Remember Me (PewDieCry Fanfic 3)

Holding Onto You

Cry's POV.

Oh God. Oh God please no.
Not this. Not that look.
Not that world crushing destroyed look in his eyes.
He sat on the floor with a hand covering his heart like it was in pain and he looked up at me with the same eyes. The eyes that told me he remembered.
He remembered me.
I didn't have anything to say. I couldn't apologise. I couldn't touch him. I couldn't sit down. I couldn't move.
A single tear fell down his face and that was the tipping point.
"Felix I'm so sorry," it was more of a wail than words as I finally collapsed beside him.
"I remember her," he looked up at me. "She was beautiful."
"She was," I agreed and with shaking hands pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it back to its rightful owner.
He took it and studied it until he found a signature in the corner.
"Tuesday," he whispered and the look in his eyes told me he remembered her too.
"We've lost so many Cry," his voice was barely a whisper.
"I know," I cried.
"Why did you bring me back?" He looked genuinely confused.
"Because I love you," I said obviously. "I can't live without you. Not in this world," I explained.
"Then why didn't you join me?" He whispered.
I don't know.
"Cry, you know it wasn't your fault right?" He asked.
Those words felt like someone had lifted the ocean off of my shoulders but I didn't believe I could be so light I thought he was kidding. I couldn't believe him.
"Of course it was," I was shaking now.
"No, I-it was my fault Cry. That's why I shot myself. I couldn't live with myself," he explained.
"I thought you couldn't live with me after that. After I killed her," I bit my lip to conceal the sobs.
"Ryan, I will always love you. I'm sorry I screamed at you to leave. It wasn't your fault. I blamed him," I pointed at Max's dead body. "For her anorexia and death and deterioration of health. Yes he gave the police information but they split us up. Yes he killed Alex. But he didn't kill Tayla. The women at the orphanage did. You didn't kill her cry. My bullet did. You were surviving. I was going to shoot you. I was going to low your arm off and risk losing you to save a fifteen year old who might have still had cancer and was too weak to survive in a world I don't want her to have to. I couldn't live with myself after I tried to kill you and killed her. I was down cry," the tears continued to fall off of his hollow cheeks. A common sign of malnutrition and the apocalypse.
"Cry, it's not me who can't live with themselves. I've seen you struggling every moment of every day. As you call it 'pretending.' Although you're not pretending that the apocalypse isn't happening. You're pretending we never returned to New York and we rode in the back of that truck under the stars forever."
I was crying because he was right. He was always right.
"I need you," I brushed a year off of his cheek with my thumb gently.
"Cry," he looked pained, "our time is up. There's nothing left for us. What are you holding on to?" He asked.
"I'm holding onto you," I told him and moved my hand to grab the back of his neck and pulled his lips to mine.
And that was why I brought him back.
For that moment nothing else existed except us.