Supernova
After all, they were merely two people without names. Their stories, effortlessly, sadly, could be told fluently without proper addresses. People die all the time, such a mediocre statement acknowledged best by him, is so unnatural to her.
Better than snow, or worse—Kenshin thinks—is rain. A small droplet seeps through the battered roof and lands with a quirky grace on Tomoe. She, preparing supper, does not notice, but Kenshin, sitting cross-legged, stands up, walks over, and brushes her bangs. His direct feel of the water is as futile as hers.
Tomoe looks up at him and flashes a fond smile. He cannot tear himself away.
"Kenshin, where do you think people go when they die?"
Normally impassive, a question from her heaves great impact on him, as is everything of and from her. Might as well be rain weighing the roof down, and collapsing on him. He is the water, he merge, and cannot be washed away—he is there, always, maybe... but surely unexpectedly. This feeling, he thinks, is not natural, but then again (he becomes philosophical), what is natural for him doesn't work, not anymore.
"...I have to think about that." He licks his dry lips, feeling fruitless. Providing her with the comfort of an answer is a priority. And it has been a long time since he thought of his priorities.
For a minute, he thinks about sugar-coating. And for a second, he tastes the queasy tang of sugar—a special kind of sugar that tastes just as sickening as blood. Though somehow better. It will work with her, but like so many before her, he cannot bring himself to—especially to her. Not her. Never.
"I think there'll be an afterlife." Kenshin says earnestly.
"Afterlife..." Tomoe strokes her bangs, retracing the touch of Kenshin's, "That is quaint."
Kenshin walks back to his corner, sits down, and feels his warmth still lingering on the cold ground. He smiles and shrugs, while listening to the building gentle taps. The first time in his life, he is pondering over death in its abstract form philosophically rather than cynically. Refreshing it is, and the outset rain is giving his tender epiphany its proper due.
"Hell and heaven... are there, in a way." He continues, "But ultimately, we find our escape."
"Out?" she whispers.
"Out." He repeats. "Tomoe... I cannot be certain. I've given this thoughts, but—"
A knowing smile tiptoes to her lips, "I know."
As bittersweet as it is, she always pins a smile to his face at the end of the day. Kenshin on the other hand, tries, often with success, but it feels like a chore—a very good chore. Something he is willing to live with until the end; then, if she will, he will continue to keep up her smile.
"Kenshin—" He loves the way she calls his name. Soft, with an edge, with a purpose, "How do we know if we aren't in hell now?"
We aren't.
He does not need to think, "We are. We may be." He rubs his nose, "Well, we might as well be."
Life is flooding with misfortunes, and catastrophes. No matter how hard people try to keep up, keep down, keep on, they often wind up in a wasted stance within a shell... until the release of death.
"I question myself that daily." Tomoe admits a little louder than usual over the absent thunder. She pours them supper, set the bowls down lightly and minds the other dishes, throwing anxious glances at him all the while.
Kenshin smiles kindly towards her. The intensity of his gaze only pulls Tomoe away. She fixes her dark eyes on the food. He moves closer to her (the bowls), and reaches for her cheeks. They are always so pale. He draws her gently to face him.
"Tomoe, where am I?"
She mirrors his smile, "I don't know," She points to the steaming bowls, "but here we are."
He lets go, chuckles at her unguarded mirth. Again, refreshing. They eat their supper under ordinary silence. Both know there is no need to unravel knots when food is at hand. And Tomoe is pleased to find Kenshin sharing the same sentiment. It is supple joys like this that brings about an internal smile. Nothing significant; though more than satisfactory.
-
Thunder comes in the middle of the night, overriding the soft taps of rain. The night was soothing. Kenshin leans on the wall as Tomoe jots down in her diary with swift strokes. She is at a halt. Her hands—fingers are immobile. It is her eyes that tell all; the candlelight reflects in her deep stare, dancing as thoughts pour out. She then casts one of her many kind glances over at him, he is sleeping. She continues to write.
Thoughts are just thoughts; but on paper, they are deemed less significant. Why is that?
She can't remember.
She looks at the sky through the murky window; it is translucent enough to see there are no stars out. The night is as dead as her eyes. And it is still raining, and thundering. Tomoe hasn't cried in a while, but her eyes are as heavy. Heavy with burden? Of what?
"Relax." Kenshin remarks over from his corner.
"What?"
"Relax."
Tomoe is slightly amused, "Did I look like I was in pain?"
"No," he shakes his head evenly, "you merely looked tense."
Kenshin walks over for the first of last times and sits down next to her. He looks through the window, and sees what she saw. He is wistful, but gazes fondly into her dreamboat eyes. Tomoe robotically blushes, but caresses his cheeks nonetheless. Her supple fingers outline his jaw, grazing over his scar as if to magically heal it. Kenshin raises his warm and numb hand, casing over her stone ones. She feels her heart skip a beat. It is an uncanny quirk, but a familiar one too long ago.
Just like that, he found her, in more than one way.
She is beaming, and wants to cry, but cannot. It is a sensation so extraordinary; not because she cannot cry, but that her unforeseen happiness built her a bridge to a brighter path, one that seems to betray her nature, though in hindsight, leads her to the greater good.
He whispers the right words at the right time, "When I'm with you, I see countless stars. And they are bursting into endless sparks that set me off to a wave of surreal blur."
"What is that?"
"Life."
fin