ME: Huh, I appear to be on something of a touchy-feely, descriptive writing phase of late…not sure if that's a good or bad thing, really...

DISCLAIMER: DRAGON EMPRESS IS STILL A LIAR, AND SHE STILL DOESN'T OWN RUROUNI KENSHIN. NOPE, NOT EVEN SOUJIRO…SADLY…

ME: Well, I suppose you could call this something of a companion piece to my other RK one-shot. But not really. Oh Hell, I don't know…

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"This is the place where you held me…where I broke down, because you let me."

He dreams in black and white and crimson. He dreams about love and life, about death, and a beauty so real it's almost painful.

This man watches sunsets and sunrises, and with every passing day they get a little brighter. Vermillion is his second favourite colour: the colour of the sun when it dies and is reborn.

Every morning he is reborn. Well, maybe.

"I fell asleep in your arms…but only for a little while."

Cherry red is his third favourite colour: the colour of the petals that fall upon him like the trees are bleeding, the colour spreading across every inch of the cool, green grass.

He aches, even if it only comes and goes, he feels constantly at loss. Dust covers the streets he walks, somehow never sanctified by the rain.

Tokyo is washed away.

Before his eyes it all runs like a badly kept watercolour painting, something European. Because there's colour everywhere he looks…beautiful, faded colours that make him feel even more like dying and being reborn every day in a haze of vermillion.

Sometimes after all, it already feels like he's died once.

"I held wilted roses in my hands…the thorns tore apart my fingers, for you."

Lately, he's been dreaming in blue. Things are changing.

This man watches faces coming and going, not really understanding what he's feeling these days. Only that deep down, those parts of him he tried so hard to destroy are being reborn.

He hangs around, doing laundry, helping every little soul he can. Well, that's the plan anyway. It's getting too easy to forget about his soul.

"I fell to my knees…you asked me who would be my saviour."

He can taste the blood on the tip of his tongue; he can feel the way his heart is breaking every day…shattering against his ribcage when he makes the decision to fight the changes.

Crimson is his most hated colour. It leaves stains that never go away.

He lets the thorns of those wilted roses dig deep into the soft flesh of his palms, darkly fascinated by the teardrop-shaped marks it leaves on the rusty earth. Tomorrow, if he dared, there would be a bunch of bloody, dying roses by her bedside.

Nothing else could personify him better.

"I fell apart…but you became my saviour."

Blue is his favourite colour.

This man touches upon yin and yang, but lets it pass because somebody set his world on fire. He doesn't like to think about black and white, or the greyness where they collide.

He can feel the winter settling in now, and watches with wonder at how the cherry blossom trees have all withered and faded, like an old ink painting. Something Japanese.

Somewhere in the greyness where black and white collide he feels the ache again, but this time the feeling itself is faded. After all, he really doesn't like to think about it anymore.

So he hangs around, in this place that is dying, fascinated. Enraptured despite himself.

"I kissed you in the rain…kissed you because I was so tired of words."

Sapphire is his favourite shade of blue.

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ME: That was…weird. Lol. Review!