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I don't understand why anyone cares who his wife is. It isn't a puzzle.

Run (Emi)
Small thought experiment. Careful attention to detail will reveal that this is not a bad end continuation. Listen to the eponymous song for the "other" side of the story.


The sun is setting. She doesn't care, the finish line comes into view. She passes it and keeps on going.

She used to have a running partner. He's gone now. She doesn't care. The finish line again, she keeps on going, another lap. Her boyfriend is gone, she couldn't let him get close enough. She couldn't risk losing him. Even though she did, but not like that.

The moon hangs high in the night sky by now, she doesn't pay it a second glance. Her lungs are beginning to burn, her heart beating in her chest and the clicking of her prosthetics on the track are the only sounds.

It's come around again. Seven years ago, yesterday. She speeds up. It's stupid. It's childish. But throwing herself into the run like this, everything else falls away. Nothing else matters, nothing except the fluidity of motion, the singular purpose of movement.

And she can almost feel him running next to her.

Dad.

She aches to turn her head and catch a glimpse of him, to see his proud smile. But she can't, all she can do is run. Faster now.

She doesn't want to think about the grave she visited yesterday, or the tears her mother shed. She wants to look into his eyes, she wants to hold his hand. But she can't, she doesn't have time, she has to run.

What remains of her legs are on fire, even her trained, toned body is covered in sweat. The cool night air rushes past her, soothes her burning skin.

A car ride at night. The quiet, soft hum of the radio. They're going home.

Faster.

There's a noise, she doesn't even know what it is, a loud screeching.

No. Faster.

Something comes out of the distance, another car, she doesn't even have time to think--

She begins to pant, sucking in ragged breaths as she crosses the finish line yet again. Another lap.

Her father's voice, just repeating her name, over and over again. More and more quietly, each time.

No.

The grave again.

She has to go faster.

She's lost track of time, and everything else. Her body screams out to stop, but she can see it, just ahead. The finish line. Last lap, now. Behind her is the past, but ahead is the future, even though wherever she goes, she won't be able to--

Almost there. She can't stop now. She'll never stop, not for anything, not for anyone.

They said she might never walk again. All that physical therapy proved them wrong. She proved them wrong.

And if he were here. If he could see her. If he was watching now, he'd be--

Almost there. Almost there. She doesn't stop. She won't. She can't.

It's the closest she's come to seeing him in seven years.

She crosses the finish line, somewhere in her mind, a crowd roars, the cheers are deafening. She begins to slow down, her body immediately thanking her for it. Still panting, sweat dripping into her eyes, she scans the bleachers, looking for... looking for...

But he's not here.

He's not here.

The endorphin rush begins to fade, and now she's just a little girl, standing there alone on a dark track, desperately missing the one person she can never see again.

Dad.

Dad.

Dad.

She shivers in the cool night air.






“Run” is a song by Snow Patrol.

not a continuation at all.

nemz wrote:not a continuation at all.

Poor choice of words maybe. What I meant is that it doesn't take place after Emi's bad end, Hisao arrives the year of the accident's eighth anniversary and this story takes place just after the seventh. Emi is a second year, which gives the story a bit more of a hopeful subtext.
Oh well. Experiments fail, that's why they're experiments.

Out Loud (Shizune)
Not really sure what the reaction to this piece will be.


It's surprisingly cool for a midsummer day, with a scattering of clouds that hang high in the pale blue sky. The train station is crowded, everyone's probably trying to get away for the start of the weekend.

Places like this have always interested me, people coming and going. Who's headed home? Who's the unlucky bastard headed for work? Well, not this guy. I've got the entire weekend off from my part time job, and have quite a few things planned. All of them hinge on one thing, though. Namely, the arrival of a certain passenger on the train that's pulling into the station.

The doors open and people begin to pour out, I'm scanning the crowds left and right for that familiar splash of blue-black hair, slightly shorter than she used to wear it in high school. But I can't see her anywhere, and as the new passengers begin boarding, I start to grow uneasy. I, uh. I am here on the right day, right? And this is the right train? I go to reach for my phone to double check the details we'd gone over, but before I can, I feel someone tapping my shoulder.

There she is, none other than my girlfriend of just over two years. The indomitable, incorrigible, adorable and surprisingly awkward at times Shizune Hakamichi. Always one step ahead of me, I see.

[You snuck off the train just to surprise me?] I sign, the familiar motions even more than second nature to me now. People passing us stare a little, but it doesn't bother me. It's so good to see her, with our crazy school schedules, my job and her internship, there just hasn't been time. Not to mention, for the past few months...

[I could have taken your wallet too. You're too careless.] She replies with a grin, but it seems forced. There it is, that hesitation again. For almost six months now, she's been busy, distracted, distant. She's barely had time to see me, she's always looked tired when we video chat, and in text she's been curt and to the point.

But she's here now, in town for our anniversary. There'll be time to catch up, time to unwind, I have it all laid out now that I'm sure I've got the right day at least. Here, when she's standing in front of me, she looks happy to see me, but exhausted at the same time. Has university life really been that big of a drain on her? I've managed to balance my own classwork with my job fairly well, I think. Seeing her like this, it's like she's growing up too fast. Well, we'll fix that. We'll make time.

Shizune stares back at me for a few moments, and then fidgets a little, something I'm not used to seeing, before her hands pick up again.

[Where are we off to now then? Tell me your big plans, I came all the way here to see you.]

[Of course.] I throw on a haughty expression. [If you'll just follow me to your chariot, we'll begin our evening out right away.]

I gesture to a car parked nearby, a beat up old tank on four wheels that my friends have nicknamed “the clunker”. An uncle of mine that was moving across the country had given it to me, and it's been my faithful ride ever since. It gets me from A to B, anyway, I can't really afford frills on a budget like mine. But I've been putting away a little bit at a time for just this occasion, I have a reservation at an upscale restaurant and everything. A good time, the kind she deserves and, from the look of it, desperately needs.

[That thing will kill us one day.] Shizune signs, staring at the car impassively.

I shrug. [Well, I was kind of hoping you'd arrive with some fancy new wheels as an anniversary present. You know, maybe ask dear dad to help out a bit.]

She immediately launches into a tired but smoldering pout, crossing her harms and leaning forward. I've still got the touch, it seems. No matter what, seeing her fired up always manages to do the same for me.

[You know I haven't had anything to do with him for months.] She signs back, still glaring. And it's true, Shizune has done everything she can to sever ties with her father, throwing herself into student aid and winning scholarship after scholarship in order to avoid relying on the monetary assistance that he seems to reluctantly provide. I almost wish there was something I could do to mend the rift between them, but we have so much going on right now that there isn't really time to worry about anyone else but eachother.

[Fine, fine, I guess my gift is something small then. Is it bigger than a breadbox?] I shift into another shrug as I sign, not an easy task but I'm far from the amateur I was two years ago. I've even been able to pick up a little extra money at work for being able to do the odd interpretation job.

Shizune seems to deflate at my words. Again, her hands stumble a bit, and it's not like her at all. Where's her blazing drive, her fiery determination to take the world head on?

[Do you want your present right now?] She asks, peering at me intently. There's a nervous smile on her face, and it makes me a little uncomfortable.

[Are you all right?] I glance at her a little more closely. She has bags under her eyes. The intensive program she's in is supposed to have a more relaxed period in the middle, has she taken on some other classes as well? Is that why she's been so busy for so long? She always seemed able to balance things pretty well back at Yamaku. I'm a little worried now.

[I am fine.] She frowns and adjusts her glasses, irritated at my attempt at changing the subject.

[Do you want your present now?] She asks again. She still looks hesitant, but there's a determined glint in her eyes, like there's some sort of massive challenge that she's about to either rise to meet or crash and burn. I don't remember the last time I've seen her like this, although I've barely been able to see her at all lately.

[That's okay, I don't mind waiting.] I turn around and begin walking to the car, I doubt she needs to be put on the spot right now.

“Hisao!” A voice calls from somewhere behind me.

I turn, but don't see any familiar faces among the crowds of people at the busy train station. In fact, there's no one really near me at all, no one except...

...No one except...

Shizune's arms are crossed, clenching them with her hands as if to force herself not to sign. She stares at me searchingly, eyes narrowed in determination. And then opens her mouth.

Am I dreaming?

“Hisao.” She says again.

It's a voice that I've only ever heard in sometimes covered laughs, in gasps and moans in the dark of night, in giggles or huffs of irritation. The act of speaking looks awkward to her, the sight as alien to me as the sound. But the annunciation is precise and clear, it's deliberate, practiced even. In fact...

I take a step towards her. Shizune is still looking at me, needingly, longingly now. She opens her mouth again, and says the words that I had accepted I would never hear.

“I love you.”

I stop in my tracks.

Six months. Six months of her accelerated program, her internship, and this. All the times she was exhausted, all those nights she would fall asleep long before I did. All that time and effort, all leading up to this moment. Because it had to be perfect, because it's her. She wouldn't accept anything else.

Six months, for four words.

She's watching me, that brash and brazen student council president I once knew reduced to a young woman searching me desperately for a response.

Now my hands are the ones trembling as I raise them.

[Thank you, thank you, thank you, for this wonderful, wonderful gift.]

A moment later I'm unable to say anything else, as she's in my arms, and I don't think I'll ever let her go.





"Out Loud" is a song by Dispatch.

kI have read a fic or two with the whole Shizune's voice theme, but this one by far was the best. Very very sweet!

I feel like this is the best time to say that I enjoy your work very much Scissorlips, keep up the good work!

Wow. That actually got my eyes a little moist there. Beautiful.

misterprinny wrote:kI have read a fic or two with the whole Shizune's voice theme, but this one by far was the best. Very very sweet!

I feel like this is the best time to say that I enjoy your work very much Scissorlips, keep up the good work!

Thank you very much. I wasn't sure if the reaction would be entirely positive to this story because it deals with something pretty central to her character, but it had the potential for the kind of sappy, sweet moments that I love to write so I went ahead with it. I'm really glad you liked it, and thanks for your kind words.

griffon8 wrote:Wow. That actually got my eyes a little moist there. Beautiful.

There's something rather addicting about getting an emotional response out of people, it's one of the best compliments I can think of to tell someone that their writing touched you, no matter how small. Thank you.

This reminds me of mocaw's "Weekend at Hisao's" which I loved. Needless to say I love your fic just as much if not more!

YOU FUCKER

YOU DON'T EVEN NEED TO RELY ON CUTE NARCOLEPTIC GIRLS TO SLOWLY TRANSMUTE MY GENITALIA

Total Destruction wrote:YOU FUCKER

YOU DON'T EVEN NEED TO RELY ON CUTE NARCOLEPTIC GIRLS TO SLOWLY TRANSMUTE MY GENITALIA

I, uh. That's a new one. Glad you both liked it though, I hope to do a few more Shizune stories when I get some more free time.

Soldier (Kenji)
I like the idea that there's more to Kenji than meets the eye, exploring him as a character is both a challenge and quite a bit of fun at times. Here's a small glimpse at the mind of the last sane man in an insane world.


The door slams behind him. Kenji takes a moment to scan the corners of his room, left and right, for anything that might have changed in his absence. The major details are still there, the familiar, fuzzy outlines of his desk, his bed, his computer. Everything beyond that is out of range and out of sight, damn, damn. Someone – some thing even – could be lurking just out of his vision, exploiting his weakness, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He could die. This could be it, just like that, the last, best hope for the male students of Yamaku could be snuffed out in an instant. He frowns bitterly, but sets down the bag he had carried through the halls of the boys' dormitory, turning to re-bolt the multitude of locks on his door. Here you are, he thinks to himself, and to the assailant that may be lying lying in ambush, just in case they're telepathic. Here's my back, this is your moment. Go on, take it.

The last lock clicks into place, and Kenji whirls around, prepared to dramatically catch a throwing knife or poison dart, but nothing comes.

Well, that's just fine. He's a cornered tiger after all, everyone knows those are the most dangerous ones. No one would dare try to take him on here, in his stronghold. No, the feminist forces only stand a chance out there, out in the open. And here he is, fully restocked and prepared for anything.

Satisfied that his room hasn't been compromised in his absence, Kenji moves to the small mini-fridge in the corner and begins putting away the rations he had just risked his life to acquire. He used to stock up on canned food, before realizing that he didn't have a can opener. And the only ones he could find at the convenience store came in that impossible to open, clam-shell packaging. Kenji scowls at the memory of having to buy a special opener to open the packaging on his can-opener... only to find that the clam-shell opener also came in the same packaging. This had been one of the times that even Hisao had to admit that a conspiracy was at work.

The thought of his friend and brother in arms across the hall makes Kenji stand up. Hisao has been pretty scarce lately, spending far too much time with that girl, which one was it? It was... Kenji can't remember. It's been a long day. He'd already endured a pop quiz in class and risked life and limb for these precious supplies, thank god it's Friday. Saturday classes are an abomination and a feminist plot to prevent men from enjoying their Friday nights, so he doesn't bother going. That means that now is the perfect time to shore up his defenses with a little whiskey and plan his next move. And seeing as how Hisao was one of the only people he would even contemplate trusting at this school, why not invite him over for some brainstorming? Kenji still hasn't been able to show off the puppets he'd put so much time and effort into, and two heads are better than one. It makes snipers hesitate about which to shoot first.

Hisao just might be able to take a bullet for him and keep on ticking, though. He had ignored Kenji's advice and still gone out the day of the festival, and here, months later, he's alive to talk about it. Pretty impressive, but Kenji knows his friend is playing a dangerous game. The girls at this school don't take prisoners, they play for keeps.

Girls... Kenji muses on the subject as he again begins to unbolt his door. There aren't enough of those these days, not around here at least. Real women, that is, not feminists. Those are hard to come by.

He opens the door and steps into the hallway, lost in thought. He had a woman to call his own, once. Suddenly, the last time he held someone in his arms feels like a thousand years ago, and all this time, he's been keeping on, fighting the good fight. Trying to keep Yamaku safe for men like himself, and like Hisao. He strides forward to bang on the door across from him. It's a good thing that Hisao came along, he was sure that the feminists were closing in by slowly eliminating the other students in the hallway. “Changing rooms”, they'd called it. “Blackmailed and probably trying to save the lives of their families”, he'd called it.

He waits a few minutes, but there's no reply. Damn, he must be out with that girl again, doing dating things or something like that. All a feminist trap, be strong, Hisao, you have to make it through. Ignore their womanly charms, their crocodile tears! They're only trying to get close enough to strike!

Unless. Unless they're not. Maybe... Kenji thrusts one hand into his pocket, a pensive expression on his face. Maybe Hisao has managed to find one of the few real women on campus? And he's not being indoctrinated or spying undercover, but actually having fun? Doing fun things, like bowling, or eating dinner together, or...

Enough of this, every moment he wastes in the hallway gives the feminists more time to build one of those machines that's the perfect size of the hallway, with a big drill on it, that just drives down the center and smashes anything in front of it. He'd seen it in a movie once, and if he'd seen it, the odds are good that the resident drill expert on the Student Council had too. So he couldn't afford to stand out here in the open, reminiscing.

Keni turns to withdraw inside his room again, but stops, noticing a small envelope wedged under his door. He must have completely missed it before, which isn't a surprise, as it's only a brightly colored blob until further investigation reveals its true form. He carefully picks it up, testing the weight to make sure it doesn't contain explosives.

Hmph. The Student Council must be getting lazy, to not even bother fully pushing it under his door like this. Kenji is sure that if it were run by men instead of just being a feminist front, things like this wouldn't happen. As it is, the letter could have been tampered with, if it wasn't sent by an enemy of his to begin with. Who is it from, anyway? He brings the envelope up to his face.

Oh, it's from his mother. Well, that rules out the enemy theory. But still, it could have been compromised. Forgetting all about drilling machines and hit squads, Kenji carefully rips open the top of the envelope. He sniffs, testing for powdered poisons, but can only detect the faint scent of strawberry bubblegum. So the drilled one had delivered it after all. Behind his thick frames, Kenji's eyes narrow.

Deciding that his mail is safe to read, he pulls out the envelope's contents, a letter from home. It's rather brief, but Kenji finds himself slowing down to read the last few lines again and again.

“I hope you're doing well at Yamaku, Kenji.” It says, in a carefully penned hand. “The greatest gift a son can give to their mother is to be happy.”

Still holding the letter carefully, Kenji lets his hands fall to his sides. To be happy. Hmm.

No, mother, he decides. He doesn't have time for such frivolous matters, he has to focus on staying alive, and keeping one step ahead of the feminist agenda. It takes a lot of time and effort, being him. No one else would know that, because no one else is him, that would defeat the purpose if he was someone else. He's not like Hisao, he has no time to waste on girls and dates and things like that, even as the memories of last year float back to him. Their warmth only makes the passage of time between then and now feel that much colder. And he's plenty cold enough, night has fallen and it's time to warm up. With whiskey.

Still holding the letter in one hand, Kenji starts once again at the locks on his door, but the sound of movement draws his attention towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. It's the drill machine! Damn, he should have known better than to sit around being sentimental, now he'll pay with his life! Kenji frantically works at the locks, but as the sounds get closer he discovers them to be only footsteps. Squinting at the approaching blob, Kenji finds... he finds...

“Hey Kenji.” He finds Hisao! Relieved to not be drilled into oblivion and also cheered by the arrival of his comrade, Kenji smiles.

“Hey dude.” He replies, turning from his door to face his friend. “What's up?”

Hisao makes some kind of face, but he's a little too far away for Kenji to make out exactly what the expression is. “Not much, just some crap.” Hisao says at last, breathing a long sigh.

“Women troubles, huh?”

Hisao makes that face again. Kenji squints hard and leans a little closer, finally able to make out the mixture of fatigue and discomfort the other boy wears. Yup, women troubles, must be.

Hisao looks like he's holding onto sensitive information, and is debating whether or not he should divulge it. He could invoke the fifth amendment if he was in America, but he's not, and good thing too because if he was the feminist movement there would have already replaced his medication with candy. They have a death grip over there.

“What's that?” Hisao asks, pointing at the letter.

“Oh this?” Kenji shrugs. “War correspondence.” He tries to keep up the smile, but the envelope's contents, and the memories they've drug up, begin to eat at him.

“Women troubles?” Hisao cocks his head to one side. Kenji frowns.

“It's always women troubles.” He replies. “You may have escaped with your life this time, but you never know if that 'girl' if yours could just be after your DNA. And once she gets it, she'll take it to a secret laboratory underneath the school, where they'll use it to make a clone of you, but as a girl.” Kenji gets louder as he goes along, throwing himself into his speech. Hisao has to be warned about these kind of things! What would happen if he just didn't come back one day?

Who would give him money for pizza? Fetch things from the post office?

Who would talk with him?

“We men have to stick together.” Kenji nods passionately. Seeing that his warnings are mostly being ignored again though, he sighs.

“Women are crazy though, yeah.” He says.

Hisao sighs as well, and then looks around, as if checking for witnesses, or maybe ninjas. “Amen to that.” He says finally.

The moment hangs between them there, a simple connection struck, a common wavelength found.

“Do you want to come in? I have whiskey. It's Friday night, man.” Kenji offers. Hisao squints past him at the mysterious, maximum security door.

“You're not going to make me watch that puppet show, are you?” He asks.

“Nah, man. There's more to life than puppets. Come on, I've got glasses and pretzels and napkins and everything. Let's talk about stuff.”

“Stuff, huh...” Hisao frowns, but then sighs again. “Fine, fine. I hope you've got enough whiskey, it's been a hell of a day.”

“You know it. Come on, it's never too late for a picnic.” Kenji's smile returns, wider than before. He finally succeeds in unbolting his door, throwing it open and gesturing for his friend to come inside. “Did I ever tell you about my ex-girlfriend?”






“Soldier” is a song by Ingrid Michaelson.

The clam-shell packaging part was genius. I also agree that they should go straight to hell

resident drill expert, bahahahaha

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room (Lilly)
This is my first time writing something primarily involving Lilly. It's also the first time in quite a while that I've written partly for catharsis.


I don't know how it happened. The rest of the school is reaching a fever point, the pressure of exams is about to give way to the flood of relief that is summer vacation, and it's only a day away. Everyone else can't await, everyone else can't stop talking about their plans for the break, things they'd like to do, things they'd like to see. But I...

All I can think about are the things I might never see again.

We sit there, together, on her bed. I'm glancing around her now empty room, and she's content to just be there next to me, eyes closed. Even though she can't join me in taking in the now desolate surroundings, I'm sure she can feel it too. There's something about having empty walls, bare floors, a plain and neatly made bed. What she can't see, she must feel, and I imagine every touch says the same thing. I reach over and our hands meet, our fingers intertwining, but even this is the same.

Every touch says goodbye.

This is the last night we'll have together, tomorrow, Lilly is leaving for Scotland. And even though we haven't said it, we both know that this is it. It's over. The brief time we had together, that short period when my life began to unfold and spread out before me as something raw and real that I loved every bit of, it's all coming to an end.

The future is as dark as the cloudy, damp sky outside the window. The rest of the world is gearing up, the rest of the world is all excitement and energy and we're...

I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say. I don't have the words. But every moment that passes is like a knife in my side, every one a grain of sand in the hourglass that I can't turn over. My time with Lilly is slipping away with every second that goes by, but I can't make them meaningful, I can't make them special.

My free hand balls into a fist, and somehow, Lilly manages to sense it. Even with her blindness, she'll always be able to see more than me sometimes.

“Hisao...” She whispers. She sounds defeated, a strained, distant expression on her face. She doesn't know what to say either.

As much as her presence, her voice, always seems to calm me, tonight it just doesn't work. My fist begins to tremble, I grit my teeth, trying to suppress the mix of rage and despair that rolls somewhere in my chest, next to my faulty heart. I don't want to be angry, I don't want this to be how our last night together goes, I don't want to leave a stain on the memory of our last time together. But I feel trapped, and even though my future at college and work as a teacher looks easily within my grasp, somehow, it all seems empty now.

I'll be worse than Mutou. I'll be like the teachers at my old school, the empty, burned out ones who dispense homework and shuffle off to some bar at night to forget the troubles that steadily pile up as they grow older.

I stand up, releasing Lilly's hand. She says nothing in response.

I'll be fine. I'm still in high school, I've got a long life ahead of me, there's plenty more to see and do and who knows, I might even, I might even...

I turn back to look at the beautiful, beautiful girl sitting on the bed behind me. She stares straight ahead at nothing, doing everything in her power to look serene and composed. But her facade is starting to crack.

I won't. I know I won't.

I'll never meet another Lilly, as long as I live.

“Hisao, you...” She turns her face in my direction, approximating my location. Spot on, as usual.
“Do you think you'll do well on the last of your exams?” She asks, her voice regaining some measure of control.

Back to the strained, semi-casual talk we've been forcing ourselves to go through for the past few days. Lilly, Lilly, I'm breaking down. Can't you break down with me? Please. Please, this hurts, I know it hurts you too.

But she won't say it. She can't say it. So I won't either.

“Yeah, I think the worst is over by now.” I reply slowly. I'm not as good at controlling myself as she is. I wonder just how long she's had a skill like that down. “What about you?”

She smiles. How many more times will I be able to see that smile? To see her face at all? I don't want to waste this on exams, I don't give a damn about them.

“I've been doing pretty well, I think. It's been difficult, what with the packing and the preparations...” She trails off, her smile faltering. There. Please, let's just go back to things that matter.

“Yeah, this place looks empty now.” I say softly. She nods.

“But it looks like you forgot to pack a few things.” I gesture to the clock on her nightstand, and she tilts her head. Right. “Your alarm clock?” I add.

“Ah.” She nods again. “Well, I could use the alarm on my phone, but I wanted to hear this one, just one more... just one more time.” She ends the thought in a hushed tone. There.

There. Lilly. I step back towards her, touching her hand. She looks up at me, her expression clouded again, clearly struggling to hold in her emotions. I wish she didn't have to try. I wish she'd just let it out. Maybe I could too, maybe, maybe we'd kiss and make up and I could tell her that I don't want her to go, that I'll be lost without her.

But she doesn't. And I don't. She takes my hand and stands up, mere inches away from me.

“Hisao.” She breathes, and I can only make out the slightest trembling in her voice. It's all I'm going to get, I think.

It's all we're going to get.

As empty as I feel inside, I reach forward and pull her to me, and she accepts my embrace, resting the side of her head on my shoulder, I can smell her hair, her skin. It's little things like this that always slip your mind, until they're gone forever, I imagine. Will I be haunted by the memory of her body next to mine? Will I wake up, alone in my bed, and look back and curse myself for being so weak in this moment?

It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all? Somehow I guess I was hoping I would never have to find out. That I would never have to lose anything.

I guess I've always been into fairy tales.

Lilly gently reaches for the clock on her nightstand, and her nimble fingers find the buttons she seeks. A speaker kicks on, and a soft, smooth melody begins to play.

“A CD-player too, huh? That's fancy.” I mumble, unable to think of anything else to say. She nods, and then returns her attention to me, grasping my hands. She deposits them on her sides and then moves in close, eyes tightly shut.

She looks like she wants to cry. I probably don't look much better. But she doesn't want to cry, she won't let herself cry. Instead, she wants to...

“You know how to dance?” I ask softly, and she offers a suppressed giggle, which is followed by a quick sniffle. It's hard to change gears so quickly, but again, it looks like something she's used to.

“Of course.” She says. “You do too, right?”

“...Not really.” I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. I'm glad she can't see my face right now. The music playing is something slow and steady, it offers to carry me away.

“It's not... it's not that hard.” Lilly forces a smile onto her face, her efforts plainly visible. “Just do as I do.”

“Okay.” I breath.

She takes the lead, and slowly, gently, we begin to dance, surrounded by the bare walls and empty floor and happy memories that we won't be able to relive. My movements are clumsy, but hers are patient and practiced, she knows this song well. I wonder how many times she's listened to it and wished that she had someone here to dance to it with?

How many times will I hear it, or all kinds of music in general, and wish that I... wish that...

Lilly's grip on me tightens as I begin to falter, and her serene expression cracks again. But she doesn't say anything, she doesn't let a single tear escape.

She's so strong. I wish I could be as strong as her.

I wish neither of us had to be.

We continue to dance, but as the time goes on, nothing remains for us. Nothing but the thought of our last tomorrow together, and the dark of the cold night outside.


Artwork courtesy of Thighs: We're going down.

“Slow Dancing In A Burning Room” is a song by John Mayer.