my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out
and my poor heart is an open wound
A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident.
CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.
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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it.
Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.
He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats.
Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.”
Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.
He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died.
Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream.
He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.
He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.
He has no mouth, but he must scream.
Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood.
Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.
With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off.
Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts.
Scrappy is just not enough.
He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all.
Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash.
But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane.
With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings.
Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice.
He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail.
Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.
Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it.
Being dead is agony.
Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow.
His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever.
In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be.
Being dead hurts.
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Time Wasn't In Our Favor (Demon Slayer)
We're just going for the angst this week huh- kjajkearjkeajkr
Heyo everyone! I wrote this a while back and did a small poll with everyone on which Obamitsu fic they wanted to see: the super fluffy one or this. The fluff won. All this time later I finally decided to share this with everyone! :D I hope you like it!
CW: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DEMON SLAYER MANGA. Angst, Heavy angst barely any comfort, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, mentions of past bullying, insecurity, blood and injury, death, food mention, almost confessions, just lots of pain and heartache y'all I cried writing this kjarjkekjarjek
Summary: Four times Obamitsu almost confessed, and the one time they finally did.
“Kanroji looks…uneasy.” Obanai mused out loud one day, watching the pink haired Hashira speak with the others. While she smiled and greeted everyone as per her welcome, there was clear discomfort on her face whenever she was alone. She was always clutching the ends of her uniform, tugging on it as if it would somehow get longer.
“I don’t blame her. That perv was the one who made the uniform.” Sanemi grumbled, referencing none other than Maeda- one of the many tailors in the Demon Corps. He was good at the craft, but notorious for his…revealing design choices. “I heard he tried to pull the same thing on Shinobu and her Tsugoku. She burned it before him.” The Wind Hashira snickered, clearly pleased with the thought. “Shame she didn’t get to him a third time.”
“He designed yours too, yes?” Obanai eyed the bare chested Hashira, his scars gleaming brightly against his skin. “I assumed he only did that for the woman.”
“Ay, eyes up here, buddy.” Sanemi snapped his fingers, focusing the other. “And yeah- I told him to make mine like this. Makes the whole bleeding thing easier.”
The ‘Bleeding thing’ was what Sanemi called his Marechi blood- a rare type that demons craved like an addiction. He often used said blood to kill his targets, luring them in with the smell and cutting their heads off clean. It left him with scars all over, but the white haired man didn’t seem bothered by it.
Obanai was about to remark on Sanemi’s other intentions regarding the choice of clothes when his eyes went back to Mitsuri. She was now talking to Shinobu, her stance relaxed once more. It must have been comforting, having another woman on the team to talk to. While he hasn’t seen any of the Hashria leer at Kanroji, he wouldn’t be surprised if those outside their group have, taking in her entire being like a piece of meat.
The thought alone made his stomach turn. He wanted to hunt them all down and gut them.
“Ayo, your bloodlust is showing.” Sanemi reached up and nudged his foot, bringing him back to reality.
“Says the man with the most bloodlust here.” Obanai retorted, earning a snort.
“I save it for demons.” A half truth. Sanemi followed his gaze, humming softly. “She’s a tough woman. You don’t have to worry about anyone being gross to her. She’d probably knock them out with those killer biceps.” He nodded approvingly, flinching when Obanai punched his shoulder. “Ouch, damn- what the hell?”
“Don’t be cruel.” He growled, feeling protective. He didn’t know much, but they seemed to be an insecurity for her- her arms. The way she tucked them in when in groups or kept her hand gestures close to her chest. It was like she was trying to shrink in on herself.
“I wasn’t....” Sanemi rolled his eyes before turning back to the girl in question. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I like her arms. I think they're great.” He nodded. “Don’t hit me again- I’m not trying to steal your girl.”
“She’s not my-”
“But she does look uncomfortable.” He carried on, furrowing his brows. “Especially with the skirt. Think she’d feel better if we force Maeda to make her a longer one?”
Obanai doubted it. Not only would it not be ready for a while, but the implication felt…wrong. Like he was telling her what to wear, or that he was only looking at her legs.
Legs…wait a moment…
“Don’t. It’ll make things worse. But I do have an idea.” Obanai mused, starting to perk up.
~~~
“Oh wow…Iguro-san, these are beautiful!” Mitsuri gushed as she held up the socks. They were knee high, light green with stripe detail down the legs. Thick enough for coverage but light enough so she won’t sweat. They matched the tips of her hair, she realized- a detail she hadn’t even thought of herself. “I love them!”
“I’m glad.” Obanai smiled behind his mask, fighting down the blush threatening to spread over his cheeks. He looked away politely as she pulled them on, Kaburamaru hissing in approval as she squealed with delight. “They’re on! How do I look?” She asked, striking a pose. Already she looked much more comfortable in her own skin.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Obanai almost said it as he took in her smiling face, the look of utter joy in her green eyes as she fluttered about- beyond pleased. It was like the sun was eclipsed until this moment- finally peeking out behind a mass of dark matter to shine down on them, enhancing the world around them. Obanai nearly forgot to breathe when she smiled at him like that.
“You look wonderful.” He got out, making her blush and shine more.
One day, he’d tell her.
One day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Mm! Mm, mm mm! The smell is amazing!” Mitsuri was in heaven- her cheeks flushed with absolute joy as she breathed deeply. She had gotten back from a particularly long mission, and she was starving. The plan had been to go home and make something, but she ran into Obanai along the way. The first thing to greet him, much to her horror, was the growl in her stomach.
“Hungry?” He asked, voice teasing. Her face burned.
Now they were here- a small restaurant that Mitsuri knew well. The shop owner loved her- she tipped well and always made his day better. When she walked in, the old man greeted her with open arms and a bright laugh. “Welcome back, Miss Kanroji! Ah, I see you brought a date!”
“Oh, this is Iguro-san! He’s a fellow Hashira.” She reassured him, her cheeks bright red as the man and his wife came around to properly say hello. She dared a peek- Obanai looked rather flushed himself. Don’t let this get awkward, Mitsuri. “I’ll have my usual, though er…keep it to one serving.” She shifted, forcing a smile.
“Just one? But we made a whole pan-” The kind man began, cutting off when his wife pinched his arm. “Alright then- a serving of Curry rice for the lovely lady, and for you sir?”
“I’ll have the same thing.” He nodded, his voice quiet. The couple faded away as Mitsuri and Obanai took a seat, side by side along the table. She knew she should sit across from him but…”Sorry- is this weird? I’ll move.” She offered, starting to stand.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He patted her hand, keeping her there. He didn’t look uncomfortable- even if he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Oh dear, did she take too much space? She wasn’t exactly slender. Was she crushing him?
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind-” She began again, only to stop when the restaurant owner came by, placing their bowls before them.
“Here we are! I added half an extra serving for you, Kanroji. I know how much you love our curry rice!” He winked playfully at her before heading back, ignorant to the way her soul dropped to her stomach.
“Kanroji? Are you okay?” Obanai asked, brows furrowing as he took in her pale face. “Is there something wrong?”
“No! No, not at all!” She squeaked, shaking her head as she gathered her chopsticks. “I’m fine! Totally fine! Let’s eat, shall we?”
If she were completely honest- she wasn’t fine. When she usually came here, she was either by herself or with Rengoku. The Flame Hashira ate as much as she did, so she never felt weird polishing off so many bowls of the delicious curry rice.
Awful as it sounds, being here with Obanai- it reminded her of her ex fiance.
“You’ll never find a man who will welcome your presence for the rest of your life.”
“You eat like a boar. What man would want you?”
“Your hair is hideous. And your arms? God- it’s like you're more monster than woman.”
All this time later, and those words still stung. She felt them clawing up her throat, choking her. Her eyes burned as the shame she felt coated her skin like oil, sticky and suffocating. She couldn’t let Obanai see her eat that way. It was bad enough he saw her hair. He saw her fight demons in a way that was without a doubt not fit for a lady.
If he saw her eat like a monster- like a demon…
“Kanroji, are you okay? You look like you're gonna be sick.” Obanai sounded so concerned. He looked at her bowl, taking a sniff. “Is there something wrong with the food? You haven’t touched it. Do you want me to get you something else?”
I want to disappear. She thought helplessly. I want to fade away. I want to be more what the world wants. I want to fit in, to blend in. To go unnoticed. I want to be forgotten.
“I…” She began, freezing when she saw the chopsticks before her, holding some of the rice.
“Erm…sorry if this is…eh…” Obanai seemed flustered as he offered the food, his cheeks red behind his mask. Still, he held her gaze. “I think…I think eating something might make you feel better. Sometimes we get stomach aches from not eating…at least, that happens to me.” He nodded at the rice. “Erm…this is kinda awkward, if you want me to put it down I’ll-”
Her lips closed around the chopsticks, the rich flavor melting on her tongue. It was a little embarrassing, being fed, but… “Thank you.” She smiled, taking the chopsticks from his hand. Taking a breath, she looked at her bowl. She wanted so badly to dive in and eat, but…
“Kanroji, please.” Obanai nodded. “You should eat. If you want, I’ll keep feeding you-”
“Oh no! I got this!” She tried to eat slowly, but before long she was devouring her bowl, lost in its flavor. When she finished, there wasn’t a grain left. “Mm…mh!”
Oh no. Oh god. She forgot. She forgot he was-
The untouched curry slid into her view, Obanai’s eyes kind. “If you’re hungry, eat. A Hashira needs their fuel, and you especially.” At her questioning gaze, he nodded. “Love breathing is a branch of Flame breathing. Those types of moves burn through calories like nothing. You need to restore your energy, so eat what you want.” He nodded. “Besides; I think the restaurant owner here would be pretty sad to let that pan go to waste.”
Her eyes grew misty, but not from hurt. She smiled wobbly, taking the bowl. “Thank you, Iguro-san.” She paused then, suddenly feeling bad. “But your food…”
“I already ate.” He dropped casually, making her stare. “Really. I had those snacks you left me. They were amazing.”
“You really liked them?” She asked, her heart starting to swell. As she turned to her bowl, she heard Obanai ask the old man to bring Mitsuri her usual order. “And some Sakura Mochi. They’re her favorite.” He nodded, making her heart race within her chest. He remembered.
~~~
“That was amazing!” She sighed, patting her belly as she and Obanai left. The restaurant owner and his wife saw them off, smiling at eachother knowingly. She had a feeling she was never gonna hear the end of it from them next time she came. “Thank you so much, Iguro-san. You really didn’t have to pay though! I know my order can get…expensive.” She almost cringed at the amount of bowls she tucked away.
“It’s no trouble at all. You were happy, and that’s what matters.” He nodded, not quite looking her way as he tugged on his mask. His ears were red now, something she found rather cute. “Please never feel the need to hide from us, Kanroji. We’d never judge you for how you live.”
The unspoken “I” was there. It made them both blush.
“Thank you, really. I…” She wanted to say more then. It had been a long time since someone made her heart race like this. Someone who looked at her only fondly as she ate, no judgment in sight as she finished off bowl after bowl. He never pointed it out, only kept the conversation going; talking about missions and life and friends.
He made her feel…normal.
She wanted to tell him that.
She wanted to tell him more.
“Hm? What is it?” Obanai asked, looking at her curiously.
No. Not yet. She swallowed her heart back to her chest.
“Nothing. Just…thank you again.” She smiled, tugging at her hair.
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Obanai was more careful than this.
As the Serpent Hashira, he was rather fast on his feet. He moved like his breathing style, slithering and evading demon attacks as he brought them down one after the other. At best, he walked away without a scratch.
Today, he wasn’t so lucky.
“Iguro-san! Oh no, you’re hurt!” Mitsuri was beside him before he hit the ground, the demon fading into ashes behind them as her hands steadied him. His entire body hurt, and his face felt wet. When he blinked, nothing fell from his eyes- it wasn’t tears.
Which meant it must have been blood. Lovely.
“It’s alright- are you okay?” He grunted, the smell of Sakura Mochi telling him she was rather close. Her hair was frizzy from the fight, and her eyes were wide with worry. She had a bruise along her chin, and her clothes were frayed at the sleeves.
Bruised and dirty, but she was alive. Good.
“Nevermind me, you’re bleeding!” Her hands reached out, hesitating momentarily before she took his chin, gently turning it to look at the cut. “It doesn’t look that bad- if Kocho-san was here, she’d know exactly how to handle it.”
“It’s alright- I can take care of it.” If anything- he’d prefer to. The cut ran past his mask, cutting it to the middle. In order to clean the wound, he’d need to remove said cover.
The cover that hid his scar and the painful memories it carried.
“You’re so strong, Iguro-san.” She smiled, cheeks pink as she wiped the blood away with a portion of her Haori. “That’s what makes you so great- you can handle just about anything.”
The words made his face heat up, and he was about to tell her not to use her Haori on him. “The blood will never come out!” He was about to say.
Only for the words to get caught in his throat when he felt his mask slip.
“Oh!” Mitsuri caught it before it could hit the dirty ground, the damage it took was more severe then they realized. “I’m so sorry- I must have worsened the damage! I’ll fix it up-” When her eyes came back to Obanai, he looked stricken, pale and shaky as he clamped a bloody hand over his mouth. “I-Iguro-san? What’s wrong? Are you about to be sick?”
He didn’t answer, his throat closed with fear and his mind racing a million miles a minute. No- no no no! This wasn’t supposed to happen! She can’t see it- she can’t!
His fingers pressed tightly against the scar tissue stretching past his lips, reminding him of that horrible day. The knife glinting in the candlelight. The pain stretching along his face. His tears as he begged and begged them to stop, to let him go, to kill him.
All for that horrid Serpent Demon. All to keep the stolen riches the demon provided.
He wished he could forget it. How he was almost given to that horrid beast, and the consequences that came when he escaped.
All of it, there on his scarred mouth. If Mitsuri saw it…she’d know what he was.
A coward. A monster.
“Iguro-san…” Mitsuri bit her lip, eyes wide with worry as she took in the shaking Hashira before her. Then her eyes grew clear. she grabbed her sword.
Before Obanai could stop her, she sliced through a clean chunk of her Haori, the strip long and thick. Folding it, she brought it up and pressed it over the hand covering his mouth, her touch light.
“It’s not much, and it probably smells weird, but it’ll have to do for now.” Her eyes were so gentle, so kind as his hand fell away, his mouth once again secured. Her hands came around and tied his new makeshift mask into a secure knot, careful not to catch any of his hair in the process. “There we are! Feeling better?” She asked.
The mask smelled like sakura mochi and tea and home. Even with everything that happened, she never lost that scent. Tears burned his eyes and cut off his voice, making it impossible to speak. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. He hoped she’d hear his silent thank you.
When she squeezed back, fierce and kind- she squeezed his heart as well.
~~~
Later- with his face newly cleaned and his clothes fixed, Obanai found a small parcel waiting for him. The note on top was written in curly strokes, a heart dotting her name.
Iguro-san, I fixed your mask! It was kinda dirty, so I cleaned it as well.
With love- Mitsuri
He held it close to his chest, his newly stitched and clean mask. It still smelled just like her.
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Master Ubuyashiki was gone.
He gave his life so he could end this Demon war once and for all.
Mitsuri wiped at her tears, running through courier after courier as she searched for the demon in sight. She would not let Master’s parting gift go to waste. She would make his dream come true!
Now if she could only find the freaking thing!
This particular one- an Upper moon she believed- was rather elusive. Anytime she got close enough to cut her head off clean, she’d strum her Biwa and the room would shift. One minute Mitsuri was above her, the next she was free falling into yet another part of the tower.
“THAT IS IT!” She raged as she stood, racing through more hallways. The changing made her head hurt, and she was sure if she saw another Biwa after this the instrument would only play sour notes. Still- she had to pursue!
Flying high, she raised her sword, the witch once again in sight. “I’ve gotcha now-”
And then there was a door.
Smacking her then and there, pain exploded across her body as Mitsuri flew off the edge. Her nose was bleeding- but she didn’t know if it was from pain or embarrassment.
Or both. Most likely both.
Falling backwards, she knew it was not gonna end well. Her body was already sore from crashing into various walls and floors. This time she suspected she wouldn’t make it.
Suddenly, arms were around her, and she was flying. Blinking, she barely registered her savior before they rolled onto a nearby column. “I-Iguro-san!” She gasped, staring up at him. Her heart did a hundred funny things then as she looked into those concerned mismatched eyes.
And then her face burned, shame bringing her back to reality. “I’m so sorry- I got ahead of myself.” She moaned as she covered her face. “Forgive me!”
“It’s quite alright, Kanroji.” He reassured her, helping her to her feet. “You’ve done well. Please be careful- we don’t know how this Upper Moon works or what her abilities are. She very well could have more than we expected. It’s better to analyze her now and look for any openings.”
“Right!” She nodded, the logic in his voice soothing away her nerves. “You be careful too, Iguro-san. This whole room shifting thing isn’t fun to deal with.” Her bruises screamed in agreement, making her wince.
Obanai nodded, a picture of preparation. “Very well. Let’s-” Suddenly the floor split, sending them in different directions. “IGURO!” She cried, barely breathing as he dodged the column. Obanai called out something to her, but before she could react, she was suddenly flying once more, this time towards the ceiling.
With a wall jump and a slash of her blade, she was safe- barely. She shook it off as she turned to glare at the Upper Moon. “You won’t be able to attack me with the same move twice!” She cried, going for an opening.
The room changes, a door opens. She’s falling again.
Well damn.
“GAHHHHH!” She raged as she fell. She was so mad she nearly forgot what Obanai called out to her.
“MITSURI LOOK OUT!” Was what he called.
Mitsuri.
Mitsuri.
He said her name.
The realization motivated her, pushing her to her feet. “He said my name…I have to live, so I can say his.” She nodded, running once more.
And then…
“Later.” She decided. “I’ll tell him it all later.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain would have been appropriate in a situation like this.
Footsteps she knew like the back of her hand came towards her. Gentle hands pulled her up, resting her against a bloody chest. “Kanroji..I’m back.” Obanai’s voice was raspy. He didn’t have long left.
“Please…call me Mitsuri.” She breathed, the phantom pain of her missing arms nearly choking her. There was blood everywhere. She didn’t know who it belonged to. At this point, did it really matter? “Did we…did we do it? Is he dead?” She had to know. She needed to know.
“Yes. He’s gone.” Obanai breathed, blood dripping from the cuts where his eyes once were. She wanted to see them. To run her once there hands along his cheek, brushing away the blood that coated his face and just feel him.
Muzan took that away from her. She hoped he burned wherever he went.
“Good…hey, I can’t feel anything.” She laughed up blood, shaking her head. “I guess I’m dying.”
“I’m dying too.” The words cut, even if she knew it was true. “So you won’t be alone.”
“No…don’t die yet.” She breathed as her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t die yet.” Her voice grew sad then. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t much use in the fight.”
“No, don’t say that. It’s not true.” His voice was so gentle as his hand came up, running through her shredded locks. “Do you remember that day? The day we met?”
“Of course. I got lost in the mansion.” She giggled at the memory, it felt so far now. “You helped me then. Thank you.”
“It’s the other way around.” His voice grew soft as he reflected on all their moments together. The day they met- how she laughed like bells and smiled so warmly at him. How their time together made him feel like they were just normal people living their lives.
“You’ve saved so many people with your bottomless kindness. You should be proud, Mitsuri. Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me stand by your side.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she let out a sob, shaking her head. “I’m so- so happy Obanai. Thank you, for always making me feel loved. Meals tasted better with you. I just- I want to do it all again.” She looked up at him through the blurriness, and it was like she could see him for all that he was- human and the love of her life. “If we are to be reborn, please- make me your bride!”
“Of course. If you will have me.” He pulled her closer, his lips brushing hers as the last of her breath faded away. “This time…I’ll be sure to make you the happiest person alive. I won’t let you die next time…Mitsuri, my beloved.”
Thanks for reading!
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