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Without hesitation, pulling the trigger like a quotidian action; the breakfast every morning, the minutes until you fall asleep. Then, what should be an anomaly; blood spilled all over your already dirty clothes, your hands once washed covered in crimson red, cold liquid first warm. You don’t understand what happened, who pulled the trigger; in fact, you turned your back as if it was never there.
They shout, you turn again, and your eyes recover their brightness. When they do so, you understand, and you remember your pact. When did you go this far? How could you do this? Who are you? Oh, true. You could never be forgiven, you made it sure with a promise, a death pact you should assume by now.
“Shion.”
The shaky voice of your partner piercing your chest was just a mere reminder, one you thought you were ready for, even though one could admit no one’s ready for the strike of death.
Your gaze lays on your creation, the blood shapes on the floor. Your heart races as your mind gets foggy, confused by the infinite thoughts travelling through.
You feel a hand being placed on your ankle, a trail of blood left behind to reach you. More blood spilled over the floor, was this your fault too?
“Hey, Shion.” The same shaky voice repeats itself, it pierces you again, so easily it feels irreal. “You protected me.” Once again.
So you hold your breath, trying not to mix the voices in your head with those you really hear, those waiting for an answer not given. And you try to remember, to clear your mind. And you’re suddenly in that tiny space, in that lair, books surrounding you. Warmth in the middle of a freezy night, soup going down your throat. You smile at the reminiscence. Was it always that comfy? You laugh at yourself, and his lost look stops at you, while you can only think of those words. “If I lose myself, could you kill me?”. It was quite a direct way to put that up, now that you think of it. It surely was warm. He gave you a ‘yes’ not looking back, which you knew was no good omen. However, you have his words.
“Nezumi.”
You hand him the murder weapon, a sympathetic smile drawn on your face, searching for its end. A sweet tone, ornament to death.
He looks at you with no words to say, nothing more than a cry to express himself, one he keeps from the exterior, depriving the world of hearing his beautiful voice drowned in sorrow and despair, one of his best plays. Absent from the stage.
You’re now on your knees, your head lays on his weak shoulder, smelling the scent of the suburbs impregnated on his clothes, embracing your destiny with sweet treats.
Because he knows too, what he replied to you that stormy night; twisted to think you first met on an akin one.
“Set me free of my sins, Nezumi.”
Your voice echoes in his ears, infinite loops of sweet tone. As he thought he’d die here, by your side, he’s left with the task of living, snatching your right of doing so. It’d be a lie if he’d told you he hadn’t been seeing it, the dehumanisation in your heart, your soul being taken away from what it was. And he, however, held a shred of hope within his. No need to say it vanished.
Tell him the meaning behind his tears; while he lays there lost between an unbearable heap of emotions, you lay in a clearing with the rays of sun evoking just one. Who could tell it was love? Maybe just you.
Tell him why his cheeks are soaking, salty wicked taste. Your smile pressed against his shoulder, naive as the first time, sole innocence left in your soul.
“Hey, Nezumi.” You raise your head, meeting with his gaze, dead grey eyes forever searching for you; dead grey eyes craving the beauty they’d seen. “This is the first time I see you crying.”
A caress to his cheek, your thumb wet with the stroke. Few more ones, to free him from the tears, your tender eyes going over him.
“You look beautiful.”
You can say that, but are you able to express the feeling you’ve been trying to put a name on all this time? For the last time, you try. The words got caught up in a lump that appeared when they were going out, a brief trip they didn’t complete. As a result, your cheeks start to feel hot, tears sliding down following different traces, a slow race to reach your chin first. The lump growing tighter with every second, an opportunity less you turned your way.
“I like you, Nezumi. I really like you,” you fall into his arms, as he tries not to fall to the ground with the sudden weight, stabilising his balance with his arms wrapped around you, “so thank you. Genuinely.”
“Shion.”
His voice had calmed, his tears, still not ceasing, fell at a slower pace than before. So you, somehow, feel relieved, and you hug him tight to feel the warmth for the last time.
“Can you do it?”
As if you weren’t asking for your death, your words are full of calm, and undertone exposing vulnerability and a prayer leaving your mouth.
No, he can’t.
As you get away from him, tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, trembling on the brink before falling. Tears deciding whether to leave or stay a little bit longer to contemplate the oneiric scene happening in front of them.
No, he can’t.
Your smile hurts, and the carelessness in your eyes burns. And then he thinks, you should’ve never come, and he should’ve never dragged you into his fight. At the end, he feels the blame upon his shoulders. One more and a stack. A sack way too heavy to carry alone.
“Live with it.”
You raise your head at the unexpected words, pronounced in a steady tone, demanding of them, yet uncertain of themselves.
“Uh?”
“Embrace it, and keep on living.”
The tears on his eyes somehow didn’t stop, his fists flinched in an attempt to restrict them. Trying to save you one last time. You smiled and the hope reinstalled for a moment. Just for a moment. He promised it, you knew he wouldn’t break a promise. That wouldn't be proper of himself, being it killing you, or reuniting with you. Promises weren’t made to be broken but to be fulfilled. He, however, knew how many promises he was leaving behind as if he never swore to live by them. Maybe that pact, the innocence vanishing, were more important that whatever the world had to bring him in the near future.
“I don’t deserve it. We made a promise, Nezumi.” Your candid smile felt like a relief in his heart, yet knowing your ungranted wish. “So, if you can’t, I’ll do it myself.”
Another cry was left stuck in his throat, searching for his way out as your gaze fixed upon him made a shiver go down his spine. Then, your sweet tone came back.
“I’ll try to stop the hemorrhage,” you bent down, ripping off a piece of fabric from Nezumi’s shirt. “It should hurt a little.”
As you wrap it tight around the wound, you see him arch in pain, saving his cries once again. Because he, somehow, couldn’t stop but think about that third option you’ve always talked about, the grey between the black and white. The intermediate in a fatal ending.
“There you go, it should be enough for the time. You can get treated when you get out.” You’ll get out, for me, right?
And so Nezumi wanted to shout about that colour grey, about knocking down the walls. Yet he kept his begging words from slipping out of his mouth unconsciously.
“Shion.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you want to save Safu?”
You hear the only reason behind your presence between those repressive walls coming from his mouth, as for the time being it hurts. It hurts to hear him calling her name. Like a wound freshly opened, unable to take it with a smile. You could wait, of course you could, but how could you look her in the eyes? How would you feel disappointing nor one but two loved-ones? But it’s not about you, it’s her who brought you to this place, to where your destiny is settled. I’m sorry, Safu. Fingers playing puppet games.
“I’m sorry, Nezumi, could you do that for me?” Too many promises to fulfill, dropped in a container almost empty. A recipient full of sins and wishes yet to grant, commanded with lives. “Also, if you may grant me a final wish, don’t cry, okay?”
Greedy of you to ask for such a thing, greedy of you to leave your tasks upon others.
One hand holds the knife, the other holds the gun. Indecisive between the both, you look at him, as if waiting for advice never coming.
“This should hurt more, right?” You raise your left hand, fierce grab on the knife you’ve much seen. “But it should be less of a mess.”
And you, however, knew you’d end your life with the weapon that had been pointing at your throat many times. That with which you’ve been threatened by the boy in front of you.
“Tell me, Nezumi. It would hurt you more, wouldn’t it?”
At the silenced, unpronounced ‘yes’, you drop the knife, metallic thuds on the floor that pierces your ears.
You contemplate the gun you’re holding with your other hand, voices making a mess of your head, you put your left hand over your ear, trying to silence them as your mouth suffers to pronounce the words mixed with shouts in your head.
“This is… just a bang,” as you emulate the gesture, a rushed hand reaches the gun, holding it steady. “I wasn’t gonna shoot, yet. I haven’t said a proper goodbye, did I?”
Tears breaking once again making a path on his cheeks, one already wet. What was a proper goodbye? How would you wave to eternity?, how is someone supposed to leave love? You think to yourself, I’m sorry, but you only exteriorize a smile. It didn’t hurt you, though, it was bound to happen, you thought.
“Nezumi.” Your sweet tone had never felt so dry, yet he couldn’t resist to break the distance that separated your parted lips from his, maybe trying to give you a reason to stay, to not leave him behind with only worries to cry for, no one to praise nor pray for. And although it may hurt more, you gently accept the kiss as a tribute to part ways, you caress his skin as he tangles his fingers in your hair. You would’ve loved to do so with his loose hair, but the opportunity would fade away soon. So to push the thought far away, just as it choked you with its imaginary hands, you open your eyes to break apart. “Remember me, take care of Safu and mom, please.”
More wishes to fill the vessel, yet awaiting to be fulfilled. It hurts him to carry your hopes, it hurts him to be burned by your wounds. It hurts him to see the yearn for death in your eyes. It hurts him to be afraid.
It hurts to long for someone who will be soon gone, yet still remains in your arms.
It hurts to be incapable of defying death, it hurts not to be able to play God.
Bang.
It hurts losing love.
Free of shackles in your last breath, how everyone should set off the terrestrial. Shackled another to your own sins, egoist of none but you.
The agony shouts, deserved of a high-level play he would never perform in, were the last thing you heard, poor doomed boy. And then you couldn’t see, the lifeless body guarding yours, bled to death. The self-hatred, the blame, the shackle that didn’t vanish. The last kiss pressed against your already cold lips, the last words next to them. Bodies buried in the rubble of what were fetters to your freedom.