Shared Truths Lie In The Graveyard.

A very short story with two characters- Rin and Akira. Trigger warning: Mention of attempt

The chain-link fence rattled under Rin's grip as he stared at the chipped headstone. "Remember when we tried summoning Mrs. Henderson's ghost here? Fourth grade?" His voice sounded flat, like gravel under a boot.

Akira snorted, kicking a loose chunk of concrete toward a wilting dandelion. "You mean when you sneezed on the Ouija board and I pissed myself thinking it moved?" He tugged at his ripped jeans, the silver hoops on his belt jingling faintly. Late afternoon shadows stretched long across the uneven grass, making the angel statues look like they were melting.

Rin slid down against the gnarled trunk of the weeping willow, its branches scraping softly against his hoodie. The fading light caught the thick, rope-like scar circling his throat, pale and ridged against his skin. He didn't flinch when a stray twig snagged his low ponytail. "Still moved.." he murmured, his brown eyes fixed on nothing in particular beyond the crooked headstones. The scar always seemed more visible here, as if the quiet pulled it to the surface.

Akira crouched abruptly, the silver chains on his jeans clinking against the packed earth. His gaze locked onto Rin's throat, intense and unblinking. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. His calloused thumb traced the scar's ragged path, just once, from ear to hollow. The touch was feather-light but carried the weight of every graveyard confession they'd ever shared. "Doesn't look like it healed any better." he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual lazy edge. The wilting dandelion lay crushed near his worn sneaker.

Rin didn't pull away. His dead eyes flickered downward, watching Akira's hand. "Didn't expect it to." The words rasped out, dry as autumn leaves scraping stone. He remembered the ER lights, blinding white, and Akira's frantic shouting muffled by hospital doors. The scar wasn't just skin. It was the moment the world went permanently muted, colors leaching away like old photographs left in the sun.

Akira's fingers curled into a fist against Rin's collarbone, knuckles white. His messy dark red hair fell forward, shielding his face. "You stopped breathing in my fucking arms that night.." he whispered, the words raw, jagged. "Right here." His thumb pressed harder against the scar's deepest ridge. The graveyard air thickened, smelling of damp earth and something metallic, like old blood remembered.

Rin didn't move. His lifeless brown eyes stayed fixed on the wilting dandelion Akira had crushed earlier. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant caw of a crow and the rasp of willow branches against his hoodie. "Still breathing." he finally said, the flatness of his voice making it sound less like reassurance and more like a grim fact recited from a coroner's report.

Akira's fist tightened against Rin's collarbone, knuckles pressing white against dark fabric. "Don't you fucking joke," he hissed, his messy red hair falling forward. "That night... I held you, Rin. Felt you go cold." His thumb dug deeper into the scar's ridge. "I can't live without you. Even if you ain't always with the livin' like the rest of us." The confession hung raw in the graveyard air, stripped bare of any pretense.

Rin tilted his head slightly, letting Akira's knuckles slide against the scar's raised edge. His dead brown eyes finally lifted from the crushed dandelion, meeting Akira's intense gaze. "You never have.." he murmured. The simplicity of it landed heavier than any lament. The willow branches whispered above them, scraping silver chains against denim.

Akira's breath hitched. He yanked his hand back like the scar had burned him, stumbling upright. "Stop talking like a goddamn tombstone!" he snapped, kicking at loose gravel. The chains on his jeans jangled violently. "You're here. Breathing. Even if..." He trailed off, staring at Rin's unnervingly still form against the tree trunk. The fading light carved hollows beneath Rin's cheekbones, deepening the lifeless cast of his skin.

Rin watched him pace. A dry leaf crunched under Akira's worn sneaker, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet. "Even if what?" Rin prompted, his voice devoid of inflection. He knew the answer. Knew it lived in the frantic way Akira checked his pulse sometimes when he drifted too still. Knew it in the extra pills rattling in Akira's pocket, just in case Rin's condition flared again.

Akira stopped abruptly, facing away, shoulders tense beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. "Even if you look like a goddamn ghost half the time." he muttered, kicking at a loose chunk of grave marker. The clatter echoed briefly. "Even if I still hear that fucking gurgle you made when..." He didn't finish. He dragged a hand through his messy wolf cut, fingers trembling slightly.

Rin shifted against the willow trunk. Without a word, he leaned forward, the movement slow and deliberate like moss creeping over stone. His forehead came to rest against the curve of Akira's shoulder blade. The black spine zip-up hoodie rasped softly against Akira's white shirt. Rin felt the tremor still running through his friend's frame, a silent earthquake beneath the skin.

Akira froze. The tension in his shoulders didn't ease, but his hand stopped trembling mid-air. He didn't turn around. Didn't pull away. The graveyard breathed around them- the scent of decaying leaves and damp granite sharpening as twilight deepened. Somewhere beyond the crooked headstones, a lone cricket started its evening song, a brittle chirp against the silence.