At first, it took 4 years. 4 years to build that time machine. He started working on it just two weeks after you died. You died when the mafia came after him, and decided to do it by going after you, and so, they disposed of you.

He felt like he was going to have a breakdown. Immediately; he gave up his entire job, and used his wealth to attempt to build a time machine. It took four years to do that. You had only died at 28, the two of you were planning to maybe even have your first kid soon.

The nightmare of your first death ever lasting.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Target in sight, taking aim.” The man, your killer; had said quietly into his headset. He was well concealed, and Satoru regrets not having bodyguards that day on you. A gun shot could be heard, and the bullet pierced your head, immediately killing you.

Satoru was just two feet. Two feet away from you. When he caught you in his arms, the sniper had fled. He held you so tightly in his arms, crying his eyes out, his chest pounding, his head spinning. He was vulnerable in front of thousands; but didn’t care for that. You had just died, in front of him.

And that’s how you first died.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Satoru was finally able to time travel, he went back so many times, but though, in reality, not a year passed, but he had counted. 5 years, he spent trying to get you back.

Each time different deaths, some more brutal than the last, some more peaceful. No matter what he changed, no matter what he did, nothing stopped the fact that you were just destined to die.

All those attempts of trying to save you began to take its tolls, as each death brought him closer and closer to insanity. Satoru felt like he was losing himself all the while losing you.

Satoru could remember each expression you made before you died, and your parting words. How your beautiful eyes were left a tinted milky white. How your skin grew colder, your heartbeat fading to gradually no pulse.

“Attempt number 1826.” Satoru muttered to himself, before heading in.