How I Remember You

(Zack, you there? Wake up, it's morning.)

'And far too early to start the day...'

(There's nothing wrong with being up a bit early. Greet your day sooner, taste the fresh air!)

He'd rather drown in sand

(Don't be a downer. You'll feel better after you have a cup. Speaking of, there"s milk coffee in the fridge. They'll spoil if you don't drink them.)

"Mmph…" the aforementioned Zack grumbles, shifting off the thin blanket. His limbs flail about in an effort to wake up.

'For coffee then, if nothing else,' was the driving factor behind it. Those things are nothing but muddy bean water, yet somehow they hit the tastebud just right.

His hand gropes around the wall, trying to hit a light switch. There was no light from anywhere, forcing him to use feelings rather than sight. If he had to guess it's still somewhen short of 5.

Or in other words, far too early to get anything done. But ah, there it was.

"--Gah!"

He closed his eyes, before they could burn to a crisp. Pain. Right, the lights are atrocious. Why were they so bright, anyway?

(You picked them based on the energy efficiency, in terms of cost-return. Liiittle did you know, these particular light bulbs shone like the sun.)

Ah, right. That.

He shook his head, eyes glancing towards his sole companion this early in the morning. A woman dressed in white, her fair skin showing no grain of flaw under the bright light. A still untidy bed hair sways lightly as she waved towards him, displaying her hallmark Cheshire cat-like smile.

(Good morning!)

"Good morning… April."

His eyes open and close a few times, as the lingering discomfort fades away till it was gone in entirety. Curses light. Curses the invention of lightbulb. Curses to that seller.

Even without seeing it, he could sense she was rolling her eyes.

(The price spike should've clued you in… It's heavy-duty stuff meant for larger rooms. Or rather, it's your fault for not reading things carefully.)

Cases like his are reason why letter-based communication is bad. It lacks all the inherent minute-yet-important cues you can get from speaking.

(Hmm?) Yet hearing that the woman tilted her head, as a wonder went across the mind. (But you've said before that verbal communication is stupid.)

Yeah. Humanity should have picked telepathy over verbal words, or better yet intent-based mind reading.

In fact, humanity as a species shouldn't have evolved at all. Going "o-oo a-aa" while swinging on random tree trunks was the finest form of wisdom. Whether be it Plato or Aristotle, they've lost their mind attempting to overthink life.

(You'd rather be a mindless chimpanzee than human?)

"Tell me how it's not a good idea."

(...Then we never would have met, you know?)

.

Well

Wanna know something else, April?

People live in a society

(Stop using that as a comeback whenever you have no reply. It's stupid. I thought we were having a moment there?)

"Not in paticula–"

(Well, I don't mind it though. You're cute like that)

.

(Ehe)

With some effort, Zack dragged his feet off the bed, meeting the cold porcelain floor. Then came the usual frigid burn that he swore must've come from cocytus itself. The damn thing never failed to freeze his soles. Yet the familiar assault of frigid cold was, ironically enough, a warm oil which helped turning the gears in his head.

Going to the washstand. Rinsing his face. Watching his reflection across the mirror, staring back with dull, empty eyes.

Usual stuff

Passing by the window, Zack held its lift. It took some effort to not make any excuse. To not just say 'maybe not today...' and stop himself. Even now he still hates the cold. That never changed.

He opened the window anyway.

(Brr~) The woman hugged her own arms, shoulder shaky.

A breath left his lips as the morning breeze fills around. It gets colder than he was used to, this far up north. He still wasn't the best with frigid weather even after all these years. Then again, he'd take it over the boiling summer back home.

His hand brushes past the coffee table and grabs a remote. Pointing it behind with flimsy aim, he thumbed a red button and went to the kitchen space as the TV came to life.

There should be some cereal left, right?

(Again? Why not go for something healthier?)

Too much work. He could always order delivery, but after a while he worked out that [not] having to wait a delivery man, while enduring an empty stomach, makes his morning much more bearable.

(Pleaaase? Just today?)

Why?

(How about…for me.)

'That might as well be no reason whatsoever then.' He retorts while throwing the freezer open, glancing at the things inside through a frown. There's the cereal pack, but…

{...}

He knew she was staring at his back with a pitiful-looking expression. He didnt look, knowing the moment he does would be the instant he'd give in. That woman is unfair like that.

Yet-

"…Milk and cereal doesn't sound too appetizing anyway."

Right. It wouldn't match with the coffee either. A shame, but he'd have to put more effort today. What else is there… Some bread and bacon. Leftover cheese from last time.

He could make do. Taking some ingredients out, Zack tossed them by the table and nudged the fridge aclose.

He felt like a change of pace. That's all there is to it.

There went the bacon sizzling atop atop the pan. Zack cracked an egg, and the unfeeling steel dug into his palm as he stirred with it.

An idle gaze went to the tv, watching as the newscaster drool about some politics and incidents from the other day. Nothing worth noting in his opinion.

The one thing he paid attention to, instead, was the news woman delivering said news. She kept an exaggerated inflection, and her expression wasn't subtle either. A newly cast newscaster fresh out of the oven.

"One of them was heavily injured…"

At least nobody died.

He'd say being alive is a fortune in and of itself. After all, a life is worth a pretty penny. Though, what did they say about precious things again? "Fortunes are wasted on some," or something along the line.

(Oh no…)

'Ah, the bacon is burnt.'

...Oh well, at least it shouldn't be unpalatable.

(Hey, Zack? …You've changed quite a bit, haven't you.)

Of course he did. Anyone would. It would be weird if people don't change over time. Also sad, but mostly weird.

The woman in white dress moved across the edge of his sight. Her legs swooshed as she sat atop the table, body leant back with hands propped. A lighthearted hum rang.

(Back in college you'd be super sad the moment you heard people were hurt. Always the sympathetic one.)

Zack glared at the disrespectful seating for a moment. A frown came to be. 'Don't sit atop the table, you honorless cur.'

Certainly, he had more of a troublesome temper back then, easily falling into mood swings when others are in trouble. Reminiscing back on it, it wasn't that he held any empathy or sympathy for others. Those are things based on understanding, comprehension, relating to the pain and suffering of others.

'Looking at their unsightly form was just too unpleasant. So much that I had felt the need to do something. Anything.'

That's all there was to it. Eventually, he just learnt to steel his heart and progress on his own. As every man with rationality should. There's much to lose and far less to gain from involving oneself with the woes of strangers.

(No. Even now, you're still soft.

It's just that you're ignoring your own feelings.)

Last time he checked, she wasn't the one who minored in psychology. The human mind isn't so simple to understand.

(You already know that statement is incorrect) A cheeky smile came along. (Besides, I'm not saying I understand the human mind. Just yours.)

Arrogance begets failure. The statement rang twice as true when you go down to individual cases. The universal guidelines seem to fall apart at the seams, and all reference data would turn out woefully inaccurate.

it's a mess, really.

Zack fried the egg and added cheese.

(Ugh, that's a sinful amount….)

There may be another decade left before he has to pay attention to healthy food. Better enjoy these now while he has the leeway. Speaking of, there's also sugary coffee first thing in the morning.

Zack pours it into a mug after retreiving it.

(Ugh…)

'It's not like I'm making you drink it. Calm down. The egg is going to get burnt.'

It gets awfully hard to pay attention to details when the freeloader keeps making depression noises. And there's nothing he could do to remedy it except pleading to calm her temper.

(Then maybe you should, I dunno, LISTEN to what the voice is telling you and EAT HEALTHILY!)

Maybe once the sun rises from the West.

Taking a gulp, an explosion of sweetness covers his taste bud, overwhelming even the taste of coffee. But then again, what kind of cold coffee has authentic taste?

He knows cold brews exist out there, but he's no connoisseur of coffee so it's hard to give a darn. To him cold coffee equals condensed sugary goodness that vaguely tastes like coffee.

(Ah-)

Oh. The egg is getting burnt.

…

Zack walked to the table with a plateful of food. The TV ran through an advertisement of sort. The constant showing of masculinity implief something like men's products. Sprays. Cool.

He took a bite and munched on the sandwich. The mix of burnt egg, ungodly amount of cheese, and oily meat spread inside.

(Uh… They're really kind of burnt. And with all that cheese, it might not be even better at all than just the usual cornmeal.)

"Yeah, that's why I didn't want to cook."

Hmm? What? What's with the stink eye?

(This wouldn't happen if you cooked properly!)

Blaming people for what can't be undone is not a good use of time.

(That's bull--)

"-Currently, of the nine admitted into Caramory hospital, four have passed away, and the others are still under intensive care..."

…?

The TV caster sounded louder than it was before. He didn't recall turning up the volume.

"The source of this tragedy came from a single cigarette bud, the spark of flame catching fire in a bedroom, and quickly spreading throughout the house. Due to the secluded location and late time, the fire had grown by the time it was reported to authority. When the firefighters arrived, it had spread to the house beside, and--."

Zack took another large bite of the sandwich and chewed through the thick content. Carefully

(…That's pretty close as well. Though not exactly within walking distance. You think you'd see them?)

Maybe.

He continued his meal while listening in. The damn thing was noisy. The speakers weren't working their best anyway after he knocked them over the other day. And news isn't his thing either.

"...are weeping, as the patient…"

Nevertheless, he kept listening.

(Hmm~)

Somehow, the light humming irked his patience, as her eyes trickled onto his side. What a bad way to start the day.

Done with the breakfast, he gulps down the rest of the coffee. Rinsing his mouth and face. Brushing his teeth. Picking a change of clothes. How Zack wishes he was a robot. A mechanical sorting of bolts and screws.

Wouldn't it be nice?

At least unfeeling metal wouldn't freeze in the cold.

He wore his coat, and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

(Leaving already?)

It's not good to laze about too much after waking up. His body would shut down again. And he felt like having a walk.

(Yeah, but… you're done with breakfast?)

April's gaze went towards the plate at the table. Then back to him, who was already at the door, a hand twisting the handle knob.

"What, you wanted a bite?"

(...I don't like eating food someone else touched.)

He knew that as well, but it never hurt to ask. Besides, he barely touched it. "I only took two bites."

It just took a glance to tell. The sandwich was mostly intact.

(Yeah… I KNOW.)

There she was, outside the door, already waiting for him. A constipated-like expression was stuck on her face. Was she on that time of the month? Her temper is weird.

Either way, he guessed that meant a no from her. Zack went outside as well, locking the door behind him. Still...

"Sun's so dang bright…" Squinting his eyes, he rubs a hand over his nose. He walks on. The stairs in the building are damn cramped.

><><><><><><><><><><><

The streets are rowdy today.

(...But there's barely any people, though?)

Maybe not a lot of people. But there are lots on these streets. Emotion-wise.

For example, the elder on the other side of the street. There's bitterness and agitation, and an expression of shame. Yet he isn't showing any sign of depression or self-depreciation, nor restricting his anger.

A fight against a junior? It shouldn't revolve around clashing interest. Personal dignity?

'At a guess, some junior tried to meddle in or suggest something, and he refused it.'

An old man holding onto stubbornly pride, despite agreeing with someone lower in seniority.

(...It still seems like alien wizardy to me. You're really zelous about psychology, huh?)

Obviously. He wouldn't have wasted years of time and thousands of dollars studying the topic at college otherwise.

Zack turned his glance. There's a hazardous-looking salaryman walking away. Lethargy oozes out, clothes messy and crumpled. And yet there's considerations in his fashion choice, an intent to appear prim and proper. A man who is burnt out rather than lazy.

'There's a small spark of joy...'

It's early morning, but the man is likely headed home rather than to work. To a family? Cohabiting lovers? Maybe children or pets, or some backlog in his hobby. In any case the man was eager to return. In his eyes was not comfort, but joy and determination.

(Really?)

A woman dashing through the streets. Dressed semi-formal. Panic in her stride, though hiding it.. She's still trying to keep proper posture, locking her muscles despite the fact they're ready to spring. Hurrying about for formal business.

Some kind of sudden fuck-up that needs solution in haste? Probably. Or she could be just late for work or some other appointment.

(… Really?)

50-50. Both for the woman and the ones before. Humans aren't so one-dimensional. but causality has a simple method to them. Either he hits the mark, or something wilder than imagination happened.

Zack idles as his step passes the walkway. There's always a sight to see walking the streets of this town.

(…There's nothing but a few people. Barely any decorations around the buildings. The streets here are barren.) April bemoans. (It's a boring place, always has been.)

He disagrees. The world is filled with things, long as one can comprehend them.

Isaac Newton theorized the law of gravity as he saw an apple falling down. Vincent van Gogh saw a twisted, wondrous sight as he looked at the starry skies. Nobody knew what kind of sound rang in Beethoven's silent world as he played music while deaf.

He is tone deaf. Forget drawing skills, Zachary had no sense for art whatsoever. And he couldn't explain how a bee could fly, except "by flapping their wings". Those were things outside his forte. Things he cannot see and comprehend, even if they were shoved right in front of his face.

Yet one facet of the world Zack understood was emotions. People's heart, and all the way their body pushes to express it.

So while he watches people and all their fascinating ticks, the world doesn't seem as empty.

He stopped in place.

(Ah. We're there.)

The midway point, yes. About damn time, he thought silently. The sun rose already. He's been walking for close to half an hour.

><><><><><><><><><><><

The bell chimes as a door slid open. Fragrances of flowers bask in the air. His entrance caught the eyes of a female figure. Sitting atop a chair beside the counter, some sort of magazine in hand. Her long hair sways as she tilts her head to face Zack and greets him with a smile.

(We're here again Natasha~) April waved at her cheerfully.

"Good day." Was his own curt greeting. Looking around, there's a dozen styles of flowers shown on display. Some are vivid, colorful, and bright. Others were soft and sophisticated. Yet they all shine in their own ways.

Not that they mattered much to him. Only one kind ever caught his eyes, anyway.

Natasha didn't bother to check which flowers her customer was staring at. "The usual?"

A grunt. Then a pause before a nod. "...yeah."

(Better.)

The ghost stopped her ringing complaints the moment he spoke properly.

'Why does it mean so much to you anyway.'

His reply was a stuck-out tongue from the child-like adult.

(It's called not being rude.)

The owner walks over and opens a cabinet with a smile on her face. It was filled to the brim with fabrics of all texture and color. The paper she used for her boquet. "Still, what color do you want today?"

It wasn't the first time Natasha asked that of him. And every single time, Zack answer remained steadfast. "The usual."

"Hmm~ no variety?" She edged. "A tiny little change could do wonders to impress. You'd be surprised."

And that's exactly why he tried not to. A tiny change could make a world of difference, and that would be cruel. "None."

Natasha paused.

Her hands slowed to a still, and her lips pursed in tandem. It took little to recognize the woman was contemplating something. Not that rare a sight when it comes to one Natasha Audrielle. The florist shopkeeper is rather mindful at times.

It didn't take long till she open her lips once more.

"How about this? I'd like to make one bouquet for myself. So, would you pick the wrappers?"

A beat

"Why?"

"Curiosity."

…

The woman hummed as she worked on a bouquet of scorpion grasses. His eyes glanced around, interest piqued by a gathering of bouquets lined up at one side of the shop. They were all of a single, particular flower.

"It's for some new residents there." Natasha said, noticing his gaze. He turned around and looked at the florist. She kept her focus on the flowers atop her hand, not bothering to meet his eyes. "There was a fire accident recently."

"...I've heard." Yet there was one part Zack couldn't quite comprehend.

The flowers. They are…

"Love." Natasha spoke out of the sudden. "Admiration. Devotion. Courage. And most of all love. That's what those flowers mean."

...How stupid.

What's the point of feeling something for the dead?

The flowers disturbed him. To a point far more than it likely should've. he realized.

"That's it. Good for you?" Natasha caught his attention again, handing over a familiar bouquet to him. The same kind of flowers, the same kind of arrangement. The one Zack always held every time he leaves her shop. This time would be no different.

"...Yeah." Zack was about to say thanks to her, before a certain someone could scold him again for not doing so. And yet-

"Well, I better make mine then."

Natasha moves to hold another few stalks of flowers, the same kind as the last. And the soft, green-tinted gray fabric that the woman took out beforehand found their use.

He hasn't paid yet. Isn't attending to customers a priority here?

Even with the bouquet in hand, Zack couldn't leave without paying. At a point he thought to say something, to remind the lady of her misconduct but--

"Hmm~" Her smile, filled with joy as she did the task, made him hesitate. Somehow, Zack felt his heart tug.

"You know Zack? Flowers are inherently meaningless." Natasha mentioned what must've been a sacrilegious opinion for a person of her career. "A blank. When two people look over the same flowers, they can have completely different ideas and thoughts, even ones directly opposite of each other."

Zack held the bunched up flowers in his hands a tad tighter.

"It's the observer that makes them—that gives meaning to a flower. The flower language was just a cheat sheet we made. Oh and by we, I meant past florists." Natasha chuckles with amusement at her own words. "Most of the time, customers wish to buy flowers for others rather than themselves. And I always say, the most important thing is to ensure matching views."

Her hand continued to work magic at the dainty beauty atop the table. A loop, a small shake, a pat. It was as if Natasha gave her soft caress to a lover, instead of the rotting reproductive organ of a plant, which most cut flowers are.

"By that, I mean that both the sender and the recipient must see the flowers the same way. It'd be a problem if the sender sees them as flowers of joyous celebration, then the recipient thinks they're of a romantic inclination." Her tone and body language are filled with relaxed humor as she explains. "Wouldn't that be weird? So one of the most important parts of flower arrangement is to make sure everyone has a similar impression from seeing it. Solidifying the intended emotions, if you will."

(Oh, that sounds really smart~)

Though Zack didn't see how that quite mattered to him. Conversation while waiting for service rendered is nice, but in-depth discussions of something so niche would quickly devolve into a one-sided seminar.

No, wait, it wasn't even waiting for service rendered, considering his flowers were already done. Right, he was about to pay. Yet before he could utter a word-

"And done. There we go." Natasha smiles at the bouquet held in her hand. She raises them a tint, making it easier for him to see. "What d'you think, Zack?"

His eyes glanced down at what she cradled in her arms. They were…. different.

Zack looks at the flowers in his hand, then back at the ones Natasha held.

They were different.

"Yours is filled with reminiscence, duty, and beauty. There's a bit of nervousness, but it's covered by steadfast faith." Natasha tells. She then gestures to the flowers she held. "This one… Is of cheerful remembrance. Joy. Of time that's been spent, and belief that it'll lead to a better future Of course, there's quite some anxiety there. It tells expectant dreams of the tomorrow yet to come."

"Here." She gives him the bouquet she held.

Huh?

"Flowers. For you!" A bright smile bloomed across her face, more beautiful than any flower displayed in her shop.

"...what?" Once again, he uttered the phrase for the second time today, towards this same person. Natasha Audrielle, the name of a strange and inexplicable being.

"For you. A change of pace." As if that explains everything.

"Ah, want to keep it here for now? You can come back later for it, after you're done." She says. "It'll be right here, sitting pretty."

"...I don't need them." He refused. There's feeling of insistence inside him. He didn't understand where it came from either. Why not accept her intent? Still, after he refused so bluntly, she should—

"I insist."

The owner has a screw loose in her head today.

That was the first explanation Zack had for the situation, as he stared at the blue and white flowers. Or maybe because he's a repeat customer, for over a year? As his brows furrowed, Zack hated the fact that his instinct led him to observing her foremost.

Her lips upturned at the edge, with no tense in their inner musculature. Her eyes were open, not at all half-lidded, nor showing signs of any exaggerated widening. Her expression, her body language, her tone.

There wasn't any romantic inclination, not at all. Perhaps pity, but if so, not a flimsy one with hesitation. It was honest-to-goodness, normal kindness towards another person.

...Really, what?

(…)

April sent him a wary look as he left the shop with two bouquets, unlike one per usual.

><><><><><><><><><><><

His steps rang.

Thoughts crosses his mind. Soon, he would reach the land of indomitable law.

In this world, some things are unbending, impossible to overcome.

It made sense, after all. If everything was possible, then on what ground could this world still exist? When everything is possible, then nothing is absolute, and the the certainty of everything--even the existence of this world--becomes illogical.

There are things he believes to be true. So, there must be things in this world that are indomitable. At least Zack lived his life with the thought.

He glanced over his own shoulder, feeling a faint sense of something being wrong. There were tiny wet spots atop his clothes, threatening to multiply soon as more droplets of water fell from the sky.

He should've checked the weather.

Was it too late to regret it now? Zack sighs, walking onward to his destination. Drenched wet... best he could hope for is to hurry home before he caught something. Or freeze to death as it were, with the cold weather around this time of the year.

(Well, I gotta go)

(Good luck then)

As the location came into sight April turned around and left his side.

Her steps faded into obscurity. No sign of life anywhere to be seen. Her existence left the world without a trace, none knowing any better.

…

(I hope you'll never see me again)

He would never let her disappear.

><><><><><><><><><><><

Zack stilled his legs. They stopped, not from failing him, but from succeeding. After all, this was his destination.

A lonesome and wretched place, yet beauty lingers in this space for those who have passed.

Zack contemplates on what to say. Now that he's here, the words don't come easily as they used to. He stares, trying to observe, to see how she felt about it all. Maybe then he could find the words.

But psychology didn't teach him how to read emotions from a slab of stone.

He took out a long breath from his lung, creating foggy air in the winds. They covered his sight before flying higher to dissipate. Just for a moment, Zack couldn't see the name carved on the stone, between the pouring rain and rising fog. Was it unfair that a part of him wished it would somehow remain like so?

Maybe with magic. Foreign extraterrestrial technology. Maybe fate could alter causality somehow.

But no

April Roselle

Her name was carved on the headstone.

...

"It's a life worth living." She had said,

Even when they diagnosed she wouldn't live past her mid-twenties. She said those words with a smile.

As the days passes by, that smile faded the tiniest bit, yet it was still there. It was always there. Even when her health got worse and she had to spend most of her day on bedrest.

"It's a beautiful life."

God couldn't give a rat's ass about the suffering of mankind, Zack concluded. Nor could he. All he could do was hold her frail hand, barely any power in them, and whisper words of comfort.

"Zack, don't cry… You know I don't like it."

His hand shook. Her warmth, he still recalls.

"Mmm… Did you stop?"

Zack couldn't. The tears wouldn't stop. She couldn't tell, with her vision becoming blurry. He said yes to her.

"That's good."

The smile on her face-

…Left him sobbing, more broken a heart than he ever experienced before and ever since.

There, soaked under the pouring rain, the man opens his mouth wide. He moves his lips and tongue, larynx trembling as he says something to the grave.

What, he couldn't even recall. Whatever sound he made was lost under the noises of a million water droplets meeting the earth.

><><><><><><><><><><><

He went to visit her one day.

"It's too short… It's too short."

"I'm sorry. That I couldn't do more with the time I had. But please… I don't want to leave yet. I don't wanna disappear."

Zack heard her sobs. Hands stilled in the air, paused from opening the door between them.

"I… don't want to be forgotten. I can't bear—Even the thought of losing my life… Even more than that... Please let him remember me."

"Because being forgotten hurts a thousand worse."

He remembers them, those flowers in her vase back then. The soft fidelity.

Myosotis.

Scorpion grasses.

"Forget-Me-Not"

><><><><><><><><><><><

Even now, he still runs away, avoiding reality.

Even now, he still plays-pretend.

Even now, he still sees the fake, stain-like illusion of her that his mind had made.

He should forget it. Let it all go. Be more mature, move on.

…But as cruel as it was for him to stop moving with the world, to stay in place in an ever-changing world…

Even knowing that she would just be hurt if she saw him like this…

Wouldn't it be just as cruel to forget her?

When she cried for the wish so deeply, longed for it and begged for it from god. It'd be too cruel to deny her dying wish and remove the last remnant of her left inside him.

…In the end, even now, he's still running away. Making excuses for everything, like an unruly child.

(It's not running away. At least not from reality. After all, you already recognize that I'm… That she died. This is handling the pain. I'm a figment of your mind that you made in an effort to recover.)

The shade whispers in his ears, trying to fool him into ignoring the weight of reality.

(I'm not—Listen to me, it was terrible back then; you know? No matter what you did or when it was, you'd always see me in the corner. You imagined me not to give up on the tough reality, but because you needed it to last. To function.)

(Remember those days? The moment you tried to reject me, your mind would just shut down. You'd be lifeless, like a puppet with all the strings cut, till your guard is down and I'm back there to bother you again.)

All the more proof that he was just running away. Betraying himself. And thus also spitting on her regards for him, unable to overcome from her passing.

(Now you're turning on deaf ears. These days you're a tint better than back then, you know? You pretty much only see me when no one else's nearby, and you can mute out my voice anyway, to a certain extent. You're improving, bit by bit.)

Not enough, clearly.

(It might be a bit slow, but that's fine. I… I love that slow part of you, anyway.)

(The way you don't hurry with things you care about, and let it happen naturally. I love it.)

…stop

(Someday… You'll move on. You'll forget about my voice. My face will disappear from your mind. You will forget me.)

She paused. For a moment, he felt grateful. Truly thankful, more than ever. But then his nails dug into his palm… as she sobbed.

(Someday you'll forget… how much I loved you

I'm sorry

The fact I couldn't last longer,

The fact I couldn't win—I'm sorry)

No more

(But… It's fine

You don't have to remember me like this. Think it as an old fling, a past relationship that turned sour.

I'll be selfish and ask that you don't forget about her. About me. About us. But it's fine to ignore these memories. This baggage.

She'll be happier that way)

He clenched his teeth. Bared his fangs. When was the last he had done so?

"What do you know?! What the hell do you know!? You're just a figment of my mind! A make-belief I made to comfort myself! What the hell would you know about her!?!"

Stop it. Stop desecrating everything. Stop making him doubt everything, now that it's well beyond the time.

He tried to reign it in, yet the uncomfortable, loathsome, most stifling feeling in the world wouldn't leave his chest. Couldn't

(True, I'm just a figment of your imagination… That's why I can be assured to say this.)

Stop it...

([She] would be happy when you move on. Because--- That's what you think [she] would feel.)

Please...

(I'm what Zachary Cabrera, the boy with an endless fascination for observing, imagined April Roselle is like. Made by a person whose love for reading people's thoughts and emotions, is only second to his love for a certain woman.)

(So I have no doubt that [she]—that April would feel the same about this.)

"I wish that silly boy I loved dearly would be happy."

(Because there's no chance that you'd mistake her final wish.)

><><><><><><><><><><><

Another day.

Another time spent in a world without her.

Zack took a deep breath of the cold air he hates.

Even now, he still never got used to them. The cold still as unpleasant as it was day one.

...Maybe, it's about time he quit.

For once, Zack closed the window back shut, stopping the cold.

He's always been bad with cold weather. It was something he tried to overcome... But after so many years, maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe some things just aren't. And maybe he doesn't have to keep insisting on it.

For once, he felt like he didn't have to do the right thing. That he didn't have to bear a duty on his shoulder. The duty that came from a wish made between sobs.

For once, he felt humane.

For once, after all this time.... He felt like saying it.

Since when had he stopped saying it, anyway? He never noticed till now.

Those words he avoided subconsciously.

"I love you."

A reply never came

And that was fine