"Come, Rika!"
Yuta's voice can reach you anywhere, even amidst all the blood and the carnage.
He's still saying words you don't understand. You know that he can't be real. You let him go, shielded him with your own body so that he could remain safe longer. But still, Yuta runs towards you, shouting something that sounds like your name.
And at the sight of him, all your nightmares come screaming to the forefront. The cacophony of sounds. Getou, coming to finish you off. The bodies of your friends, scattered about in pieces like a macabre work of art. And Yuta, right in the line of danger.
"Go away." You tell him, but your voice escapes you in foreign syllables, a drunken murmur. "It's not safe."
Yuta is drawing his sword, and Rika is floating along by his side like a twisted, macabre ghost, and he won't listen to your garbled mumblings about it not being safe for him here and how Getou is coming to kill him.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you."
Yuta's cry is bright red and colored with rage; it washes over everything. And it's worse for you somehow. You never wanted to hurt him. And it's the inexorable truth: that your existence is the alpha and omega of his suffering. And as Yuta spirals deeper and deeper into the pain threatening to consume him, Getou stands and waits, cloaked in an impossibly bright light.
The earth booms like thunder, and for a second you think that the entire world is going to collapse in on itself. But then Yuta brushes the hair from your face, and his touch is so soft. You can feel your body being cradled in his arms. You hadn't cried, not even when your body had been ripped to shreds, but now, the tenderness of it all almost reduces you to tears. "I'm sorry." He whispers.
"It's not safe." You try to say again, but your voice won't form words. You can't even scream; your tongue has gone numb, and only heavy, horrible moans come out.
And then you're being swept up, pushed forward, carried away. It's a struggle to stay afloat; the world is blurring around you. You can feel the blood spilling from your skin, taking with it the ability to comprehend or to speak or to focus.
"It's okay." Yuta says, all gentleness now in the face of your distress. You can feel the warmth radiating from his palms, banishing the chill radiating from your body. "You'll be okay."
"He's here." You whisper. Your voice is feeble, but at least you can form words now. Your eyes flutter open, and you can see the sky, a pale blue streaked through with fingers of orange and pink. You never thought that you would see the world again. You want to reach for it, but your arms won't move. You know that the view will be short-lived, but you think that dying like this wouldn't be so bad. You're going to die in the arms of the boy you love, with the sunset above your head. "I couldn't . . . I wanted to protect . . ."
Yuta is holding you, and your blood is smearing his delicate cheeks and drying upon his hands. He brushes the matted hair from your face. It's been so long since you were this close to him, but you've never forgotten his frailty, his delicate beauty. He's asking why you would go so far for him, a mirror of Getou's earlier words, and you're trying not to tell him that it's because you love him and you're trying to choke down the feeling.
"Don't go." You say instead.
He presses your head against his chest, where you can hear the beating of his heart. You can feel his warmth in your ears and in your ribs. "I'll come back," He says. "I promise."
"Don't leave me here alone."
"Shh. Dream of something nice." Yuta sweeps his hand over your eyelids, lowering them.
Dream of something nice, he says.
You dream of another sunset, a dazzling menagerie of pinks and lavenders. You dream of your friends, your father, your brother, your sister. You dream of Yuta, standing in the distance with seashells cupped in his hands, moving like shutter clicks through a camera lens. The ocean laps at your feet and his, wanting to drown you both.
