You grasp a box in your hands tightly, their weight heavy on your soul as you step between the apartment buildings, trying to find the right block in the rain. The storm comes down hard, icy fingers slipping beneath your corner and soaking you through.
You hadnāt thought to bring an umbrella, hence getting caught up in this thunderstorm, but you refuse to give up searching for the owner.
You canāt stand having the contents of this box in your house a second longer, in the corner of your room, stealing your attention and your heart with it. With every moment that passes, your will to stay away from him diminishes little by little, and you refuse to succumb. You need to get rid of it, and put and end to this relationship once and for all.
Yet, you clutch the box to your chest, as if their contents are the most precious jewels this world could offer, finding yourself praying that they havenāt been ruined by the rain.
Youāre searching for the correct address, when suddenly the rain seems to clear. Looking up, youāre surprised to see a clear umbrella over your head, and the man holding it above you is none other than the very one youāve been searching for this entire time.
āLucien.ā His name leaves your mouth, a gentle caress, and yet the word feels unfamiliar on your tongue. His normally placid eyes are completely unreadable, looking down at your soaked form. āWhat are you doing out here?ā
His voice itself is nearly enough to bring tears to your eyes, and youāre suddenly grateful for the pouring rain - hopefully, it can hide the liquid warmth pooling in your eyes. Shoving the box into his chest, you turn on your heel to leave as fast as you can, if you did look back, you might not be able to walk away this time. āThings that you left in my apartment. Iām returning them now.ā
Your name, hushed, falls from his lips. You force yourself not to cry.
āWe donāt have anything to do with each other now. Letās put an end to this here.ā You say, your voice shaking. With that, you move to walk away before you collapse in front of him under the weight of your grief, but before you can, his hand grabs you by the wrist.
āTake this. Youāll catch a cold.ā Lucien presses the umbrella into your palm, and you tremble at its weight. How does it feel so heavy in your hand?
You canāt hold on to it. It clatters to the ground, and you find yourself looking into Lucienās eyes for the last time. The rain soaks him true, leaving him drenched, and yet neither of you can bear to move. Too painful to stay, yet too painful to part.
āTake care of yourself.ā Is all you can bring yourself to say, before you turn and flee from him, leaving him standing there alone in the rain, a box in his hands and a discarded umbrella on the ground.
In his apartment, Lucien gently opens the box, careful not to let any of the droplets clinging to his hair to touch the contents, and pulls out a string of white paper cranes.
He remembers the way your fingers had wrapped around his, teaching him how to make each fold and crease. Heād practiced them so much to the point he could do them in his sleep, the steps bleeding into the memory of his hands, because it made you smile.
Unfolding one of them, heās surprised to find black ink scrawled across the paper, a simple, long forgotten wish.
I wish Lucien and I could be together forever.
He presses his lips against the wings of the crane, eyes shut. For a single moment, he allows himself to lose himself in the memories of your lips, your smile, your warmth.
āI wish we could, too.ā
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