I Loved the Butterfly

The Sun is dazzlingly hot on his bare skin, seemingly drilling all the way into his bones. With a sigh, Goredolf, heir of the Musik family, director of the prestigious Chaldea organisation, collapses under an umbrella with all the condensed dignity of a wet dog. But who could blame him? He is on vacations. This is his hot girl summer, and he's going to enjoy it as he sees fit.

Someone chuckles next to him. "Having fun, I see."

"Quite." He does sit up at the voice though, feeling the sand run off his back. "This was long overdue. I needed that."

"I'm glad you're taking care of yourself." The person responds. Then, ever so helpful, they bring a tray of drinks up to him. "Would you like a cocktail, perhaps?"

"Why, thank you." His mustache quivers as he smiles. He directs his gaze down to the tray; many colorful glasses stare back at him, each filled with the most inviting of colors. "Don't mind if I-"

He pauses.

The liquid in the glasses is trembling. The whole tray is trembling, in fact. Trembling in tandem with the hand holding it, fingers charred black.

"Director?" Ritsuka Fujimaru blinks down at him. "Is everything alright?"

Goredolf flinches.

"Director-"

"You cannot be here." He cuts them off. Frantically, he looks right, left. There is no one else on this beach. How has he not noticed? "You cannot be here. You are dead."

"Oh." Fujimaru, true to themself, reacts with an underwhelming amount of shock. "Am I?"

"Don't play with me!" Goredolf yells, scrambling up to his feet. "I saw you die. I- I saw them die. I don't know who you are, but-"

"Hey, hey! Calm down, Director." Fujimaru raises both hands palm up to placate him. "I know I'm not in my body right now, but I don't know if it's still. You know. Around."

It's... not. They never recovered the body. Though, that also means, they never confirmed the Master's death...

"I don't- you- are you truly here?" He asks, heart beating out of his chest. "Is this real?"

Fujimaru makes a face that is difficult to describe. "Real. That's a loaded word, Director. We've both seen our fair share of real dreams and nightmarish realities, haven't we?"

That is true, though this does not help in the slightlest. "Th-then, is it you? Or are you just- some image I made up to torment me?"

And now Fujimaru's eyebrows are shooting up, concern evident on their every features. "Do I haunt you so badly, Director? That you would call upon me even as a ghost, even as a dream?"

"Of course you do. You- you- we couldn't save you." All of this, all of this, all this pain and suffering and watching them physically deteriorate before his eyes- and he couldn't get them home. He couldn't even bring back a body to bury.

Fujimaru's face softens. They reach out to touch his cheek. Their fingers are cold. They've always been; the blood just doesn't flow that well in half-necrosed flesh. "Do you know the parable of the dream of the butterfly?"

Goredolf blinks up at them. Belatedly, he realizes he's starting to cry. "What?"

"Once upon a time, there was a man." Fujimaru carries on. "He dreamed he was a butterfly. Upon waking up, he wondered: is he a man dreaming he is a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he is a man?"

"I, uh," Goredolf can do nothing but stare, speechless, "okay?"

"He didn't know which one was real. If the human or the butterfly was real. I don't know either. I haven't been awake in a very, very long time." They smile at him. It's different from their usual smile. It's much more genuine. And much sadder. "But thank you. Thank you for loving the butterfly."

They lean in, and press their forehead against his. This, this is warm. "Now, wake up, Director. You still can."