A/N: Fluffy angst featuring Tomoe and Kenshin. Have fun and review please!
Tucked in the folds of her kimono she had five letters. The letters were rumpled, torn, and stained. She read them over and over as she went on her way until she knew each word by heart. She read them in her mind after that, and a warm, deep voice sounded each word out to her mind. She saw a hand carefully inking each kanji with thoughts of love and longing.
The thought of the letters kept her feet steady when she was tired. The thought of those hands and that voice made her stand up and keep walking when her feet and legs ached and burned. The thoughts of that smile made her walk despite the cramping hunger in her stomach and the blisters on her toes. The letters kept her mind on track and out of despair.
The five letters were what she read when her dairy became too depressing or when she woke in the middle of the night in tears. The letters were what she touched and prayed to when she became frightened. The letters were what she could not bear to lose of all her possessions. The five worn, stained, torn little letters and the thoughts and words they held were all she had to keep her frozen heart beating inside her chest.
In time those letters ended up in the back of a drawer with a hand mirror and a tanto. They escaped the folds of her kimono as her heart warmed and healed. She still read them in her mind with the warm, deep voice from time to time, but those times became fewer and farther in between. The words no longer brought up the deep, aching guilt that felt deserved. The words were just warm, soft, and sad--sad because they were all the words that were in those letters.
In the end those letters and the sad words in them made her sure of herself. Those words told her what she must do, and made it all right to do them. Those words and the smiling man behind them washed away the paralyzing fear that made her almost run away from everything she had come to love. Those words, meant to bring her comfort and make her feel close to the writer, brought her back to the writer by saving the man who had killed him.
..::--::..
Tucked in the folds of his gi are five letters. The letters aren't addressed to him, but he could have written them. On the backs of those five letters are five replies that were written long after the original letter writer's death. The replies are the real reason he keeps the letters. He reads the replies over and over until he knows he will never forget them. A soft, sweet voice sounds out each word in his mind as he reads. He sees a delicate hand carefully writing out each kanji with thoughts of love and longing.
The thought of the replies keeps his feet steady when he is exhausted. The thought of those hands and that voice makes him pick himself up time and time again to keep fighting. The thought of that smile makes him keeping living despite the ache in his heart and the cuts on his body. Those replies keep his mind from despair and his heart from dying.
The five replies are what he reads when he can't stand to hear the news or when he can't sleep for fear of nightmares and the sickening smell of blood. The letters are what he touches and whispers things and fears he can tell no one else. The replies are the one possession he can not bear to lose. The five worn, stained, gentle replies are all he has to keep himself sane.
In time those replies will end up in a small box with a battered diary, a blood stained hair ribbon, and a dried white plum blossom. They will escape the tattered folds of his gi as his heart and mind heal. He will still read them from time to time, but the times will be fewer and farther in between. The words will no longer bring a deep, aching guilty that felt deserved years ago. The words will be warm, soft, and sad--sad that there never will be a reply to those words that will reach the intended ear and heart. Sad that the writer of the original letters never heard the loving replies.
In the end those replies and letters will be what make him do what he needs to do. The words in those replies will make him realize how short life is, and how sad lost opportunities are. Those words and the smiling woman behind them will wash away his indecision and shame that will almost make him run away from what he will come to love. Those words, meant for eyes of the other man who loved her, will bring him to the marry girl who almost died for the woman he loved.
He doesn't know this now. Now he simply reads the replies in the wavering candle light and tries to imagine what it's like to love again after losing the first great love. He wouldn't think it is possible, except for the tear stained replies gripped in his shaking hands.