Makamachi Misao dropped to the floor, the darkness triumphantly coming to claim its prize.
Aoshi…
And miles away, a cup fell from his hand and shattered against the temple floor, its contents spilling its blood over the cold stone.
I bet that I'd miss you even more if you were gone.
Somber streams of autumn dawn inched their way into the room until they found a sleeping body, asleep and plagued by dreams. Stirring immediately, he made as if to brush the warmth from his body, frowning as the sunlight stubbornly shone through the solitary window in the otherwise dark room.
Aoshi liked his room dark. Like your heart, Shinomori? But he closed his eyes at the thought. He had learned to shut voices such as those out.
Especially after…but it still hurt, he found, to think about it.
Shrugging on a gi, he walked to the window, looked outside, half hoping, half expecting to hear Misao's voice, to see her arguing with Shiro or Okina. The courtyard was gorgeous, the trees barren but the air crisp and clear. But it was left wanting without Misao. Everything was.
A humorless smirk twisted his lips. Look at him. At what he had become- a mere shadow of a man, pining for someone that was taken away years ago.
Not only was it illogical to see Misao outside in the courtyard at this hour, it was also ridiculous to think that she would suddenly show up once more, out of the blue. Sighing a little unsteadily, he moved away from the offending scene to pass a long fingered hand over his drawn face.
Five years. It had been five long years since he had felt that chill down his spine in the temple. Five years since he had run to the Aoiya, shoving past startled customers and a concerned Okon, who was just mounting the stairs. There had been a small crash that was heard downstairs, followed by a small cry. He could still hear her explanation follow him up the stair as he rushed to Misao's room.
He could still feel the fear that engulfed him as he opened the door to emptiness.
His breaths grew harsher, and he again closed his eyes to soothe. Why did he go through this every morning? Putting himself through hell, torturing his already battered soul with memories?
The answer, he admitted, was simple. It kept her alive.
Sighing in defeat, Aoshi made his way downstairs, grabbing an apple from the kitchen to eat before going to the town. Taking his mail down from the shelf, he sat briefly at the table, leafing through the parchments as he ate.
The kitchen was empty, and he was grateful. Okina had never forgiven him for what he had done to Misao the day before her disappearance. When Misao had run from the temple in tears, locking herself in her room for the rest of the day. Aoshi read over the letters, his eyes not comprehending the kanji. Muttering a slight oath when he realized that he had read the same line for the last two minutes, he again closed his eyes in try and soothe.
What was he to do? What else would he had done, when she materializes out of nowhere at the same moment he tried to realize the truth about his feelings?
What indeed, he thought bitterly. Anything but those words. Anything but those hateful, angry words.
It still hurt, to know that the last memory he had of her was of her running from the temple, tears in her blue eyes, his angry shouts still ringing in his ears.
The guilt was overwhelming. It was suffocating. It was slowly killing him.
Aoshi closed his eyes again, praying for the peace that had always seemed to elude him. What was it about him that always seemed to prevent true happiness from lasting? Brushing that rather depressing thought aside, he raised an eyebrow at a letter from Himura Kenshin. Scanning it briefly, he couldn't find the will to smile at the urging to visit Tokyo, to stay at the Kamiya dojo.
Getting out a piece of parchment, Aoshi contemplated his answer. He needed some rest, some peace. Kami knew that he needed to get away from the Aoiya. And a few days in Tokyo could help, he admitted grudgingly. He poised the brush over the parchment, ready to write his consent.
But it would also be as if someone had poured salt into an open wound.
His hand stilled, the ink dripping onto the paper in a steady rhythm.
Drip. Megumi and Sano had married last month, and were expecting a child within the next few weeks.
Drip. Tae had also gotten married, and her daughter was just about to turn four.
Drip. Yahiko and that serving girl were seeing each other.
Drip. Even Himura had a marriage proposal planned within the month.
Aoshi looked at the parchment. The hai he had written was now completely obliterated, the ink stains drenching the paper. In a rare sign of weakness, he held his face in his hands and breathed harshly, a single bead of moisture burning his skin.
"Ooh, I have always wanted a happy ending to everything. I hope that that stupid rooster head finally gets the nerve to tell Megumi that he loves her! And Kenshin had better propose to Kaoru in this lifetime, or else! Ne, Aoshi-sama?"
He nearly smiled at her earnestness. "Aa."
The stillness of the kitchen was killing him. His weakness was humiliating. But it wasn't fair. Misao had wanted those things just as badly as her friends. It seemed wrong that she was not there to hear of the news as it happened. It did not seem fair that she might not be…might not be able to have her own happy ending.
It would drive him insane to be trapped here, where there were too many memories. Better that he be looking for some sign of hope, to do something, instead of feeling infuriated at his own helplessness. Gathering his coat, he left, leaving the paper to cool on the table.
Domou Arigato, demo, iie.
Thank you very much, but no.
Shinomori Aoshi did not deserve peace.