At that moment, Clear would do anything to turn back time. He'd do anything, destroy everything, burn the world to the ground if that's what it took to tip the hour glass back just a moment. Not even a moment, just a few seconds would be enough. A few seconds to turn around and insure the safety of the other, to push him out of the way, to save him. Just a few seconds.
Please, just a few.
Every metallic cell in his body was screaming, agonized in a pain he didn't know possible, crying out in a silent plea to anything that might hear.
Let me save him.
"Aoba-san. Aoba-san. Aoba-san." The words came out softly and broken; a jagged, uneven call. "Aoba-san. Aoba-san. Aoba-san." It was like he had lost all ability to say anything else.
And in Clear's arms, held against his chest like a child, Aoba remained limp, eyes open but vacant, taking in shallow, uneven breaths, nothing more than little gasps as crimson bubbled on his lips and dribbled from his nose, his ears. His body was ragged and skin shredded. His arm and legs were bent in unnatural, unfixable positions, dyeing cloth deep red where bone poked through cloth. The same red covered Clear in several places, staining his jacket, his pants, his shirt, and his gloved hand as he ran it through the bluenette's newly cut hair as if to soothe, the ripped skin on the man's scalp weeping. Clear didn't know if Aoba could see him, could feel him, could hear him. Part of him despaired over the thought of Aoba drowning in an unimaginable, physical pain and the idea of him just floating in a numb oblivion, tethered by only a thread of spider's silk. He didn't know, he didn't know what to do.
Around him, Clear caught brief glimpses of other people moving around him, could faintly hear the shouts and calls, could dimly feel the touch of something on his shoulder.
"Sir, please..." They said.
He remained where he was, stroking Aoba's hair.
"Ple...hrt..." They were speaking word from somewhere above the water, the words distorted, garbled.
"Aoba-san. Aoba-san." He kept whispering, rocking back and forth gently. "Aoba-san."
I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Just save him. Save him. Let me save him. Let me fix my mistake. It's wrong. He didn't need to. He didn't. Save him. A few moments more. Anything. Anything. Any. Thing. For. Him.
His home, his life, his limbs, all the scrap parts that made his being, everything. Those could all be taken.
He'd give up everything that made him "human".
He'd become an empty machine.
He'd give up his "heart".
"Aoba-san." Please don't leave me alone.
Nobody could move him, make the shape of the kneeling white haired man in the street budge an inch. Police vehicles had been summoned, sirens blaring as another ambulance followed behind.
"An accident..." A few spectators said in hushed voices.
"Pushed him out of the way..." Others said.
"I didn't see them."A young man with orange hair said, pleaded, with tears in his eyes, to an official dressed in blue uniform. "It happened too fast."
Clear should've seen it, he knew. Even if the truck came from his right side, his left still worked perfectly. Should've seen it. Should've heard it.
So why didn't he?
Why did Aoba-san see it and not him?
In his arms, Aoba's body jerked in a sudden spasm. Twitching. Fingers curling. Blood dripping, stick and warm. Eyes flickering, defiantly shining gold in the sun, only to dim as the sun did. Dim and dim.
And then still.
"Aoba-san, I-" I'm so sorry. Clear choked. He didn't notice the tears. Wouldn't notice until they dried and vanished. I couldn't save you. "I love you."
All breathing ceased, a heart failed to beat, and for Clear, there was only silence.
I killed Aoba again.
In my defense, I havent slept in the past two days. Not a wink. Simple reason being I don't want to sleep.
I'm probably going to regret this later.
Oh duck, how Clear must hate me now. Nothing to say to that.
I don't own DMMd or anything.