Dark Universe (Different AU s)

Samui's Dimension

Pink petals for the Ram who drew her own path and blue for the Hero who kept fighting.

The shop I loved so dearly, the shop I always went to when I felt down, the shop I found happiness and warmth in is now bitter and cold. The flowers look disgusting and everything looks gray. There is no sign of life. Everything went back to black and white, like how my life was before I had met them.

Black and white, except for those flowers. Those flowers that they loved. The only flowers giving life in this dead room.

And those flowers are gone, just like they are.

"They're out of stock," the florist tells me with an apologetic smile. She knows. She knows why I came here alone. She knows why they're not with me.

And that smile is nothing but plastic.

"I'm sorry," she tells me and her lips purse, but I hear none of it. I tolerate none of it.

But I don't get angry. I bite my tongue to stop myself from releasing words of venom and hatred, instead turning away and muttering a small "Thank you,".

The cold wind hits my skin like salt on wound and the light pitter-patter of rain against pavement is all I hear and I barely wince. I'm used to it after years in this stupid sleeveless outfit that I never let go of.

But I keep it on. Ryu's hoodie is comfortable and Rin's mask gives me comfort. Their scent never left.

And I look absolutely ridiculous, wearing a purple hoodie and a red mask, but it's worth it. It's worth the entire universe. It's worth keeping me from losing myself.

"October 10, 11:09," I absentmindedly say, looking at the light emitting from the screen. It's been years since we first met. A year since they've been gone.

I frown slightly. I might not make it to the grave in time, after all.

No. I'll make it there, I think before I break into a sprint until I see the familiar grass and the smell of death and the uniform gray stones they called a grave.

It's only until I see their names engraved in obnoxious marble that I realize that I've lost everything to fight for.

Feelings are for the weak. Emotions are for the vulnerable. Pain is for those who can't stand it.

But as I break down on the spot, rage consumes me and I think of how weak I am. I was weak. I am weak. I wasn't able to save them.

Pink petals for the Ram who drew her own path and blue for the Hero who kept fighting, and red, red ashes for the coward who brought them together and broke them apart.

11:11

And I bruise galaxies on my body and paint my wrists red, wishing I could be with them once more.