Author's notes: Gojyo's POV. I never specified a pairing for this, so just imagine whichever of the Saiyuki boys you like best with Gojyo.
I've always said I wanted to die in the arms of a beautiful woman. Well, when the end came, I didn't die in the arms of anybody.
After he left, I forgot about shaving. People on the street began to comment on how bedraggled I looked. Some lady even offered me a room for the night so I could get back on my feet. I have an apartment, but he doesn't live there anymore. There was no reason to care for my hair anymore really, so I let that go too. It got so long and messy I eventually had to tie it back just so I wasn't eating and breathing it all the time.
He told me I didn't know how to give. Maybe he was right. I don't know, because I didn't let anyone else near me again. People generally began to avoid me because I got real thin and nasty looking. Ugly black rings appeared under my eyes from lack of sleep, and none of my clothes fit me anymore. I was sitting at a table in a bar once and I overheard two women wondering in a hushed whisper if I was one of those drug addicts.
I sure was addicted to him. The apartment got real filthy over time. I don't recall being able to see the floor anymore under all the clothes and garbage. I didn't really care enough to keep it clean. My body was beginning to hurt all the time and the effort just didn't seem worth while. Empty head, empty stomach, and empty heart. What did he want me to give him?
After he went away, the only love I had left was myself and I didn't love myself very much anymore. Without him, I felt like a worthless pile of flesh, drifting through life without any real purpose. Even worse- I was alone. Didn't my stepmother say I'd always be alone in the end?
The only thing I still liked was Shaku Jou, which I kept leaning against the wall in the corner of the bedroom. I would sit in bed and watch it in the dim light, imagining the sparks that used to fly across that razor-sharp blade. It took the life of so many worthless individuals. Much of the time I thought about my own blood spreading over it, and the idea was strangely comforting. Shaku Jou was as close to me as any lover- I would give no other weapon the honor.
For the sake of cliché, I took Shaku Jou into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror with it. I remember how I used to look when I posed with my weapon- strong and cock-sure, with a grin that told everyone to go to hell. This time, the person looking back at me was almost unrecognizable. He was worn and thin and he looked like he'd been through far too much. It was a disgusting little skeleton clinging to the tall shining weapon, with hollow eyes that made me want to throw up.
Shaku Jou's crescent blade danced across my wrists twice, leaving glistening lines of red along the white flesh. I wasn't wearing my arm wraps anymore, in fact, I had discarded them a long time ago. Blood ran down my arms like crimson rain, catching in my limp hands and crawling over my fingers. I dropped Shaku Jou and lay down on the floor very quietly. Nobody came to the door and shook me a few times, called me an idiot, and bandaged my wounds.
Curled up on the bathroom mat, I let my eyes fall shut. When he was gone, I had nothing left. He was always begging me to give- well, I'll do it now. I give my life to him. Was it enough? I never found out.
In the end I didn't die in the arms of anybody. Not even his.