If I die young,

Bury me in satin.

Lay me down on a bed of roses,

Sink me in the river at dawn.

Send me away with the words of a love song.

—The Band Perry, "If I Die Young."

"I think we should kidnap Takada next week," Matt suggested. "It's our best chance."

I felt all the blood in my body run cold. I never should have made the plan in the first place—he found it, the most dangerous one, before I had the chance to hide it, and said it would be our best shot to bring down Kira.

But I didn't want to have a plan at all. I wanted to stay with him. The plans required us to separate, but no one should have to die alone—so I called them off.

"No," I said. "I don't want to risk it."

It was true. I knew he would die if we went with the plan, but I knew he would die either way. And while going through with it would save the world… I was selfish. I'd rather be with Matt while I could than save the world from a tyrant killing innocent people every day, under the premise of killing the corrupted. I was likely to be included in those steadily increasing numbers any day now.

Still, I would be with Matt during his last moments, rather than save the world and myself with it.

"Promise me we don't go through with it," I pleaded.

"Okay." He just shrugged and resumed his game.

A week later, at precisely 10:30—I made sure all the clocks in our shared apartment, where Matt and I lived after the hideout exploded, were set exactly right, down to the millisecond—I started talking to Matt. I'd been with him all day, but although many things were weighing on my mind, things I desperately wanted to tell him, I didn't want to scare him. But it was almost too late, and I knew I'd regret it forever if I didn't tell him.

"I've loved you since we were at Wammy's…And always will."

My words startled him out of his game, causing his character to die. It filled me with fear and made me want to vomit.

Would he die like that?

I did the best I could to save him from a painful, violent death—I was armed, so if a robber broke in, I could protect him. I even kept him away from the dairy—he was lactose intolerant, but still drank milk sometimes, anyway.

"I just…wanted to tell you," I finished rather stupidly.

"Why tell me now?" he asked after a moment of silence, letting the words sink in. "Tonight's just like any other."

No. No it isn't, Matt.

How could he say that?

I should have told him earlier.

10:33.

No. Not now.

"It seemed like a good time."

No. It was the worst possible timing. It would have been better to tell him all those years ago, when there was excess time to spend. Not now, of all the chances I had in the past.

10:34.

I threw my arms around him, knowing he didn't feel the same. But he didn't resist.

"Could I get just one kiss? It's all I've wanted, for so long."

I looked him in the eyes, pleading. I didn't want to kiss him if he didn't want it, but I didn't know what to do if he refused.

"Why…Why me?" He was definitely caught off guard by my confession.

"There are so many reasons."

But I have no time to say them. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Matt. You deserve better, deserve to know why. I had this whole speech planned for you, but never said it.

God, I'm so sorry, Matt.

He didn't stop me as I pressed my lips to his, as I pulled him closer and tangled my fingers in his hair, or even as I parted his lips with my tongue.

He trapped his arms loosely around me, as well, but didn't kiss me back.

For the mere moments allowed, I was alive, gloriously holding the love of my life and kissing him, cherishing the moment and the warmth of his body. Even if we had all the time in the world, I couldn't have asked him for more; I finally had the chance to hold the man I loved! For so many years, wasted in retrospect, not held closely enough, it was all I had wanted.

And, for a brief moment before fate tore us apart, I finally had everything I wanted in the world. My life was complete.

But then it was over, cut short. I knew it couldn't last.

I could feel the moment he died, the moment he drew his very last breath. I felt the gradual slowing of his once frantically-beating heart until it finally stopped. I just knew when his eyes closed for the very last time, as the life faded out of him.

I just knew when he died.

And at that moment, I wept. How could he just… die? How could he be alive one moment and dead, still in my arms, the next?

I loosened my grip on his body—I refused to call him a corpse—and wriggled my way out of his cold, unfeeling embrace.

Though two months ago I began preparing for this moment, I still couldn't believe it had happened.

He was dead. Matt was dead.

With a gentle motion, I pushed the hair out of his eyes, more out of need to feel him again than anything: to feel his warm skin, generating heat, the coarse texture of his hair…

But now his skin was cold, lifeless. His heart no longer beating, no longer pumping warm blood throughout his body.

He was dead. Lifeless. Gone.

And I felt so guilty. I didn't let him do what he wanted. Instead, I selfishly stole his last moment, his last day, for my own. I forced him to spend his last moments holding me, kissing me, when he didn't even love me.

And with a stabbing pain in my heart, as the realization that he really was gone sank in, that I stole his final moments from him, I thought, I should have made his last moments special.

I've been looking forward to writing this for the longest time. I always thought the best kinds of stories are "holding a dead body in the rain." And while it isn't raining…It's close.

But I hope you all enjoyed this, and I would love it if you reviewed this. :]