Disclaimer: I don't own the awesomeness that is Yami no Matsuei. :(
His father had once told him that, once it comes, death is honourable and to be welcomed. His father told him that death would be a final relief from human problems.
His father lied.
Hisoka Kurosaki had been bedridden for months now, and ill for many more. Already, he could feel what remained of his strength seeping out of his body, taking his life away with it. He was going to die, and he knew it, knew it with a certainty that chilled him to the bones.
He was only sixteen.
He wasn't ready to die! He had so much more to see, so much more to do...how could he die?
Perhaps his father had imagined him perishing in battle, or for honour. Hisoka's father couldn't possibly imagine him dying like this-at the hands of some virus.
The doctors had already pronounced him incurable, they had given up on him. So why couldn't he give up on himself? Why couldn't he just let go?
Hisoka knew the answer, of course, but thinking about it might make it real.
Screw real. He was dying, for goodness sake. What could he do?
Nothing, and exactly that. Nothing.
Hisoka could feel his breaths coming shorter, could feel his lungs struggling to pull every breath out of the air. Air that had suddenly become boiling hot. His vision blurred.
Not long now...
Why did he have to die? Why couldn't some other kid fall ill to a mysterious sickness? There were 2.2 billion children in the world...why him?
He had so much he wanted to do.
And now he'll never be able to.
Hisoka never truly believed in the gods. Sure, he knew there was an afterlife, but he didn't believe in the rest. He never had reason to.
If there were any, wouldn't they watch over him?
Either way, he suddenly found himself praying to everything he knew that he wouldn't die.
He just wanted to live a little bit longer, just to finish some of his unfinished buisiness...
He had never returned his brother's ball.
He had never finished his martial arts training.
He had never apologized for making his younger cousin cry.
He still had so much left to do...
He had wasted his life, hasn't he? Hisoka had never done anything great, never made his parents proud. He had left nothing for people to remember his by.
He had wasted his life, and he would never have the chance to make his mark on the world. Never.
Hisoka's heart stuttered, and he closed his eyes. He had never realized that it took so much effort just to keep them open.
No! he couldn't die. He wouldn't.
But he was.
And he couldn't even help it...
Hisoka wasn't ready to die.
But he did, anyways.
Asato Tsuzuki was ready to die.
He had waited, anticipated, it for so long...it was a constant desire in his heart, beating through his veins every minute.
Ahh...his veins...
So thin, pulsing with blood just underneath his skin. Perfect.
One hand, trembling (either with excitement, or the drugs he was given, he didn't know), reached for the shelf he knew would be beside him.
A while earlier, one of the men clothed in white coats came in holding a scapel (for tests, the others said). The man came out holding a roll of leftover bandages.
That moment of carelessness would be Tsuzuki's ticket out of this hated half-life.
For half-life it was. His existence. He was delirious most of the time, and suicidal with guilt and self-loathing for the rest. He didn't deserve to live-no, didn't deserve to exist-he was a monster, a despicable freak. He had no place on this earth, he should be hated. He should die.
And so, he will.
Delirious...he should have been trapped within his subconscious by this time. After all these years (eight? twelve? fifty? he couldn't tell), he could barely hold onto sane thought for more than a few minutes. But he will hold on this time, if only to finish what he has woken up to do.
Tsuzuki curled his fingers around the cold handle of the scapel, distantly surprised at the weakness in his hand.
Well, it would be strong enough to do what he wanted it to do.
It was ironic, that the hand that took away the lives of so many people would finally be the one to kill its owner. Ironic, and strangely befitting.
After all, wasn't a murderer punished with the death penalty? The people would not be able to kill him, even if they found him out. So he would punish himself the only way justifiable.
...
Okay, so it wasn't completely for the good of the citezens.
He was tired (oh, so tired...) of this life. Tsuzuki wanted nothing more than the quiet repose that death would give him.
...He was disgusted with himself. Even at a time like this he still found ways to be selfish.
Well, no more. All that would soon end. A hated blight would be eraticated from this world.
He pressed the blade to the inside of his wrist, to the dozens of other scars there, and pressed down.
Last time (and the time before that and the time before that...), he hadn't pressed deep enough. The men in the white coats had got to him before he could bleed out.
Jeez, he couldn't even kill himself properly.
Well, he would this time.
Tsuzuki cut deeper...and deeper...
Distantly, he could hear warnings being shouted, but he ignored those. They would just distract him from his task.
Deeper, through skin and flesh and tendon, until the whites of his bones showed.
He could already feel himself slipping away. He welcomed the feeling, rejoiced in it. It meant that he was almost there.
Still deeper...
Darkness clouded his sight, weakened his muscles until he couldn't hold the scapel anymore. It didn't matter. Not even the white-coated men can get him now.
Darkness...enveloping his vision...
Tsuzuki sighed, and sunk deeper into it.
Finally, he will get what he wanted.
Finally.
Because he welcomed it, was ready for it.
He had been for a long time.
And so, the unlikely pair met. And became partners. And befriended each other.
And saved each other from a host of...things. (Particularily a certain silver-eyed, white-clothed man with a taste for somewhat-hostile boys and purple eyed shinigami).
And gained each other's trust and happiness.
Maybe they weren't ready for death, and maybe they were.
Either way, they were happy the way they were.
For now.