The Human Heart [COMPLETED]

Regrets

Chishiya pulls her close against his chest as soon as the sound of the laser makes her jump in surprise. He holds tight, one hand pressed against her head and the other on her shoulder, preventing her from turning around to the scenery that he can see so clearly. Hibiki has toppled over, a small puddle of crimson forming around his head, hollow eyes now staring into nothing while the collar slides out of his lifeless hand.

"Don't look."

She couldn't bear it. They have never been friends, but in less than an hour, she managed to get attached to this boy way too much for her own good to see him like this now. At least she finally realizes what Chishiya has been trying to tell her all the time, and he can feel her whole body tense in his arms. She doesn't breathe.

"Close your eyes." He doesn't control if she follows his advice, but she allows him to take her hands and lead her out of the door into the bright sunlight. A look over his shoulder confirms what Chishiya has assumed already: the slate roof of the old mansion towers over a modern two-storey press agency that they just entered and it doesn't suit two entirely different buildings to be connected to each other so flawlessly.

The fresh air seems to help with her breathing, because Chishiya can hear how her lungs fill with a trembling noise, only for her legs to give away when sobs shake her whole body a moment later. She would have slumped down without Chishiya's hands holding her, and he simply stands like this while she won't stop crying. He knew it would end like this, but that doesn't mean he likes to see her in such a state of emotional distress.

Was it stupid of her not to listen to him? Yes. Has she been incredibly naïve and oblivious to a fact so evident? Definitely.

Knowing that nothing he could say would help her, Chishiya stays silent and watches the blimp go down and crash over the ramshackle mansion. The impact is hard enough to shake the ground under his feet and some of the window panels shatter into pieces as sparks and dust rise up where the game entrance has been. His stubborn doesn't even notice. They're safe from the danger, but the smoke almost makes him cough.

He waits until the desperate cries turn into tired sobs, and his hoodie is completely soaked with her tears when those sobs have eventually decreased to hiccups. Only then does he lift up her chin, forcing her to look at him. Usually full of life and stupid ideas, her eyes now lack any spirit – they're puffy and reddened, her face shimmering with the teary film over it. So many thoughts are blocking her brain, each one too much for her to process. She should have seen the hints already long ago, and maybe they're now coming down on her all at once.

"Let's go back to the caravan, shall we?" He doesn't wait for a response; an apathetic nod is as much as he'll get. The sun, although comfortably warm on their faces, is already struggling to stay visible between clouds that become thicker and darker with each minute passing, and later this day, there will be rain. Chishiya wants to be back in their makeshift shelter when that time comes.

By taking her hand – something usually initiated by her and not by him – he forces the woman to start moving. She does what's expected of her, placing one foot in front of the other, but she's not with him. Her thoughts are far, far away, and Chishiya doesn't know if they're stuck in memories of the game or in a more complex spiral of regrets and dread. He could have led her to the other side of Tokyo, he could have shoved her into one of the empty containers on the harbor site, and she wouldn't even have noticed.

Just once on their way back does Chishiya spot the King of Spades in the distance, and it leaves him wondering if any other game has been cleared up to this point, especially one of the remaining Diamonds games. The Queen of Hearts is still there, its blimp still hovering peacefully in the air, and the same goes for the Jack of Spades. Those are the only ones Chishiya can see while wandering through the empty streets, the woman holding his hand more like a suitcase he trails behind.