Title: Cocoon
Fandom: [K], Project K
Characters: Suoh Mikoto, Kushina Anna, mentions of Totsuka Tatara.
Disclaimer: [K] does not belong to me, nor do I make any profit out of this work.
Warnings: unbeta-ed, grammar errors ahoy.
A/N: Inspired by a fanart on tumblr. Also this was written around episode seven or eight.
A [K] Project Fanfiction
COCOON
She was no stranger to death.
She'd seen many, so many deaths. Her own parents; bodies trapped and crushed inside a car that was almost folded in half. Her aunt's husband; struggling to take in oxygen as his lungs failed him, a gaping wound on his chest, bathed in blood, breaths gurgling. She'd also seen deaths when she delved into people's minds—Izumo's friends, Eric's parents. Totsuka's grandparents.
She'd seen gruesome deaths. She'd also seen peaceful ones.
But when Mikoto crouched before her; eyes unreadable but dark, the tips of his fingers trembling ever so slightly, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard, Anna couldn't think of anything. She merely blinked, even when Mikoto's arms wound up around her, pulling her into a tight embrace; his figure a safe cocoon to shield her from the world, from reality.
Mikoto, she wanted to say, but the words died in her throat, because she knew. Because slowly but surely, something in her chest gave way, making a gaping hole so empty and void she felt she couldn't breathe. Her arms twitched, wanting to hug Mikoto back, to cling and hold on to the strongest pillar she'd ever known in her life, because if it was Mikoto—Mikoto would be able to make everything alright. Mikoto would be able to keep everything safe.
Because Mikoto's power was to protect.
But Mikoto couldn't keep death from taking someone away.
The hole in her chest took shape. Of someone whose smiles had brightened even the worst day of the clan. Of someone whose songs had been a constant part of Anna's afternoons. Of someone who would randomly read picture books for her, someone who would jump and trap her under the blanket for afternoon naps, someone whose dream was to keep their memories alive.
"He's gone…?"
Because she couldn't imagine Totsuka Tatara not being there anymore.
Mikoto's arms tightened, nearly drowning Anna's lithe figure in his arms as Anna buried her face into the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, taking in sorrow and grief and loss and the choking sensation that was denial. She thought she might be crying, because her cheeks felt wet, but she didn't make a sound. Her hands raised to clutch on Mikoto's shirt, bunching them into painful tiny fists, nearly folding herself in her effort to make herself smaller, to fit herself into Mikoto's hold completely, seeking security and reassurance.
She was no stranger to death. She'd seen many, too many in her young life. Enough to make her think she had the rights to accuse God sometimes, because little kids weren't supposed to know that much about death. Little kids weren't supposed to have gaping holes in their chest in the shapes of people they loved.
She remembered her parents, bloodied and unrecognizable. She remembered her Uncle, face frozen in eternal agony. She remembered Totsuka and his cheerful smiles, his stubborn eyes, his warm voice, and wondered if good people were destined to die in pain.
"It's okay, Mikoto," she said, her voice breaking on the last syllable. "It's going to be okay."
The gaping hole stayed.
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