Work Text:
A single cherry blossom sits in Makoto's outstretched palm as he stares up at the sky above him.
It's less a sky and more a ceiling, though. The sky is blue and lovely and Makoto remembers it to be warm against his skin. What he's looking at now is neither blue or lovely, and it's not warm either.
Now that he really thinks about it, he isn't warm. But Makoto isn't cold either.
He just kind of...exists. He feels nothing at all.
This is strange.
Makoto drops his hand to his lap, fingers curled inward. He's mindful not to crinkle the delicate petal in his hand. He looks down at it. Pink against his pale skin.
He has a strange feeling. Like he shouldn't let go of it, otherwise something bad will happen. Something he can't undo.
Sighing, Makoto glances around. It's a whole lot of nothing. Just whiteness, like a void. Infinite expanse, infinite possibilities.
It'd be funny if this was heaven. That's something Makoto doubts, though; there's no God here, no grand staircase and no white clouds. Good thing it's not hell, either, though he isn't sure what he could have done too wrong to make it down there.
The 'ceiling' is a good enough substitute.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps makes Makoto look up. His eyes meet the newcomer's, and he's quiet.
Then, he smiles at the boy in the yellow scarf.
"Hi."
A thin smile spreads across Ryoji's face. It reaches his eyes. "Hello, Makoto." He greets back, his voice soft and fond. The name rolls off his tongue like it has always belonged there.
There's a moment of silence. Makoto waits for Ryoji to speak up first. After all, he was such a chatterbox before. But Ryoji just stands there, watching. Waiting, maybe.
Sadly, Makoto has never been interested in waiting games.
"Where are we?" he asks.
Ryoji sits beside him, shoulders slumped as he leans forward. He looks comfortable. He's proobably way more used to things like this than Makoto. Maybe he's been here longer.
"I don't know."
Well. Nevermind.
Makoto clicks his tongue. That answer isn't very helpful. If the way Ryoji is looking at him is anything to go by, it shows on his face too. So he tries something else. "Am I dead?"
A pause. Ryoji's eyes, as blue as the sky Makoto recalls so well, flicker across his face and seemingly take him in.
"You're dying," he says truthfully. "Yes."
Huh. He says it like it's something precious. Something to mourn.
Makoto nods slowly. He knows he's dead. Dying. He can kind of tell—it feels odd. Weightless, but grounded. And the cherry blossom he's holding...
His grip tightens around it imperceptibly.
Ryoji must have seen that, too, because his hand comes to rest on top of his other one reassuringly. Makoto blinks, momentarily taken aback before he accepts the touch.
How fitting. How strange. He's dead, dying, and Death is trying to comfort him.
Comfort isn't what Makoto needs right now, though. Not really.
"Is this real?" he asks.
Ryoji averts his gaze. He directs it at the same ceiling Makoto was so busy staring at before, as if searching for an answer in the infinite void of nothingness. He finds it.
"I don't think so," Death answers.
"Oh."
A wave of disappointment washes over Makoto. That kind of sucks. He wouldn't have minded staying in some sort of limbo with Ryoji forever. It doesn't sound that half bad, actually.
Thinking to himself, Makoto laces their fingers together. Their digits come together and intertwine like a puzzle well put together. Ryoji stares at him all the while with a lopsided smile.
"Are you real?"
Ryoji doesn't say anything this time. But his smile doesn't fall.
Makoto doesn't mind the lack of an answer as much this time around.
Instead, he takes a moment to just look. He looks at Ryoji. At his blue, bright eyes and his crooked teeth and the yellow scarf.
Then he looks back up at the ceiling.
"I don't want to die," Makoto admits.
Ryoji smiles. It's a pleasant sight to see. When he sees it, Makoto thinks that he's a bit warmer. It lifts a tiny weight off his shoulders. Even if only for a moment. "Then what do you want?"
Makoto pauses, brows furrowed. That's a good question. One he has to think on. Some time passes before he answers.
"I would like to graduate, I think," he chooses. The idea of it makes Makoto feel nice. Like it won't all be over soon. "alongside everybody else."
Ryoji's smile dampens. It seems to turn more sad before it drops entirely. If Makoto didn't know any better, he would think Ryoji was grieving for his life more than he himself was. "That's too bad."
"Yeah," he hums. "It is."
Leaning his head against Ryoji's shoulder, Makoto scoots closer. This way, he can warm up. Or try to. Ryoji isn't really warm.
Keeping their hands together, he asks, "Let's stay like this for a while."
Ryoji hesitates. He has to consider it, even if it doesn't take very long to give the answer he would've given regardless. "Okay," he agrees.
Time passes. Makoto isn't sure how long. It feels like an eternity on one hand. On the other, it feels like a couple of seconds, too. Everything and anything all at once.
All good things must come to an end.
"I have to go."
Shifting, Makoto glances back at Ryoji. The look on his face is, at best, remorseful. He doesn't want to leave, that much is clear. But their time is up.
"Oh," Makoto pauses. "Does that mean I have to go, too?"
Even though it's unexpected, Ryoji chuckles lightly. It doesn't feel out of place, surprisingly. Makoto can't help but smile when he hears it.
"I guess so," he sighs wistfully.
Squeezing his hand, Makoto shakes his head. "That's alright." He says. "I'm not scared."
Ryoji stands up. Makoto stays. Their fingers are still tied together, and there's a moment of silence before Makoto begrudingly lets them part. He doesn't want to, but he has to.
"I love you."
Ryoji smiles at that.
And then the boy in the yellow scarf is gone.
Makoto looks back up at the ceiling.
But it's less of a ceiling now, and more of a sky. It's blue and lovely and most importantly of all, it's warm.
Now that he pays close attention, he can hear the sound of laughter in the distance. His eyes, half-lidded and heavy, meet Aigis', teary-eyed as hers are. He watches as the droplets trail down her cheeks.
Raising a hand, Makoto wipes them away the best he can. He lets it happen when she grabs his hand and holds it for a moment before it inevitably drops.
Makoto smiles, and doesn't say anything more.
He closes his eyes, and lets the cherry blossom slip from his hand.