(Happy birthday sister of mine! I own nothing and I hope you enjoy! Good day and God bless!)
Yasusada Yamatonokami, despite being a sword and a weapon of war had the mentality and form of a six year old boy. He like to play with toys and dolls and he was still learning to speak Japanese properly. He was ignorant when it came to his use as a sword because his power could only be revealed when a master wielded him therefore it was potential energy and not something he really knew nor cared about.
He did not know about the concept of death because it was never explained to him so he remained completely and utterly ignorant.
Yasusada wore a coat and scarf a couple sizes too large for his small body so mobility was difficult. That's why he waddled like a penguin as quickly as his little legs could take him down the familiar hall that led to his room.
He panted for air, his chest rising and falling, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was difficult to run so quickly and even harder to do so with the heavy content in his arms.
Yasusada remembered Yamazaki and how fast he could be when he needed to be. He turn his head from the left to the right like he was trying to cross the street and proceeded to waddled to his room as quiet as a ninja.
With one hand, he opened up the sliding door. He had to walk to the side a bit to open a space big enough for him to enter. He growled and puffed out his cheeks in irritation at the extra work.
He had forgotten all about the open door when he slipped of his sandals and hurried to his futon, the one to the left in the middle of his empty and dark room.
Once he reached it, once his feet touched the soft fabric of his bed he opened his arms and let the heavy thing had been carrying fall with a soft thud. A sword.
A familiar silver sword with a crimson hilt rested silently and quietly like this hadn't been its room, to for many years now, like it's futon wasn't a few feet over, like it- no, he was not here just yesterday telling Yasusada that he would beat him the next sparring match the held.
It was never so quiet, so dark before. Only the sword that was in front of him was allowed to light to candles and only that sword really initiated any good conversation. Yasusada only knew how to start small talk, and that was never any fun.
The edge reflected Yasusada' blue eyes back at him; large, confused, yearning, desperate eyes. Had he been looking so sad this whole time? Even though he only felt empty inside?
He payed it no heed and let himself sit down beside the sword in silence.
Than he lifted his all too still hand to run it along the blade, to feel it's cold metal with no fear of being cut. They did have their fights, their arguments and their childish moments but he would never hurt him and Yasusada could say the same.
He had never said it out loud, though. He always assumed naively that he would get another chance, that every day would be a chance to treat that sword that had always been there like the friend he had always been, but now he wasn't so sure.
The thought that it was too late now put a far too bitter taste in her mouth. He didn't like the taste at all.
"Kashuu…?" He whispered through dry and cracked lips, "Please wake up…"
No response.
Usually when Kashuu slept, he'd wake up when Yasusada called. Why was he keeping silent when he knew Yasusada was in pain? Why wasn't he talking to him?
"Kashuu..! Wake up…."
Surely a small fracture of the tip of the blade wouldn't keep him away forever. Surely he was going to be alright like he always was.
He lifted his fist and slammed on the bed. He felt like stomping his feet and throwing a fit. He felt the pressure behind his face and throat.
"Y-You gotta…." He felt like he was being choked, like he couldn't breath.
His eyes were hot. He was just so angry and he didn't know what to do about it. Tears were coming and he could do nothing to stop them. He but his lip and closed his eyes as tightly as he could.
"Please……."