𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 || 𝕟. 𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕚

~ 𝕥 𝕠 𝕝 𝕕 ~

His rusty old bicycle was sprawled against the sidewalk, bent and twisted. One mangled wheel was still spinning in the air. 

You already knew something was wrong.

Without thinking, his name ripped from your throat in a desperate scream. 

Riki

Niki

Riki.

No answer. 

You opened your mouth to scream again, but a soft voice shushed you.

There he was. 

Not twenty feet from where you stood, long, bony frame stretched out on the ground.

You had never seen him look so small.

The dull brown-green of long dry summer grass made a stark contrast for the bright red staining his face, his hair, his shirt, his hands, everything everythingeverything. 

It was everywhere. But beneath the smears of crimson he looked calm, peaceful.

"Shush," he told you, one bloody finger held to his lips, "Look at the sky." 

A soft smile spread across his face as he turned his head to look at you. "Isn't it pretty?"

He exhaled shakily. "Can you- can you hold me please?" Riki's eyes bore into yours, and the fingers on one hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to you, but couldn't.

You nodded slowly, eyes still wide, and carefully sat on the grass beside him. 

You lifted his head into your lap, and stroked his pale blond hair out of his face.