a/n: sequel to "an overdose of hydrangeas", written for bps' otp battle 2013. i can't believe i forgot to repost this, wow.

title taken from imagine dragons' "bleeding out".

counting sins;

Somewhere in the freeway, you slam on the brakes with your muddied boots and attempt to catch your breath when the inertia pulls you back. Who knows how many hours you've spent red-eyed on the road, occasionally parking on the gravely side to collect yourself and maybe to spill what's left inside of you? You would've caved in to sleep and buried yourself in the backseat which smells of somebody you never knew – you definitely would've back then. It would only take seconds to figure out that you're not the same person anymore

Forcing your foot on the accelerator makes you weary. You don't have a single clue as to where you're going. You haven't gone out too much in your school days to memorize the whole of the prefecture without the aid of GPS or maps or the stuff that people worry about when they're traveling. Then you blame yourself, because you're alive, but have no fucking idea where you're supposed to stay alive. Eventually, you remember: none of this was your fault. Whoever unleashed the virus must be scorched in flames, and somehow, that makes you feel a little better.

For a while, you come to forgive yourself. A moment of calm prompts you to reach your right hand out to the speakers, and you turn the volume up until all you can hear are the static noises vibrating along the rush of wind. It would have been fine if the damned undead didn't mess with the stations. The uneasiness settles in the base of your stomach once again. Just a single signal would do – a blurred recording of an unfamiliar voice, an old country song that focuses on heavy strumming, a morning announcement from three years ago, a worthless advertisement – anything with the murmur of a person like you would be enough, just so you wouldn't be reminded that you are alone.

And whose fault is that, really?

It all comes down to you pounding on the wheel, the car honking at no one in particular. You do know that sound attracts the undead, and the fact doesn't escape you at all. There's nothing wrong with taking your liberties while there isn't any creature to accompany you. There is something wrong, however, with the way you're thinking of slamming the car against that post, or the way you're burning the lines of your palms on the gearstick, or the way you're trying not to cry when you already are.

You breathe sharply and square your shoulders – standard procedure to combat anxiety – and your fingers loosen their hold. Good. At least, the stance doesn't resemble the clamp of your hands when you're about to pull the trigger. It's kind of ridiculous when your gaze lands on every feature of the vehicle as if you've only started your ride. You notice a picture of a small girl on the dashboard, browning and creased on the edges. There's a rosary looped around the neck of the rearview mirror. You realize that you've never really prayed, and you wonder if things would've turned out differently if you did. Then you take your words back – because you're trying to escape all that's haunting you, remember? You drill that into your head the way you would send the bullets piercing through anyone who's been on the unfortunate end of this apocalypse.

And there, there – you make yourself cry again.

"T…Tetsu," you say. You hold your hand out to the space on the passenger seat, and clench on the empty air, expecting that someone will lace his fingers through yours and assure you that this will all come to an end someday.

I guess I'll have to pretend that I'm doing that for you.

You heave, lips quivering at the road that's lain before you. Meanwhile, I rub circles on the back of your hand, and somehow you don't register that I'm still here. It doesn't matter if you see me. It's probably better this way – you'll only spend more of the daylight questioning if I had really died that day or if I really am real. Some things are best left unanswered.

You speak again. I'm against it, to be honest – it's difficult to sit silently beside you and listen to all of the things you would have said. Or maybe watch you accuse yourself of not being strong enough. But then again, maybe this is a form of therapy. You'll know that your voice is still working, and that you're capable of feeling when you once tried to throw it all away. There's always a catch when it comes to the good things, and no matter how much I would want you to remain awake, you can't let the past devour what you have now.

For good measure, you lower the volume of the radio as you talk to yourself. "I just don't want to be lost anymore, Tetsu."

Forward. You're not lost; you're going the right way.

"I don't know, I don't—" you choke on the words and cough them out, "—it's pointless to be like this. It's still clear in my head, and I wish I would've gone with you to look for the medicine in the pharmacy, or ran with you to the East even though the bus wasn't coming back for us."

It wouldn't have changed anything, Aomine-kun. Your palm becomes drenched in cold sweat, and just for once, I'm going to raise your hand and press it to my lips. The throbbing on your wrist will make me feel envious that you still have a pulse. You won't be able to sense anything, I promise. When the jealousy dissipates, I'll take the happiness in. I'm glad that you didn't have to die the same way that I did.

"What's it like in there, Tetsu?" your tone becomes hoarse, and this is what I've dreaded the most. You have no idea how hard it is to stay here because you think you're lost, and you think you still need me. It knocks the wind out of me when you laugh unexpectedly. "Is it pure white? Is it true that you could float in the sky and have halos above your head and shit like that?"

I'm the one who needed you the most.

Your pitch drops several degrees until you are barely whispering. "Can you hear me, Tetsu?"

Yes. Yes, I can, because you refuse to believe that this freeway will reach an end and you'll find a new life there. I can listen to the broken chords in your throat because you can't move on without staring at the beads of the rosary and praying for me to come back. You'll crumple the folded picture of a girl in your hand and wish that you'll have the chance to rewind the past few days and actually save me the second time around. You'll wish that the picture was mine, so you'll have something to remember me by. But you won't forget me, will you?

As much as it makes me happy to still see you, I'm tired – so tired.

Maybe being selfish doesn't work sometimes.

"I'm sorry, Tetsu," you take your hand back and bury your face into the warmth of the steering wheel when the car comes to a halt. "I'm so fucking sorry for screwing up – damn it, I shouldn't have left you on the streets – I… I wish I could take it back– I wish I would've known that it would hurt like this to lose you."

Don't you know that it's killing me, too, Aomine-kun? I'm a ghost of contradiction – reveling in your words, and wanting to block them out because I can't handle how you're blaming yourself for everything. If you could hear me, I would tell you that it's not worth it. I'm not worth it. You've still got your life to live, and retracing your footsteps won't do you any good.

Your tears are streaming down your cheeks as I take your face in my hands. Can you see me now? I think that your expression does say so. You open your mouth – but it's my chance to talk. You'll have to listen to what I say.

You don't have to apologize for everything you ever did. I would've wanted to survive on a day where we don't have to run, hide, or worry that there are creatures lingering behind us, waiting to tear our flesh apart. But closing my eyes in wishful thinking won't make that fantasy any more real than the thoughts that you have when you're driving in the middle of nowhere. It's a good thing, though, that I couldn't remember how it felt when the undead consumed what I had left of myself, and when you aimed your gun at me, the darkness has never felt more comforting before.

I wish that you could remember me, and at the same time forget about me. All your life you'll wonder why, every time you think of me, you'll see my blood on the pavement and my mouth murmuring, "Please". But I'm telling you that it doesn't have to be that way. It's hard, but not impossible. You'll have to move on eventually.

"I can't, Tetsu," the cry rises in your throat as you grip my shoulders.

You can. I believe in you. I always have.

If there's anyone in the world who can do it, it's you, Aomine Daiki.

Your forehead is warm against my lips, and I never knew that threading my fingers through your hair is like coming back home to a vacation house in the summer, like it feels right in spite of knowing that I'll have to leave soon. Besides, a kiss would be more memorable than a photograph. I'm sure that you would know that. You wipe your face with the sleeve of your gray shirt and look at me with the eyes that have seen the terrors of the world, and have no reason to be afraid of anything anymore.

"Tetsu." You attempt to smile – it's not the best of your smiles, because you're forcing your lips to curve when they are begging to be pulled by gravity. But it's a start.

To me, at the least, my name sounds like "Okay", like an affirmation when you say it.

You turn to the horizon and set your hands on the wheel. They're still shaking.

But I think that you're ready.

I close my eyes, listening to the static noises on the radio and engraving you in my memory. You won't be counting your sins anymore and I'll return to the darkness where I belong, and you won't be able to see me ever again. What matters is that you're not lost. You're moving on. You can't afford to waste your time saying hello and goodbye and hello again to the yesterday that you promised me you will leave behind. You have your years ahead – you'll settle in, find a job, and build a family. You would have changed by then, but you're still the Aomine who volunteered to be on the frontlines when we were still a team. You couldn't save me back then. But you'll find that you can still be a hero for somebody else.

And I –

I will always be here.