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Yae coughed, pushing down the feeling burning her lungs. It was sweet. Always so sweet just like the lips captured in her own.
“Miko?” Ei whispered–it felt gentle but that was not their way.
“I’m fine,” Yae said with a laugh, caressing her talons through that braid entwined with Electro and memories she wished she could part with.
The thought of braiding it for her was ingrained in her memory.
Perhaps it was because Yae was always looking at her back, always watching her leave.
Her throat ached almost as much as her heart.
There was only one thing to do with heartache so sweet and bitter–use it.
“Miko,” Ei gasped as Yae swallowed against the sharp bite of the Amakumo grass. It had not yet bore fruit, still bitter, but simply being around Ei made her taste its sweetness.
So sad that this disease would only be sweet at the end, but Yae supposed five hundred years of agony was enough. There was only so much a yokai could do.
“She will save you,” Lumine had said with a smile, so sure.
“Oh dear, always into stories aren’t you. Run along now,” Yae had said, but that girl was so stubborn, so headstrong.
“You better be here to give me a fortune when I return,” Lumine said before she was gone. She could have asked for a promise, Ei certainly did.
Lumine was kind enough to not ask for more lies.
Yae would give them, but just like the vines in her veins, they burned.
“Miko,” Ei was pulling her up, finger caressing her ear in a way that made her shiver. Her tail was there, wrapping around Ei’s ankle. As if it could anchor them in place. Instead of lips, Yae was greeted with a pink blush as Ei sniffed.
“Most people would find it rather rude to be sniffed so openly,” Yae whispered back, her ears shivering in anticipation as Ei’s hands pulled her waist tighter.
“You smell sweeter than normal,” Ei said, her brow furrowing as they devolved into kisses.
“You’ve rubbed off on me,” Yae laughed. It was not clear, but sounded underwater. Truly she was running out of time.
“I prefer your sakura,” Ei said, gentler than normal. Her hands traveled up Yae’s waist, bunching in her pink hair. It almost felt like she was cherished, treasured. Like she was worth something.
Few people left treasures discarded for five hundred years.
Ei flickered, like she had so many times before. For a second Yae wondered if she was just another fantasy born of lonely nights.
“Are you real?” Yae asked, breathing in the scent that had tinged her breath for as long as she remembered close to Ei’s neck. Her fingers danced along the electro sigil. It was her favorite focal point.
Ei never wore the braid before Makoto died.
This was after.
Ei was here.
“What a silly question,” Ei said, pushing her back into the soft sheets. Yae blinked up at the electro dancing in her eyes. “I will always be here Yae.”
Ei might be, but Yae could not make the same promises.
“Come here,” Ei said, pulling Yae tighter into a hug. A sigh escaped Ei–this was rare. They had many nights, many passionate moments, but Ei was not one for hugs.
“Feeling sentimental?” Yae laughed, fingers tracing the electro symbol once again as every ache in her chest fertilized the budding Amakumo fruit.
It reminded her of Saiguu–perhaps it would not be so bad going this way. To become something beautiful in the end, defying the permanence inherent in deification. A flower. A fruit.
Yae was so jealous of humans because when time was unlimited you tend to let it go. To live in the moment was such a gift, such a prize.
Ei squeezed her tighter, pulling her in.
“I can’t help but feel you plan on leaving,” Ei said. “I can never tell what you are thinking.”
“I never plan on leaving you,” Yae whispered. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“Kitsune can’t be trusted,” Ei smiled. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“That’s bittersweet for you to ask,” Yae said, pulling the braid free with her fingers. She wanted to remember Ei this way, before Celestia broke them. Before they were the only ones left.
“It was not right,” Ei said. The bitterness in her tone was soothed by a kiss on Yae’s forehead, traveling down to her lips.
“Hush now,” Yae whispered, matching Ei’s pace as her hands relished in the sparks she could feel in her throat now.
“You taste sweet too,” Ei said, a small smile gracing her lips. “You could’ve shared the fruit.”
Yae felt her breath hitch.
So it truly was the end.
“Maybe next time,” Yae said, nose nuzzling in and relishing in Ei’s laugh. Someone would have to find it again. Prevent Ei from locking herself up for another few centuries.
Yae wouldn’t be there to keep it together for her after all.
“M’lady,” the Kujou girl called from the door. Yae engrained every line of her face in her memory. Ei would go, because duty above all else.
She left gently as she came, with a soft kiss to her knuckles and a caress of her ears. Yae begrudgingly loosened her tail, letting Ei rise from their bed.
“Ei?” Yae called as she walked toward the door. She already knew what Ei would say–it was the same thing every time.
Perhaps the writers would fix their ending, give them a happier one. Perhaps in some world, some iteration Ei would actually say it back.
Yae hoped so. Love was never meant to stay bittersweet afterall.
“I love you,” Yae said, the sunrise peeking in through the screens behind her. Ei always looked best in the light.
“I know.”