whispers

His sister tells him it’s just a dream.

The words crumble to dust in his mouth before they pass his lips and he wakes up with chalk sketches in his mind of what could be and what isn’t, lost in that enchanted world halfway between truth and lies. Nothing to worry about, it’s just a dream, his sister says and he almost believes her for the split second he’s not thinking Asuna, Asuna, Asuna Asuna Asunaasunaasuna—

(Maybe it’s just a dream.)

“Do you want something to drink?”

It’s like he’s eaten a bite of something sweet and it’s rotting in his mouth, sweetness having lingered for too long on his tongue to remain pleasant. He nods and grabs greedily at the bottle she offers him, pours it sloppily into his mouth, swallows in large gulps. He’s gasping for air when he finishes, slamming the bottle down and choking, “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Her. A-Asuna. Where is she?”

“Asuna?” His sister stares at him in bewilderment, but she doesn’t understand, she doesn’t understand at all.

(Maybe it’s just a dream.)

“She was here earlier on. I know she was. I saw her. She was with me.”

“Kirito-kun?”

It’s her voice again, soft against his breath, tapping on his shoulder. It reminds him of sunshine and lazy days sprawled in the grass together watching the sky, counting clouds and dreaming of the future. The future he doesn’t have anymore, because it’s slipping out of his fingers, sand spilling between the gaps and vanishing in wisps of forgotten smoke.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

She doesn’t understand at all. “Her voice. She’s calling me.”

“Are you feeling all right? Maybe you’re starting to imagine things.” She’s worried now, voice quivering slightly and he remembers feeling sorry towards her because of everything she had done for him. “Maybe you should rest some more.”

It’s just a dream, she says. Just a dream.

(Maybe it’s just a dream.)

But he can remember her kisses and calling out her name, her laughter when she clasped their hands together and fell asleep on his shoulder. It’s not a lie, he protests, because she’s real and I know who she is. It’s not a dream.

His words shatter amid whispers and break off like A su na and As un a, fading away into shadows  because he doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Let’s go somewhere fun, brother,” and he lets himself be led away, grasping futilely at memories and monochrome sketches of fragile sepia drifting away.

(Maybe it’s just a dream.)