Note: This story is placed between the end of episode 9 and the whole of episode 10 for the anime Hakuouki Hekketsuroku. I would highly recommend to only read this after you had finished watching the whole anime OR had at least played one of the Hakuouki games. This story has no mention of rasetsu. This story mainly follows the POV of Hijikata and quite a bit of Chizuru's when they were both separated, as I believe that there would be a lot of material to expand around this area that the anime did not touch upon (mainly because the game and anime follows Chizuru's thought processes and so mostly eliminates the men's). Flow of the story was kept to the original anime as much as possible and dialogues were paraphrased.
. . . . .
. . . . .
Hijikata was stumped. Things had been hard ever since he left for Hakodate. There was many times where his opinions conflicted with Ootori. That man had undoubtedly been influenced heavily by Western culture. While he did not condemn it, he was not as eager to fully cast aside his Japanese heritage. What was a Japanese man without his Japanese roots? Where was the pride of that? He knew, he knew that it was not as though Ootori had decided to discard his roots to a side and embraced the western ways completely, but it was harder for him. His strong pride of holding his roots close to his heart.
It took him an overwhelming amount of willpower to discard the hakama in the first place, and to don his black outfit. It was hard for him to command his men to learn the usage of guns and to put aside their katana. It was hard for him to learn that the era of katana was ending, that the Japanese roots which he held so dear to him was slowly making way for a new age. It was hard for him to cast aside the traditional thoughts he held about war. It was hard, but he had to let it go. He had to. It was a requirement, a necessity to survive in the midst of this war.
How many people had he killed? How many people had he seen died in this war? He was loyal to the Bafuku, he held his honour and pride of Truth within the Shinsengumi greatly. It was the only thing that kept him going, now that Kondo was lost, the Shinsengumi was the only thing left for him. He had lost Kondo, he had lost Chizuru, this was the only thing left for him. It was all he had.
He gripped the pen in his fingers, his breath caught. His heartstrings tugged in his chest as he gritted his teeth. He had promised himself, he had promised that he would not think of her, that he did not make a wrong decision in leaving Chizuru back in Sendai. He could not provide her happiness, he was not the man who she should seek for, that she deserved a happy life, a life without war, without suffering. He slammed his left fist down on the table, his nails digging into his palm. He could not think about her. He could not bear to.
His chest ached. It felt as though a dagger had found its way into his heart, and it was digging itself further in, twisting, piercing, agonisingly slow. It was the kind of pain that drained him, that worked its way throughout his whole body, that slowly seeped the life out of him, the kind that was bidding its time, the kind that drained his existence.
He could not think about Chizuru, just the thought of her name, of her childlike smile that lit up her eyes, it tormented him. He could not afford it. He had a war to fight, an army to lead. If he made just one mistake, it cost lives, he could send his men in vain. He would not. He knitted his brows and scowled. It was the only thing left in his life, to overlook the Shinsengumi and his men, to make sure that they fought with honour, that their lives were meant for something, that they would be able to stand tall with their heads held high. It was all he had left.
. . . . .
White chrysanthemums lay upon the grey surface, the pure white complementing against the cold stone surface. Grey was the colour between black and white, grey was the colour that lurks in the middle. It was very much like life, where one would have had their fair share of ups and downs, where one would float in the middle, until one end of life tugs her before letting her off, before the other end pulls her towards it. It was where she floated most of the time. It had been this way ever since it happened.
Chizuru clapped her hands together, her eyes shut. She prayed deeply, earnestly, hoping her thoughts could get through to Heaven, to his reincarnation. She had been visiting Kondo-san's grave every day. It was the only thing left for her, the only connection that she felt existed between the Shinsengumi and herself. It was the only thing that she could do after Hijikata-san left her. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and swallowed a lump in her throat. It would be what he wanted, what Hijikata-san wanted, for someone else to remember Kondo-san, for someone to visit Kondo-san and to ensure that Kondo-san was not alone, even after leaving this world.
She opened her eyes and gently wiped the name plate on the grave, her fingers trembling at the touch. She stood up slowly; her head bowed down and left, silently, alone. Her heart squeezed against her rib cage. How much time had passed ever since Hijikata-san left? She wanted to support him, to be his source of strength, but right now, the only thing she could do was to ensure Kondo-san's grave was well tended to, and to wait, to wait for Ootori's orders for her to return. Her thoughts often turned towards Hijikata-san. She was worried for that man, worried that he was shouldering too much of a burden, worried that he would not allow a single word of complain to cross his lips. She knew he wouldn't, he was Hijikata-san, he was a man of strength, a man who showed the true spirit of a samurai, a man who refused to acknowledge his weaknesses, who refused to allow others to catch a glimpse of his insecurities. That thought worried her. She did not want him to bottle it all within him, she wanted him to share his worries and pains and obstacles with her, but now that she was no longer at his side…
The thought weighed heavily in the pit of her core, she wished he could tell someone, anyone, about his worries while she was not beside him. It bothered her, that his trusted partners were no longer beside him, it would only be feasible that he would lock away his emotions even more so than before. Her thoughts made her feet moved rapidly, it was the only way that she could vent her worries, her hands clenched into tiny fists, her throat tightened.
I can't… Not here, not now…
Her feet kicked on a stone and she felt herself falling, falling before her knees hit the ground, her palms thrust out in front of her. Her knees throbbed with pain, but she did not bother to stand up. Her hair hid her face, they hid her eyes, creating a barrier from the outside world. Her breath was caught between gasps, and she saw drops falling onto the back of her hands, slowly gliding from her skin, seeping into the ground. She bit back a cry, her teeth biting on her lip, she couldn't make a sound, she couldn't. If she allowed herself to do so, she would shatter, she would not be able to piece herself back anymore. Her vision was blurry with tears, her shoulders shaking with grief. But for now, she thought, for now, she would allow herself to feel this anguish, to mourn for the people close to her who were gone, to cry for those who were still fighting on in the distance, for her loss, for Hijikata-san's loss, for their sorrows, and most of all, for the man who had left her behind.
. . . . .
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. Hijikata stood tall among his men, his men who looked at him with revere in their eyes, his men who lay their lives at his feet, his men who trusted his every movement, every decision. He had to stand tall, to stand with honour. He realised, now that Kondo was gone, that it was his burden to bear the weight of Truth, that it was up to him to show his men that they had someone to rely on. He had to, he symbolised their strength.
Hijikata was Vice Commissioner, he had to guide his men through battle, to decide when, where and how they should strike, what were the risks, if they should retreat. It took a toll on his body. He flexed his back muscles, his shoulders were tensed but even so, as he set his brows to a frown, he would do his duty. He trained his eyes on his men. It was time.
"Men! We will fight for our belief! We will bask in the pride of Republic of Ezo and we will defend it with our lives! This is our land, this is our blood, this is our dream! This is where a new era will be found, where peace will arrive! And for that, we will fight for it like men!" he barked, his voice rang loud and true across the silence.
Waves of chants met his speech, the soldiers punched their fists in the air, they shouted back at him in encouragement, they stamped their feet to the ground. His men were motivated. It was time to lead them out, it was time to defend their land, it was time for them to protect the dream that they wished for. He turned his back to his men, mounted his steed and led his men to the battlefield. The last thing that flashed across his mind was the image of Chizuru, of Chizuru's soft face wishing him a safe journey every time he left the headquarters, of her eyes pleading for him to be safe. That was the last image that came to him before he banished it, before he turned his thoughts to the upcoming battle.
. . . . .
A bowl of half eaten rice, a bowl of half empty miso soup, an almost uneaten grilled fish. They lay on the worn out wooden table, untouched. Chizuru was looking out the small window, her eyes unfocused at the distant world. A dim light filtered into the living room, illuminating her profile. She had forgotten about her lunch, the food frozen cold next to her. Her thoughts were far away, set across the ocean, at a land where she had never set her eyes on, her imagination taking control of her mind.
Her thoughts were filled with memories, memories of Hijikata-san, when she first met him, of when his long jet black hair framed his face, of when he first took her in his arms, protecting her, of the warmth of his body against her small frame, of his slender fingers when he stroked her head. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see him as clear as day, she could see his dark purple eyes, piercing through hers, as though he could see right through her.
Every so often, her thoughts would drift towards the other men of Shinsengumi. She often wondered how was Okita-san doing, if he was still fighting tuberculosis, if Saito-san was still fighting with the Aizu clan. Her chest squeezed tight. She opened her eyes and tugged at her pink kimono top, her hand clutching at the material near her heart. She had to believe that they were alive, that they were each fighting their own battles. She had to. She swallowed a raw lump at the back of her throat and took in deep heavy breaths.
They were not men who were easily defeated. She, of all people, would know that. She would believe, that was all she had left, she believed in them. Her hand gripped tighter against her kimono. She could not bear this feeling, it had been almost three months, three months of doubting, of wondering if any of them were alive, if… if the man she loved the most remembered her, if he ever thought of her, if he was doing well. She dropped her hand to her side and stood up, knocking over a vase on the nearby table. She heard the ceramic shattering on the floor, her head spun around.
The once beautiful vase was now scattered in pieces across the floor.
Her eyes widened and she bent down, picking up the scattered pieces. Her slender fingers reached for a piece. A sharp pain stabbed through her finger and she saw a drop of red blood welling up on her index finger. She drew her hand back and stared at it. Her teeth bit on her lip, hard. Chizuru straightened up, leaving the scattered pieces to dress her wound, fingers working automatically. How many times had she bounded injuries for the Shinsengumi, how many times had she seen blood on them?
Her gaze wandered over to the broken vase. It felt like an ill omen, that the vase was broken, that she cut herself on it. She shut her eyes and muttered a low prayer, a prayer to wish for Hijikata-san's safety, for the rest of the Shinsengumi to have strength, to be alive. She prayed to Hachiman, the God of war, the protector of His people, the one who ruled over battles and guarded His people in dire times of need. Chizuru opened her eyes and looked at remnants of the vase, an anxiety growing in her stomach, a heavy weight in her core. She stood very still, her hands still clasped together in a prayer, her eyes unfocused on the broken vase, her breathing shallow.
Hijikata-san… Hijikata-san… Please be safe, please, don't let him come to any harm…
. . . . .
Hijikata lay on his bed, his chest bounded tight in white bandages; he had been commanded by the doctor to rest for at least a day before he was allowed to work again. His arm throbbed, and every breath he took made his ribs shudder in pain. He gritted his teeth, this wasn't the worst pain he had had, he had had worse. He exhaled deeply, ignoring the insistent pain at his sides. They had won their battle, they had managed to defend their land, but only by a scratch, at the expense of his men. He had lost so many of them, of his men who had sacrificed on the battlefield.
He shut his eyes, the earlier image of the blood filled war filled his mind. There was blood everywhere, pleading cries shrieked at his ears, shouts tumbled out from mouths, feet thundered across the ground, he couldn't get the picture out of the back of his head. His body felt heavy, as though it was laden with weight. Hijikata raised his arm and scowled. His arm was sore and it protested against his movement, but he didn't care. How could he care when so many of his men were gone? This pain was proof. Proof that he was alive, that he could feel. He draped his arm across his eyes, trying to shield the vision out from his head. It wasn't something that could disappear even if he closed his eyes.
A low groan escaped from his lips. He wanted it gone; he wanted to discard the memories. But if he were to throw it away, it would have meant he had discarded the memories of his own men, of his men who had fought gallantly in the war, and he could not do that. He had to bear the responsibilities of his comrades on his shoulders, to keep the memories of his men fresh in his mind. It was a two way sword, this war; he wanted to forget it all, but his honour and pride wouldn't let him, it wasn't right to forget it. The memories tormented him, haunted him, and it slowly devoured his entire being, but yet, it also made him swell in pride, that his men had put their lives at stake, it brought him gratitude, it gave him strength.
He turned his head to side, arm still draped across his eyes. If he lay here like this, for a moment, just a moment, he felt that he could sense her presence, that he could feel Chizuru next to him, kneeling by his bed, looking at him with her warm caring eyes, her staying beside him silently and doing everything in her ability to hasten his recovery. His lips curled up into a smile on reflex. He could almost sense Chizuru reaching for his hand, for her slender, soft fingers to touch his hand, to hold his hand in her small gentle pair.
"Chizuru…" he whispered.
He thought of her smile, of her upbeat energy. He wanted her next to him, he wanted to feel her warmth, he wanted to hear her saying his name, for her to always be smiling next to him. He needed her strength, her support. He took another deep breath in, his chest about to set in flames with his breathing. He dropped his arm to his side and opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling, his eyes focused. For once, he would allow himself to immerse in his memories with Chizuru, he would allow himself to reminisce on his time spent with her. Tonight, he would allow himself to be weak, alone.
He thought back to all his time spent with Chizuru, the memories unravelling in his mind quick as an arrow. He clenched his jaw, his eyes squeezed tight. It was as though the memories that he greatly cherished, the ones that he hoarded close to his chest like they were his lifeline, his treasure; reached deep into his heart, dragged it out in the open and was torn apart, leaving him empty, open and bleeding. The memories carved an anguish so deep into him that it left him drained, that this agony was worse than the physical injuries he had, that he could barely feel any of his wounds when his heart had bled so much.
I wish Chizuru was here. I shouldn't have let her go. I shouldn't have let her out of my sight. I should have been selfish and brought her here with me. I should have, I should have…
It was all Hijikata could do to bite back the raw tears burning at the back of his eyes. He couldn't cry, even if he was weak tonight, he couldn't cry. He was a man, a man never cries, no matter how much he was suffering. He grasped the sheets around him, his fingers digging into them, willing himself to stop the tears, to stop it before they fell from his eyes. He swallowed hard, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He gritted his teeth and felt his shoulders were tensed, the back of his throat dry. It was all he could do to control himself.
Tonight, he would be weak. He would allow himself to think about Chizuru, to let his mind to be washed with memories of her. Tonight, he would admit to himself, that he missed her, that he was filled with doubts if he had made a mistake in leaving her.
. . . . .
Three months. Chizuru walked along the streets in Sendai, her hand tugging at her kimono, wishing that it kept her warmer. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, looking at the barren branches, the last of the leaves that were hanging from them. Her eyes were often vacant when she looked around her, like she was merely a bystander looking at the world from the outside, that nothing affected her. She hurried down the streets, wanting to go home. The weather was gradually turning chilly. She brought her palms up to her lips and exhaled on them, a mist formed from her breath swirling in the air. Chizuru brought her palms together and rubbed them, trying to generate any heat for them and all the while, her feet shuffling quickly.
All around her, people were rushing to return to their homes. Night was almost falling, the once blue sky tinted with orange and red streaks of the setting sun, the moon rising far off in the distance. Night was danger, night was unpredictable, and in the country's current state, night meant bloodshed and war, it hinted at jeopardy lurking among shadows. She had to get home before the sun had set.
Chizuru came upon her house and she climbed up the front steps when her feet came to a stop. Lying on the floor in front of her door, was a letter. She picked it up and let herself into the house before looking at it in minute detail. It was addressed to her. She did not recognise this handwriting. She tore it opened, her eyes scanning through the sheet of paper. Her fingers trembled, shaking the feeble piece of paper. The room was filled with heaving gasps, her shoulders shaking. Chizuru could barely read the contents of the letter, her vision blurred. Tears landed on the letter, smudging a few characters. She grasped the letter and brought it close to her heart. Her chest clenched and all she could hear in the room was her resounding cries.
It was time, it was finally time for her to go. This was an order for her.
. . . . .
Hijikata rested his forehead on the back of his fist, his eyes clenched shut. His head had been pounding for days upon days, never ceasing. He knew that he was overworking, that the stress had taken a toll on his body, that his mind was slowly shutting down. He knew he was to take better care of his body, but he was afraid, he was afraid that if he stopped this instant, the Shinsengumi would crumble, that they would have nowhere to look upon. Hijikata knew that he was the head of Shinsengumi, and that he had to lead, to even allow others to be his limbs, he knew that, but that was a fact that was getting harder and harder for him to accept.
The Republic of Ezo was a beautiful dream, a beautiful dream that he wanted to see it last. He wanted to be the one to guide the nation down this path, this path where he believed the spirit of a real samurai would continue forevermore. It was for this notion that he pushed himself, that made things hard for him to bear, for him to remember that he was the head of Shinsengumi. The reminder that he was to not shoulder all his responsibilities alone was slowly slipping from his mind, he took it all upon himself, bore it down to his bone, and it wore him out.
He couldn't remember how did he manage to shoulder these responsibilities while he was back in Kyoto with everyone, he couldn't remember how did he manage to live those days in happiness, without this pounding headache. He was starting to forget about the blissful times he spent with the Shinsengumi, before everyone split up, before they were lost, before he abandoned Chizuru, he was starting to forget it all. All he could think about was the fear for his men, for the Republic of Ezo, for the future and the constant war. It was all that was on his mind.
. . . . .
Chizuru was on the ship, her hair tangled in the sea breeze. Her hands were cold, her face almost frozen from the winter breeze. But still, she kept her eyes ahead, her hands clutching at the wooden sides of the ship. She kept her face blank but there was a growing resoluteness deep in her chest, one that could not be quenched. She breathed in the salty ocean breeze and lifted her face to the sky, looking at the sparse clouds.
How long had it been since she felt hope growing within her? How long had it been since her heart had thumped so steadily, so fiercely in her? Her eyes trained to the far off distance, at the never ending ocean. She stood tall, her back erected.
It would only take her a little longer, she had waited for such a long time, she could be a little more patient.
Wait for me.
. . . . .
Hijikata signed his documents, paper after paper after paper, his eyes going blurry at the characters in front of him. He had been at his desk from dawn and it was now almost night. His shoulder muscles were stiff and his back was rigid. He put down his pen and flexed his fingers, they felt frozen from holding his pen the whole day. He closed his eyes and allowed a sigh to escape his lips. He had forgotten to have his meals again. He was unaware of how much time had passed until he stopped working and look out of the window, when his eyes noticed the change of colour in the sky.
He breathed deeply and opened his eyes. A scowl came to his face as he picked up his pen. He had to continue working, to pick up the slack. His hand reached over to the next sheet of document, ready to scan through the details.
Hijikata made to the fifth line of the document when he paused. A knock resounded on his office door. He grimaced, and barked out a command, his eyes continuing to scan at the document in his hand.
"What is it? I said I don't want to attend the party," he snapped.
His eyes never left the document in front of him as he wrote his official statements when he heard the click of the door opening. His scowl deepened at the sound. He stopped writing and glanced up towards the entrance. A person stood there, head bowed, brown black hair shielding the face. But this person… this person resembled…
"Yukimura Chizuru reporting for duty. I have been assigned by Ootori-san, Minister of Army, to serve Hijikata-san, Vice Commissioner, as his attendant starting from today," a feminine voice carried out across the room.
The person raised her head and there, standing in front of him, was Chizuru. Chizuru who was donned in her red and black western outfit, her white shirt sleeves showing underneath her vest.
Hijikata's breath caught. His eyes widened and his gaze locked into hers, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The pen fell from his fingers with a clatter on the table. His feet brought him up to a stand and he was breathing, breathing in shallow breaths. His chest squeezed tightly and it was all he could do to remain standing at his position. It was Chizuru, standing in front of him, Chizuru who was well and alive, Chizuru, the one person who he had yearned for more than anyone. His heart thumped so furiously against his rib cage that it hurt.
Chizuru was in the same space as he was. How long had he wished for this to happen? He felt like he was in a trance, that it was only possible that it was a dream, and that he didn't dare to move a muscle. If he did, surely, this dream would shatter, it would cease to exist. This dream was fragile, as precious as glass and the slightest touch could send it smashing into smithereens. It was impossible for Chizuru to be standing in front of him. Impossible.
"Here is my appointment letter," Chizuru said.
She extended a letter in both her hands, her eyes still captivated his. At her movement, Hijikata snapped out of his trance. He stood rigidly, his posture stiff and he knitted his brows. His eyes grew to half slits as he hardened his gaze at her. She wasn't meant to be here. It was for her sake that he left her behind, for her to find happiness with another man, for a chance of living an ordinary life, away from war and suffering. His fingers twitched. He wanted to caress her face, to feel her warmth within his arms, to hold her, but he shouldn't. He placed his hand at his hip and clenched the other in a fist, lest should he lose control. He grounded his feet, making sure that he would not take a step in her direction. If he did, he knew that he would not be able to resist letting her leave again.
"What are you doing here?" he growled.
Hijikata's voice was gruff and low. He cleared his throat and continued to question Chizuru, who was silent as a tree.
"I refuse your appointment. Get back to Sendai, this place is not a place for women," he commanded.
He tried to command in a strict tone, he tried to, but even he could hear his voice wavering in resoluteness. It was a slight waver and he hoped that she did not pick it up. He was torn, torn between wanting her to fight to stay by his side and wanting her return to Sendai, to be safe from harm. He took in another deep breath and felt his nails digging into his palm, his jaw tired from clenching, the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his eardrums.
"Okay," said Chizuru.
Hijikata was brought up short, his eyes widened at her response. That was unexpected, it was rare that Chizuru was obedient to his orders. Right before his very eyes, she tore the letter into pieces, allowing the paper to flutter onto the carpeted floor. He stopped breathing.
"What are you doing?" he barked.
Chizuru took two steps forwards. She was now right in front of him. The fragrance of her shampoo hit him in waves, nostalgia rushed through his mind. He dug his feet into the ground, his hand gripped tighter against his hip. He brought himself to his full height, his back stiffer than a board, his eyes hardening at her gaze, his jaw clenched tight. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and it took all his willpower just to stand in front of her, to not move an inch from his spot, to not reach out and touch her face.
"I'm staying," Chizuru said simply.
The closeness of her voice reeled him back. His chest hurt, it hurt from wanting her to be closer, from needing her presence in his life, from him restraining himself from showing his feelings. He swallowed a raw lump in his throat, his piercing gaze burning into hers.
"No, you're going back on the next ship out," he argued.
Chizuru's eyes hardened, her gaze never wavered from his own, not even once. He could feel her determination, her strength reflected within. It was one of the things that he loved about her the most, that she had inner strength, that she was stronger than most men, that she was decisive. He was about to open his mouth to argue with her when she cut him off.
"Hijikata-san is always acting this way! You shouldn't shoulder everything onto yourself! If the reason for my coming was due to my own personal reasons, I wouldn't have come at all, I would have endured it! It's because the others worry about you, that the others told me that they needed me to stay that I came! Do you not understand that? Do you not understand that everyone is worried about you?" Chizuru said in a rush, her head shaking side to side.
She spewed her words in an agitated manner, her voice raised several notches. He looked at her face contorted into pain. She was worried. Her heated gaze locked him in place. As much as he hated causing her so much pain, as much as he hated himself for worrying her, he couldn't help but felt an inkling of happiness, that his heart was actually soaring.
She worries about me.
He stayed silent. He wasn't sure if he could even speak now. It was hypocritical of him, that the moment those heated words were uttered, the first emotion that he felt was an overwhelming sense of happiness, that she cared about him, that she still concerned herself over him even after all he did to her, that she still wanted to be next to him. Chizuru had averted her gaze away from him, casting it downwards to the carpeted floor. The loss of her made his palm twitched.
No, don't look away.
The room was silent after her outburst. He should say something, he should demand her to return. He should… he should… There were so many things he should do but all he could concentrate in that moment was the girl in front of him. The girl who refused to look at him, the girl whose shoulders were now trembling minutely.
That was all it took. To see her lithe body shaking and trembling in silence. He crossed the threshold to her front. Wordlessly, he enveloped her in his arms. He shut his eyes and felt Chizuru against his chest. This was what he had wanted to do from the moment she set foot into his office, this was what he wanted the most from the moment he was separated from her. All he felt was the heat from Chizuru's body, slowly merging into his, of her soft body against his. This was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed. He breathed in deeply. Chizuru's scent reminded him of onigiri and home, of flowers and freshly washed linen, of spring and mornings. Her scent comforted him. He lightly stroked the top of her head and felt her body relaxed against his, her hands now clenched at the back of his black coat.
"Chizuru…" he said, his voice ever so low.
He had to tell her, there was no point denying anything, that anything he said would be seen through by her. This was Chizuru, the one person who could see through him without even trying. This was Chizuru, who had crossed the waters to be by his side, who had done everything in her power to be strong. This was Chizuru, the one person who he loved the most, who he needed beside him the most.
"You can never beat an Edo woman. Every time you reprimand me, I feel like my family had started to chastise me again. Edo women are the strongest after all," he said.
"Hijikata-san…" Chizuru mumbled.
He laughed. Her voice was music to his ears, and at this close range, it was all he could do to restrain himself from meeting her lips. The feeling of Chizuru in his arms was incomparable to anything he could ever feel, it was better than winning a hundred wars, it was as though he had the world tightly enveloped in his embrace. It comforted him.
"Now that you're in my arms, I don't even know how I even managed to go through all this time without you. Chizuru…" he breathed her name on top of her hair.
Her grip on him tightened. He couldn't help it but pulled her in even closer, squeezing Chizuru in his embrace, afraid that at any moment, his world would disappear.
"Chizuru, now that I've got you back, you'd better prepare yourself. I'm not going to let you go again, ever, even if you begged me to. I want you to always be by my side, with me protecting you. I swear on that, that I'll always protect you," he said.
He released her from his embrace and looked straight into her eyes. Her gaze was strong and intense, but tears streaked down her pale cheeks. He raised a hand to rest against her cheek and stroked her tears away with his thumb. He didn't want her to cry. Chizuru broke into a smile.
"Yes," she said, her voice rang loud and clear in the energetic way that she always had been.
That was his Chizuru. The cheerful, optimistic, upbeat Chizuru. The Chizuru that he could never stopped loving even if he wanted to, the one person who he had willingly gave his heart to, who had the power the stop his world if she wanted to, the only one who he wanted to protect the most. This was his Chizuru. His heart pounded against his chest, his senses in overdrive. He was flushed from his emotions but he couldn't suppress it, nor did he even want to. He wrapped his arm against Chizuru's waist and pulled her against his chest, his other hand tilting her chin up towards him. He closed his eyes as he drew her lips to meet his, his world obliterated the moment they met.
This was his Chizuru, the one who he had always loved, the one who he wanted to protect, the one who he needed by his side. The one who meant the world to him. This was his Chizuru.