I Don't Know What to Say

1.
     The first time Yuuki and Hajime talked about death, Hajime was at a loss for words.

     Their afternoon had been mellow, just as the Spring that surrounded them both. Far away from the beginning of the season that there was no chance of snow, close enough to the start of the next one that the sun was not scorching. Yuuki had once described it as the perfect weather, and Hajime couldn’t find it within himself to disagree.

     The couple had armed themselves with the perfect materials for a picnic, and they had settled below the shade of a blooming cherry tree. The food was long gone, and with it, the better part of their conversation– but the day was young, and they could find other ways to enjoy each other’s company. Yuuki wanted to read, Hajime wanted to rest. It was an easy enough activity to do next to each other.

     With his head resting atop Yuuki’s legs, and the rest of his body lying in soft meadow grass, Hajime felt at peace. With his eyes closed and hat shielding his view from the sunlight, he focused on the lull that was the sounds around him: Wind, loyal, and everlasting, rustling the petals that kept falling around them. Distant birds, the proud hymn of the Inazuma countryside, announcers of the settling season. The turning of pages, and the soft caressing of paper as Yuuki let her finger dictate what sentence she was to read next.  A proper way to drift away, and let himself get consumed by a dreamless sleep–

     “What do you think happens when we die?”

     The question had come out like any other, mellow as the Spring air that surrounded them both. Such was the season in Inazuma, cold enough for some snow to linger, yet warm enough to allow a nice morning on the outside– which was, of course, what the couple found themselves doing. Through whatever uncovered vision Hajime had at his disposal, he could see a blue, cleared sky, with only a handful of clouds perusing it. Innocent, alone, and naive– just like Yuuki’s question. Hajime felt the need to scream an answer back at her, but he wasn’t sure where to start.

     How do you start, when you don’t know what to say?

     “... Hajime?”

     Yuuki’s voice made him flinch, scaring away any hope he’d ever had of taking a nap that morning. Silence had gone on long enough, so Hajime forced his voice out. Still, he did so without looking up at her. The hat over his eyes, still gently placed atop his head, worked wonders to conceal his expression. He would have to have this conversation with her eventually, and it just so happened to be the day.

     “...where did that come from?”

     “I mean, I don’t wanna be morose…” she trailed off, tone meaning the opposite of her words, “but I’m curious. Not everyone can become a ghost or something, right? I’m pretty sure we’d just… go somewhere, maybe?”

     A moment of silence, as Hajime thought carefully of what to say next, “You’d go somewhere.”

     “... what?”

     “You would go somewhere, Yuuki. I would not.”

     Yuuki tore the hat off his face, blinding Hajime with a flash of sunlight. The man hissed out, eyes closed and body retreating on instinct– but Yuuki’s hands on his shoulders kept him from moving that much.

     “Stop that,” she shrieked, “Hajime, that’s a horrible thing to say!”

     “Not to be morose,” the Wanderer spat out, dripping with sarcasm, “but you’re the one that brought it up.”

     “That’s– That’s plain rude! Hajime, please don’t say stuff like that!”

     “It’s the truth,” Hajime sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t know what happens when we die. For all that we know, you’ll be reincarnated into a dog, and we can keep hanging out.”

     Yuuki tapped the side of Hajime’s head, a mock of a slap. Hajime grumbled an ow, and for a moment, the air seemed a little bit lighter. Once his eyes were able to focus on her again, he realized she was smiling.

     “If I come back as a dog, maybe you can come back as a cat?” She asked, eyes drifting up to the sky, “Or we can instead become ghosts together and haunt people, maybe scare them at night– but just a little bit. I don’t want to be a ghost that’s super scary, maybe just. A little spooky.

     Hajime allowed himself a crooked smile, “Yeah, Yuuki, maybe.”

     “You see,” her hands were on his, with an expression so gentle, Hajime wanted to look away. This time, he didn’t, “Wherever we end up when we die, a couple of old raising, Hajime, we can do it together. No matter what it is, okay?”

     Hajime nodded, a sharp, decisive yes. Even when he didn’t mean it. Even when he knew how deceiving it would be.

     Because Hajime knew what would happen once Death had decided to pay them a visit. The soft, cold hand of a lady, ripping Yuuki away to somewhere that Hajime could not follow. There was no reincarnation, no beyond, no haunting ghosts to spend eternity with each other.

     It was a fact of life just as it was a matter of death, that Hajime had been made of porcelain whereas Yuuki was made of flesh. Yuuki was to die, and Hajime would not. There was nothing either of them could do about it.

     Yuuki’s smile was still in her features, delicately crafted just for him. Hajime found a feeling of dread pooling at the pit of his stomach, contemplating the realization that had so crudely taken presence in his thoughts. A primal urge to capture the moment suddenly rose through him, and with a shaky breath, Hajime forced himself to commit this vision to memory:

     Curls flowing in the breeze escaped from a messy bun on Yuuki’s hair. Her eyes, squinted against the sunlight, shining with the elemental power that flew through her. The feeling of her hands touching his skin, just as soft, just as cold, as…

     He let go of her hands quickly, shaking his fingers as if they’d been burned.

     “... Hajime?” Yuuki looked concerned. She looked into his eyes as Hajime looked anywhere but, and somewhere, she found the answer to an unspoken question. Her voice was ever too gentle when she said, “Would you like to change the subject?”

     To speak yes of such a suggestion would be ridiculous, coming from the higher power of a Harbinger himself. So, he didn’t speak. And Hajime nodded again, instead.

     Just like that, the conversation moved on back to mundane, unimportant little thoughts.

     With Yuuki there to distract him, he’d avoid being morose as much as physically possible. 

2.
     It took six months for the topic of conversation to be brought up again. Half a year, yet still not nearly enough time for Hajime’s comfort. The second time Yuuki and Hajime talked about death.

     The autumn weather tended not to be very extreme, back in Inazuma, yet Sneznaya had its own set of rules. Hajime had once claimed to be used to the cold storms of the North, back when his title could bend the country itself. Now, he had returned without it, just a man wandering through, without any more reason than a well-earned travel. As what was in his nature, Hajime existed in Inazuma just as he existed in Sneznaya, just as he existed anywhere else. Weather was nothing more than a symptom of location, and he was not bothered by it in the slightest.

     But that was just him.

     Trailing behind him, notably and undeniably bothered, was a shivering Yuuki. Or what one could assume was her– mainly a set of eyes drowning in layers of clothing. Hajime had insisted, back before setting foot into the tundra, to choose a heavier coat. Yuuki, knowing herself unbothered by the cold, argued against it. Her vision was proof enough of her resistance to ice, after all.

     Seemed to have been a misjudged assumption. Hajime was getting cold only by looking at her, “Cold enough for you?”

     Surprisingly, Yuuki shook her head. It clearly was, cold enough for her, yet her awestruck eyes seemed to take the lead against discomfort. She had never been in such a country, so it made sense for Hajime– everything must look like a little treasure, novel enough to make gold out of her pain.

     “I’m okay,” she answered, voice quiet against the snow winds around them, “Everything looks so beautiful!”

     “Just snow,” Hajime sighed but kept moving forward. Whatever pace he had been keeping before, he tried to slow it down. Make it easier for Yuuki to follow. “Can you handle ten more minutes? We should be close enough to nearest the hill of the town.”

     “Mhm,” was her only response

     And so, the couple kept walking.

     “Gets confusing, sometimes,” he commented after a while, “Just white. When it’s snow, the sky gets gray, too. No stars to focus on. Quite annoying, actuall–”

     “Hey, Hajime?”

     Turning around to look at Yuuki, Hajime felt a dark sensation at the back of his head. Her fingers, ears, and nose, were so red they were almost purple.

     “Hey, you’re–”

     “Tired,” she interrupted. And she sounded as much, which only amplified Hajime’s concern, “I feel like sleeping right here right now.”

     With that, he closed the distance between them, no longer caring about leading their group, “That’d be stupid,” he said, in pure instinct.

     “There’s worse ways to die, right?” Yuuki said as if it was a joke. Hajime didn’t find it funny, “This, well… is kinda peaceful. Don’t you think–?”

     “Yuuki,” Hajime barked out, voice rougher than he was expecting. That sense of dread crept back onto his shoulders, digging him further into the snow.

     If she noticed the why of his reaction, Yuuki didn’t say. Instead, her eyes found his, and they stared at each other for longer than they should have. Hajime kept his mouth shut, not wanting to say something he’d regret. Yuuki, well… she was eerily quiet.

     “Ah, sorry,” she looked apologetic, but her tone was off. It didn’t surprise Hajime when she was quick to change the subject, “Maybe I am just a little bit colder than I thought.”

     Dumbass.
     
     Hajime let out a sigh, letting some of that weight off his shoulders. Some, though not all. As if it would help his state of mind, he turned around and pulled at the edge of his winter jacket. It was a struggle, with blocky, gloved fingers, but he slipped it off anyway.

     “Hey, wha–”

     “Put it on,” the man growled, throwing it towards Yuuki, “We’re almost there, I can see the town from here.”

     “Right,” From what Hajime could see, her cheeks were set ablaze. She was distracted, fumbling to put on his jacket, to the point where she hadn’t even looked forward when she asked, “About the town, can you really see it from– woah!”

     Ah, there it was. She looked up.

     From the point they had come to the top of a hill, they were greeted by the welcoming sight of a small Sneznayan village. Nothing out of the ordinary, in Hajime’s opinion:  like any other he’d visited in the past, the dark wood houses stood out from the pure white snow, framing fireplace lighting inside each window. The buildings were cozy, clustered together as if the houses themselves needed closeness for warmth. It wouldn’t have been Hajime’s favorite touristic spot to show Yuuki, but an invitation had been an invitation, and he couldn’t exactly turn it down.

     Not that Yuuki would have wanted to, anyway. By the way, her eyes lit up at the sight of the village, Hajime would have guessed she’d never seen anything more beautiful.

     “Thanks the archons!” The girl said, scrambling past Hajime and rushing downhill, towards the houses, “Couple more minutes and I would have frozen to death!”

     Hajime knew she was kidding. Hajime knew the trek Yuuki had taken had been a new experience, the result of improper gear and with it, a lack of insulation: she’d been cold. And relieved, she had expressed herself with a joke. Hajime knew she was kidding.

     Yet that scenario, the what if, followed him even when Yukki was indoors, safe and sound. Even when she was warming up next to a fire, even when Ajax’s family had offered the pair food and a blanket to snuggle under. The comfortable chatter of a friendly visit, the laughter of a happy family, Yuuki’s smile in finding herself so carefree, it all was muted under the weight of Hajime’s shoulders.

     What if.

3.
     The third time Yuuki and Hajime talked about death was in his dreams, that same night in Sneznaya.

     He had fallen asleep late, just grazing in the early morning. A small victory, considering the hours he had spent with his mind racing, and wide awake.

     Ajax’s family home was small but had a guest room that the Inazumans had burrowed. Yuuki slept at his side, less than a meter away from Hajime, she had felt entirely far away. Everyone had, through their entire evening. Ajax and his litter of redhead siblings, who so kindly had opened their home in unnecessary affection. Yuuki seemed to be loving every second of it.

     What if. That was all he could focus on.

     Hajime’s sleep was mainly dream-less, more a state of unconsciousness than an actual sleep. He wasn’t a human, after all, but a re-interpretation of their feelings. A vessel, made for thunder, rescued by wind. Hajime was not meant to dream, and yet he dreamt about her.

     Laying in a platform, suspended by light. The room– or lack thereof– a void of endless white. It looked like snow, but the air wasn’t cold. Or maybe, he was so cold, he could not even feel it.

     Yuuki wore a white dress, long and layered, almost like a nightgown. It draped around her body, covering her limbs, burrowing her like a blanket, as it meant to keep her safe. But when Hajime approached her, straining to recognize her features, something was… off.

     The only thing he could see was her face, her shoulders, and the Lichtenberg scars clawing at her neck, fresh as the day he had created them.

     He woke up from the dream, silent, but horrified. Years of experience with the darkest side of the world had taught him to keep his calm, steady his breathing, and ground himself before he made any noise. He was back in Sneznaya, laying in piles of fur to keep him warm.

     And Yuuki was asleep beside him.

     Even through the darkness of the cabin, Hajime focused on her form, the way her chest expanded and retracted with every breath. Breaths, he could feel them, the air his vision commanded sharing the knowledge that she was still breathing, she was still alive. Yuuki was alive.

     Hajime collapsed back onto his makeshift bed, unaware that he had been sitting up at all. He never once took his gaze away from Yuuki, as if suddenly he’d be transported back into that stark white room.

     He knew that had been a fake, he knew it hadn’t been real– but the doppelganger had carried within herself a telling scar: a physical indication that she was mortal. Even Hajime himself could be the reason for her demise, and that was a thought as terrifying as it was realistic.

     Yuuki, the kindest soul he would ever meet. Yuuki, with the universe hidden inside her heart. Yuuki, breathing in burrowed air.

     He did not sleep for the rest of the night.

4.
     The fourth time tasted like sickness.

     A constant companion to Yuuki’s life, traveling with her from Inazuma to Sumeru and any land beyond. Infinite in its patience, yet hungry in its attack. Hajime could see it in her eyes, draining away the light like a rabid beast. One Hajime could not fight, no matter how hard he could pack a punch.

     The frustration, the helplessness– it was eating him alive. Three days now, Yuuki had been bedridden, and Hajime had talked to everyone he knew, urging for a helping hand. The traveler knew of only one doctor– not even, a ranger– but as it turned out, his connection to the Akademiya ran deeper than Hajime thought. Soon, Yuuki was escorted into the Divine Tree, assigned a room in the wing of the Amurta, and monitored by any medicinal scholar that the city could get their hands on.

     There was no denying the wisdom of Akadymia scholars, their knowledge more vast than Hajime had ever seen. Even so, Yuuki’s sickness bared its teeth at any attempt for a cure, and with every step forward, her condition took two steps back.

      A week passed, then two, then it was nearing a month, and progress remained stagnant. Hajime watched as it was all he could do, stationed, ever vigilant at Yuuki’s bedside. She was brittle but remained strong through trial and error, ever swarmed by scholars of a faceless crowd. Hajime’s hopes had started to fade away.

     And still, Yuuki kept smiling.

     It was a stark, impossible contrast to the way her features had been wilting away. Her eyes, sunken and fatigued, were being consumed by a deep purple outline. Her skin felt cold to the touch, just like the ice her vision commanded. She carried herself with the weight of limbs made of lead, so she stayed bedbound for the better part of the day.

     “I’m just a bit tired,” she would tell Hajime– as if he was the one in need of comfort, “It’s like a cold, you know? Nothing more than that.”

     Lies, Hajime couldn’t help but realize. This was no common cold, no matter how she indulged him while playing pretend. Being optimistic was an art, and Hajime dreaded trying to indulge it. It was dangerous, after all. The world wasn’t so kind.

     Because a cold would not have her this exhausted. A cold would not keep her stranded against her bed. A cold didn’t involve her lungs trying to eat themselves.

     A cold was no bloody affair, and yet…

     Yuuki’s attacks were merciless, in both their timing and their gore. They came with no warning, at any time of the day, and could last up to half an hour. Blood would push past Yuuki’s throat, drowning her airway until she was doubled up in pain. Her coughs were brutal, desperate, louder, and more aggressive than Yuuki’s gentle voice had any right to be. Crimson would spill from her lips, stain her nightgown, and mark her for death.

     Hajime was no healer, but his desperation was as rough as the coughs themselves. He’d lean over Yuuki, hold her hair, and pat her back to ensure no blood would pool in her lungs. Every time, she would be trembling like a leaf, even after her chest had stopped compressing. Whenever Hajime would wipe the blood off her lips, a shaky smile was left behind it.

     “I’m okay, Haji,” Her voice was softer than it had any right to be, “I’m okay.”

     Bullshit, Hajime’s heart echoed with a roar. Instead, he sat and stared, dumbfounded, and let himself be pitied. He could swallow words, but if Yuuki’s tender comfort was any indication, he could not wipe whatever dread lingered on his expression.

     “Stop it,” Hajime croaked out, a plea lost to a whisper.

     “I’m okay,” she repeated instead.

     “No, you are not,” he snapped, louder than he meant to. Suddenly, it was too much– optimism was helpful, sure, and he could usually tolerate it for Yuuki’s sake. Not anymore, not when he was holding onto a bloodied cloth, still warm, still fresh from inside the girl’s lungs, “You need to stop saying that, damn it.”

     Yuuki seemed surprised, which added more insult to injury– now, Hajime was seething. The wind pulled around his ankles, uncaring of the fact that they were well indoors. She had the nerve to be hurt by his words, which were so meaningless compared to her condition. He was angry, which in turn seemed to sadden her, which in turn seemed to sadden him. The putrid cycle, the heavy emotion, it did nothing but anger him even more.

     “You’re playing a fucking game here, Yuuki,” Hajime all but roared, towering over her bed-ridden figure, “I need you to listen to me, for once in your life. There’s no need to cuddle me, I know what’s going on. Do you? You are breaking, Yuuki. You’re dying, and you’re breaking, and I can’t fucking fix you!”

     Blind by his outburst as he was, Hajime didn’t notice Yuuki’s hand on his until she was squeezing it. It was firm and gentle all the same, the poise of a reassuring lover. Hajime’s heart was squeezed right with it.

     “I want to fix you,” Hajime said, a thought so desperate, it verbalized itself against his will.

     The next time his eyes met hers, there was a determination unlike any he’d seen within her.

     “I might die, but I can’t break,” she declared as if death was nothing but an inconvenience, and she had to rectify her dignity as a top priority, “You don’t need to fix me, Hajime. I just time, you, and for you to trust me.” It was a morbid thought, through and through, but that weird levity towards mortality did shift Hajime’s priorities as well.

     Because he wasn’t upset about her lying, he wasn’t upset at her for having hope. Feeling his touch in his, knowing that it was the most comforting thing to ever happen to Hajime, there was a single thought drawing out the rest:

     “I trust you, I just– I don’t want you to die,” he admitted in a whisper, feeling tears rolling down his face.

     Yuuki didn’t let go of his hand once. Not when she too started crying, not when they embraced in a despairing attempt to chase those feelings away. And not when their lips pressed together, more a promise than a kiss.

     “I won’t, then,” she promised him afterward, “Neither die nor break. Not anytime soon, you hear me?”

     “... Yuuki–”

     “I’m going to be okay. I’m not playing games, you know,” her smile was back, the same confident smile on her features he’d fallen in love with, “You just need to trust me.”

     Eventually, she would get better, even after a whole month in bed. Eventually, that ranger would find a miracle drug, the details of which Hajime didn’t care about. Eventually, she would be out of bed, and back to the person she had always been: strong, happy, healthy.

     Eventually, she would prove herself right to Hajime, the punch to his pride he would thank her for.

     But at that moment, Yuuki’s hand still squeezing his, Hajime chose to believe her. Maybe that optimism did pay off, whether he liked it or not. Maybe a sickness like that could indeed be overpowered by the wisdom of the Akademya. Regardless, seeing Yuuki be okay was everything he had ever asked for.

     He thanked the Archons for his good fortune, and overall, just dumb luck. Hajime’s optimism made him believe that, maybe, the two of them were lucky enough to live forever. 

5.
     And yet, the next time they talked about death, luck wouldn’t be on her side.

     Hajime tasted blood every time he tried to take a breath, choked out by violent coughing. This was nothing. He had found himself in this situation more times than he could count,  So if anything the pain was familiar.  Unwelcome of course,  but he wasn't about to let that slow him down. Rain hell on earth, as long as Hajime’s limbs could still hold his weight, he was bound to stand.
     
     His body was disposable after all. Pain was indeed familiar,  but just like Hajime himself,  it had no right to call itself human. Whatever torn through his skin or burn through waking muscles it was nothing more than an inconvenience.  muted like a cheap imitation, one which Hajime was easy to disregard. When he felt pain– if he felt any pain at all– he shook it off and kept moving. No matter how deep, any wound would heal in its due time– and if Hajime had anything to his name, it was just that.  Time.

     Time, which mortals would never have, never to the extent of what his form could withstand. Hajime had always taken full advantage of it in battle, striking mercilessly over and over until the enemy was nothing more than a bloody pulp. Hajime had suffered worse, in and out of battle. If the world had never shown him mercy, he could declare himself unaware of the meaning of the word. Hajime would kill, and of that, he was proud of.

     And yet, that wasn’t the only thing to be concerned about.

     The tell-tale sound of a blade sinking into flesh, a wound made by someone other than Hajime. A voice gasped behind him, high-pitched and raspy. His eyes widened, and his vision was obeying his command before he had moved a muscle– whatever threat had been the cause of the stab was dragged away in a flurry of furious wind. Their fate had been sealed the moment they had hurt someone Hajime cared about.

     And there she was, hurt if the crimson pooling on her chest was any indication. Yuuki’s eyes were wide and panicked, staring straight at where Hajime stood. Just moments before, they had covered opposite sides of a battlefield, their elemental synergy a force to be reckoned with. Milelith, Fatui. order of the abyss– Hajime couldn’t remember who they were fighting, or why. But Yuuki’s resolve had been great enough to drag him into battle and aid her in achieving a decisive victory.

     Regret roared through his skull, with every step he took toward her. Regret for not having been paying more attention to his surroundings lost in the choreography of destruction. Regret for not having been directly next to her, to defend her through thick and thin. Regret for having agreed to let her fight in the first place, where the sickness in her lungs had not quite recovered, and so– she was not weak. But she was fragile.

     He had not seen it happen, but he could picture it all the same. A slip, a flaw in her reflexes, and the enemy had managed to strike. A small, insignificant soldier, but whose blade was as sharp as any.

     And now she had to pay the prize.

     “Yuuki,” the word tasted oh so bitter in his tongue. Hajime reached her side, dropped to his knees on the floor, and reached out to pull her up. He didn’t get very far. The moment her body left the ground, Yuuki choked out a scream.

     The severity of her wounds hit him like a blow to his skull. For a moment, he stood, cradling her body in his arms, coherent thought escaping him. With shaking hands, he tried once more to lift her, this time around with wind aiding to soften the force. It only made it worse. Her scream was piercing.

     The blood seeping through her chest kept blooming, covering more and more of her skin with blood. Hajime cursed, shaking, and for the first time in his life, he couldn’t think of what to do.

     He wasn’t a doctor, and there was no healer in sight. The blade had fallen with its master leaving behind an open, piercing wound. Hajime cursed, then apologized, then cursed again. His hands were shaking, figuring out all the ways he knew how to try and stop the bleeding.

     “I’m okay,” she said quickly, through a breathy gasp. So like Yuki, to comfort him where she was in pain. Hajime would usually be mad, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

     “No, you’re not,” he croaked, unable to bring his eyes away from the stab wound as if staring at it would give him the answer. It was hard to do when he was constantly in need of blinking to clear his sight– when had he started crying?

     Yuuki lifted her hand, with as much effort as she was breathing. On pure instinct, Hajime tried to push it down– save her energy, regardless of what it took– but Yuuki tried again. She was shaking her head, and eyebrows furrowed in some delirious concentration. The same way one would scold a child.

     “Focus on me,” she whispered.

     “Yuuki,” the word came out strained as if Hajime had been the one getting stabbed.

     “You are everything to me, Hajime.”

     A goodbye. This was a goodbye. Hajime was now clinging to her, to the point where his fingers dug into her sides.  Yuuki didn’t react. It seemed like she couldn’t feel it.

     Suddenly, he was appalled by the carnage he had been so carelessly relying on. The high of battle, of taking a life. The pleasure of knowing he could take his time, and in turn, take the time away from mortal vessels like it was nothing. Because for Hajime, time was nothing. But for a mortal, like Yuuki herself– it was everything.

     There were so many things he wanted to say, so he opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it. Where would he start– was there any point for it? No matter what he said, what final words he chose for her to hear, the impending doom of their situation was a noose tied around his neck. Where would he start, if he knew this had to end?

     So, unable to bear the weight of his words, Hajime’s eyes focused on Yuuki’s. They would stay there, he decided, knowing that looking at the blood was pointless. She was right, he had to focus on her. On what Yuuki represented, to him. On who Yuuki was, and had always been. His friend. His lover.

     Her hand rose, cupping Hajime’s cheek, whispering sweet nothings. Hajime struggled to hear, trying to force his sobs to quiet, but there was no stopping them. Instead, he searched through the shattered pieces of his heart, found it in him to use words again,

     “Please,” he had never begged for anything more in his life, “Please stay with me.”

     “Hajime,” her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, “I love you.”

     Then, she wasn’t breathing. And Hajime didn’t say it back. 

6.

     The last time Yuuki and Hajime talked about death, it was a one-sided conversation.

     Hajime kept to himself because it was the only thing that he knew how to do. He stayed silent through days and nights of vigil, watching from a distance, disconnected from the process of grief that others clung so desperately to. He did not care for funerals, he never had. He did not care for wakes, for speeches, for crying to a box as it was lowered ten feet under. But he cared about Yuuki, so he stayed.

     He wasn’t the only one, who cared about Yuuki. People he recognized, people he didn’t, they came in the dozens to pay their respects. Some tried to approach him, some avoided him entirely– regardless of which, Hajime kept that distance. It was the only thing he still had left.

     Three days, with their sunrises and sunsets, before Yuuki and Hajime were alone once again. Physically, anyway– there were countless pieces of people’s souls left alongside Yuuki’s grave. Flowers, photographs, and candles, all to whiter away and rot as time went on. Despite the futility of it, Hajime found himself appreciating the offerings for the first time in a very long time. Yuuki liked stuff like that, anyway. It would have been comforting, to know that she would be buried with gifts like those. Unlike Hajime, she would never be alone.

     Alone. So, utterly lonely.

     Hajime’s knees gave way, like being pulled to the ground right in front of Yuuki’s grave. His hands dug through his pocket, considering placing an offering of his own– no. Wherever selfish or selfless, there was a single item that he would never be able to part with her vision. Dull, useless glass, a husk of what it had once been. Hajime carried it regardless, in a pocket close to his chest.

     For humanity, Death was a fact of life. A curse, stuck to their shadow– one that Hajime would never be able to avoid. He stayed away from humans for a reason, like refusing to name an animal and getting attached. No matter what he did, no matter what Hajime could have done, death was bound to take its toll. Yuuki had been doomed by an incurable disease and the selfless courage to fight for others. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

     But Yuuki, sweet, cheerful Yuuki. A woman whose name alone brought a sense of comfort that Hajime had never known before. She had been kind when life hadn’t shown her such mercy– kind to Hajime, even after trying to extinguish her flame. Even when Hajime had failed to help her, even now, deep in a casket underground.

     “Yuuki, I’m sorry…”

     There had always been an emptiness inside him, his own version of a curse stuck to his own shadow. An ugly mark, branding his spirit, whatever cheap imitation of humanity he had once thought he possessed. He had cried for Yuuki, and held her body limp amidst the battlefield, knowing that without her, that emptiness would never disappear. But as he sat facing her grave, there were no more tears for him left to give.

     Taking a deep breath, Hajime closed his eyes. The gravestone was cold as he traced his fingers alongside the marble, but he refused to let it go. Instead, for the first time since Yuuki passed away, he opened his mouth to speak,

     “I love you too.”

     A declaration, with Yuuki so close to him, finally ready to hear it. How he wished he had told her before it had gotten dark–

     Love, an intangible sensation, so intrinsically mortal. Hajime felt it nonetheless, for Yuuki. He had no doubts about it. If that was the delusion of a broken doll or proof that a girl from Inazuma had woken his humanity… well.

     Without Yuuki’s answer, he might never know.