title: hold me now
summary: Semi AU. it was mid-autumn, yet the storms brought memories of summer, of happier days, of days when everyone was still alive.
pairing: Kyouya/OC
dedication: Not knowing how to sleep and being so tired it hurts and God, save me.
notes: Character death, first of all. So yeah. And an OC. She doesn't have a name. She's just a faceless character for readers to relate to. She doesn't count as self-insert, so... yeah. Uhm, major depressing stuff, and uh... enjoy?
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Hold me now. I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking...
A warm stormy breeze filtered through the trees, ruffling the short chopped ends of her hair.
She brushed chestnut strands out of her eyes absently, ocean blue eyes neutral and contemplative.
Thunder rumbled overhead and a small, wry smile tugged at her lips. There was a large storm coming, she thought, and it was a perfect metaphor for her mood.
She felt stormy, she supposed. Stormy, isolated, dangerous, confused. So many things at once, and hardly enough time to deal with even one.
She shivered when the breeze brushed past her again, cooler this time with the approaching rain. The clouds were swollen and dark, threatening to unleash an onslaught.
She sighed, eyes slipping closed. Her hair still whipped about her face in the ever-strengthening wind, cold drops of rain beginning to fall, scattered about the desolate land.
It was mid-autumn, yet the storms brought memories of summer, of happier days, of days when everyone was still alive.
She took a step forward, dead leaves and dry grass crunching under her boots. She didn't bother to pull her cut-off jacket closer; she always thought clearer when she was cold.
Thinking of the cold brought to mind memories from the winter past, of crisp air, soft, muted snowfall, pink cheeks and noses, sharing scarves and Kyouya.
Kyouya.
Her heart clenched somewhere in her upper body - as she was fairly certain it wasn't on the left side of her chest, she'd been stabbed and shot there several times and had lived to tell the tale, coming no closer to death than a curious child to a busy highway - and she shuddered with repressed grief that tasted distant and dislocated.
The memories brought back the sound of his laughter, rare as it had been, and the smell of his cologne, musky with a hint of spice to it.
She remembered how the smell had lingered on the collar of his prefect's shirt, sometimes present on the red tie that accompanied the uniform.
His arms were always warm and strong, and knew how to protect as well as destroy. She had seen him do both, had caused him to both many times in their time together.
Thinking back, she wasn't sure how long they'd been together, or when they'd even gottentogether. Perhaps it was back in the fall of that year so long ago, the year after her Boss had emerged from his icy prison, fueled by rage into a pointless ring battle that served no one any benefit.
They'd almost lost Bel, and believed they'd lost Squalo, while the young Tenth's team had almost lost their young Bovino family member, as well as their bomb specialist Gokudera.
Reminiscing for days and people long gone, she felt the first tears well up in her eyes, hot and painful against the cool air of the autumn evening.
This evening, these thoughts, this disease would be her undoing. She had blocked it all out for so long, so long, and now, she was growing weak. She was slipping, falling closer to that ever-looming edge.
Dark chocolate eyes, ebony-colored hair. She had fallen before him, in battle and in love. So long ago, before time for her was documented, she'd given in.
Now she was fighting to crawl back out of the dark hole she knew as her sanity, or her potential - her widely-suspected - lack thereof.
Tears, blood, sweat - nothing was sacred anymore, and promises often crumbled like ashes. There'd been so many promises: I'll come back safe; everything's going to be okay; I've got the situation under control; I'll be home soon; I'll see you soon; I'll always love you.
She held no compassion for promises, and no sympathy for lies. Her entire life was one lie after another, weaved together into a tight, indestructible, pathetic web.
Air-tight and unforgiving, her past had hunted her down, broke her apart and tried to drag her back by her hair. She'd resisted, and he'd helped.
They survived that day, and she'd sworn to every deity she knew that she would change, for the both of them.
Several battles, nine bullet wounds, six knife lacerations, and one hell of a beating led them to that last battle against Byakuran.
She would be the one, when the day came, to storm into Byakuran's headquarters, march into his personal quarters, yank him off his throne and throw him to the ground like the trash he was. She would be the one to rip his heart out with her bare hands.
She wrapped her arms around her midsection, the chill starting to affect her more.
The winter after their second battle with Byakuran, she and Kyouya had gone out into the spacious acreage of the Vongola family's property. They'd had a snowball fight, had caught snowflakes on their tongues, had kissed in the snow.
She'd caught him unaware with a particularly large snowball, and he'd chased after her, laughter bubbling from both of them as they dashed through the dead, snowy forest.
He'd caught her around the waist and pulled her off her feet, to his chest. They'd stood there in the peaceful silence, catching their breath.
He'd loosened his hold just enough for her to turn, and she'd kissed him again. They tumbled into a snow drift and began to laugh again, sighing into the crisp air.
Then there had been another confrontation with Byakuran, and she'd been called away from his side to aid her own family. Merging the households only connected the physical space. The people still saw themselves as Vongola family, or Varia family, the Vongola's elite assassin team. She craved them all being one family - a family. That was what she wanted.
They'd survived that battle, too, and she couldn't quite understand why they were still alive, but she was grateful.
That following summer, they'd attended a fireworks festival together, and on a private hilltop, under a starry sky full of fire, they finally succumbed to the tension between them.
They didn't sleep at all that night, but with the dark, soft sheets of his bed underneath, and the warmth of his toned body on top of her, she found herself too overwhelmed to sleep.
They'd exchanged those words, that promise, that declaration, meant to be joyful and full of bliss. Their nights together were, but the days, the constant fight against Byakuran, were not.
Those words were soon a curse, a weapon, used against the two of them by many enemies. She never did find out how everyone knew about their relationship, but she supposed they would have been found out anyways, at some point.
In the weeks following their summer time rendezvous, she became sick, and she rejoiced. Kyouya had been surprised, worried and angry with himself. She'd pulled him close, whispered soft words to him. They'd found comfort in each other again, but Kyouya was more gentle this time, as the moonlight spilled in between the curtains and across the carpet.
By the time autumn bloomed in full, they were back at war with Byakuran, but she knew she'd merely convinced herself they'd ever left the ongoing struggle.
They'd survived, blood-soaked and sore, and she'd sworn yet again, holding Kyouya's injured body close, that she'd change, for the three of them.
In the aftermath came recovery, and new life. The wind was cold and harsh, the snow thick and endless, when their miracle arrived early, dark headed and bright eyed.
Joy and sorrow kept each other company in the nights after the birth of their son, for they had created such a beautiful child, but what a world the child had been born into.
She often cried herself to sleep in Kyouya's arms, mourning for their failure. They had worked so hard in the years past to make the world better, to make it safer. And they were on the cusp of the battle that would change everything.
The wind was warmer, but still crisp without the sun shining, when they faced Byakuran for the final time. They had lost so much, but in the end, they had won.
She'd held Kyouya's body close for the second time in her life, listening to his soft words, the side of his shirt stained dark with red. She used her hands to keep pressure on the wound, but his blood seeped between her fingers despite her efforts.
She hadn't cried, she knew that would only make it worse, but she had mumbled apologies into his neck until his grip on her hand had relaxed, and eventually his fingers slipped from hers.
She cursed everything she knew as she carried him out of the ruins of the fight, back to the medical team that had dismissed his wounds when the fight had ended.
The funeral itself was very quiet, very repressed, and it made her skin crawl. She hated everyone there, hated them for not helping, hated herself for not being of any use.
The heat of the next summer was unbearable, and she found that, despite everyone's complaints, she was cold. She had been cold since the winter before.
Ryo, their son, was just beginning to walk, and had assigned them all shortened nicknames by the time she woke up from her cold slumber.
Summer had passed in a rush of heat and first steps and semi-solid foods. She hardly remembered any of it, and if she had any conscience left she would've been ashamed of herself.
After all that time, she still stood there, in the so familiar fields her and Kyouya had made so many of their memories together.
She stared at the water crashing against the cliff facing, and sighed once more. She thought of Ryo, spending the day with his Uncle Dino, and a small pang of guilt tightened her chest.
It seemed they had always been destined to mourn, with no escape, and many false promises of a new tomorrow.
Lightning cut across the sky as she took a deep breath and stepped off the edge.
...Maybe six feet ain't so far down.
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notes2: So because of the OC, I was very cautious about posting this, but in the end, I figured what the hell? And praying FF doesn't eat my format.