"have you ever been in love?"

sixteen

his face is stained with tears.

this is the life of someone who's in love with a dead man.

"i love you, mattsun."

i love him too.

"what the fuck is not working? what the fuck are we doing wrong?"

"we both know what's wrong," i tell him, and he bites his lip in agony, his hands unknowingly clenching the material of my sweater, pulling me closer to him.

"but i don't want it to be wrong. i can do it. i just... i know i can. yet i fucking can't."

"tooru—

"i was gonna channel this positively. yet i'm always on edge. i fucking hated myself for getting angry at you last week. i was so fucking livid, and i don't— i can't—"

"tooru," i say again, and he finally looks up at me, helplessness written all over his sad, sad face. and i want him to be happy. "i'm not breaking up with you — i don't think that would do you good, and it definitely wouldn't bring good for me — but we need to sort this out properly. no more hiding everything away because we're scared to face it."

"yeah. you're right," he sniffs, body relaxing instantly as he slumps over against me. he buries his face in the crook of my neck and stays there contently, breathing slowly. "i love you."

"i love you too."

"this is scary."

"it is."

"i dont know how to deal with losing someone. i never have. lost someone, that is. i thought i'd be able to deal, at the very least."

"you know what would be great?" i say, flopping down on my back, pulling him with me, "if i wasn't going to die. imagine getting married. adopting. two boys. imagine becoming a boring domestic couple."

"bleegh," he replies jokingly, already starting to laugh, "i could never imagine. we'd be traveling. all the fucking time. just doing random stuff constantly."

"probably," i agree, "we'd have slightly better jobs than these shitty ones. but only slightly. we'd move to one of our apartments, enjoy life as it is in the city. go out drinking. and have lots of great sex."

"lots of great, freaky sex."

"well said my friend." i run my hand through his soft brown locks. they smell like magnolia. i want to keep this scent with me for forever.

"but we're not gonna do that."

"no. we are not," i sigh, "and that kinda sucks. but that doesn't mean we should continue torturing ourselves. i, for one, am genuinely happy if this is the end of my life. at least i'll die pretty."

"i just don't know how i'll function without seeing you at the station everyday. it's so normal. i don't want to lose anything, let alone the small things."

"i bet you'll have a good cry on the train and then feel embarrassed about it."

"that sounds like me."

"i'm terrified. of death. of leaving you in pain. but there's nothing we can change. and that's part of the beauty of life. i just hope i can make you truly happy before i make you sad."

"i don't think i've ever been as happy as when you asked me out."

"remember that. write it down. how you felt. what you feel now, when thinking back. or keep it all to yourself. let it be our little secret for you to keep."

"i like that."

"i knew you would."

the world is placing its weight on our shoulders. the crushing responsibility of death and what will follow, it's crushing me all right. but it's so much worse for him. i just hope i can make it worth his time and pain.

—

writing this with the end planned out is so painful i lowkey wanna plot twist this or give it a good ending