Author's Note: Digging through my manga collection the other day, I came across the last Black Cat volume. And got reminded that Charden was coughing up blood at the end ._. So here's this pointless little crappy oneshot.

The thick substance rose in his throat like bile and the all too familiar reek of copper suffused his nostrils. He coughed harshly into his fist, feeling faint as crimson spilled over his curled fingers and stained the skin. Blood once protected him. His own blood, the blood of his foes, it'd saved his hide time and time again. And now it was killing him. How like reality to be so laughably ironic.

"Charden." Her voice was subdued and lacked it's normal vivacity. She was somber and resigned, holding out a tissue out to him.

"Thanks, Kyoko," he rasped, accepting it with shaking fingers. The shaking was becoming more frequent. He wished it was just stop already. It was so exasperating and highly misleading. No matter what his shaky hands said, on the inside Charden was calm about this dying business. Cool as a cucumber, one might say. When you cause others to die and find yourself in a world where bodies pile up one after the next, you become keenly aware of your own ticking clock. Even Apostles will meet their end.

Charden was going to meet his a bit earlier than originally expected, but the principle of situation was that he was meeting an expectation, early or not. Wiping his hands and mouth, he crammed the bloodied tissue down into his coat pocket. "Should we sit down?" Kyoko asked, barley concealed wariness wavering in her violet depths.

"We don't have to. I don't mind walking." In truth, he rather liked walking. Little strolls in the park with Kyoko when she got out of school were something he looked forward to. Catching up with her and listening to all of the amusing stories about her classmates were simple pleasures he'd come to appreciate. So Charden rather liked walking. It was his rapidly deteriorating body that didn't.

"Alright," she replied, trying to force lightness back into her tone. She looped her arm through his and held onto him as though she were walking with a lover. But a double take was all it took to tell anyone that the purpose of the contact was support. He was noticeably thin these days. Painfully so. Charden was just as well a corpse already, albeit one that had apparently forgotten the dead don't walk.

"So what were you saying again?" He prompted Kyoko. Guilt nagged at him, because she'd been genuinely cheerful before he had to go and cough up more blood.

"I was just telling you about my friend Haruna. She's great, but she's one of those goodie two-shoes, so sometimes it's hard to- Charden!"

He doubled over, not just coughing blood this time but gagging. Eyes narrowed to hardened slits behind his sunglasses, he willed himself not to vomit. But his body's impulses held much more standing than determination at this point, and Charden retched into the grass.

It didn't come as a surprise that the mess consisted of blood and blood alone. Clotted blood, watery blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. He idly noted that sometimes it varied from brilliant vermillion to deep crimson. Did that mean anything? Likely so, but the importance there was naught. Bystanders and passersby stopped and stared, some daring to vocalize their disgust.

"What are you all gawking at!? Go away! There's nothing for you to see here!" Kyoko roared at them furiously, the hotblooded venom in her voice nothing to sneeze at. She was not the cute, pouty angry she used to get when Creed gave them dull assignments or when she lost track of her beloved Mister Black. She was flat out enraged and not to be disobeyed.

When the last staring park-goer had been driven away by her impending wrath, she gently placed a hand on Charden's back. He was thankful for her heated ferocity. Neither of them spoke, but she helped him straighten himself and gently led him to a bench. They were shaded by the overhang of a willow tree, and Charden found he couldn't complain.

"I apologize."

"No! Don't! How many times have I told you to stop apologizing? It's not your fault!" Kyoko bit her lip, arms folding as she rebuked him.

"Then I take back the apology." He offered a thin smirk, not one to be needlessly argumentative.

She scooted closer until their shoulders brushed and he put up no resistance as she removed his sunglasses and hat. Why? He supposed it was because she liked his face. She'd told him so time and time again, and used to childishly whine that he hadn't shown it to her sooner. "You're sweating," she mumbled quietly and used another tissue to wipe his brow.

Charden appreciated that as well as the chaste kiss she pressed to his forehead afterward. Kyoko then sat back, toying with his hat in her lap for a moment or two before she pulled it on her head. "Is it wrong that I miss being in the Apostles of the Stars, sometimes?" She peered at him over the rims of his shades, which she had put on while speaking. "It's not that I miss hurting people," she added quickly, "But it was more exciting than school life. And I got to see Mister Black a lot more, and you and I were together all the time."

"No, I don't think there's anything wrong with missing that. But try to enjoy what you have going in your life right now, instead of dwelling on what you don't." If dying taught Charden anything, it was that. Not that he'd taken anything particular for granted before or spent much time griping about meaningless trivialities in the first place. But now he was aware to savor life while it was still left in him, and took extra care not to mind irks and the misfortunes.

"I have you right now," Kyoko breathed quickly, no doubt thinking about how sooner than later, she wouldn't.

"You do." He smiled and gave her a reassuring pat on the hand. She took it loosely and closed her fingers over his. Warming his unsettlingly cool hand with her own, Kyoko resumed chattering about her friends and the perks of an upcoming school break. Charden was quite content to listen, occasionally hacking blood into his free hand and eventually resting his head on her shoulder when it felt too heavy to hold up.