Heyo! College year is ending soon and it's killing me 0w0
Concerning this fic, I actually wrote it... almost two years ago I think? Didn't post it then because I wasn't feeling like it. I don't even remember what I was trying to do here. I was just writing, and before I realised it, I had an angsty fic in my hands. Oh welp. Still, I'm quite proud of my writing in this one, so I finally decided to post it uwu
Enjoy it I guess? xD
Of touches and warmth and lies
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. . .
She doesn't realise how much she desires him, how much she craves for his presence, how much she yearns for his touch—how much she loves him—until they are both snatched away by their respective responsibilities.
By the same time, she realises she has made a dangerous and serious mistake. Yet at the same time it's too late to try to fix any mistakes. So, she just keeps on living, acting as if there's still a tomorrow for her in front of other people's eyes.
She is being cruel, she knows it. But nothing is going to divert her from the path she has chosen—because she has chosen her sister over him, to the point she doesn't care about herself anymore, and even if she knows he will not judge her nor blame her for it, she still feels horribly guilty inside. A hypocritical and heartless woman, or so she thinks she is—she's convinced she is.
So, when he comes back—injured, always injured and bleeding, because he too doesn't care about himself anymore, because she isn't enough to keep him alive, just like he isn't enough to keep her alive—and all the doors are locked, and the children are asleep, with just the moon as their sole witness, she can finally touch him, feel how he touches her, and drown in each other's warmth.
His breath is warm against her face even if the tips of his fingers are cold, so cold. His lips soon find their way on her neck, her hands quickly undoing the buttons of his uniform. His hands travel through her body, and her hands can only do the same on his. The kisses are deep, needy. It's already the end of autumn, the beginning of winter; small white puffs of air form near their faces when they pull away. His hands are rough because of years of training, yet his touch on her is soft, always so caring and so gentle, as if she is a delicate doll even though both of them know it's not true and it only makes her feel even more guilty. She can feel herself melting by his touch and for a moment, she allows herself to dream that this moment will last forever.
The only thing she laments is that he is not going to be the last person to touch her—she will die in the hands of a demon after all, the same disgusting creature who took her sister away from her—but he will certainly be the last person to express his love for her in such a way—even if she doesn't want him to love her, even if she never wanted him to love her so deeply, so intensely just like he does, because she knows the end will only be even more painful for both of them.
Even if it is not enough to keep her alive. But he doesn't need to know that.
The thing they have become is already a mistake—not because it can be socially condemned, but because it diverts them from the path they had set for themselves, a path they had both swore to never digress from and yet here they were—, he doesn't need to carry a misplaced guilt over her death.
And yet she's happy. He makes her happy and despite their positions, their responsibilities and her own vow of revenge, she has the audacity to admit it to herself—never to him of course, because that would be crueller than playing pretend. This attraction is not one-sided—one of the very few truths she told him. One of the very few she could tell him, an undeniable truth she could not keep to herself.
The last time is spent just like the first one, between deep kisses and ragged breaths, frenetic and soft, so close, so warm, and joining each other's body in a final act of love and pleasure.
No words are exchanged, since he doesn't know how to speak and her words are too insincere for her to dare to pronounce. But they are not needed anyway, because their hands, their lips, their gaze convey already all what they want to say, in such a genuine display of their feelings.
She still manages to lie to him till the end.
She wants to remember him. So, she engraves his name, his face, his eyes, his hands, the way he touches her, the way he loves her, his very person—his very existence— in her memory, so when cold finally reaches her and takes her life away she still has something to hold on as she waits for the warmth of her sister's hand.
. . .
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~A few notes about this fic:~
■ Canon compliant, secret relationship.
■ For some reason, I like that Giyuu and Shinobu aren't directly named in this fic. I guess I find it more poetic in a certain way? I'm not sure, but I like it.
And now... gotta finish my assignments xD
See you next time n.n