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Sitting like this is uncomfortable, but it’s strategic. Makoto’s entire body aches—no, more accurately, it feels incredibly heavy, each of his blinks a little longer, as if he’s physically resisting the compulsion to go right to sleep and never wake up with every deep breath in. If he leans back in this chair, even if it’s not an ideal spot for a nap, he genuinely might drift asleep. And that. Well. This isn’t exactly the spot for it.
If Makoto has been sitting here long enough to think about feeling tired, he’s probably been sitting for too long. Sanada will worry if this takes longer than Makoto’s standard weekly visits—that Makoto’d asked for Sanada to accompany him this time was already far enough out of the ordinary—so Makoto gives himself a little shake and squeezes his own hands. He looks steadily out at Aragaki’s sleeping face, where his lashes rest upon the apples of his cheeks.
“I’m dying,” Makoto admits, then presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “...I mean, hello, Aragaki-senpai. I should have started with that…”
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In the final month of his life, Makoto pays a visit to the unconscious Aragaki and spills his soul.
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Bookmark Notes:
HOLY SHIT. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL.