none but the lonely heart

chapter five

It’s been something like three hours since his decker received the warning that he’ll die today—and yet. Eddy is, without a doubt, far too invested in this whole Last Friend thing—in him.

It’s gonna hurt when it’s all over, he knows. He’s bound to watch him die sometime later, fated to some sort of untold duty as a Last Friend—like he’d known what he’d signed up for at the very beginning.

He’s going to be okay, though.

He’d known what he signed up for since the very moment he found Brett Yang’s profile on the Last Friend app.

(He isn’t in the state of mind right now for thinking about what happened on the seventeenth day of June all those years ago—especially not when that stain in history will resurface in twenty-one hours.)

He hates it, though, putting up walls against the foreboding consuming his heart even though he knows, that there’s nothing he can do. It’ll fall apart again, out of tune and twisted rhythm and so heartbroken.

At the end of it all, he’ll have played through all the mournful violin concertos, and the remnants of a shattered, bleeding heart at his feet are all that’ll be left.

Because how could he not soften the edges of his heart to someone like him—to the way raindrops cling to his hair like little crystals, to the way his eyes soften behind his glasses when he smiles?

(He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.)

He’ll just make sure not to fall, and he’ll be okay.

As they leave the cemetery, Brett’s talking animatedly about all the emotions in Tchaikovsky’s music—and there’s no way Eddy can’t hang on every word of his, the way there’s sweet music and sunshine in his voice even against the rain, how the sadness pooling in his eyes makes the heavens shake.

Eddy isn’t going to forget any of these things when Death-Cast’s foretelling does become reality.

No matter how painful it might be in the end.

Because more than a decade ago, a company came into being, claiming to be able to predict the day of people’s deaths—and now Death-Cast has been a sort of backbone of society ever since.

Now, after today, he’ll have lived through two of the biggest heartbreaks of his life.

“Why do they call people who are gonna die deckers?”

“I think the Death-Cast creator said something about how we’re all captains on the decks of our own ships, setting sail on our own journeys. Kinda like the saying ‘a ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.’”

“Hm. The Decker and the Last Friend. It sounds like a classical piece that history would write about us someday.”

“What’s it gonna be, discount Shostakovich?” Brett jokes, and Eddy grins as they both cross the gates out of the cemetery.

His and Brett’s hands are still intertwined—fingers locked and palms together, soft but unfaltering, swinging back and forth almost playfully. It’s a caffeine buzz, he’s almost giddy on the feeling—a warm, fuzzy feeling that shadows it all and maybe it will be painful in the end.

“D’you know where we’re headed?” Eddy asks.

“I think we would be heading to the park right now,” Brett replies while sticking his free hand out beneath the rain, “but the weather’s not…”

“Who’s to say the rain can stop you from living your End Day?” Eddy smiles softly. “I have an umbrella in my car—maybe we can go back to your house and head to the park from there?”