.uno
He tasted like regret. Regret that he couldn't have been stronger even now as he sheltered her, barely, against the onslaught. That they'd probably spend their last moments here inside themselves. That they didn't have a life outside of these moments.
()
.dos
He looked like he was fading; the light behind him swallowing up. Or was he the one swallowing the light? She couldn't tell, his silver-white hair blocked the sun—moon—their souls? She wasn't sure.
()
.tres
He felt rigid. But he was warm to her touch, but if she moved across his face—he'd be cold. He was bracing himself against darkness, against his fear, the cold sweat gripped him, a clammy hold constricting around him. Could she brush it away? But then her fingers felt that cold.
()
.cuatros
His breathing sounded softly, sometimes he gasped. His heart beat sporadically beneath his scar. She pressed her head against it, listening, no longer afraid.
()
.cinco
She smelled insanity. Fear. But stumbling beneath, a surprise attack, a persevering soldier—there was the scent of roses. Why roses?
--
She looked into his eyes. She knew why.
--
What random crap is this, you ask? Maka and Soul: the 5 senses! Yep, writer's block.