Mess of Me
AsumaKurenai
--
Sometimes she likes to pretend.
She'll close all the windows, draw the blinds, settle herself on the couch, and pretend he's there with her, smiling, laughing, alive. They'll watch their favorite movie – some nameless classic that airs frequently with cheap dialogue and shallow characters, just for a few laughs. The popcorn will rest between them, never-ending, drowned in butter.
Sometimes it's like he's really there.
(Sometimes she forgets to pretend.)
"I miss you," she whispers, broken, against his lips.
(He tastes like smoke and forever and smiles and laughter.)
"I miss you too," he'll smile, stroke the hair from her eyes, the tears from her cheeks. "How's the baby doing?" The baby. Their baby. She closes her eyes, and opens them immediately when he disappears.
"She's fine. Wants her daddy." Pain erupts, forcing her to his shoulder. He pets her hair, waits for the tears to subside and the silence to fall. "I-I need you." He says nothing in return, merely stares at the ceiling. A cigarette hangs limply from his hand. He sighs quietly, and then turns his eyes to her desperate ones and no, not that look, please.
Finally, "I gotta go, Kurenai."
"Please, don't. Just…stay. Please." She's desperate, clinging to him. Wishing, praying.
(It's like he's dying all over again.)
His smile is strained. "Sorry, babe. Big man's callin'." He hesitates, pauses, and oh god, maybe he'll stay. "You know I love you guys, right?"
Sobs break from her, fragile and painful. "I know. I know."
His smile is too happy, too easy, for her to see. She buries her eyes in his shirt, grasps at the flimsy memory she's managed to preserve. It's a gradual disappearance, and then eventually the hand patting her hair is only the darkness, suffocating.
She can't breathe – why can't she breathe?
Suddenly furious, she wrenches open the blinds, rubs the redness, the tears, the pain, from her eyes. The sun is brilliantly burning and she stares out over the village in contemplation, watching as kids run, screaming, from the academy. She sees a familiar figure sprint towards the house, forces a smile, and heads downstairs.
Only a smoke trail remains.
--
Yes, AsumaKurenai. I drew myself in.
Y/n? I'm not sure if I like it or not.