aquamelt oneshots [oshi no ko]

last words of a shooting star

a/n: mature warning was applied on ao3 for implied/referenced suicide + other topics at hand

———

The morning after, the sun rises; sunlight pooling between the blinds hung up on the window, catching the dust particles between its rays.

Aqua stirs awake.

He wasn't supposed to be alive.

Immediately his head snaps up, staring down at his body, and there is no feeling, no sensation of anything physical remaining, a transparent figure in his line of sight and he realizes, he comes to the conclusion that God must be so cruel to keep his soul roaming despite the separation from his physical form.

All that remained was a lingering feeling of nausea. Of course he'd be punished to eternally experiencing the physical sensations felt up until the moment of his death. Of course he deserved no less than that.

Aqua found himself stuck in between two worlds.

Some kind of purgatory— perhaps his own personal Hell, where he's not exactly alive, but he might as well be, never granted with death's peaceful release, forced to observe the consequences of his own actions without interacting, interfering, this is what he deserves.

This is what he deserves.

Even in death, Aqua deserved to suffer, for he felt he was unworthy of any kindness.

Perhaps there was some deeper meaning to it. Perhaps Aqua's soul was left roaming for good reason.

He didn't know. He didn't want to consider that what was left unfinished needed to be attended to.

At first, Aqua found himself staying in the comfort of his bedroom, analyzing his surroundings, taking in the small nuances present after his departure from the world, after that room was no longer his, such as how the bedsheets were crinkled or how the closet presented itself as disordered, like someone had gone through it in search of something. He'd definitely not left it like that, ensuring that at the very least the room was left tidy and presentable for whoever dared to collect his belongings.

That was the least he could do. His own form of a silent apology.

Fingers grazing over the bookshelf, between the creases and folds of each book with enough force to give himself a papercut. If he were still alive, surely his finger would've cut and bled, blood running down his hand and dripping, ruining each page, tainted with the deepest parts of himself, metallic scent meeting and meddling with woodsy pulp, forever ruining the pleasant aroma. A sign that no matter what, no matter how much he deemed himself as broken or ruined, he was still human at the end of the day.

Was. Not anymore.

He found himself sitting on the bed, surrounded by familiar comfort, unsure of how to process anything.

Regardless, time passes.

———

Unsure of what to do, Aqua observes Melt.

Watches the way he weeps over Aqua from afar, watches how he struggles to understand by himself, never coming to a conclusion that could satisfy his questioning, guilt festering from within the deepest parts of himself, sobbing and screaming out pleas of desperation, his throat raw from sobbing, begging over and over to bring Aqua back, that it should've been him to go instead, with no one to listen to his pleas, repeating over and over like a broken record player.

Aqua listened.

He didn't deserve to listen, to reach out, after knowing the pain he chose to put Melt through.

I'm sorry, he wishes to say, forgive me.

His silent pleas fall onto deaf ears, for there is no one left to listen to his selfish requests.

Not anymore.

Melt's reaction to Aqua's death leaves him feeling discomfort in the form of guilt, for leaving him behind, and for not being able to talk sense into himself before going through with it, unable to finish what was already started, he knows he should've been reasonable and called out for help but in that moment none of that mattered, for he was done, ready to put himself to eternal rest, reaching for the only thing promised to him, promised to anyone, death's haunting embrace.

And yet, here he stood, observing, it seemed that eternal rest wasn't promised to a person like himself. Perhaps he should've expected it, anticipated it, perhaps it could've been enough to stop himself.

There was no going back, and there was no point in longing to unkill himself, and yet, Aqua finds himself longing regardless.

Melt's sobbing fills the room and ultimately pulls Aqua back to focus on what he was there for.

He returns back to observing Melt, unable to shake the feelings of wanting to hold Melt in his arms, the feeling of wanting to reassure him that this was all just a bad dream, that when he woke up in the morning to the sensation of pooled sunlight on his fragile skin, he'd also awaken to the presence of another beside him, proving that regardless of any nightmares trying to break Melt, Aqua would always be there.

Aqua is a liar.

He lied about always being there. All he could do was pathetically observe Melt at his lowest, with everything his own fault, his own mistakes bringing Melt to his breaking point, unable to provide any comfort, unable to cradle Melt or offer reassurance or kiss his gentle skin, he knows how fragile Melt can be, and yet he still chose to break him.

Aqua wishes to make his presence known but he refrains, knowing he doesn't deserve that, knowing the pain he's put Melt through, his own selfish desires shouldn't matter but regardless, he finds himself longing for Melt.

How pathetic of you to beg for forgiveness, he thinks, he knows, of course he knows.

Look at what you did. Look at who you broke. What good are you? All you had to do was say something. He would've been there, you know that, he would've saved you—

No. Aqua knew this was how things were supposed to turn out.

His tale was always meant to end tragically, by his own hands.

If he knew, if only he knew how much he meant to Melt, he'd never have gone through with it.

Melt doesn't understand where he went wrong.

How he tried so, so fucking hard and yet he was unable to save Aqua in the end, always being out of his reach.

He thought Aqua was doing better. He doesn't believe it when he receives the news.

Aqua knew all along.

He'd planned it weeks in advance, counting down the days, never giving any signals, never presenting himself as too much or not enough, no need to raise unnecessary suspicions.

"I should've paid more attention, I should've known—" Melt manages to say out loud to no one between sobs, choking on his own tears, longing and reaching and searching for some way to pin this onto himself, to point the blame in any other direction than towards Aqua, because he knows, from his own experiences with suicidal ideation he knows damn well it's not Aqua's fault.

Aqua stiffens.

You did more than enough.

Despite every remaining part of himself telling him to stop, Aqua steps forward, steps closer to Melt, closer to his beloved, wishing to comfort him in any way possible, longing to hold him close to protect him from the world, for he deserved to be eternal happiness, unlike Aqua.

"I'm sorry," is all Aqua manages to say, a hushed whisper he knows won't reach Melt, as if he was still trying to fulfil his own selfish delusions, as if his words could ever be acknowledged—

"Aqua?"

And that is enough to break him.