Blurring

December 31st, 11:38 p.m.

The door clicks shut and they're alone.

Tonight, Yuki is wearing his favourite yellow scarf. Akira said it looked good on him and now he wears it every day even though it's bright enough to see from space. It's a nightlight in the darkness and Yuki keeps fidgeting with it, casting shifting shadows over Akira's heart.

Akira sits on the edge of their bed, hands resting on either side of them. The mattress is firm, but softer than it was at the beginning of the year. Yuki joins them a few centimetres away and it barely sinks.

Moonlight filters through the sheer curtains and scarcely lights Yuki's face as if it's scared to get close. Akira places their hand over his and he sighs, content. He's tanner than Akira by more than a little but his hands are always just as cold.

Silence is their third companion; for Akira it always has been. A heartbeat rests between them, shared, and their breathing plays the melody to the rhythm. It's a song they've both memorized.

"Akira," Yuki interjects. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Akira shrugs, staring out at the distorted darkness of their bedroom. Night blurs the line between reality and wishful thinking, but not that much. The curtains can only rise so far.

"I don't think I'll be there," they say. Yuki nudges them with his shoulder and lingers in their space.

"C'mon, be serious." He smiles at them, sweet enough to give Akira a sugar high. "I wanna hear it."

Akira's stomach always churns at the thought of tomorrow. They avert their eyes.

"In five years… I'll be sitting on the bridge by the bay." Outside the window, cars honk and lights flicker on and off and off.

"Doing what?" Yuki presses for the sake of it. Akira can't hold his gaze no matter how hard they try, how far he pushes into them. It's never enough.

"Waiting for you," they say.

"That's…" Yuki's eyes, bluer than anything the earth could ever conjure up, water. "Akira, that's so sweet!"

"Thanks."

Yuki laughs, wonderous. His eyes crinkle at the edges and his whole body shakes with mirth. It's captivating and Akira won't spare it a glance. Instead they lean on Yuki, resting their head on his shoulder. He's tall enough that it works out.

"What about you?" they ask.

"Hm?"

"Five years. Where will you be?"

"I'll be with you." Akira closes their eyes and presses closer into that bright scarf. "We can watch the cars go by together."

Yuki takes his other hand and runs it through Akira's short hair. His blunt nails scrape their scalp and they shudder, exhaling with more emotions than they can name.

"And tomorrow?" they ask, voice going softer with every scratch. They will their stomach to still.

"What… about tomorrow?" Yuki asks. Akira sighs, pushing off him.

"What are we going to do?" The wind howls outside. "You'll be with me, won't you?"

"Of course," Yuki says instantly. "If you're there, I'd never be anywhere else."

At night, it's easy to believe him. Akira chooses to fall into the blue of his eyes, to drown.

"We could stay inside and play video games," they suggest. "It's cold outside."

Yuki hums, still playing with the ends of Akira's hair. If that's what he wants, Akira will die before they stop him.

"I kinda wanted to try making a snowman," he says. A rosy pink colours his cheeks and he glances away to a knot in the floorboards. "Maybe we could do that?"

"Okay."

"Wait, really?" Yuki brightens so quickly Akira winces. He's like a lightbulb on the most sensitive switch ever made.

"Yeah. Why not?"

Yuki swallows Akira up in a hug. Like this, it's clear how much taller he's made himself, but Akira can't bring themself to mind that much. He's gentle with them, more tender than any human alive.

"Akira, you really…" A soft sigh.

Yuki is talkative, but he's loudest when he can't find his words. As he holds Akira, he inhales longer than he exhales; his lips press hard against their forehead; his arms tighten around their waist until the line blurs. He is emotion incarnate, brimming with all the humanity that was scooped out of Akira at birth.

A curl of envy nestles around Akira's heart. Their fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, nearly claws. They want to reach into his hollow ribcage and feel all of it for him. It's theirs. They're his.

"Hey," Yuki whispers. Akira feels the vibrations in their skin, under it. "It's almost midnight."

Somehow, the window must have opened. Every scrap of winter chill hits Akira in an instant, freezing them solid. The curtain drops. They try to remember how air is meant to get into their lungs.

Yuki rubs circles into their back. Gradually, the bits and pieces of their awareness return. Bones then muscle then fat then skin. That's what Akira is. Yuki is everything else.

"I'm sorry," he says. Akira shakes their head, vocal cords still coming into focus. "I'm really, really sorry."

It's useless. When Yuki has something in his head nothing can get it out. Akira wishes he'd picked up better traits.

"I shouldn't have gotten close to you. It was selfish." Not true. "All I've done since I got here is make you suffer." Akira's never felt alive like this before. "I'm so, so, sorry, Akira. I never wanted to hurt you." It's worth it.

Yuki hiccups. It's wrong, out of tune on his body. Physical sensations aren't for things like Yuki.

"Please… please forgive me."

"I do." Akira steadies themself on Yuki's shaking shoulders. "For everything."

They inhale, slow. Yuki has stopped pretending he needs to. The curtain lies in tatters at their feet, never to rise again.

"You're the best human there is," he whispers with Akira's voice. It's deeper than theirs, gentler, but borrowed all the same. Akira's heart beats for both of them, weak and strained. "The very best."

Yuki would know better than anyone, wouldn't he? If Akira reached into his ribcage, their ribcage, they'd feel all of them; hearts and thoughts and feelings borrowed and nurtured with that gentle touch. Akira's fingers dig.

In the corner of their eye, their alarm clock flashes. 11:57. Akira chokes.

Burdens like this have never been theirs to hold. They should have practiced. Every time Akira's ever tried to speak they've run to seek silence instead. They should have stood and practiced how to gently hold emotion and grief for the day Yuki would sit on their bed with minutes left of his life; when they would be paralysed, unable to grasp the enormity of their own heart, of his love, of them, of

11:58.

"Hey, Akira," there's a cut in Yuki's tone, seeping, bleeding even as his chest inflates. "When we're on that bridge, what should we talk about?"

Akira's nails dig in and Yuki's shirt is stained with drops of red.

"Anything."

Yuki laughs, cracked and watery. His smile is so bright, a nightlight just like that fucking scarf.

"More specific?"

"My cat," they say, barely thinking. Their throat is closing up. "I want a cat."

"Okay," Yuki says. "What's its name?"

"Snowflake."

"Cute." Yuki tucks Akira closer, blurring them together. "A white cat, then?"

"Any kind. I don't care." Inhale, exhale, a single set of lungs. "What kind of snowman do you want to make?"

"One that looks like you," Yuki says. "And then one that looks like me."

11:59.

"We'll do that," Akira says. "They'll hold hands."

Yuki's grip can't pass for human anymore. It's cutting off Akira's blood circulation, but it's all his anyway.

"I love you." Akira's fingers slip, they can't fucking hold it but they'll try. For Yuki, for the only humanity they'll have, they can only try.

"I love you too." There's no muscle memory to the words and there won't be. Not with forty seconds.

"I love you the most." Yuki's voice, Akira's voice, there's no line anymore. It's blurred like the darkness, their bodies, their single fading heartbeat.

"Akira."

"Yuki."

It means the same thing. One inhales, the other clings.

"I'll see you soon."

Pressing closer for the sake of it, a whisper:

12:00.

"happy new year"