*Bam!* The news rolled in at 1 am while my brain was playing along the lines of awakeness. The TV was blabbering on, and it honestly would have been off if the remote was somewhere to be found. And I honestly wouldn't have been sitting on the couch in front of the TV if I had the ability and energy to get up and lie down on my bed, screw toothbrushes. But I had been half alive on the couch, somehow reasoned by serendipitous destiny-like forces because otherwise the name Tsukiyomi Ikuto wouldn't have stuck out to her like the sorest thumb in the world. That littlest voice wouldn't have shouted "SOMETHING'S WRONG!"

A tiny man in a tiny brown suit was standing in front of a tiny tidal pool with a tiny umbrella to prevent the tiny gusts of wind from blowing his tiny frame away. But behind him was my concern. The background, something lay in the background. I saw a woolen coat and an all too familiar blue, the kind that sparkled by the lake, lying lifeless with too much red and I heard my name; somehow, someone had said my name in their tiny voice.

Everything was tiny now, except for one thought that would not escape my mind. No, God no, it couldn't be, not possible. The thought bulged across my mind, pulsed through my blood, ripped a burning hole in my lungs, slapped at my face with each harsh raindrop, and ached my feet with each listless slam my fuzzy slippers made along the cold harsh pavement. The wind ripped though the small tears in the inseams of my pajamas, goose bumps crept into every crevice my body had to offer, up to the top of my exposed scalp, it was a freezer burn close to hypothermia, but my mind didn't care, the metronomic thought could not, would not, leave me alone.

Not Ikuto, Not Ikuto, he can't be dead, he's not allowed to be dead, I need him here. Those news people were crazy, crazy paparazzi. His violin fan base must have exploded overnight, or while he was away for the summer and I wasn't up to date on the internet! They were wrong, it was a rumor! It wasn't possible, Ikuto couldn't be dead! My feet continued pounding the pavement, hoping with every last breath that he was still out there breathing into his peachy mouth.

The spot they had shown, the one on the ragged edge of calm and war, I knew that spot. I knew that 90 days ago I had stood there, and he had kissed me for real this time, and it made me want to melt like a puddle of chocolate about to boil. And he had looked at me with those eyes, the ones that were the exact color of the setting sun and night sky blended together, so open and honest and caring and beautiful. He held me close, in a firm embrace, silent and stoic in his ways as usual, but my heart could feel him smiling.

Not that silly grinning smirk he liked to display when he had tricked me, or won a debate with me, or showed up on my birthday, on the exact minute I was born, with the perfect present. No, this was his real smile. The smile that on rare occasion escaped his dead bolted soul. The one that made me want to burn money or rob a liquor store just to screw the world because they couldn't have a smile as beautiful as the one on this boy's face. He was holding me tight, and it felt so good, he had natural cologne that smelt as if it was composed of honey and lavender. I never wanted him to let go and feel what the world felt like without his arms around me.

But then I was unsafe. Vulnerable. And he was telling me goodbye.

My eyes began to water as the wind whipped me in the face and tousled my unruly hair with vigor. Each step stung and my shoes were sopping wet at this point, every muscle in my body coaxed me towards the nearest warm bath, or anything to get out of this bitter, morose storm. I didn't care.

Ikuto. IKUTO. Ikuto. His name whispered across my mind as I finally landed in the spot, gasping for whatever oxygen I could suck through the gusts of wind that relentlessly blew. Littering the cliffside were insect-like cameras and annoying newsmen.

Disregarding and crawling under the yellow tape I made my way to where the collection of media leeches seemed to gather, despite a couple of policemen calling that 'a kid like me shouldn't be back here. This was a PRIVATE investigation.' Like I was going to listen at this point.

Being small and skinny, I was able to jut my elbows through the swarm. And that's when I saw it

I pinched and slapped and kicked myself trying to do anything, anything, to escape this gory nightmare. But reality had smashed itself to bits when I saw the limp, soaking body and I felt a bloodcurdling scream shoving its way up my throat. He was dead. Ikuto was dead. My Ikuto was dead. This couldn't be happening. At this point it was unfightable. I collapsed to my knees and let the tears come gushing out, because the world had stopped turning.