Oblivion
The house was the same. For all the time that had passed, for everything that had happened…not a tile was out of place, not a chair, nothing. A perfectly preserved memory of an ancient life.
Nuriko sighed. Aniki, he thought, you're such an idiot. A sentimental idiot.
He didn't want things to be the same. He wished Rokou had painted the entire place pink, or something. Anything but this…this utter denial that time had passed, that things changed, moved on…that's how life was, after all. That was the point. The thought that his own death had caused sorrow to those he loved…that was more painful than dying itself had been.
Well, almost. He gave a small laugh and scratched his head. Not many things are more painful than getting a giant fistful of claws shoved through your chest. But Rokou… I just hope he can move on now, unlike me when Kourin died…
And besides, he didn't mind being dead. Not very much. They were all together now—Hotohori, Mitsukake, and Chiriko were with him—and apart from not being, well, solid, it was almost like nothing had happened. Maybe even better than life. Hotohori didn't have to worry about being an emperor anymore.
But it would all be over soon.
He clenched his fists at his sides, staring out the window, the same one he used to stand by as he and Kourin and Rokou waited for their father to come home from the market with the cart only half-full of reams of cloth, maybe even only a quarter full… back before Kourin and Ryuuen were both killed.
"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," he chastised himself quietly.
"Nuriko?" came a voice behind him.
Startled, Nuriko spun, fists pulled up to his chin. "Uhh…uh, Hotohori-sama!"
Konan's martyred emperor smiled gently, every bit as handsome as he had been in life, despite his somewhat disturbing transparent appearance. "Daijoubu?"
"Heh, I'm fine," Nuriko smiled back.
"Are you worried about Miaka and the others?"
The purple-haired spirit shrugged slightly. "Yes. But if anyone can save her, it's the combined force of Chichiri, Tasuki, and Tamahome. Right?"
"Poor Chichiri," Hotohori sighed. "It will be difficult for him, fighting the demon Hikou. I could never…" he trailed off.
Nuriko let the silence linger, turning his attention back to the window.
"If they succeed," Hotohori began again, attempting to lighten the conversation, "well, it can't be much longer…I'm certain we can defeat Tenkou. The barriers on our souls will be broken, and we can be reborn."
It was meant as a reassurance, a promise of victory. But something within Nuriko twisted painfully at the words. He thought it was probably his heart.
Whatever it was must have shown plainly on his face, for Hotohori's tone changed instantly to something bordering on concern. "Nuriko…what's wrong?"
He closed his eyes. Don't you dare make him worry about you. "Nothing. It's just, you know, what we said before…Miaka. It's Miaka. But I'm sure she'll be fine. Like I said."
"It's more than that." Hotohori moved closer, and placed a translucent hand on his friend's equally translucent shoulder. "Nuriko, you don't have to be ashamed, whatever it is. We're friends, aren't we? You can tell me. Who knows, I might even be able to sympathize."
The caring words made Nuriko's heart ache even more, and he couldn't stop the tears that began to sting behind his eyelids. "I…" Stop it, he doesn't need to be burdened with your silly worries! But…he said I could…and it would be so nice, just to tell someone, even if they can't do anything about it…just to get it out… He took a shuddering breath. "I…I don't want to be reborn, Hotohori-sama!"
"Don't want to? But why?" The emperor saw the shimmering droplets that had gathered underneath his friend's long eyelashes, and squeezed his shoulder slightly. "Nuriko…"
Nuriko's eyes flew open, the tears spilled down his cheeks, and he peered up at Hotohori in anguish. "I don't want to leave everyone! I don't want to be someone else; I want to be me! I've only just found myself, and now I have to become someone else? And I don't want to forget!" He cut himself off with a choking sob. "I'm scared of forgetting! I don't want to forget you and the others, and what we did, everything we did!"
Hotohori pulled the smaller boy against him gently. "Nuriko," he murmured, stroking the purple hair, "it's the way of the world. From the moment we are born, we are destined to be reborn. But we will be together. All of us. Taiitsu-kun promised, remember?"
Clutching his friend tightly, Nuriko's shoulders shook as he wept, his face pressed against Hotohori's still chest. "If I meet you again, I won't remember you!" he managed brokenly, his voice muffled by cloth. "I won't remember any of you!"
Apart from the muted sobs, there was silence in the small room. The emperor continued to hold Nuriko, and began to rock him slightly. He couldn't say anything; there was nothing he could do but physically be there for his companion. Truth be told, he himself had never deeply considered the consequences of rebirth, and was startled to find tears welling up in his own eyes. But he forced himself to hold them back. It would do Nuriko no good to see him despairing, as well.
"It's all right, Nuriko," he whispered finally. "It's all right. If we need to remember, we'll find a way." Nuriko's arms tightened around him, but the crying had almost completely subsided, replaced by soft sniffling; Hotohori smiled and added, "And remember, Tamahome had all of his memories when he was reborn into Miaka's world for the first time."
Nuriko pulled back, frowning slightly as he met Hotohori's eyes. "Yes, but then they said he couldn't stay there if he had his memories."
"Well…" Hotohori's smile deepened, and he reached out a hand to wipe the remnants of tears from his friend's cheeks. "Maybe if we're reborn into our own world, it won't matter."
The shorter seishi sniffed, eyes widening wistfully. "You think so?"
"I don't know. All I know is—if what Taiitsu-kun said is true—whatever our next lives may have in store for us, the one thing we can be sure of is that we'll have wonderful friends. The best friends anyone in any lifetime has ever had, or will ever dream of having."
That brought a smile to Nuriko's beautiful face, and a shine to his eyes that had nothing to do with tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by an exclamation from the next room.
"Minna-san!!" It was Chiriko. "You're back! Chichiri-sama, what happened to your shirt?!"
"They did it," said Nuriko, sighing in relief. "They beat him! C'mon, Hotohori-sama! Let's go see Chichiri's shirt, whatever that might imply!" He grabbed Hotohori's hand, and floated—as he'd had a habit of doing lately—through the door with his friend in tow.
They'd done it. They were one step closer to victory.
One step closer to oblivion.