stay with me

"Will you stay with me?" She asks in a steady quiet voice that did not beg or demanded, but just simply asked. She gives him a faint, shadow of a smile. Not a happy, expectant smile. Not wistful and sad. It's a reassuring smile, one that wordlessly promises that whatever his answer might be, she will accept it. He looks at her face, swallowing hard against the words trying to burst out of his mouth: yes! A thousand times, yes! Forever, yes!

But his fear, borne deep down in his soul throttles that voice, reminding him that his answer may be "yes" now, but what of the future? What if he has a sudden urge, that driving need to wander again and atone? What if that cannot be cured out of him? She will be accepting of that too, it is in her nature. Her kindness allows her to put everyone else's desires over her. And if she will not stop him, he will leave. He knows this, because this is who he is. What of her, then?

Also, she is so young. Seventeen. An age where she is just discovering herself. He can see it in gentle slope of her cheeks, not yet contoured by age, not yet marred by time. In the bright, curious spark of her eyes. It is all part of her charm: her youth, her innocence. He finds it endlessly refreshing. She isn't cynical yet. She believes in the goodness of everything and of everyone, because she hasn't experience what it's like to choose between two things you love fiercely and having to abandon one, because there isn't any other way to move forward. And so to her, everything is still simple. Seventeen. She hasn't even lived half of her life!

This is his other fear: what if he said yes now, and she changed her mind later on, will he be able to let go of her?

He couldn't be sure. So: yes and no. Yes. And. No.

He meets her gaze, startled to find it suffused with a special, different kind of luster. One he'd seen before, so briefly, he had convinced himself that he'd only wished it so, had willed it so badly, that his mind had played a trick on him. But now, yes. He had seen this look: she had that same light in her eyes months ago, when he had told her goodbye. That night amongst the fireflies, when he went to Kyoto to fight Shishio. When he had been so certain that he would never see her again and he had, inadvertently, shown her a glimpse of the true depth of his feelings towards her: I think I'm beginning to love you. That is why I need to leave. That is why I am turning away now and never looking back.

He feels her hand ghosting over his, snapping him out of his reverie. She's looking at him with a look of open, unbounded, insane kind of love.

Insane, yes. Because who could love him? Once a creature of death, bringer of despair. A man with a lonely heart that, for the past ten years, had walked alone, unwilling to shed off guilt and pain and suffering. A man torn apart by history and fate. A part of him will always belong to the past, to that darkness. The mark on his skin, proof of what he had lost before, what he could never fully let go.

A farmer's son. An orphan. A student. Hitokiri. Husband. Widower. Ruruoni. He was a fractured, broken man. That is who he is. How could she think him worthy of her brightness? How can she even consider giving herself to him? A promise of a life, a future together, with shared laughter and hopes and dreams, even pain and despair.

More importantly, how could he ever say "no" to her? Not when, with just that one look, he could feel his heart so eagerly, welcomingly contracting, as though she had reached inside his chest, her fingers pushing past his rib cage, so that she can hold his heart, the warmth of her hand cradling it with such gentleness, it almost hurt.

Yes. Yes! Take it. Keep it. It is yours. Heal it. Take care of it for me. As I will take care of yours. Together, we'll heal. We'll rediscover ourselves. And every day, for the rest of my life, if I find myself wanting to wander again, to carry someone else's burden, so that mine will become lighter, if I suddenly want pain and suffering, I will choose you. I will always choose you, Kaoru.

And that is how Kenshin answered her. First, with the gentlest of kiss upon her forehead, his lips moving lower, settling quickly on her eyes, tasting her tears, her eye lashes fluttering close against cheek and then finally, he captures her lips. It is the briefest of kisses, but he knows he has enough time to kiss her longer, lingeringly. Hungrily. Possessively. Not yet, though. Later. In the evening, maybe.

He knows she is waiting for an answer. And although actions speak louder than words, he knows that she needs the assurance. He pulls back and is met by her fleeting, puzzled expression that makes him smile, warms him up, fills him up with her light. He has the rights words now. "Yes, let's always be together, Kaoru-dono."

Forever.


Author's Note: I don't even remember when I wrote this. Eons ago. I only saw this while I was looing at all my RK tags in tumblr when I had that massive rant after watching The Final. OH GOD. Now I want to write Kaoru-centric fics and Kenshin being all smitten by her and possessive and so fucking in love because, screw you The Final. HAHAHA. Sorry. Yeah. It was a great movie, just not what I had expected, wanted and NEEDED for Jinchuu.

But yeah, here's another drabble.