Notes:
If Shinya died in Nagoya.
His breaths were wispy in the cold night. Logs were cackling, burned in the fireplace, the flame lit the otherwise dark room.
He'd been there for hours, on the dark velvet seat by the window.
"Guren-sama." Soft knocks on the door.
He still didn't move. The white fog blurred the window glass, where gaunt violet eyes reflected.
"Guren-sama," Sayuri's soft voice caught his ears. Her profile shadowed by the light of the flame. "Here's your dinner." She put the tray beside the untouched lunch on the table. She sighed, "Please eat, Guren-sama."
That winter, the snow was falling.
Softly, endlessly.
Freezing the blood stained ground.
Covering the corpses of his comrades.
Ones, they killed. Ones, he killed.
On Sayuri's light brown hair, with her tears fell onto him.
Oh, how he remembered. The anguish of his friends, the sounds of clashing battle around him, the feel of his sword through Kureto's chest.
The smirk on that face, because Kureto knew that he won, despite his dying breath, when the one person Guren tried to protect the most died by Kureto's hands.
Or maybe, he died by Guren's hands. Because he wasn't strong enough to protect.
Never strong enough.
In the end, everything didn't matter anymore. Blood was on his hands, the ones he killed and died on his conscience.
"Sayuri."
She stiffened, hearing the hoarse voice of her leader.
"I'm sorry."
Fists tightened, clutching onto her skirt. Just like that day, on his bloody uniform. The silver haired head on her lap, the red streaked in contrast.
Every year, he apologized. For the blood on the snow, for the one that was missing.
For the coldness that froze their hearts.
Light sheen of tears on the brown eyes caught his eyes. "Please eat properly Guren-sama," was all she said.
The darkness was consuming. The flame on the fireplace was red, yellow with a hint of blue closer to the ashes. Outside the window, snow was falling from the deep night sky, and the ground was white everywhere he looked.
Years passed, seasons were changing.
Winters would melt into Springs. The snow would turn into flowers.
Oh, how he wished, that the winters would last forever.