There is no sound, no light, no sensation. All Pekoyama has here is darkness. The last thing they remember is being on the beach, a flash of breathtaking pain, and then this. Nothing at all. They are aware of time passing, but only if they think about it. When they donât, everything melts away. Itâs easier this way.
Sometimes, rarely, there is something. A tightness in the chest, usually, or sometimes an ache in their fingertips. These odd pains are the only time they are ever actually aware of their body. The rest of the time, it fades into nothingness. They recede deeper into themself when that happens, shrink back into the nothing until it goes away. The worst, though, is the rare sounds.
Itâs always their Masterâs voice, but far off, as if heâs speaking through a layer of pillows. The last thing they remember of him is slicing his face open, watching him collapse. They remember him shouting for them, vaguely, unsure if the memory is real or invented, but theyâre sure thatâs all this is. A phantom memory of him come to torture them, taunt them even in death. Theyâve failed him, now theyâre being punished.Â
The voice sounds clearer this time. Usually itâs just incoherent sounds, but occasionally a word will make its way into whatever remnant of consciousness they currently exist as. This time, itâs a full phrase, I need you. Itâs agonizing. Itâs everything theyâve ever wanted to hear from him and theyâre trapped here in this pit of nothing, and he probably isnât even real, and theyâre dead.
Theyâd thought dying would accomplish something, that for once in their miserable life theyâd be useful to him, but all it did was tear them away from him. Hell is finally being needed and being unable to answer the call. Their entire being wants to reach out to him, find him, keep him safe, but as much as they wish to, there is no body to follow their commands.
Outside of their coma, he will see their fingers twitch in the direction of his voice.
A small sign. It was all he needed. Sharp eye caught the movement, though it was so subtle Fuyuhiko wondered if heâd imagined it- a trick of the light hitting glass maybe. Whether imagined or not, he clung tightly to that small glimpse of hope, the first sign in weeks and he seized it greedily. The chair clattered to the side, hastily abandoned as he presses closer against the glass.
How pitiful he looked. His face twisted in agony and hopeful anticipation. It had to be any moment now! They will finally wake up, and he could finally say everything he has wanted to. Finally apologize. Finally live together, onto the future he had dreamed they would have.
He called out their name.
âPeko, wake up!â There was desperation in his voice along with the pained strain of wanting to do something, anything, to help aid them towards revival. His hands kept moving about the glass surface, not knowing where to put them, and he wondered if it was safe to open the lid- a reckless thought, but one solidly in his mind as he called out once more.Â
âPlease, you- you have to! Come back, please- I- ! â The room remained unforgivably silent, and despair slowly crept in as Fuyuhiko slumped to the ground. If only he had been stronger, more honest and open about his thoughts, would he have saved Peko from harm? But, it was so damn clear, that he was weak and without them, the one person who could see past his barrier, he was nothing more. Even after all that, he still relied on them- their strength the only reason he survived this far, and he was undeserving of it. Guilt, disgust, disappointment, call it whatever you want, he couldnât decide which one fitted him most.
He choked out, voice wavering and weak as it did when you tried to hold tears back.
âIâm sorry.â A hitch. âIâm sorry I wasnât stronger for you.â
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