, considering their situation, but Haku's presence was naturally comforting, at this point. There was much conversation that Eiri had been itching to have since he'd left in the first place, though he had no way of initiating it, nor any idea on how to conduct it, nor, really, what to even say. It both made him anxious and relieved him. He supposed, in hindsight, it was right to wait for Haku instead, since Haku would come to him, anyway (hindsight: uncertainty constantly bubbled under Eiri's skin; he was always scared, always in search of control and an answer; there was always the longing for hindsight, and that would never change).
The footsteps stopped just behind him. Eiri stared ahead, knocking his foot on the side of the building. There was a break in the grey clouds on the horizon, pale cornflower blending into lilac.
Eiri opened his mouth to say something. Whatever he was about to say he wouldn't be able to recall later, for, softly, almost in a childish sort of wistful innocence, Haku spoke for the first time in eternity.
“There's no sense in living, is there?”
He didn't know what he had expected; he expected anything, really, because that was just how things were, now, but Eiri's bones turned to metal anyway, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, heavy. He froze, unable to respond in disbelief—he didn't know why—Haku's words, or the sound of his voice grated and unfamiliar, or the sudden shock of acknowledgment—Eiri didn't know. He was afraid to turn, to see the face (alien, so, so alien) that had uttered such a statement.
It wasn't surprising. It wasn't, and he was overreacting to something predictable out of someone like Haku. So why did Eiri's chest begin to ache so badly?
After a pause: “People run around their whole lives searching for a purpose. Most people find one, don't they? At some point. They think they do. Or they make something up to fill a space that can't be filled.”
Eiri held his breath. The wind whistled against the building, and the break in the clouds turned lilac. His fingers were cold, sweating. He felt like he was anticipating something.
He said nothing. He was more grateful, and somewhat stunned, for the fact that Haku was speaking to him at all.
“I've been thinking, since you've been gone.” Those words etched themselves into Eiri's chest with a knife. “I've thought about the situation. My Messiahs, my family. You, the others.” He stepped closer, slightly. “And I think, during that time, I've finally decided my own purpose.”
The clench in his gut came suddenly, and every warning alarm in his body went off. He couldn't think of, nor explain, why, but his intuition had always been excellent, and he'd learned to trust it over these years. He decided to heed it once more.
Eiri made way to stand, anxiety pulsing in his stomach, clutching his hand against his concealed gun, slowly pulling it out of the holster strapped to his leg—tentatively, as if he was afraid of Haku seeing him do it. It always felt so natural, the comfort of the cold, grey, life-draining metal—protection, safety. (Against what? Haku? Himself? The intangible situation?) And, finally, he managed to look at his Messiah.
He was holding his gun, too, loosely, where Eiri held his with an iron grip. Smiling, bittersweet, some indescribable, concealed emotion slowly forming in his eyes. He laughed lowly, a hollow, thin blue.
“What's so funny?!” Eiri said loudly, irrational shaking, half-yelling that scratched through the ball in his throat like nails. Haku looked to the cloudy ground, that thin, wry, blue smile on his lips.
“It's inspiring, you know?” Haku observed the gun in his hand like a person reminiscing at old photographs, memories in front of them but different, differently represented, from the only recreatable point of view, meaningful to the people in the picture, meaningless to passers-by, yet absolutely unable to see them in any other way than in their own unique transformation. “Having someone with such a natural presence.” He spoke like he was lost—a child estranged from its parents in a city wherein no soul existed. Those words made no logical sense, and they went straight over Eiri's head.
“What the hell does that mean?”
He looked back to Eiri. “You're the one who never dies. I'm the one whose Messiahs always die. Whose jinx, then, will win out in the end?” His tone dripped with a calm resignation paired with disturbing formality that covered the tension with a blanket, stifling.
Eiri had no answer. The truth of Haku's words weighed on Eiri's throat; there was nothing to argue against.
Haku was right—one of them was certain to die at some point; that was obvious, and it weighed on Eiri's mind much of the time they were together, not that he was much aware of it. It lurked in the recesses of his thoughts, buzzing, imminent, quietly enough that he could tune it out. But it was always there.
People had always told them they worked perfectly with each of their circumstances: Eiri's apparent immortality plus Haku's curse ensured their survival. Eiri had told himself that, and Haku probably did, too.
So whenever the thought of either of them dying would manifest itself coherently, it never failed to put a rock in Eiri's stomach. People don't work that way.
They were lying to themselves. Eiri never wanted to admit that to himself.
A glint formed in Haku's eyes—that sunshine—soft, gilded acceptance.
“That's what I've decided.” Haku raised the gun, slowly. “I won't let mine win.” Pressed the barrel against his neck, opposite of the bandage. You're still hurt, aren't you? “—the only way to protect you absolutely—”
Stop it.
“Stop it.” Softly, Haku couldn't have heard it. His hands started to shake.
“—I'm the one who needs to die.”
“Stop it,” louder, white-knuckled trembling, “stop it, stop it—”
He wanted nothing more than to run to him, take the gun from his hands, and fling it off the side of the building before promptly smacking him for being irrational. But something insistent, cruel, held him back, kept his feet glued to the concrete and his head in a cloud.
He realized he was scared.
He felt like a rope pulled taut in either direction by equally dominating forces, pulling, pulling, harder—ready to fail and break in any second possible. He was losing control, and he felt it slipping through his fingers as gracefully and unstoppably as water.
“I find myself thinking about what it means to live, what really keeps us alive despite the shit that happens to us.” He smiled ruefully. “That's what the system is, you know. It gives us an immediate goal. Something simple. Something constant, easy to follow.
“And we base our motivations on those things—constancy and trust. People want to trust others, naturally, to have someone to confide in and be able to put their lives under. People cling to tradition like starving rats on a rotten piece of meat. That's why it's done like this.
“So, what happens when those needs are taken away?”
Eiri could see Haku was shaking, too, a frustrated, unforeseeable passion overflowing and coloring his face warmly—scarlet blood rushing to his face, his hands, pulsing in the back of his eyes—raw emotion splitting his countenance in half and, momentarily, fleetingly unhinging the typically soft glint in his eyes. It's been like this…
A human body ripped apart in the air, blood and intestines and pieces of skin mutilated by force and burns flying through a cold, blue sky, splattering on buildings and withered grass and streets, painting scarlet patterns of life onto lifeless grey.
It had been building up since that time. Since then, since Haku had been stuck at Maru for years and years, while Eiri had been spending his life in a prison disguised as a gang—Haku had been there, in his own prison.
Haku laughed, abruptly, thickly, from deep in his throat where it hurt to speak. “I couldn't help them.” He suddenly looked confused, like he was searching for something. “I—I refuse—“He swallowed. “I refuse… to let that happen again.” His finger twitched against the trigger. “The only way to end… this, whatever in the hell this curse is,” he gestured to his chest with his free hand, “is if I die.”
Resolution, unwavering certainty.
“No,” Eiri spoke through the lump in his throat, his head, the nausea, the angry metal cluster. “Stop it—Stop with that bullshit!” he managed quite bluntly. “I—I'm going to be the first one to die! Not you!” His voice cracked with its sudden increasing volume.
“And when you die, who will replace you? Someone asking to get blown into millions of pieces in the middle of some abandoned wasteland? To get shot in the lung, laying on the concrete, alone, choking on his own blood because his Messiah didn't realize he was dying? What's the purpose of lining up more lives to get attached to and helplessly destroyed, when the problem can be dealt with at its core?”
The immutable, rote-rational language in Haku's argument made Eiri want to vomit. “Because I care about you, you—fucking numskull! Have you even thought about that?” Eiri retorted.
“I'm doing this for you. Were you listening to me?”
“Of course I've been listening to you, dumbass! And it sounds a hell of a lot like you're doing it for yourself, too!” He noticed now the clouds in his eyes had broken, wetness damping his cheeks. “Haku—“
“I want to protect you!”
Eiri froze. Did he not remember the times when—
“You don't—“ Eiri's tongue felt numb. “You don't have to die to do that!”
Haku suddenly deflated. Eiri remembered, now, how well Haku could hide his emotions: it was like his demeanor had been wiped clean with antiseptic, all that was left being a blank slate.
“I get it, now,” Eiri said, softer, more gently. “If you die, I won't have my meaning. I won't have someone to protect, either.”
Eiri found some viable point and desperately hooked onto it. “That's what you said, right? That your purpose is to die? Because you can't protect people?”
Haku's eyes remained dulled. Eiri persisted.
“Look at me, Haku. I couldn't protect anyone either.” His voice broke, and he forcefully swallowed it down. “That doesn't mean I can give up protecting the ones I have now.”
He took a deep breath and felt the pressure behind his eyes lessen slightly, deflating like a delicate, taut balloon. Tentatively, he lowered his gun, sensing a small spot of safety.
Still, Haku stared at Eiri, observing, ridden of expression, dull. Nothing but dull.
“You...” he uttered softly. “You… don't understand, do you?”
Those words turned Eiri's chest into stone. The pressure came back in its wave.
“Our purpose…” Haku continued weakly, “is them.”
Eiri felt his face tighten in a confused frown.
“Huh?” he said dumbly.
“Our purpose isn't to live. Our purpose isn't to protect others… because—then, it wouldn't be like this,” he gestured between the two of them, “would it?”
A cold, blue smile etched itself onto Haku's face. A hoarse, single, ugly laugh shoved itself out of his throat. “Our purpose is to die, Eiri.”
The sky behind Haku had turned almost fully blue and purple, thin and limpid and dark. The mood, full and grey as soft marble, lay exposed on the horizon.
Eiri was stunned to silence.
Any traces of the light that had shone in Haku's eyes was extinguished.
“That's...” Eiri's focus dully moved, on its own, from Haku to theclouds in the distance. They echoed the same haze.
“Even if we weren't here,” Haku continued defiantly, “it's the same. Everywhere—is the same.
“Everything dies. Passions, dreams, people—we get over them once we've moved to something new. But no matter the time, how strongly something is felt, it will always meet the same fate.
“Losing you… losing him… made me realize that I… don't think I'd be able to take it again.” Eiri focused back onto Haku's eyes. They were cloudy, too. “I don't want to see them kill you.”
Eiri realized, then, being pulled like a frayed rope about to snap, that Haku probably hadn't felt much different.
He'd despised the system since he'd seen his first Messiah die. Even if his brother was behind it, Haku was blindsided by that.
The thing he'd been living for betrayed him.
Just what had Sou meant to him?
Sou is dead; he can't kill me, anymore.
“They make it sound like you have some holy, untouchable being waiting to save you. But people aren't holy—they're fragile. When they break, they only destroy everything around them.
“The only thing we can live for is ourselves. We are the most reliable thing we have.”
Eiri stared at Haku. Haku stared back.
“What?” Eiri deadpanned.
And, without premonition, a slight glimmer appeared in Haku's face, and disappeared just as quickly as it had come, as if he had experienced some transient epiphany, wherein that epiphany had been hanging on an imperceptible hook in front of his face the whole time, and he'd only noticed it now. Ahead, the clouds had broken on the horizon, and the moon glowed, inviting, silver. It made Haku's face appear pale and hollow. His grip loosened on the gun, a soft certainty, a soft resolution. “All that humans ever do is betray each other and die. But when you die, or when you hurt yourself, you're saving another person from the tragedy. Which is a paradox, considering the selfishness of it: it's passed off as something heroic, when, in reality, people only do things like that to save themselves from grief. That aside,” Haku looked to the horizon, “that selfishness is what makes you the most reliable thing you have. Nobody else can make you experience tragedy, because that tragedy is much, much worse than mortal pain.”
The light hit Haku's face, shadows cast underneath his cheekbones. Absently, the image reminded Eiri of craters in the moon.
“That…” Eiri shifted. “That doesn't make any sense. How—Some people can't rely on themselves—they just can't. And they're hurting themselves by not having someone to fall back on.”
“Then the only person they're hurting is themselves.”
Eiri stared in disbelief. “That's not true. Everyone—most people, not everyone, I guess—has someone who cares about them. People who care about you need you to live.”
Resigned, “I don't really want to get into this.”
“Yeah, I don't really want to get into a lot of things, either.”
“So it would be best if we didn't.”
“Really? I think it's a little too fucking late for that, isn't it?”
Haku took a deep breath. “Nobody is obligated to live for anyone else.”
Eiri instantly felt every last will in himself wilt. “That's fucking horrible.”
What an absolute turnaround.
Haku shrugged callously. “Why? Shouldn't you want to live for yourself over anything?”
“But…” Eiri paused. “What if… we can't live for ourselves, anymore? What if… we lose ourselves, and we can't rely on ourselves anymore?”
“Then we might as well die.”
Eiri's head throbbed. “You're…” He stepped back, away, disturbed. “You're… oh, my God, you're insane.”
And Haku, to Eiri's immense surprise, seemed hurt by that, subtly. It sickened Eiri, then, how he'd been viewing Haku in those moments. The fickleness of his own emotions taking over. Haku swallowed. “In the scope of that, I'm taking liberties by considering you.”
“You're taking fucking liberties?!” Eiri's throat started to swell. “You think you're being considerate?!”
Haku sighed. He looked frustrated, a more lively emotion than he'd been putting on before. The twisted part of Eiri's brain felt relieved at it. “You seem to be misunderstanding me. It's… this isn't coming out right, is it?” he said, partly to himself.
“What—you think it'll be better, or something, when you're dead?” Eiri choked on that last word. “In some other life—or in Heaven, or Hell, or—whatever there is—do you think it'll be any better there? You've never been dead! You could never know that!”
“Plenty of other people have done it. Every living creature has, actually.” Eiri really wanted to hit him. Haku didn't look smug. “And every living creature will. It's not unknown, in the scope of humanity, or the scope of life. There's no difference in when it happens, because none of it matters, anyway.”
“None of it matters,” Eiri repeated. Haku stared at him, resolutely. “None of it matters.” Anger, soft, deflated anger—he suddenly felt lightheaded, breathless. “Why did you come here?”
Haku's hand shifted on the gun, like he'd realized how stiff it had gotten. Eiri stared at it, and he realized that the ghost of his gun haunted his own hand, where he'd placed it by sheer instinct. Haku looked to the ground. “I don't know.”
“Bullshit,” Eiri spat. His hand felt humid on the metal.
Haku laughed hollowly. “I suppose… it was pointless. I'm… I didn't mean to cause you pain.”
“You would've done that anyway when I'd have found you dead somewhere.” Haku flinched very slightly.
One part of Eiri, the part that managed to see this objectively, see a loved one standing traumatized with a gun aimed at himself, wanted to end the conversation, but a question remained burning. The other part of Eiri, the part that focused on his words and the anger he selfishly derived from it, wanted it answered.“How long have you been thinking like that?”
Haku looked at the ground, again. He knew exactly what Eiri was referencing. “Since… forever, really. I guess I never really had the chance to live up to that standard.”
Eiri hesitated. “Your brother?”
Haku then smiled at the ground, a small, weak thing that made his face look tired. “Maybe.”
He'd been living for his brother this whole time. While his Messiahs were dying, his brother had been the light at the end of his tunnel. Even when Sou had been killing his Messiahs, there was constancy. There was constancy in that bloodshed.
Eiri wondered, then,in a passing, sickening, faintly bitter thought, how much of Haku's affection for Sou had just been a coping mechanism.
He wondered, then, in a passing, sickening, faintly bitter thought, how much of Haku's affection for Eiri had just been a coping mechanism.
Bitter, bitter, absolutely unwarranted jealousy swelled in him, and he tried to swallow it with—logic? and he couldn't, he couldn't, and he hated himself for it—
He felt his thoughts going in fifty different directions at once, as if someone had set a light to them, waiting silently for the explosion. Not one of them could be singled out—thousands of fleeting sparks, all the same, one with no more sense than the other.
Every bone in his body wanted to contradict everything Haku was saying. He wanted to scream to anything and everything that could or couldn't listen. He wanted to imprint this moment onto every piece of matter in the vicinity, not letting a single piece be untouched.
Everything inside of him wanted to become bigger than what he was.
The last strings of control were unraveling, setting themselves up for destruction. A ticking time bomb—the system, the world, everything—energy bubbling and boiling since that time, so, so long ago in Russia (oh, how that word rang with antiquity), hastened by the birth of the catalysts.
A world of intelligent life is bound to destroy itself. Creation leads to destruction: energy cannot be held infinitely; it is in its nature to disperse at will. Entropy.
The world is made of several changing parts held constant by equal amounts of potential self-destruction. Some wish to make this process less painful, but the world itself has long ago already lit the fuse.
“I still care about you, too, you know?” Haku tried hesitantly. “I know… you probably don't think so, at this point. Or, you may never have.
“I couldn't help them. I couldn't protect them. And they—they—want us to see each other as a holy, divine being that can save us, depend on—and...” Haku paused, stuttering like a stuck gear, “that's not how people work!” And he inhaled like he had surfaced after drowning, chest rattling, wheezing desperately, starved for air. Then, quietly, “That's not how people work, Eiri,” like he was talking to a child. “People can't rely on each other so heavily. No matter how intensely, how passionately you care for someone—some way, somehow, something will happen that will kill every effort you make to protect them.”
Eiri felt offended, in some indirect way, and it was sick and twisted, he knew, but he wanted to remind Haku of himself, of how many times they'd saved each other, how—
It felt like Haku had backtracked into the past, when Eiri was gone. Eiri wanted to slap him out of it, but he knew, now—you'd been thinking of them all this time.
He felt like… compensation—that's what it was.
Control slipping out of Eiri's hands like water, clouds condensing, choking, control of what?—they had the exact same goal, here. You didn't think of this, did you? You couldn't have protected him from himself. His conscience is his worst enemy.
Rivers of tears streamed down Haku's face. It was twisted up, like he'd tasted something sour, or rotten, wet and ugly and regretful.
“But I can control this much.” Cold, freezing cold resignation. There was no turning back from this.
Gravity swept the gun out of Eiri's hands, and it disappeared into the ground. His hands shook freely, the shock of cold air hitting where the warmth of the metal had touched. The anchor had fallen, broken off the ship like a sickly tendon.
“Goodbye,” soft, supple sunshine, “Eiri,” against the moon's fond gaze.
He could see, now, what he couldn't before—small, golden flecks in Haku's eyes, gentle sprinkles of amber, traces of that light that arrested Eiri for a single moment, a single moment's hesitation too much—had they always been there, where the sun had kissed him, from thousands and thousands of miles away?
And, all at once, those little sparks of amber ignited the panic in his gut over its limit. A shout—the smoke—hoarse, ugly, ripped itself from his throat.
And an echo, a sweet note on the walls, so, so familiar, life reverberating between the structures, splattering on the surfaces, the street, sidewalks below, spreading itself onto the poriferous material like unsolicited rust, followed by the clang of metal on concrete, a sweet harmony to its twin just moments earlier.
The uninhibited thud of a body hitting the ground.
Falling, freely falling, its head hit exactly to the edge of the building—so close to, but not quite, falling off completely.
The wind gently kissed Eiri's face. It displaced a piece of hair, draping it across an eye. It felt like thousands of knives ripping into his skin.
For an instant, an image slipped into his mind: himself, with his gun still in his hand, finally shooting at the one Haku had been holding, Haku's arm flinging the lifeless piece of metal backward, careening off the building, shattering like glass upon impact with the ground. Saving him.
And like a flitting, ephemeral memory, it disappeared in an instant, like it never even existed.
Tiny rivers of blood running down the side of the building as pushed by gravity, absorbing themselves into every crevice of the concrete, etching into the memory of that place, staining soft shades of copper rust. A dream, clogging his sinuses, choking, the metallic feeling of inhaling water evaporating into his skull soft copper colored wisps of fog in his head, nothing was real, nothing was real—
His vision swayed back and forth, east and west and south like a broken compass. Waves of acid churned inside of him, splashing a knot against his chest, rattling and threatening to overflow.
The smell hit him, then, the sweet, sickly smell that constantly lingered in their room (their room) recreated in the broken wisps of the wind, blowing into his senses, a thin mixture of snot and sugary blood.
And finally, logic, reasoning, rational thought condensed into ice and froze him in a cold, cold block of it, unable to reach, opaque as frozen milk swirling stripes of scarlet curdling in the liquid that he couldn't take and rip away, no, it slipped out of his hands and puddled into honey on the grey, grey clouds on the floor—
It started in his head: a light dizziness accelerated into an overwhelming throb that traveled downwards. The knot of panic and anxiety in his stomach broke, nausea balling itself up tightly. The wave knocked Eiri onto his knees, and he violently vomited onto the ground, thin liquid of the one fig he'd tried to eat for breakfast. Hollow noise scraped and cut at his throat, pushing acidic-tasting drool and blind tears out of his face. The nails came back, bent and rusted, carving the vocal cords out and flinging his words into the unlistening sky. An animal, a dumb, base, primitive animal.
Against death, ending people's lives by hand, guilty and innocent alike, they persisted as emotionally blunted as they could stand to make themselves. And now—
It's amazing what some people can do to you.
—it felt like the sky was collapsing.
—
You thought too much.
Eiri called endlessly to the shattered object on the ground.
You knew too much.
The heap drowned in its excess of black cloth, thousands of galaxies, the universe.
Everything they had trusted—community and solace in work, faith in each other, a faint hope for the future—shattered before him.
Control… and that jinx, they were both illusions.
They had been foolish to think that, for a second, as even a fleeting thought, luck—blind, blind, foolish fucking faith—could ever save them.
The wind blew roughly, once, briefly, displacing some of the fabric on the body, creating ripples in the thin, plentiful fabric. It revealed a hand stuck out, pale, blue, cold, pointing toward Eiri. The palm was face-up, the sallow fingers curled in a beckoning motion, the nails a soft ash.
They couldn't even save themselves.
It's all his fault.
Eiri backed away, finally, dreamily, wads of ashen cotton thickening, wedged through his ears, his eyes, into his skull. The weights on his body finally caved into his bones, and the ground came to him. He dimly heard his knees crack against the pavement.
Nothing was real.
Nothing was real.
nothing was real.
nothing was ever going to bring him back
A human body ripped apart in the air, suspended, absorbing into the clouds, the sun behind it, blood and guts and warm air, deflating and expanding all at once, losing the chains that tied it to the Earth. Free-falling, free, sinking upwards into the cosmos and expanding, seizing a gravity of its own.