• Our first kiss was in an alleyway. He had begun to cough up blood, and I was scared out of my mind. But somehow, he managed to make it all better. I could still taste the metallic tang of his blood, and the heavily creamed coffee I had given him at the coffee shop where I worked. When he pulled away, he was smiling his sweet smile, and I fell even further in love. I offered to take him to the hospital, but he refused.

    I should have taken him anyway.

    It was a month, maybe two, later. We were walking together, just looking at all the shop windows decorated for Christmas. Snow was falling, and it stood out clearly in his long black hair. His long slender fingers were entwined with my own. The sidewalks were almost empty, but the street was backed up with traffic.
    “What do you say we stop for coffee?” he asked me, his gray eyes sparkling.
    “Okay, that sounds good!” I smiled at him. We started towards the coffee shop.

    We never made it.

    The city was full of alleyways, some narrow, some wide enough to drive a garbage truck through.
    “Why don’t we shortcut through here?” I suggested, pointing to a wide alleyway. He nodded, and we walked into it, talking about the holiday plans. This particular branched to the sides occasionally, but I knew where to go. When we were almost to the end, a few gangsters stepped in front of us. I frowned.
    “Please step aside so we can get through,” he said, his now familiar smile appearing once more.
    “Hm...I dunno, buddy. That girl of yours looks pretty good. What do you say you give her to us?” one of the gangsters said, smirking. I tightened my grip on his fingers.
    “No, I don’t think so.” He was still smiling. The gangsters frowned.
    “Oh? Well I guess we’ll just take her from you!” They pulled out weapons from their jacket pockets; a few wielding knives, and one, a gun. His smile disappeared, and he gently pushed me towards the wall. The gang advanced, and I closed my eyes. I could still hear the sounds of the fight, though. There were a few thuds, and I peered through my lashes to see what had happened. Two of the gangsters were lying on the ground, groaning. He was still standing, to my intense relief. However, the gangster with the gun was also on his feet. I closed my eyes again, and it was a few seconds before I heard the gunshots. I opened my eyes in time to see him hit the gangster in the face and force him to the ground.
    At first I thought the gangster had missed, but then I saw the red liquid dripping to the ground from his chest.
    “Are you alright?” he said, looking at my horrified face.
    “I am, but you’re not!!” I cried, taking out my cell phone and dialing 911. After two years of medical school, I knew gunshot wounds to the chest were very dangerous. Once the operator had confirmed help was on the way, I grabbed him and made him lay down. I rested his head on my lap, but he was still smiling.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, as a tear rolled down my cheek and onto his neck. I shook my head, pulling off my jacket and pressing it over the wounds to try and stop the bleeding. I could hear the sirens getting closer.
    “Don’t worry, you’ll survive,” I told him, trying to smile. His smile disappeared, and his eyes became concerned.
    “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
    “I don’t think those gangsters will want to get up, after being slammed to the ground,” I said, trying to make him smile again. I almost succeeded, but then he began to cough violently. “No, no!” I cried, hoping that this wouldn’t be an attack that brought up blood. He sat up, and I saw him cringe with pain. My hopes were dissolved when I saw the blood from his mouth. The ambulance, police cars and fire truck had just stopped by the sidewalk. Three paramedics and two police ran over, the paramedics with their emergency equipment in hand. He finally stopped coughing, and laid back down. The blood covered almost his entire chest now, and the paramedics were working fast, cutting open his shirt and applying thick gauze to the wounds. His eyes were closed in pain, and his smile wasn’t there.
    “Stay with me, Ha-chan,” I murmured, stroking his silky black hair. His breathing was ragged, and I could see the paramedics doing their best to stop the bleeding. “You’ll be okay,” I told him, but he didn’t respond.
    “Miss, we’ll have to ask you to lay his head on the ground for us,” one of the paramedics said urgently. I nodded, and carefully lowered his head to the ground. I kept a firm grip on his hand, though.
    “Blood pressure 70 over 56 and dropping!’ a young paramedic reported. The older two cursed quietly, and applied more pressure to the wounds. He opened his eyes, and they locked onto mine. I kissed him gently, and I noticed his breath was icy cold. My eyesight was blurry because of the tears building up.
    “Yuki…” he murmured, his eyes dimming. I gasped, knowing that this was a bad sign. I didn’t notice that the paramedics’ hands were slowing. I laid my hand against his face, and his skin was cool to the touch. The snow was still falling, and it mingled with my tears. He gave me that sweet, lovely smile of his, and his eyes closed.
    “No!” I gasped. “You can’t go, because...because I...love you.” My tears were falling thick and fast now, and they landed on his neck. I knew he hadn’t heard me. His breathing had stopped the moment he closed his eyes. The paramedics straightened up, their hands covered in blood. The younger one rested a hand on my shoulder, but I pulled away. A sob escaped my throat, and the paramedics stood and walked away. The policemen went back out onto the sidewalk too, the gangsters in handcuffs. I pressed my face to his blood-stained chest, and sobbed. The snow was cold and damp, and slowly, it turned into a drizzle of light rain. I didn’t care that I was getting soaked. I didn’t care that I had blood all over my hands and cheeks. I didn’t care that it was freezing and I had no jacket. He was gone, and I didn’t care about anything anymore.

    The next week was a blur. I only remember being asked to set the date of the funeral. He had never spoken of any family, or friends, but upon going through his things, I found a letter from someone named Zabuza. I copied down the return address, put an invitation to the viewing and funeral, a two way plane ticket there, and a note to this Zabuza person into an envelope. I addressed it and put it into the mail. I invited the paramedics that had tried so hard to help him, and the policemen who had taken the gangsters away. I invited the woman who had given us each a free coffee because we were “such a lovely couple.” I invited anyone who had known him in the short time I had known him. I even invited the 911 operator, who had responded so quickly and calmly. All I knew was that I wanted his funeral to be filled with people.

    The viewing was hard for me, seeing him lying in the coffin, cold as ice and white as death. I was sitting at a table at the back of the room, in a daze.
    “You’re Yuki, correct?” I looked up to see a tall man, with black hair, gray eyes, and a dead-pan expression on his face.
    “Yes...and you are?”
    “Zabuza Momochi.”
    “Oh, yes, I remember now,” I said, forcing a smile.
    “He was a good kid,” Zabuza said bluntly. “Known him since was little. He moved here when he turned eighteen.” I nodded.
    “Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked him. He nodded.
    “Sorry for your loss, Yuki.” And with that, he walked away.

    The funeral was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. So many sad faces, so many tears. Many people told me they were sorry for my loss. All I could do was nod. After the eulogy, which I had written, but it was too painful for me to read it again, so I had my older sister do it, I sat down at one of the tables. I didn’t cry. It was like I had no tears left. I still hadn’t moved or said anything when one of the paramedics came over.
    “I’m so sorry. We found this in his jacket pocket.” She handed me a small, velvet covered box. Slowly, painfully, I opened it. Inside was a beautiful diamond ring that sparkled, even in the shadow of my hand. I pressed a hand to my lips, and the tears finally spilled over.
    “H-he was going to propose…” I sobbed. The paramedic wiped her own eyes and rested a hand on my shaking shoulders.
    “This may not be the best time, but...those gunshot wounds weren't lethal. They weren’t the cause for…” her voice trailed off. I looked at her, shocked.
    “Then, what did…?”
    “I don’t know, Yuki. I really don’t. I’m sorry.” She stood up and walked away. I was the only one left in the room now. Slowly, I stood up and went over to the still open coffin. He looks so peaceful, I remember thinking. I knelt at the edge, and entwined my fingers with his icy cold ones. The tears were still falling, but not so thickly. I pressed the little velvet box into his other hand, and ran my fingers through his beautiful black hair. I stood up, wiping my eyes. I leaned down and kissed his cold lips. The warm taste of coffee was gone, and my tears left wet stains on his cheeks. I straightened up again, the tears flowing freely. Before I walked away, I stroked his face one last time and smiled slightly. His skin was as smooth and flawless as ever. I leaned down and kissed him again.
    “Never forget, where ever you are...I will always, always love you, Haku.” And with that, I turned and left the room. As I walked through the doorway, I felt a cool breath on my neck. But when I turned around, no one was there. I could still see his face, and to my shock, the corners of his lips were slightly turned up, into a smile. I smiled myself.
    “I love you.”