When I had nothing left to hold on to...

[erasemeaway]

WHO: Miharu {wishworn}, Yoite {erasemeaway}
WHAT: A meeting of the Kira-user and the Shinrabanshou...
WHERE: The docks
WHEN: Day 239

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[wishworn]

The sun was setting and the worn red sweater was slipping on the edges of his shoulders, the stars on the left breast of the material distorted by the position Miharu was set in. His small fingers were wrapped about the wooden ledge, while his legs dangled over, kicking back and forth in an idle motion, gaze settled on the blue expanse below the tip of his toes. A small tremor kept shaking his hands and his grip on the wood only tightened. A string of worry was still wrapped around his nerves considering the last state he’d seen Yoite in.

It didn’t seem right, Yoite having to come meet him. He didn’t want Yoite having to come meet him, but the reasons would have been all the more difficult to explain

[erasemeaway]

"Miharu!" A beautiful tiny curl at the end his lips.

He hadn't realized how much he was... could it it be called homesick? To see warm, kind Miharu; pondering nothing as he surveyed the coastline, idle and relaxed as always; comforted him far more than the shots of morphine he had at night and piles of quilts at the end of his bed.

Yoite was a tiny slip of a person, bones with taught white and black skin, lacking his familiar gloves and trench-coat that held his skeletal body. He trembled where he stood, mouth opened as he panted for air desperately. The boy seemed like a house of cards, soon to fold and collapse.

"The streets are dangerous at night," He explained, slinking slowly to Miharu's side, "You can stay with me at the clinic until I find somewhere more suitable."

[wishworn]

Yoite was smiling, however small, and Miharu swallowed, but the lump trapping his voice was hard to go down. It wasn’t even voluntary, the smile that stretched onto Miharu’s lips, but he didn’t think anything else would be fair. It was so unimaginable. Yoite here, like this... and not thinking of himself at all.

Tentatively, he took the required steps forward not pausing until his forehead was grazing against Yoite’s chest and his arms wrapped around Yoite in a delicate hug, holding as close as he dared. Just hours ago, he hadn’t felt bones through the cloth and just hours ago things weren’t this bad. One month - hours ago, Yoite had a lifespan of one month.

Questions bubbled forth in his mind, but he didn’t bother asking. How? What happened? Why? Dull, wet eyes staring down at Yoite’s black hands, while he tried to find the courage to let Yoite go. “Don’t worry,” Miharu mumbled quietly, calmly, voice muffled by their bodies. “Not for me.”

[erasemeaway]

The taller boy's body stiffened like a wooden board as Miharu draped his arms around his waist. He should've snapped his arms aside, barked an order to stay away. But Miharu was so warm; his fading sense of smell caught the faint whisk of okonomiyaki batter still clinging to his clothes.

Very gently, Yoite rested his bony wrists on Miharu's ribs, hands lying on his back loosely. His fingers twitched lightly in a manner that could've been a gesture of comfort, like rubbing his spine. That close, his quaking body could be felt, and his skin, slick with sweat from his trip down from the clinic, his cracked lips pale, but oh so slightly smiling.

Yoite slipped from Miharu's grip after a few moments, sinking down to hug his knees on the boardwalk.

"just a moment," he wheezed wiping away a tiny trickle of blood, "have a seat. what was happening before you came here?"

[wishworn]

Miharu had sunk to the ground with Yoite, arms slipping from around that trembling bony body, though one concerned hand lingered at his back at the wheezing, trying to provide what comfort he could before slowly parting. The wheeze was familiar along with the blood that always accompanied it, but Miharu didn’t doubt it was more. At this rate...

The question came as strange and Miharu raised his drying eyes inquisitively, “You don’t...?” But the question didn’t need to be answered, so he lowered his gaze back down. He shifted so that he was sitting, the tips of his tennis shoes nearly grazing Yoite’s new shoes. Miharu had been confused, they had been walking, and he was lost.

“Christmas... You’d ran away and I had to find you, but we were going back to the hospital.” Miharu answered finally, though he still wasn’t sure who Sora was. This however obviously wasn’t immediately following that. Still staring at the ground, Miharu asked, “What happened?”

[erasemeaway]

"Christmas?" Yoite tipped his head, "Weren't we at Alya Academy? Locked in the basement-"

White shoes tapped Miharu's shoes as Yoite slid a hand down and tapped the toe of Miharu's shoe with an inky fingertip, as if to solidify his presence.

Nothing that Miharu had said made any sense; Miharu had never seen him in the hospital; though he was often brought there by Yukimi to monitor his medicine. The cabinets were good places to sandwich himself and hide, curled safely away from the world.

"I thought I had died, but I heard you..." His chin propped atop his knees, "I heard you, and I woke up here. I've been here for nearly two months now." He lowered his eyes.

[wishworn]

Alya Academy... Miharu blinked dimly at Yoite, a hazy perplexity in his eyes. Amnesia came to mind briefly, like the way he couldn’t remember his mother’s death, but the notion didn’t add up.

Slouched over himself, cheek pressed against his own knee, he lowered his eyes back to their shoes, to the dark finger pushed against his shoe. Miharu almost mirrored the gesture, but at the last moment, his finger ended up against Yoite’s. The Shinrabanshou’s powers had saved Yoite then.

“It’s a time paradox,” Miharu muttered in realization. “Alya Academy was some time ago. We managed to get that scroll, just leaving us missing Engetsurin...” The fight with Yukimi, the overhearing of his lifespan - it was better to leave it out. “Kumohira-sensei didn’t leave any leads on it, even Hanabusa-san didn’t know.” And... there was no time.

[erasemeaway]

Yoite's finger felt like touching paper, dry and brittle, not like soft skin should feel. The Kira-user closed his eyes and allowed Miharu to touch his hand, but grimaced. He wanted to ask, "Doesn't this disgust you?" but thought it not the best time.

"A time paradox. I came before you did." He sighed, "Understood."

Hesitantly, he twirled his fingers to turn little "O"s on the toe of Miharu's shoe idly.

"My Kira does not work here. I do not know if the Shinrabanshou will."

He slit open his eyes to look Miharu in the face, to seek answers in his eyes. The devastation was impossible to miss in them; he would not be erased. His greatest wish was impossible now, and nothing could curb his pain but morphine.

[wishworn]

Quiet shock slid into place and his fingers slipped away from Yoite’s sickly hand, lost and sinking in the airs of defeat surrounding them. If Yoite’s eyes had shown despair before... this couldn’t be the end.

“Yoite,” he murmured, voice thick and low with something distinctly akin to desperation, his fingers gripping tightly to the loose material of a white sleeve. “We promised, Yoite! I’ll try, if you do. We can leave here...”

It was grossly similar to pleading, but Miharu didn’t care. He was staring up wide eyed at Yoite with his mind frantically pacing in circles, indifference tossed to the side for one moment, for this exception to the rule.

[erasemeaway]

The sickly creature did not speak for a long time, letting Miharu tug on his sleeve, faintly feeling his thin fingers through the fabric. He closed his eyes once more, unable to watch desperation take over Miharu's serene features.

How was he to tell him? If Kira didn't work, Shinrabanshou wouldn't, either. Everyone's power was stripped when they entered this place, Miharu would be no different.

There was no way out. There was nowhere to go. They were little birds in a locked cage, waiting to be crushed by an unseen magician.

"We can't get out. The only way anyone has left is through death."

He had seen the dark stained wood boxes carried through the halls of the clinic to be filled by those who succumbed to disease or injury. Would that be the last way for he and Miharu to get home? Inside little boxes? Yoite swallowed the coughs that threatened to erode his throat.