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It’d be easy. That’s what he told himself when he made his way to the rooftop.
There was a sign at the top of the stairs. “NO ENTRY” in someone’s handwritten words. He ignored it. As expected, the door wasn’t even locked. He considered grabbing the key from the staff room to lock it (it was always easy for him to slip in- a combination of a lack of diligence on their part and a lack of presence on his), so that he would be the last.
But that was hypocritical, wasn’t it?
And, even more selfish, if he were to go now, he’d probably lose the motivation to go through with what he wanted to do, because at the end of the day he was scared. Too much time to think would give him too many reasons not to, and right now he really wanted to. It would be the only thing in his life that he’s ever seen to the end, ever not given up on, so he didn’t really want to prove himself wrong.
It was a cold autumn evening. That was okay. He was just glad it wasn’t raining. And in the end, it didn’t really matter what the weather was like, did it?
It was also empty, another relief. Seeing another person would make him cry, and also kill his motivation to end his life in pursuit of saving theirs.
It was also dark. That wasn’t a relief, but he wasn’t so stupid as to attempt this in broad daylight, where anyone could see him and either try to stop him… or tell him to go through with it. He wasn’t sure which was worse. He had stayed after school cleaning up again, an ordinary routine, so nobody blinked twice. And he really did put effort into cleaning, because it felt kind of like an apology for doing it at school, and as a way to say that he really had been here. Really had done something. Maybe. And he really didn’t like the way others trashed the school. Property was meant to be respected after all.
Still, the emptiness, darkness, and cold was a reminder that he really was a coward, because he’s always been afraid of the dark despite his age. And if there was anywhere in the school that was going to be haunted, it was the rooftop.
If there was any consolation, it was that these ghosts were probably the only ones who understood him. He was walking their path after all. Maybe they’d pity him for that.
He approached the railing, shivering as a particularly strong gust blew through. He looked down. Yumenosaki was only two floors. What if he didn’t actually die? The only reason he was here was because when he held a knife he got too scared, and drowning at the beach seemed like it would be really painful. Plus, the sea was Kanata’s domain, and while he didn’t know him too well he didn’t want to sully it for him.
Ah, he was thinking too much again. If he didn’t die, that would be a problem for his future self. Don’t think about the possible ramifications. Besides, it killed everyone before him, didn’t it? He doubted he would be an exception. He was anything but an exception. He would be just another tragedy for them to pity when he left, and nothing would change except he wouldn’t be in hell anymore. Unless he was destined for that place, but he personally didn’t believe in it. And wouldn’t it be too cruel?
He took off his shoes. He felt a little stupid doing so, standing in his socks and holding his indoor shoes. But that’s what one was supposed to do, right? He set them down, taking care to line them up properly.
He’d also brought his broken figurine, or at least the pieces he still had. He couldn’t ever bear to get rid of it even after it had been broken, since it had accompanied him through thick and thin. It was fitting to be the witness. He set it down against his shoes, although it was difficult to prop it up with the way it was broken at the waist.
He adjusted his glasses. Should he take those off? Maybe not. He’d like to be able to see in the last few minutes of his life.
That was it. He hadn’t written a note or anything. Writing would make him cry a lot more than he already has, and fill him with too many regrets. There were things he wanted to say to the ones he was leaving behind, mainly apologies, but he couldn’t do that in good conscience. If he were sorry, he just wouldn’t do it, right…? He’d just have to hope that his feelings reach them somehow.
Don’t worry about me. Don’t be sad for me. Be happy without me.
Maybe that was a bit egotistical, assuming that they would need such words. Still, he’d always been someone who worried about others first, and that wasn’t going to change now.
He huffed to himself. He’s stalling again. He climbed over the railing, tightly gripping it as he stood on the outside. All he had to do was let go. Maybe jump, if he wanted to be more active. His hands betrayed him, clinging to the life he wanted to leave.
He choked out a sob. Why did everything hurt so much? All he’d ever wanted was to be something more than what he was, he just wanted to be something like the heroes that he had admired ever since he was a kid. But time and time again he was made to realize that he couldn’t be, that he’d never be. He was nobody, and nothing. An annoyance to his peers and a burden to his parents.
His parents. He was guilty. He knew how hard it must have been to raise him. Constant trips to the hospital and medication and worried if he wouldn’t lose to the common cold before reaching adolescence. The trips they gave up to look after him- hadn’t they always wanted to go to Europe? The sad looks they exchanged when he proudly said he wanted to be a hero when he grew up, a pilot, play basketball, an idol, because what if he didn’t get to grow up at all? And he’d begged them to go to Yumenosaki, knowing full well the financial strain the tuition was, even if he had earned as many scholarships as he could. And that hadn’t bore any fruit at all, had it?
They’d ask him. How’s school? How are your unit mates? Have you made any friends? When are you going to perform? We’d love to watch you.
It’s going great. They’re great. Yup, I did. We’re still practicing, but we’ll perform soon. Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know.
Lies, lies, all of it.
He looked at the ground again. He really should stop thinking. He wiped his eyes with one hand. This was for the better. Surely. It didn’t matter if he was alive or not, and even if there were people who loved him, and there were, his parents made sure of that, his existence was harming them more than helping.
And really, he just couldn’t take it anymore. Every day was a lie that maybe something would change, maybe he would change. All he had to do was work a little harder, try a little more. Maybe he just needed to wait another year. But he was wrong every time, and they made sure to make it clear to him.
Living was hard. He was taking the easy way out. He couldn’t be like the heroes he wanted to be, because he was tired of standing up after being knocked down. He was letting everything get to him. He was weak.
It’s supposed to be easy. That’s what he told himself, gripping the railing with one hand, hanging over the edge and thinking that all he had to do was let go.
He climbed back over the railing. Sat down on the floor next to his shoes. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore, and pathetically cried over how much it hurt but he couldn’t do something as easy as dying because he was such a coward, and he was afraid of the dark, afraid of the height, afraid of pain and afraid of death.
He put back on his shoes.
“Oh! Taichou’s awake now.”
He blinked, rubbing his eyes and feeling that his cheeks were wet. He wiped them away.
“Did Chiaki have a ‘bad’ ‘dream’?”
A hand carded through his hair. He nodded.
“So even Morisawa-dono has nightmares!”
“Of course he does… although it’s rare that you cry in front of us.”
“Still, it’s a bit late to resume practice, isn’t it? Besides, we’ve already taken care of everything, so let’s just rest. And don’t worry Taichou, you were only asleep for a few minutes.”
He nodded again, watching as they all got comfortable on the practice room floor.
“What did Chiaki ‘dream’ about?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just the past.”