the colourless words
we paved our way on empty roads into a grey and gold headstone.

When Mikado thinks about it, he's not sure which side started this fight. What he is sure of is the fact that, pretend gangs and dead gangs or not, this was something that was never supposed to happen. This was something that he – no, that they - were never supposed to get caught up in.

But it's not something he can apologize for now.

Not anymore.

The dark alley's deceiving in the way that instead of a dead end, it opens up into an abandoned parking lot behind an equally abandoned bookstore scheduled for demolition in the next month or so. It's late, and Mikado stands near the rusty, rundown, weed-surrounded parking booth flipping through old mails on his cell phone while he waits. The other members of Dollars who are there this night are equally as impatient, although they show it by smacking the brick walls of the bookstore idly with their makeshift weapons.

It's 11:44:36. There are only a few seconds left to go before the agreed upon meeting time, but the Yellow Scarves still haven't shown up yet. He frowns, grips the phone tightly, and nearly drops it when it vibrates - no ring, of course, the vibrations are already loud enough in the near silence - from the signal of a text message.

He opens it impatiently. They're here, it says. The number says it's from one of his guys placed near the entrance of the alleyway - one of the benefits of being a colourless gang is that his members (or, at least, some of them - certain individuals will never blend in to any crowd anywhere, no matter how hard they try) can stand and not be seen until it's too late.

He's never had to think about it in terms like that, though. This is certainly a first - he's tried to keep his activities well within the anonymous, grey zone of the internet, but things don't always work the way you want them to and what was once a game, a silly prank, has now spilled out the edges and into his real life. He sighs, and steps into the toll booth, tapping the guy he's asked to be his proxy ("If they find out I'm Dollars' leader, they'll think we're weak", he'd explained) on the shoulder as he does.

How many? he texts back, squatting next to the door of the toll booth. He can hear footsteps, and the faint clinks of metal on asphalt, muffled through the thin walls of the booth. The answer's back soon. Thirty. It's about the same as their numbers, but he's still worried. Anything else? he asks.

The reply's late in coming. there's something weird their leader he's and nothing else. Mikado frowns. He's what? Not there? A transvestite? A vampire?

He doesn't want to think about what happened to the guy for his text to have been cut off like that.

The fuzz of blended noise that he can hear increases in volume, until one voice, loud and clear, cuts through it all like a knife.

"Hey. We're here now. Where's your leader? There's a few things I'd like to discuss." Mikado sighs. This wasn't part of his plan, but he can still go with that (and does he have any other options?). He mails his proxy, telling him to step forward, and show the Yellow Scarves' leader the next texts that he sends.

Right here, he says.

The leader scoffs audibly. "Seriously? What, can you not speak?" He pauses, and probably does something that Mikado can't see from where he is. "Ah~, I've got it. You're not their real leader, are you? Your real leader is hiding somewhere, isn't he? Like the coward that he is~" Mikado winces. The Yellow Scarves' leader laughs, a harsh, unforgiving and...

...familiar sound?

He's heard that laugh somewhere before - or rather, something about it seems as if he knows it very well. He does something he really shouldn't be doing and turns, peeking out the door of the toll booth. As expected, nobody takes any notice of him, too focused on the thick tension between the two at the center. Mikado, on the other hand, takes brief notice of everyone. His attention goes straight to the person at the head of the Yellow Scarves; someone young and cocky with a yellow scarf around his neck and bleached hair and piercings and a white sweater and- wait.

It looks a lot like Kida Masaomi. Now that Mikado thinks about it, it sounds a lot like Kida Masaomi too. And – the stance that it takes is a horribly familiar one, one full of confidence and bravado and things that Kida is also - it even moves a lot like Kida Masaomi.

So does that mean it really is Kida Masaomi?

He mails a quick What's up? to Kida's number, because if Kida is not in an abandoned parking lot behind an abandoned bookstore leading a colour gang and about to start a gang fight, then Kida will mail him back quickly. Right? Right.

There's no answer, but the talk outside his toll booth continues.

"Well, whatever," the yellow leader says. "So, y'see, I was thinking on the way here, right? And I realized that things like this aren't fun unless you up the stakes a little. You know what I mean?"

What do you want? Mikado mails.

Possibly-Kida grins. "Ah, you get me~ You and me must have the same kind of soul, not-here-Dollars-leader!" He rests the nail puller on his shoulder. "Winner takes all. How's that sound?"

What do you mean? Mikado asks.

"It's simple," possibly-Kida says. "Winner takes over the other gang. Loser doesn't get the right to exist anymore. How's that sound?"

Mikado wants to laugh. He wants to laugh at how like Kida this sounds, wants to laugh at the fact that he's probably assigning traits of people he knows to people he doesn't know in an unfamiliar, dangerous situation. He wants to go outside and see if it really is Kida, and if it is, ask him what the hell he's doing here, what the hell he's doing, leading a colour gang of all things.

He wants to ask Kida why he lied to him, about not knowing anything about this kind of lifestyle. Wants to ask why Kida couldn't have asked him to help. (With what, he isn't sure.)

But now, now it's too late for any of that.

And so here they are, on opposite sides of the battlefield. Mikado supposes that if he revealed himself right now and tried to call off the fight, Kida – if it was Kida out there – would probably agree, but something holds him back from doing so. And so all he can do is say, Agreed, and watch as the Yellow Scarves' leader, who is probably Kida Masaomi, his best friend of all time, laughs.

"Now we're talking!" He points the nail puller at the nose of Mikado's proxy. "Then, shall we start, or are there any other formalities you'd like to take care of~?"

He wants to write something like, Why are you doing this?.

None is what gets sent on.

"Great!" possibly-Kida says. His voice rises to a shout. "Then I won't hold back!"

And Mikado can only watch as the parking lot erupts into noise and motion, can only watch that person who looks like someone very dear to his heart dash around, yellow scarf fluttering with the movement, and pray that nothing bad happens to him.

He wishes that he'd lose so that Kida won't have to suffer the humiliation of losing like this. He wishes that he'd win so that Kida never has to do this kind of thing again.

He wishes that none of this had started in the first place.

The leader of the Yellow Scarves does not fall because of a death blow. He doesn't even really fall at all, to be more exact. The one who looks like Kida Masaomi staggers over to the parking lot's toll booth quietly, clutching his side, and falls against the far wall, away from view of the others fighting, with a heavy thump.

Mikado looks up. He didn't think anyone would think to come near the booth, but maybe he's mistaken. He looks out the door, curiosity telling him to go see who it is, and is surprised to see probably-Kida pulling the scarf from his neck and wrapping a wound on his wrist with heavy resignation.

He looks closer. This is his chance.

And even through the sweat and tears, through the blood matted in his hair and on his clothes, through the grim expression of determination and pain on his face, he can tell that this is Kida Masaomi. That this is his best friend. Of course he can tell that it's his best friend – this is someone he's spent years of his life with, spent good days and bad days with, someone who he's shared his deepest secrets and heard some in return. This is someone that he knows, intimately, almost as well as he knows himself.

Or at least, it's someone he thought he knew like that. A lot can happen in four years, and Mikado, it seems, is not the only one who has secrets he'd like to keep hidden now.

But still. He wants to call out to Kida, because despite this whole mess they are still best friends (or at least, he'd like to think so) and there isn't anything the two of them can't do together. If there's anyone who can resolve this situation, he knows it's them. He sees Kida pull the knot on his arm tight with his teeth, opens his mouth to say something and—

can only watch as Kida straightens up, using the wall for support, and runs back into the battle.

Mikado tells himself that he'll have another chance in the near soon. He says to himself that it's alright, this wasn't the right place for it, and he reassures himself that it'll all work out in the end.

(Mikado will realize, later on, that he was completely wrong.)

The moon's even higher in the sky and the numbers on both sides are thinning out, each down to the last ten. Mikado's proxy is still doing...okay (nobody can really get out unscathed, in a fight like this). They're still evenly matched, it looks like, and Mikado can tell this is going to be a long, weary battle.

He should be focused on the ones not wearing yellow, the ones that he is (supposed to be) leading, but he can't. His attention is drawn, always, to that brave and cowardly figure in bloody clothing; the one whom, in the end, he doesn't really know anything about. He can only hope that Kida is doing okay, that he'll come out of this relatively whole and then, from here, they can work towards something better than what they have right now.

His cell phone vibrates. He jumps, and nearly drops it in shock. He hasn't gotten a message almost all night, and a silly part of his brain thinks it might be Kida (but that's not right, you can't text in the middle of a gang fight) as he fumbles to open it.

How are we doing? It's a message from his proxy. Mikado nearly deletes it in disappointment, but taps out a quick reply instead. Fine. Keep up the good work.

He sighs, leans back, and looks out again.

Kida is not there.

He nearly drops his phone again, and clutches it tightly as he looks around the bodies on the ground, hoping hoping hoping that he won't see blond hair and a bloodstained white hoodie and a small flash of yellow on a wrist.

He doesn't, and the relief is greater than anything before. But then – that brings up the question, where is Kida now? He contemplates stepping out (carefully) to look for him but in this kind of situation, that might not be the best idea ever. But he's hesitated before, and even now he's started to regret that decision.

His phone vibrates again, cutting through his thoughts. He frowns, expecting another message from his proxy, and nearly drops it (again) when the sender reads Kida Masaomi. He opens it, holding his breath, not knowing what to expect.

Mm~ Not much, it says. Mikado blinks in confusion before realizing that it must be in reply to the mail he sent at the beginning of the night. He looks at it thoughtfully.

If Kida is here, in this parking lot, then that must mean that Kida is too busy (fighting) to mail him back. But if Kida is mailing him back, then that means that he isn't busy at the moment. In turn, that means that Kida is no longer in the parking lot. So then, where is he? And why has he left?

Mikado stands. He's made up his mind, and this time – he is sure of it – he will not hesitate.

Mikado hadn't exactly prepared for a situation n which he left his cover, but it was still easier than expected. Even though the numbers in the lot were still slowly decreasing, and the confusion of battle wasn't there to keep him from notice, nobody notices him as he edges along the sides of the parking lot, to the entrance (and exit). If Kida wasn't among the ones fighting, he reasons, and not among the ones lying on the ground, then there's only one way he could've gone.

He moves quickly once he's out, keeping an eye out up ahead for the familiar back of his friend. He doesn't pay attention to anything else – even the Dollars have slipped his mind for now – as he hurries down, praying that he—

trips over something leaning against the wall. He winces, brushing the dirt and god knows what else from his scraped palms and hopes that he didn't land on anything nasty, as he looks at what he fell over.

His eyes follow the legs – black pants, nothing special – up to a familiar white sweater (covered in blood) and a familiar face (with an expression that hurts just to look at) and oh god it's—

"Kida...kun?" he asks.

Kida is many things, but one of them is not a coward. Another of them is not an idiot (even if he may not act like the brightest crayon in the box at times), so when he realizes that his instincts are beginning to dull and his sight's starting to grey out at the edges from time to time, he's not stupid enough to keep on charging at full blast and motions to his second in command that he's just gonna take a bit of a break.

The gash – he thinks it's a gash, he hasn't checked it out yet – in his side aches, a sharp pain that breaks through his thoughts before he can get to anywhere important. He can feel his heartbeat acutely in his chest, his ears, and in his side, slowly pumping blood out his wound.

He frowns, considering his options as he presses a hand to it. His scarf isn't long enough to bandage something like that, and besides, he'd probably lose more blood from the one on his wrist. He tries to think of another solution – there has to be one, he just can't figure it out just yet – when something falls over him and onto one of his legs. He winces, and tries to get a better look through the darkness of the alleyway at who it was.

"Kida...kun?" that someone asks. His blood runs cold.

"...Mikado?" Kida asks tentatively. It can't be; it shouldn't be – this is one of the sketchier areas of Ikebukuro; he's told Mikado to stay out of this neighbourhood, and the sounds and signs of a gang fight should've kept anyone stupid enough to come here in the first place away. But—

"Kida-kun!" that someone exclaims. "What are you doing here?"

He squints in the darkness. "Mikado, that you?" The someone – Mikado – nods. He feels like laughing; the kind of laugh that only comes out when you're completely overwhelmed by the situation. He struggles to find the words he needs to say, to find the false bravado that he puts on in front of his friend. "Ahhh, I was out on a walk and took a wrong turn...how embarrassing~ Can you believe it? Me, a worldly young man of Ikebukuro, getting lost!"

Mikado leans over him in concern. "But Kida-kun – you're bleeding, what happened?"

Kida winces. He'd hoped that the darkness of the alley was enough to hide the blood on his clothes, but then again, red shows up pretty well on white. "I tripped down some stairs," he says easily. "I think I might have twisted an ankle or something, so I'm taking a bit of a break~" It's the fakest lie that anyone has ever told, but he can't bear to tell Mikado the truth.

But Mikado deserves the truth. Kida knows that. He knows that he won't be able to protect Mikado blindly forever, and that someday Mikado will find out about that dark side of Ikebukuro, that side that so many people (including himself) have gotten trapped in. He knows that the best way to tell him is to tell Mikado himself, because that way there's no risk of Mikado getting trapped as well.

But he can't bring himself to do that. His past (and present) are stained with blood and events that should never have happened, things that he's not proud of at all. He doesn't want to tell Mikado because of his own selfish feelings, because of his own fear of the shame that'll come when Mikado finds out what he's been up to this entire time. He doesn't want Mikado to find out that he – Kida, his best friend, someone that you should never keep secrets from – has lied to him. Mikado thinks he's above that, and Kida doesn't want to destroy that image, as selfish as that is.

"—ance," he hears Mikado say. He blinks in surprise – he's missed almost everything Mikado just said. He chalks it up to being distracted by his own thoughts, but a dark part of his mind says it's the blood loss destroying his concentration.

"Sorry," Kida says apologetically, "what was that?"

"We have to call an ambulance," Mikado repeats frantically. "You're injured, you have to get treated and—"

"No," Kida says quickly. "No, it's okay." Ambulances mean accident reports (and there's no way he can pass this off as a fall down the stairs to a paramedic) which means that the police will be called which means that the Yellow Scarves will all, most likely, be arrested, if that happens. He can't have that happen – he still needs his guys. "I'll be fine," he reassures Mikado.

"Are you sure?" Mikado asks. "Your...your hands are bloody, are you okay?"

Kida smiles weakly. "It must have been from when I fell – I must have scraped them when I caught myself." He reaches a hand up to flick Mikado on the forehead, but thinks better of it when he realizes it was the hand against his side, now dripping with blood.

Mikado grabs it anyways. "Don't say that!" he says. "Come on, I'll get you to a hospital...is there one nearby? Sorry, I don't know Ikebukuro as well as you..."

There is – the one that Saki's at. But Kida can't leave. He told his second that he'd only be out for a bit, and it's already been a bit and a while and he needs to get back to his guys; needs to get back to the battle and win so that the Dollars will never, ever, ever be a threat to him or his friends or anyone ever again.

He comes out of his thoughts to see Mikado trying (and failing) to get him to stand up. He laughs weakly, but he realizes that the truth is, he can't move his legs enough to help Mikado out even if he wanted to.

"Sorry I replied to your mail so late," he says suddenly, trying to change the subject. Mikado stops whatever he's trying to do and looks at him in surprise.

"It's okay," Mikado says. "I know we're not glued to our phones all the time." He pauses, like he's looking for the right words to say. "Were you...busy?"

Kida curses mentally. He hadn't texted back because he was busy, yeah, but his busy was beating up some Dollars members in an abandoned parking lot. And he definitely cannot tell Mikado that. "Y-yeah...sorry, I bumped into Yumasaki-san and Karisawa-san and everyone and they ended up dragging me to this month's release of G-Fantasy and then—and then—." He breaks off into silence. "...sorry, what was I saying?" It's getting worse, he knows. He can barely keep his concentration on the words coming out of his own mouth and is it just him or is the alley getting darker and Mikado's concerned face (what a nice kid, really) keeps on slipping in and out of focus and—

"It's alright," Mikado's voice says soothingly. Kida looks up blurrily, and grins.

"Yeah," Kida says. "I'll...I'll have to get mad at them later, I'm so tired...I don't know if I'll be able to wake up in time for school tomorrow morning, you know? I just want to rest, Mikado. You know that feeling?" Mikado nods – at least, Kida thinks he's nodding, he can't really see too well anymore – and just grips his hand tighter. Something falls onto his hand and he thinks it's just blood, maybe from the scratch on the side of his head or something, until he realizes that it's cutting a track through the dried blood on his hand.

"Hey," he says shakily, quietly, like his voice is about to give out any second now (with the way he's feeling, he wouldn't be surprised if it did), "Mikado, are you...are you crying? What're you crying about, you wimp?"

Mikado dashes the tears with one hand. "Nothing," Mikado says, sounding just as shaky as Kida does. "Sorry, Kida-kun."

And Kida can only smile weakly, and say empty words, like "Hey, don't cry, you'll never pick up any girls that way, you know? You gotta smile, man, otherwise nobody will ever wanna talk to you." Mikado only nods, and despite what he's said before he's still crying and Kida doesn't know why but—

"Don't cry, you wuss," Kida says, reaching up with his other hand to wipe away the tears that Mikado doesn't seem to have noticed. He winces slightly at the blood that his fingers have left behind, but it's too late to do anything about it. "I'm not gonna be here all the time to be able to take care of you, you know. You gotta man up! You're already in high school, Mi~ka~do! What would Anri-chan say if she sees you like this? You'll lose all your cool points with her~"

Mikado only nods. Kida knows he's fading at this point in time; there's no point in denying it any longer. He can't quite feel his arms so good anymore, and he's feeling more lightheaded and dizzier than he's ever felt before in his life. The sounds from the parking lot are all blurring and fading into white noise, and the only thing he can focus on is Mikado, gripping his hand like a lifeline and not caring a bit at the blood rubbing off onto him.

"Hey," he says, "Mikado, what time is it?"

Mikado fumbles for his phone with one hand. "Uh...about two or so, I think? Why?"

He sighs in relief. "Then I still got time." He grips Mikado's hand a bit tighter, although with what little strength he has left, it's not by much. "Hey, Mikado, you should get home. This isn't the best part of 'bukuro to be in, and it's getting late and we have school tomorrow."

Kida knows that at best, this isn't going to go well. The truth is, he doesn't want Mikado to leave; he doesn't want to be alone when he fades, here, in this dark place with nothing familiar around but—

he doesn't want Mikado to see him like this either. His lies are slipping, and he's pretty sure that Mikado is super suspicious of him right now, what with all the crap that he said earlier. This would be the perfect chance to tell Mikado the truth, to let out the burden that he's been carrying for these past four and a bit years, to stop pretending, especially because right now it hurts to try and he can't remember what he's said and what he hasn't and what's true and what isn't and...

"Mikado," Kida says, "do you have a second, actually?"

"Of course," Mikado says fiercely, and Kida can't help but smile at that fierce loyalty.

"I got something to tell you," Kida says. "I..."

But he doesn't know where to begin. He can't just say it outright; he's too scared of that (and it's too blunt and brutal, to just say it like that), but the words, all the words he's wanted to say for the past forever but couldn't because there was nobody to tell them too are all clogging in his throat and he can barely speak and it feels an awful lot like he's going to cry and—

"It's alright," Mikado says soothingly. He wants to laugh – when did their roles change? Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? "I understand," Mikado says. And Kida doesn't want to try and think too deeply on that (or maybe he can't); doesn't want to question it. For once, he just wants to be told that it's okay, that he doesn't have to keep fighting anymore.

He sees Mikado grab his hand with both of his, holding on like nothing else, and he has to laugh. "You should go home and sleep," he says slowly. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine..." He sees Mikado's mouth moving but he can't really hear anything except for a roaring in his ears.

But that's okay. It'll be okay later, once he's rested and better and all that. "Well then," he murmurs. "I still have time, right?" Mikado nods fervently. "'kay, wake me up in a bit, alright?" he asks. "I gotta go home and change before school, they'll kill me for wearing this in. I'm going to sleep for a bit, so..."

His eyes close.

Mikado starts sobbing – he can't help it – as soon as he feels the hand in his own go limp. His fingers move, shakily, tracing down the line of his thumb to beside one of the tendons on Kida's wrist to feel for a pulse, shifting the silver bracelet down as he goes. There isn't anything the first time he tries, and he keeps on shifting his fingers from spot to spot, sure that he's just missed the steady thump of a heartbeat that just has to be there.

But he doesn't succeed in doing anything except smear the blood on Kida's wrist around.

If only – if only he hadn't agreed to this. If only he'd told Kida the truth earlier, if only he hadn't continued to lie about Dollars. If only he'd called out to his friend earlier that night, then maybe, then maybe Kida wouldn't be-

He refuses to even think the word.

If only, if only...

But these are only possibilities that will now never come alive, and despite how much Mikado wishes otherwise; despite how much he will tell himself that it never happened, that tomorrow will be a perfect, normal day, part of him – part of him that he's trying desperately to bury underneath memories of the past and dreams of the future – knows it'll never happen.

As life tends to move on.

Anri is slightly worried when Mikado doesn't show up for school on Monday, but she figures that he probably just has a cold or a fever, or something equally as mild.

Still, when lunch comes around, she steps over to the 1-B classroom to ask Kida – they're best friends, he has to know.

"Excuse me," she says loudly, voice soaring over the noise, "is Kida Masaomi-kun here?"

The group of boys near the doorway look at her (or, to be more specific, at her chest, but she ignores that). "No, sorry," one of them says.

She turns towards them. "Is he in the cafeteria, then? Or on the roof, maybe?"

They shake their heads. "No," another one says. "He isn't here at all today."

She bows. "Thank you." As she walks back to 1-A, she frowns thoughtfully. If both Kida and Mikado aren't here today, they could be skipping class, out on some random trip to some fun place. (She's vaguely jealous.)

But something about that still doesn't sound right to her. Mikado is a class rep, and Kida is on the disciplinary committee (as ironic as that is, what with his blatant disregard for the uniform rules and all) – so why would they both be cutting class?

Maybe they're both sick. Maybe they hung out on Sunday and both caught the same thing and are both at home with the same sort of cold, or fever, or something.

That has to be it, right?

Mikado isn't there the next morning either, and, judging by the lack of flashy attention she's received on the way to school that morning, neither is Kida. She frowns, but doesn't say anything to anyone about her concerns. They're probably still just both sick (if that was even the reason in the first place).

The PA system crackles to life during homeroom, startling everyone into silence. "Please gather in the auditorium for an assembly immediately," someone – it sounds like the lady at the main office – says. Anri frowns, but herds everyone in her class there anyways.

Anri can't see very well from her spot in a middle row, but what she can see is a framed photo on a table surrounded by white lilies. The teachers are all serious-faced and sombre, all dressed in black. She doesn't want to think it, but...

...it has to have been a death in the school. She isn't quite sure whose – but if it was anyone's she knew, then wouldn't she have heard about it already? It's a small relief, but the grating ring of feedback stops her train of thought and the noise in the room.

The principal starts speaking. "On Sunday night," he says, "a grave tragedy occurred. We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Kida Masaomi, from class 1-B..."

The auditorium immediately breaks out into whispers and mutters. "Kida Masaomi? Who's that?" "Wasn't he that guy who..?" "Ah, yeah, I know the one! The one who..., right?" "No, the kid who..."

And for Sonohara Anri, the world just stops.

Mikado hasn't been to school for the past two days, and he doesn't think he'll go to school tomorrow either. His computer has been untouched, his texts unchecked and if anyone had called him he probably wouldn't have answered either.

It doesn't feel right. He doesn't know why this had to happen; why of all people it had to be him. It's not fair, he thinks. Not fair that Kida Masaomi has moved on from the world, and that the world has moved on without Kida Masaomi.

He sleeps.

He's woken up by the setting sun shining through his windows, and the incessant ringing of his cellphone near his head. He's still half asleep when he picks up, and through the haze of sleep he wildly thinks (no, hopes) that it'll be Kida who's calling.

But it's the soft, quiet voice of Sonohara Anri coming through the phone's speaker instead. "Ryuugamine-san?" she asks. Mikado doesn't bother asking her how she got his number – the overwhelming sense of disappointment is numbing his sense of curiosity.

He rolls over. "...yeah?"

"Did you hear? About Kida-san?"

He tries not to choke on the lump in his throat that's come up at the mention of his name. "...yeah."

"I'm...I'm sorry," Anri says quietly.

"...yeah," Mikado says.

"Will you be okay?" she asks.

"...yeah," Mikado lies.

"Alright, then...oh, will you be at school tomorrow?" she asks. She sounds concerned, but he can't bring himself to care.

"...yeah." He waits for another meaningless question, and hangs up when it doesn't come.

There's no point in trying to hold back the tears because he knows they'll come anyways. Everything reminds him of Kida, and closing his eyes doesn't work either because of this pesky little thing called memories (eleven years and a bit's worth) that continue to bother him.

He still can't believe it; doesn't want to believe it either, and as long as he shuts himself inside his room he can pretend that it's still the case, that his best friend, that Kida Masaomi is still alive and that it was all a bad dream. That he'll wake up and everything will be back to normal again.

The world feels empty.

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to move on.

Um, hello! I'm namikun masaki, and this is sort of an unofficial deanoning. This fic was written for the Durarara! kinkmeme on Livejournal, at . com (without the space), threaded under 1343097 in part 1. There's also a bonus posted there (and at my fic journal, . com - again without the space) so go check it out! ;D

Title shamelessly stolen from Eisley's Invasion, and summary shamelessly stolen from 3OH!3's Streets of Gold.

And god, it's been so long that I can't even remember what I used to do in a/ns. /laugh