3. The Air is a Butterfly

But what awaited you was Tartarus,
And a black wave of death.
You died. No one kissed you, no one wept.

— Giacomo Leopardi, To Italy

Fuck.

You wake up on Graduation Day and can only think fuck.

You have spent a whole month as yourself, the first, true you, before anything happened, before everything happened so many times. The promise of February is a sweet song that pushes you forward, the momentary reward for playing your role.

It used to be so easy.

-.-.-

Aigis takes one look at you at breakfast and she knows.

"I'm sorry," you tell her, for the past month.

"I'm sorry," she says to you, for the coming day.

You retreat to your room to change out of your pajamas and into your warrior suit.

-.-.-

At the end of every cycle, you bring out the photo of the Yakushima beach, the one that some stranger took at the end of that vacation weekend, of all of you in a group. You look at each of your faces: young, just approaching the end of adolescence— skin peeling on your nose in a hint of red—in a swimsuit that would have outraged your mother (or you'd like to think she would have given in to rage)—standing with emphasis on one foot, sand all over your legs, turning creamy skin into a grainy image on the photo paper—a floppy hat in your hand, the other hand giving a choppy wave into the camera—Junpei's arm around your shoulder and other arm around an alarmed Fuuka, and to your other side Yukari is puckering her face into a pout the way she sees on magazines, and Akihiko is right behind you, his towering height casting a long shadow behind all of you, his face pulled in a smile, with Mitsuru by him, standing regally and primly but her gaze not heavy for once—you are happy to be young, pretty, undefined, and with a world of promise in a blue sky that merges with the blue waters.

You like to think that for a weekend, you knew what the future means.

-.-.-

There's another photograph, on less expensive paper but stiffer, like cardboard. It's a quick shot of you and Akihiko at Christmas, in that photo booth that you drag him into. He doesn't know how to behave for the cameras, for others to see, but he surprises you by tucking you into his arm, his face easing into a smile.

You loved Akihiko that first time, and every time afterwards you try to recreate that you by loving him. (This is why Shinjiro never stands a chance, isn't it?)

You can almost still feel that pale space between where your wrist and his touch, his skin against yours, the soft underside of his pulse where all his vulnerabilities and mortality are, against where you are still a living thing, not a martyr or messiah or the new girl with bobby pins once again—but just a girl who forgets how long she has to live, and instead is remembering the days when she has taken his hand in hers. You see, in her eyes, your past.

You think that with your collection of a million—two—photos, you have captured the tumbling million—billion—moments of possible existences.

You have both the past and the future, what else do you need?

-.-.-

Shinjiro is the first to arrive, despite being the furthest and the worst off, coughing as his hand stops midair to touch your cheek. That's what he is, you see in his suddenly sardonic smile, to reach out and stop.

Akihiko arrives not long after, teeth clenched at the sight of you, pale and unfocused, taking your hand in a way that he only recently relearned.

Then, like a burst of wind, the rest of them, surrounding you with questions and sobs and anger and sadness.

But you rest your head in Aigis's lap. Hard, solid, cold, her steel hand going through your hair. You bury your face in her rigid stomach, because you do not trust what your eyes will say to the rest of them.

Someday, you think, you will get the combination right—every little choice you make, down to the number of flakes in your cereal that morning, will be just right, and the lock will break, and you will be allowed to go on.

And maybe you die—finally—or maybe you live and see Shinjiro wake up. Maybe he kills himself with a real bullet to the head after a year, and maybe Akihiko drops out of school to bang up some rough rogues around the city like some damned vigilante in the movies, but unlike the movies he doesn't get to do it for very long. You of course visit him in jail for as long as you can, but eventually all things change. Maybe Junpei moves in by himself and slowly loses himself to the fucked-up Chidori living in his head and becomes as fucked up as well. Maybe Yukari goes away, because she has always been the most well-adjusted one, in the normal ways, and of course she gets drawn into shooting up her arm like some degenerate 80's drifter, because what other rush could she get now? Maybe Mitsuru falls into poverty because her company is dead after a whirlwind of scandal that she willingly published, headlines and all, in a deluded sense of retribution, and because she has never thought of being not-rich. Maybe Ken grows up and gets a girlfriend with a short bob, and for Christmas he puts pins in her hair and makes love to her, and they get a dog and get married and he tells her every morning how stunning she looks with her hair just like that. Maybe Aigis rusts because Mitsuru can no longer pay for her repairs, and she sits, for eternity, in complete immobile hell, sentient and unable to change a thing. Maybe Koromaru dies—no, of course he will die, he is a dog, after all. Maybe Fuuka gets so upset over Koromaru dying—because who else does she have, really, beyond that lesbian friend who moved away to skinny runway models—that she cooks and finally kills somebody with her cooking—herself.

Or—or maybe, Shinjiro wakes up and he goes to rehab, and with anti-depressants that he deals on the side, he gets well, and finds a docile cat to love. Maybe Akihiko finishes school and joins the police force and finally finds a place where his hard justice shines like a diamond. Maybe Junpei moves in with Chidori, who lives once again like her flowers, and slowly she loses herself in the normalcy of Junpei, just a boy who's into gothic Lolitas and cheap porn and fighting games. Maybe Yukari moves away and comes back every year for Christmas, bringing with her a different boyfriend every time, but each of them will be nice and in an ugly sweater. Maybe Mitsuru gives away her company to a charity, and she herself rides away into the sunset on her motorcycle, hair loose and speeding. Maybe Ken grows young again, and becomes a Featherman illustrator and game tester, and starts visiting his mother with happy news. Maybe Aigis stays forever young, and each generation after them knows Aigis as the beautiful aunt with a sorrow to her smile, as if she is seeing somebody else through them, like Peter Pan finding all the Wendys but there was one original Wendy who gave him a thimble. Of course Koromaru dies, but he fathers a litter of pups before that, and Fuuka becomes a full time dog show judge, and never ever picks up cooking again, until Shinjiro one day starts teaching her again, and they look at each other and know that they have a shared love, even if it is for somebody else, and it is more than they can ask for.

-.-.-

This story goes on, without an end.

Because all little girls grow up, save one.

Theodore loves her, like he has never known anything before or after her. And so he keeps her locked in a circular room, because beyond that room is the eternal price and before is irrelevant, and he is content to watch her spin round and round and round, forever and ever and ever.

Igor chuckles, and lets his assistant have his toy.

You wake up, and it happens.

Again.