Growing up as a social person, Sora Suzuki was surrounded by love and affection- even from the most random people. Tender strokes, gentle kisses. Love came to him in the form of five unique beings, and damn, he's in deep. But when shit happens, and...
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MARCH TWENTIETH, TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHTEEN
13:34 in the afternoon
PERHAPS THE HARDEST THING about losing a lover was watching the year repeat itself. The clock ticked its thin hands day after day, without end, until they were tired of counting every minute. Oh, how Sora longed to stop time. To stop the weight of the world's ages falling onto his shoulder. The seconds melted and merged into one another, leaving nothing but an empty feeling inside him. It was like lead in his stomach; tasted like dread on his tongue. 67 days. 1608 hours. 94,480 minutes. 5,788,800 seconds. That's how long it had been since Sora last saw her. 9 weeks and 4 days since that fateful day.
He thought of all the memories in his head, remembering what she looked like and how she sounded. The way she smiled. The way she kissed his lips. If only Sora could reach his hand down into time and scoop up the green and golden kisses of last year's March. He could feel it running underneath like an old videotape, one he'd never get back.
This time last year, they were celebrating Sora's birthday together.
Today, he was alone.
"It's your birthday!" cried Terushima as he walked up to Sora's house without any reservations, knocking on the door until his knuckles were raw and until it swung open. "Of course, you have to celebrate it."
"I don't feel like it," Sora sighed, leaning against the wooden surface.
"Too bad," Terushima said. "Move aside and let me in. I want to see my godson."
He burst into the house like it belonged to him, shoving a plastic bag in Sora's unsuspecting hands. Sora blinked and raised his eyebrows.
"What is this?" he asked, peeling the straps apart.
"It's a cake. Strawberry cake."
Sora's grip on the bag tightened, and the rustle of plastic filled his ears. As if the sweet scent of the cake alone couldn't lure someone to break the lock that kept Sora in place, it also made him think of her: that smile that shone brighter than any starry night in the sky; the dinner she made for him; the first time someone had done something so sentimental for him; the day he realized love was peaceful. His heart clenched, threatening to jump out of his chest.
"I don't want it," he said adamantly.
"Too bad, buttercup." Terushima waltzed into the nursery room, leaving behind his tense best friend, and cooed once he saw Rin. The baby's throaty gurgles followed, and Sora clenched his jaw tightly.
Just breathe, he thought. Inhale all the bad thoughts, register them, and then let it all out.
She had taught him what to do. She had taught him how to live.
