I thought of the ending to this before I thought of the actual storyline. It moved me so I ended up coercing myself into writing it. I know it's incredibly short and for the most part probably confusing as well, and for that I'm really sorry. But in my defense, I wrote this in a matter of fifteen minutes. To relieve any confusion that might be, this takes place sometime after New Years Eve, which means after they made their decision. Maybe it's because I find this couple so romantic in their tragedy (and I normally don't like these kinds of romances so that says a lot) but this story means a lot to me, so I hope you at least gain some enjoyment from it.
Disclaimer: If I had owned P3P, there would have been a whole scene where they were reunited. I swear to it.
They sit on a bench. Wooden and cracked with age, but sturdy all the same. A peach tree towers over them, shading the bench and surrounding area with it's almost too green leaves. Dim light peppers through, dotting them with flecks of gold that sometimes looks almost like fire because it's mid-afternoon. She briefly wonders why it is a peach tree since she has never actually seen one before now. When she is through with this, she vaguely understands that everything else around her is a lush green color, and that this is nature in it's perfect state.
She can hear the wind whistle softly; the soft sound of grass and leaves rustling. She can feel it tickle her skin, and whimsically play with her hair. But for some reason, nothing ever moves, and though she feels it, she can never honestly say her hair has been disturbed from its ponytail and multiple pins.
There is always a river. The water flowing quickly as if running off to find someone, and yet calmly so that it seems like it has all the time in the world. It glimmers beautifully. Shimmering like a thousand tiny diamonds. Glistening like the sun. She can't help but want to run over to it, dip her hand in and feel the chill of fresh water she hasn't felt in ages. She can't help but want to jump in and splash around like a small child in an attempt to become one with the brilliance the water always seems to carry.
But her hand feels warm, and it's so much more comfortable than any water could ever make her feel. This warmth allows her to feel happy, and safe. It somehow tells her that nothing will ever be allowed to harm her while she still feels it. Along with the warmth comes a weight, heavy and yet soft at the same time.
She looks up and sees a goofy smile that's filled with glee and mischief and longing. The owner always cocks his head, and his lips part to form words she's never able to grasp no matter how hard she strains to try. But she's always enraptured by these lips and can never pull her attention away from them. She wonders how they feel and as if entranced places her fingers against them. She can feel his smile widen and soften at the same time. He gently takes hold of her hand, and presses her fingers firmly against his lips as he moves them to form new words. She closes her eyes, relishes in how soft he feels. Finally he closes his mouth and presses a kiss to her palm.
Her eyes now open and she can see his eyes twinkling impishly, as if daring her to make the next move. She reciprocates by leaning over and pressing her lips to his jaw. The bench creaks softly as they each take turns leaning over to mark the other in a different place. She can feel her giggle bubble up and out of her throat, feeling girlish and young and full of life. She can hear his low chuckle and though she never acts on it, she can never shake the want to press herself up against his chest and feel his laughter for herself.
He presses his lips to her forehead, before retreating a few inches and whispering the words, 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' repeating them so many times she finds herself pressing her mouth to his in order to stop them from flooding out.
He's warm for a moment, before she feels him begin to harden. He cracks and breaks, and even when he starts to wash away in the wind like dust, he smiles softly and sadly. When he has finally vanished, she can vaguely feel how cold it really is here. Though she knows it is green, she vaguely understands that she is surrounded by a never-ending white.
Riichi wakes up, shudders, turns on her side and curls into a ball. She then cries for the ache that she can never seem to lose. She cries for what could have been, and what will never be.
When she has exhausted herself of tears she again drifts away to sleep. She dreams of black hair, laughing eyes, suspenders, and the color yellow. Then she awakes once more, and repeats the cycle again.