Close to Nothing

I brush away the tears with the back of my hand, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. They sting more than usual now, not because I'm crying harder, but because every tear that falls feels like another grain of sand from my hourglass slipping away. I smile. A tired, worn-out smile. It's not the kind of smile I used to wear back then—those smug, sarcastic grins I'd throw around like candy. This one is heavier. Real. Because I've finally made up my mind.

This is it.

I've chosen. I know what I want. Even if the price is steep.

Days pass like falling petals. Soft, fleeting, delicate.

My routine hasn't changed much. I still get up. I still walk out of my apartment every morning, scarf wrapped around my neck, coat heavy on my shoulders, and I step into the winter air like it's the first time I'm breathing again. I roam. I wander. I look at people. I search.

To see if they still see me.

Some still do. A glance here. A startled look there. A curious child pointing. But less and less each day. The number is dwindling. Just like the sand inside the glass I carry with me now.

My Hourglass.

It's not tucked away in my drawer anymore. It's with me. All the time. In my coat. In my hand. Sometimes resting on the bench beside me as I sit across the street from the Ricebowl Haven where Akari works.

I watch her.

Not in a creepy way—I mean, okay, it might look a little creepy—but this is different. This is all I have left. Seeing her laugh, smile, mess up the orders, bump her head on the cupboard, make that scrunchy face when she tries to remember something. That's what I hold onto. That's what I measure against the falling sand.

How many more times can I see her smile?

How many more times can I protect her before I disappear completely?

Because I am disappearing. That much is clear.

Today, I walked past a group of teens, loud and rowdy as ever, and not a single one flinched. Not one glance. It was as if I didn't exist. Like I was just a breeze passing by.

Only the wind acknowledged me.

But Akari... she still can.

For now.

She doesn't know, of course. I've kept it from her. Every danger that's come her way, I've intercepted. Silently. Without her noticing. A loose bicycle skidding too close, a toppled ladder that should've landed on her, a speeding car at the intersection—every little danger, I've used my powers to push fate just slightly off course.

Every time I do, the sand trickles faster.

But I don't regret it.

This isn't about duty anymore. Not about being a Time Warden. Not about fulfilling some ancient vow or honoring celestial order. No. This is about me now.

This is about her.

This is about us.

And maybe that's selfish. Maybe that's not what I was meant to do. But I've given eons to time. To duty. To balance. I think... I think it's time I live for something else.

For someone else.

For Akari.

I press my palm against the cool glass of the hourglass. The sand inside shifts, slow and deliberate. Almost gone. A few grains left.

It's funny, isn't it?

How something so beautiful can also be a countdown to your end.

But I'm okay with that. Truly, I am. Because every time I see her laugh, or cry over a drama, or scold me for overeating whenever she cooks for me, I feel alive. Genuinely alive. And that's something I haven't felt in a long, long time.

So I keep walking. I keep watching. I keep protecting.

And I keep the hourglass close.

My time is running out.

But if I can buy her a few more smiles, if I can keep her safe a few more days, then it's worth it.

It's all worth it.

I don't know how long I have left. A month at most, maybe less. But I'll use every second, every grain of sand... for her.

Because this is my happiness.

And I'll protect it until the end...

I've long accepted that tears are a part of this life—mine, especially. But today, as I stood on the other side of the street, hidden in the shadows, watching her... they fell for a different reason.

Akari.

Her smile, her soft voice as she talked to a customer, the way her eyes crinkled even when she's faking a grin. I know her expressions too well now. Too well for someone who shouldn't have lingered this long. Too well for someone who's slowly becoming... nothing.

And even from here, I could feel it—every time I use my powers to shift the air slightly, to slow time just enough to stop that shelf from falling, or keep that guy from bumping into her with hot coffee, the hourglass in my coat pulses like a beating heart. A dying heart.

Each grain of sand that falls is another piece of me I'll never get back.

I pull the hourglass out of my coat pocket, watching the remaining sands swirling, so little now. It doesn't even glow like before. It's cold, quiet. Like it's mourning with me.

I head toward Fried Chicken Heaven, half out of habit, half out of longing. Maybe... just maybe.

But as I step in front of the automatic door, it doesn't open.

I wait.

Still nothing.

I wave my hand.

Nothing.

And yet—I'm here. I can still see them.

Through the glass, the scene is so painfully mundane that it almost breaks me. Liza is yelling at someone in the kitchen. My manager—Martin, Mr. Mustache himself—is sipping coffee at the counter, unbothered. It's loud. Busy. It's alive.

And I'm no longer part of it.

But I remember.

I remember the ridiculousness of the mascot suit I had to wear, shouting at people to come try the boneless nuggets. I remember how it actually went viral. People laughed at me online—some mocked, some loved it. I didn't care. It felt like I mattered.

I remember sweating buckets in summer heat just to hand out flyers with cheesy taglines like "Crispy love in every bite!" Liza's constant teasing, always trying to hook me up with random customers. The way Mr. Mustache pretended he hated all of us when he really didn't. He'd sneak us ice cream after long shifts. Let us play our dumb music during clean-up hours.

I press my forehead lightly against the glass.

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache," I whisper, voice cracking. "Thank you for being the first human to give me a shot here. Even when I burned chicken. Even when I made the mistake of accidentally deep frying a towel. Even when I short-circuited the fryer because I thought water could clean oil."

I laugh—genuinely—for the first time today.

"Thanks for letting me belong. Even if it was just for a little while."

Inside, he takes another sip of his coffee, flipping a page in the newspaper. I lift my hand slowly and salute him from behind the glass.

One last time.

The bell above the restaurant chimes as another customer enters. The scent of fried chicken floats faintly through the cracks. I breathe it in.

It smells like my old life.

Like something I'll never get back.

"Everyone... Thank you so much..." I said as I stepped away.

The streets feel a little colder than usual. Maybe it's the wind. Or maybe I'm just fading faster than I expected. I think I used too much of my powers earlier. But still... I'd do it again.

I pass the familiar corner store, the alley with the weird cat, the vending machine that always eats coins. And then...

I see Barker.

In his tiny home. Still on his leash. Just like always.

I feel something pull at my chest.

He didn't bark this time.

He didn't growl.

He didn't charge at me like I owe him money from three doggy lifetimes ago.

He didn't even flinch.

My feet stop on their own. I stare.

Then I walk toward him, cautious, as if I'm approaching a ghost. But in truth, I'm the ghost now.

He didn't react.

He can't see me.

A hollow laugh escapes me.

I crouch beside him anyway, sitting on the pavement like a fool.

"Hey... you used to chase me like I ruined your ancestors' dog bones, you know?" I whisper, trying to smile. "Remember when I was delivering newspapers and you went full hellhound mode? Or that one time I bumped Silver Fang into your doghouse by mistake? That one's on me. I'll admit that."

I chuckle.

My voice shakes.

"I used to make fun of you being in a leash, bark back at you like I was the top dog. I hated how you'd scare me out of my shoes... but deep down, I liked it. It meant I was here. That I existed."

The tears are falling again, warm against the cold wind.

"Thanks for that, you little monster."

I sit longer than I should.

I tell him stories—stories I've told no one. I talk about Akari. About how I first met her. About how clueless I was that she'd become the most important person in my life. I tell him how I messed up. How I still do. How I'm scared. How I laugh so she won't cry. How I cry when she's not looking.

And Barker just... listens. Silent. Still. Like a statue carved by time itself.

Eventually, I stand slowly, dusting off my coat.

"Guess this is goodbye, Barker."

And then—

A bark.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn.

He's looking at me.

Eyes wide. Tail still. Head tilted.

Another bark.

My breath catches.

He can see me.

I run back and kneel beside him, arms wrapping around him tightly.

"You can still see me? Barker, you idiot..." I whisper, burying my face into his fur as more tears fall. "I'm gonna miss you too."

He whimpers and licks my cheek.

I pull back and smile at him, really smile.

"You were always chasing me off, weren't you? Like you knew I'd stick around too long. Maybe you were trying to tell me something. Maybe you were the only one who knew I didn't belong."

He tilts his head again and lets out another soft bark.

I laugh through the tears.

"You were my worst enemy, Barker. My furry rival. My four-legged nightmare."

He leans into me as if saying, "Right back at you."

I pat his head gently.

"Farewell, Enemy Number Two."

He stays still, as if he knows this is the last time.

I stand up slowly, brushing the tears off my face, though they keep falling anyway. My steps are heavy as I turn, as if leaving him behind means letting go of another piece of myself.

Then—one last bark.

It cuts through the quiet, sharp and clear, like he's sealing this moment into time.

I glance back.

He's still watching.

Tail wagging once. Just once.

And for the first time in a long, long while... I feel truly seen.

Not as a ghost. Not as a fading mistake.

But as someone who mattered—even just for a second.

And I'll take it.

Because right now, every moment counts.

Every last second.