Work Text:
The sun has risen, shining over your head and shoulders. You’re warm, scorching even. But you don’t think the unbearable feeling comes from the sun.
It feels like you’ve been running for hours – when Kaname flew to inform you of the incident, you had to drop everything to get to him. Immediately.
The train is finally in eyesight.
Your legs are still going, even if it feels like your whole body is shutting down. There are so many people, but from a single glance, it looks like most of them are fine. Your eyes start to well up – you know what is waiting for you on the patch of land next to the forest. And it is not fine.
There are three others close to Kyōjurō. All of them are crying, expressing their sadness and frustration of the Flame Hashiras death. You can only see your lovers toppled over stance, and for the first time, you must acknowledge that he is gone.
You cannot re-light a fire with a burnt match.
Time seems to have stopped. Your throat is dry, every breath like swallowing razor blades. You can feel every drop of sweat on your body from running all the way to the site – making your clothes cling to your skin in a sticky and nauseating way. The last steps towards the fire of your life feel unbearable. The ground feels like jelly, making your knees give out when you finally look at his figure.
His left eye is swollen, coated with red liquid. There is so much blood. You dare yourself to move your gaze further down, seeing the blood seeping out from the huge hole in his stomach. Your breath hitches, and you’re immediately thinking of ways to bring him back – there must be a way.
You step closer, and the odour meeting your nose is completely wrong.
He doesn’t smell like your Kyōjurō, he smells metallic, burnt, wicked. Maybe this is just a shape-shifting demon that is playing out your worst nightmare.
You would never have imagined that your last embrace would be the last.
Your chest is still heaving, and every sense is telling you that what’s going on is wrong – it’s a crazy illusion, simply a demon’s play of the eye. It even hurts when you’re kneeling behind him, taking his body into yours. Kyōjurō is so strong, so it doesn’t make sense that he is so heavy in your arms. You lean your face into his gorgeous, flamboyant hair – concealing your tears in your beloved’s mane. You don’t want to deal with what happens when you see him up close for the last time. You don't want the realization.
The next breath feels even worse, like a combination of glass shards, razors, knives, everything that hurt. You move Rengoku so he’s situated with his head rested on your shoulder.
You put your palm on his cheek one last time. It’s cold.