fingers entwined

9...

The funeral was short and sweet. Everyone from the volleyball team came in support for Ennoshita. He hasn't once said more than three words since the event. He looked so detached from the world that it pained them.

Her parents knew how close the two were, if anything they were the biggest supporters. Once they received the text from Ennoshita to come to the hospital they nearly died along with her.

All he could do was cry at the sight of her body in the coffin. She looked beautiful as always, but it wasn't her. He refused to believe it was her. The makeup, the dress, none of it was her. She looked so fake.

Her silver ring, now bent and scratched, was resting on a necklace. Her parents decided it would be best for him to hold it. Slipping his ring off his finger, he placed it in her hand. After all it was a pair, right?

He counted every finger as he bent it to hold the ring. One, two, three, four, and lastly five.

Too young to let go. Yet life is too cruel to reverse time.

Here lies y/n l/n

Daughter, student, friend
And knight

May your spirit live on to find peace

--------------------

After the funeral y/n's parents approached Ennoshita. They handed him a notebook. His name was written in the middle, with stickers all around it. "She was waiting to give this to you on your one year anniversary. Please call us if you ever need anything. Our door is always open to you."

He didn't open it until he got home. He was almost afraid to touch it. It was as if her touch would wash away with just the slightest of contact.

ᵖᵃᵍᵉ ¹
ⁱ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ. ⁱ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵏʸ, ⁱⁿ ʰᵒᵖᵉˢ ᵃ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵉˡˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ

ᵖᵃᵍᵉ ²
ʷʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱˢˢ ᵐᵉ, ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵃⁱᵈ

ᵖᵃᵍᵉ ³
ⁱ ˢʰᵃˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵉˡʸ, ᶠᵒʳ ᵒᵘʳ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵇᵉ ᵉⁿᵗʷⁱⁿᵉᵈ

Every page, sweeter than the last. Almost so sweet it nearly left a bitter taste in his mouth. Photos of them, receipts from their dates, random song lyrics, poems, sonnets. Everything he meant to her was here.

One poem stood out to him the most. "Living hand" by John Keats. It was so fitting it could've made him laugh.

All that he could do was tell the stars of their love that could never be.

One...two...three
...four...five...

One...two...three
...four...five...

O̶n̶e̶.̶.̶.̶t̶w̶o̶.̶.̶.̶t̶h̶r̶e̶e̶
.̶.̶.̶f̶o̶u̶r̶.̶.̶.̶f̶i̶v̶e̶.̶.̶.̶

O̶n̶e̶.̶.̶.̶t̶w̶o̶.̶.̶.̶t̶h̶r̶e̶e̶
.̶.̶.̶f̶o̶u̶r̶.̶.̶.̶f̶i̶v̶e̶.̶.̶.̶

"Living hand" by John Keats

"This living hand, now warm and capable

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood

So in my veins red life might stream again,

And thou be conscience-calm'd–see here it is–

I hold it towards you."