He catches me before I fall, holding me to him. 

	Too close. Not close enough. My body arches back for a moment, then comes to rest, my head on his chest, his hands a wall against the raging sea.

	"Why?" He asks. His voice is emotionless, level, and gives away nothing at all. I can't tell what he's thinking. He's looking at me, with those depthless eyes. "..knowing, as you do, that this sword is useless against me, yet still you try..?"

	I want to laugh, but can't find the strength. I'm still looking- caught, if you will, by his eyes.

	"You kept me alive to ask this?"

	A momentary flash of disappointment. A question I have lost the answers to, answers that I should know, but have forgotten. Nothing's clear for me now but those eyes- I'm falling, drowning, and it feels right. I'm tired, but now, at least, I feel warm. 

	I close my eyes and give him the only answer I still can.

	"Didn't I tell you all this before? I can't remember."

	Incongruously, I find I'm smiling. The effort tires me, and I lean back to rest on his shoulder.

	He is silent- but at the same time I feel something strong and soft and warm stretch out to shelter me, like the embrace of great feathered wings. His voice is almost soft, but steady, as he replies.

	"You never were a good liar."

	He holds me tight, for just one moment. Then he sets me free, and I fall.

	I can see his face clearly now. The face of an angel, framed by jet black darkness. My own hair is loose about my face, mixing with his, and I admire the juxtaposition of light and dark as the strands weave, intersperse, and finally, pull apart. His eyes are an abyss of bittersweet warmth that fill the void where memory should be. I've forgotten him, this person, but I don't need memory, because this face, this soul, will always be with me.

	I am falling. In the distance I hear someone call a name: Lucifer.

	" A beautiful name," I think. 

	Does it belong to me, or to him?

	His form fades out before my eyes. He's leaving, as the great star falls from the sky. All around I can feel the panic of people with familiar voices that I can't quite recognise as they flee this place. I too will leave, eventually. But not yet. I have one thing left to do.

	The Gates of Heaven are closing. I see the kid, who won't make it in time, unless I help. Who he is or why I do I don't remember, but I stop the door anyway, just long enough for him to get in. For some reason, I'm grasping a sword. Broken, shattered,  and but a shadow of what it must have been once, but stubbornly holding on, determined to fight to the end. Even as I am.

	I feel myself smiling, a madman's grin.

	 "Although I don't know who you are," I say, "I just can't leave you idiot alone."

	The arm screams, a high thin wail of protest. It can't take the stress much longer. I look at the forgotten boy, again, and my smile widens a bit, because in this world there has been enough sorrow, enough pain, and because parting should be without tears. I struggle for something, anything to say, and the words spill forth from the secret part of my soul that, miraculously, has withstood the pounding of the waves; these are my last words for the kid.

	"Goodbye.. Sets-chan!"

	I stumble back, a pace, while the gap between the doors diminishes, inexorably, all the light of high heaven contained within. The kid's inside them, screaming, a word that could be my name. He's leaving me, or I am leaving him, and strangely I'm not sad but happy.

	After all, I was never meant for Heaven.

	The doors slam shut, the silence of finality descending in the wake of that thunderous sound, and I sense that they'll never be open for me again. 

	My legs won't hold my weight. I sink down and come to rest, leaning on the crack between the gates. The rough surface of the metal chafes, but I hardly feel it. Blood is seeping though the bandages that shroud almost half of my body; hot, warm, and sticky, flowing in rivulets down the mangled courses formed by the dried remnants of old blood.

	Should I hurt?

	I don't. I'm watching the sky as it descends, as the stars fall.

	Is this my last sight?

	It's beautiful.

	I see an echo of the fire in his eyes; a shadow of the brilliance that fills my soul. Even the stars can't match his intensity. And I speak, to the man I can no longer remember.

	"I'll have to thank you. So many shooting stars- did you count all my wishes, to know that exact number?" I break off. No more words are left in me.

	I put my last cigarette in my mouth, to take one last smoke. You used to warn me about the other stuff, but you smoked yourself. I remember. We would smoke together sometimes, sit there killing ourselves slowly until you got up and said you had better things to do. 

	You loved life, didn't you? I never listened properly to half the things you said- but perhaps, if I had, you wouldn't have.

	And I snort. Now I don't even have a light for one last smoke. My body won't move to find one, and the great star hurtles close- it's the Evening Star, brightest in the sky. I smile, since I can't find the strength to do anything else. Heaven lies before me, in all its glory, but I'm stuck where I am.

	My luck, I guess. I can accept that, now- there doesn't seem to be anything else I can do. You told me something about this once, didn't you? You said not to accept fate, to fight. Or something. I'm sorry. I don't seem to be able to remember anything now. I can't fight to grasp the memories; they're simply not there. I'm tired. I don't want to fight anymore.

	I'm sorry if I've disappointed you.

	Warmth. 

	A fragrance floods my mouth, smoke heavy with the dark scent of release. I look up.

	"But you made it to the end, didn't you?" You say.

	Your eyes are closed, your face familiar. I have never forgotten that excuse of a half-smile.

	"Nagger," I say. 

	My eyes close. 

	Not darkness, but a warm, gentle light. I see a door, opening in welcome. Is this.. my dream? The star of hope is falling, plummeting, no longer a bright swathe in the distant sky but warm reality. What should I wish for? I have so many desires, so many hopes yet unseen..

	But in the end, only one that matters.

	I.. 

	..am really..