Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.

The third!

"numbing martyrdom"


He hated it when she cried.

He hated himself right now more than anything.

He should have never taken that Death Scythe mission with Shigami. He had known from the very beginning that he would get hurt. There had been no way around it, however.

It'd been two months since he'd seen her, and now that he was, it was from an immobile position, though half-open, sedated eyes as he lay flat on his back in crisp sheets. The amount of needles and IVs in his arms made him feel like a pincushion. He can hear the in and out of his own breath, a hollow sound against plastic.

In. Out.

His bright red eyes were glued to her, and she stared right back into them, clutching at his hand. He wanted, so badly, to squeeze it, to let her know that it was going to be okay, but she couldn't and he wanted to scream.

But he couldn't.

And then he started to think that it wasn't going to be okay.

And that struck fear straight through his soul.

He knew that she blamed herself. Why, he didn't know. It was his fault. His own, stupid fault. He should have never gone with the Death God. He'd known it was going to be more dangerous than anything he had ever faced with her.

Her tears hit the plastic over his mouth with a hollow dripping sound. He blinked, suddenly startled by the suffering in her eyes. He never wanted this to happen. He never should have left her.

Two months. Two months too long.

He'd missed her. He wished she'd stop crying. The morphine hadn't helped numb the pain in his chest. It escalated higher, and his breathing became quickened as he tried to cope with the searing torture of it.

She was still crying, still clutching his hand, still looking at him with those anguished green eyes, and all he wanted to do was tell her the three words he still couldn't say.

Because all the agony there, in her eyes, was because of him.

Unbidden, one single, crystalline tear seeped out of the corner of his eye, trailing down into his shock white hair.

I'm sorry.

While he was abroad, he had often pictured the look on her face when he came back home, mission finally accomplished. He'd imagine the feel of her arms around him, the warmth of her skinny body against his, the thankfulness that he had come back unharmed. Almost as soon as he thought about it, he'd feel farther away from her than ever.

She caught sight of his lone tear, and sobbed quietly. Her head leaned down to rest gently, barely touching, against his. He closed his eyes, feeling her breath and listening to his own.

In. Out.

I'm sorry.

Maybe it was because she was there, or that she somehow knew that he'd never be more sorry for doing this to her, or that, somehow, some way, she had fallen in love with him too, but the pain in his chest finally dissipated.

I love you.


Ta da! More angst. I apologize for it.

Because I love your thoughts,

-datt