Looking at the moon feels wrong.

Seeing it isn't supposed to have such an effect on him, so that he can barely avert his gaze from it again. It isn't supposed hurt that much, should actually make him feel nothing at all.

It's not the moon that you're looking at.

The voices in his head have his voice ever since that day when he and the others came back from the dead again. It's an absurd idea to believe that he, the only person he hoped for, the only person he prayed to stay safe, is still up there, but Chris practically clings to the idea of him still being alive up there.

He just has to be there, Chris just needs him to be there.

He should be here. When he and Michael woke up, he wanted to run towards him, to finally hold him - like he always wanted to, but never thought it was the right moment to make a move, a thing he deeply regrets now - and pretend everything could be all right for the two of them again.

Somehow, Chris keeps staying awake until the middle of the night lately, standing on various roof tops in the city and gazing at the moon, and every night feels the same.

Still, he doesn't stay at home, doesn't try laying in his bed to get some sleep, even when he has had way too little sleep lately. It's because he knows that looking at the moon hurts, but not seeing the moon for one night hurts even more. After all, it's not completely impossible that maybe, maybe he could see some signs of him.

Yuma and Haruto and Mizael told him how they saw his body fall onto the cold ground of the moon, told him how they saw the broken pieces of the rocket that shattered when he tried to land on the moon, told him that even if he didn't suffocate there, there wasn't any way for him to get back down to earth again, but still –

as long as Chris hasn't seen it with his own eyes, which he hasn't yet, he just can't believe that he is actually supposed to be dead on the moon. Even when Mizael told him about the way, the light faded of his eyes and Mizael's own eyes seemed to get wet – and if it would have been any one else, Chris would have been afraid that they might start to cry, – but even then he still refuses to believe he would never see him again; so he just keeps watching the moon, not willing to let himself rest.

Refusing to believe it, when even Yuma and the other children already accepted it, is stupid and childish and Chris knows it, but it just can't be real.

It can't be real that he'll never hear his dumb deep voice again, that sent shivers down his spine whenever he calls him "Chris", pronounced in that dumb Japanese way of his and it sounded so wrong, but at the same time sounded so right.

It can't be real that they'll never be able to celebrate the victory both of them worked so hard for and sacrificed so much for. It just can't be real that they wasted everything for a victory, they couldn't even celebrate together, a victory that can't even be called victory at all, because everything they won doesn't matter to Chris if he is not there.

It can't be real that he is actually on the moon and dead.

One night, Chris sees Mizael, standing on a balcony. His long blond hair swirls around his face, seems to follow the light breezes and reflect the soft moon light. His pale face looks so bright, his lips moving, forming words Chris can't understand.

But Chris does hear his voice. A voice that seems to sing songs for the stars, deep and resonating and simply beautifully, as if it almost dances through the night. Even when he can't make out what the voice is singing about, only the sound of it already tells a story, stories about brave warriors and mystic creatures and the moon.

Chris quietly listens to Mizael singing, singing the song of the stars, and at some point stops trying to understand the text. The melody itself feels so natural as if it talks to his soul and he feels his mind calming down again. He closes his eyes, becoming fully absorbed by the melody.

He stands there, completely calm and peaceful for the first time since what felt like ages, until he hears that Mizael's song is a single simple name.

Kaito