[ There's a weight in his heart that seems to extend to every inch of him, but he lets his feet carry him past the halls, down the corridor towards the offices the Queen of Spring had arranged for her ( once and always ) beloved.
The memory is hazy of that afternoon, sic days ago, his body dying all around him just as memory flooded through ( not Makoto, but Coach -- Coach who had offered him the Bargain with a smile and an open hand "You look like you need a hand there, Josh." ) Every last cell in his body remembering what it was like in fast-forward motion, to succumb to disease; his quiet horror as he watched those rings rust over, the connection between him and Makoto severed as though someone had taken a pair of shears to string.
You have to trust me, Hikaru had said then. Just. Trust me.
And then the blade -- sharp and true had run him through, his fingers curling around the fabric of his boy's shirt as Stan and Yulia had looked on, everything else both slowing and speeding up that one minute his friends were there and then next he could feel the dark rising, the cold dragging him down until the last thing he saw and felt was the tears slipping down to fall from those beautiful violet eyes to land on his cheek.
His hand is poised to knock on the door, as if he might wait for permission first before entering your space.
He lets it drop to the knob instead, turning it/pushing it open. ]
waking the dead 2.0 | arcadia : aftermath
The memory is hazy of that afternoon, sic days ago, his body dying all around him just as memory flooded through ( not Makoto, but Coach -- Coach who had offered him the Bargain with a smile and an open hand "You look like you need a hand there, Josh." ) Every last cell in his body remembering what it was like in fast-forward motion, to succumb to disease; his quiet horror as he watched those rings rust over, the connection between him and Makoto severed as though someone had taken a pair of shears to string.
You have to trust me, Hikaru had said then. Just. Trust me.
And then the blade -- sharp and true had run him through, his fingers curling around the fabric of his boy's shirt as Stan and Yulia had looked on, everything else both slowing and speeding up that one minute his friends were there and then next he could feel the dark rising, the cold dragging him down until the last thing he saw and felt was the tears slipping down to fall from those beautiful violet eyes to land on his cheek.
His hand is poised to knock on the door, as if he might wait for permission first before entering your space.
He lets it drop to the knob instead, turning it/pushing it open. ]