Work Text:
“Where...Where am I?”
“Hell.”
The newcomer's face contorts at Natsuki's reply. It's rings with a sick, nauseating echo and basks in the silence that promptly follows. Natsuki watches as the redhead seems to curl into himself, breathing becoming sharper in an attempt to piece together some sort of reply.
The demon sighs, as he normally does within this familiar silence.
The reaction is expected. Some people can take hours to recover from the heart-wrenching shock that is discovering their place for the rest of … well, eternity. Recalling some of his previous encounters, Natsuki shakes his head, slowly turning back to his latest case.
And is greeted by possibly the most grotesque expression he’s ever seen.
“W-Wait, this must be s-some sort of mistake.” The sentence chokes out of him about as smoothly as metal forks on porcelain plates. “I h-haven’t done anything wrong!”
Natsuki sighs once again, he’s heard that plea enough for it to lose all of its intended persuasion. With heaving exhale that escapes through his nostrils, Natsuki’s fingers meander up to the curve of his face and wrap around the thick arm of his eyeglasses before slowly peeling them off.
"Sanada Yuki."
The redhead flinches at the sound of his own name, refusing to meet the blank stare Natsuki has fixated on the top of his head.
"Died on the fifth of August. Cause of death...skidding delivery truck on the way to school.”
There’s a long pause before he speaks again.
“… You’re right – you haven’t done anything wrong.”
The demon’s eyebrows raise – well that’s a first.
Somewhat to Natsuki’s own relief, the strained expression on the boy’s face breaks apart almost instantly. It's replaced by the unmistakable glister of hope - which he almost feels bad for having to shatter so soon.
“But you are meant to be here.” God, why does he have to be the one handling this? “You agreed to it.”
A demonic contract. It's not a complete rarity in his line of work, but this is the first one he's come across so far. What a pleasant surprise - however pleasant doesn't seem to be the case for his new client here. Something in the dread of Yuki's expression tells Natsuki that he wasn't expecting this outcome, and his brow furrows at the thought.Then don’t sign the damn contract in the first place.
“That wasn’t … a dream?”
“No.”
Deciding that he’s seen enough about the teenager’s background, Natsuki slips his glasses back in place, straightening them slightly afterward.
The teenage boy before him is a soul sold for the sake of curing a fatal illness for a grandmother who never had much time left in the first place. Natsuki found it cliché in a way, but it’s a pure intention nonetheless.
It's almost unnerving to be in the presence of someone so … good in a place like this.
As the black-haired demon previously predicted, it took quite a while for the teenager to calm down – or at least the closest one can get to it in a state like this. After all, accepting your eternal damnation within the confinement of the underworld isn’t everyone’s usual cup of tea.
But there’s a lot less screaming and attempted murder than his previous case, so there’s no complaining on Natsuki’s end.
Somewhere between start to finish – Natsuki’s not quite sure when – Yuki managed to swallow the nauseated expression he had sported, brushing away a bead of cold sweat and coming to terms with whatever fallen being he now assumed he was.
Through the corner of his eyes, Natsuki chances a glance at the pale-faced teenager, taking in all he could within a breath of time. “Are you all right?” he asks – every syllable in his sentence evident with some sort of meticulous craft that was forged together after thousands of repetitions.
Yuki is still for a moment before nodding.
Natsuki decides that it’s time to carry out his job.
For a flicker of time one could hesitate to call a second, Natsuki raises his glasses from his eyes – hooks curling around the base of his ear – before snapping them back into place as quickly as the movement came.
“All right, let’s go, then.”
“… Where?”
But Yuki already knew the answer, whether he was aware of it or not. It was something buried, tucked underneath the grandiose expanse of knotting words and backstair ambitions, making up the boy that once lived as Sanada Yuki – underneath a plane of existence that was a looking glass away from Natsuki’s reach.
A final regret, an ultimatum of an affliction.
“To see your family.”
The teenager’s eyes widen to an almost painful extent, heartbeat slowed into pulsating thuds that reverberate anticipation in his bloodstream. And something about him in that moment just flickers in a way that seemed older than the place they stood in, yet unlike anything ever done before – making Natsuki unsure of how his mind should go about addressing it.
However, if he’s sure of anything in the current situation, it’s that the peculiar boy known as Sanada Yuki didn’t deserve to be in a place like Hell.
But there’s nothing he can do about it.
-
Natsuki’s job isn’t as angelic as most would think it is.
Though, when he was first employed to do it, his mindset completely conformed to that of popular beliefs – which were forged together by folded edges of happy endings and fairytales. While being presented a situation akin to Yuki’s, a vast majority would opt to the scenario wherein the recently deceased watches over their grieving loved ones with tethered smiles, which soon lead to an emotional enlightenment and ultimately a peaceful descent into the afterlife before the end credits devour the screen.
Funnily enough, reality isn’t nearly as forgiving.
Yuki’s house is larger than Natsuki previously expected – but pleasant nonetheless. There’s a faint garnish of salt in the air, detectable after being breathed out from the rolling waves down below. It doesn’t take long for him to recognize exactly where he is – and the thought makes his stomach churn – but he best not dwell on it.
Instead, he watches as Yuki stands by the foot of what was once his doorstep, staring blankly at the nameplate that hung beside it. Natsuki cocks his head, aiming to get a better view of the obstruction that’s keeping the boy from walking through the door.
‘Kate and Yuki.’
His name’s still on it.
He hears Yuki swallow down his bubbling grief, and maybe if he weren’t so invoked on getting this job over and done with he would’ve found it hauntingly familiar. Yuki takes a step forward, reaching for the doorknob with trembling fingers, and Natsuki’s wondering whether or not to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to grasp it.
In the end, he decides to save himself the burden of having to wait through a minute or so of a nonplussed shock. “You won’t be able to hold it.” The pierce of Natsuki’s voice elicits a sharp jolt from the other.
“A-Ah, I see …” Withdrawing his hand, Yuki swallows down another lump in his throat. “So I-I just walk through?”
Natsuki nods, but that doesn’t seem to put any ease on the teenager’s shoulders.
The teenager gulps down another bubbling lump in his throat, and a shimmer that the demon hasn’t seen up until now sparks in his pale grey irises. Yuki urges himself forward, eyelids snapping shut milliseconds before phasing through the front door of the house.
When Natsuki follows shortly afterward, he finds the boy frozen in an ungraceful mid-step with clenched eyes and balled fists. He rolls his eyes at the disturbing sight. The demon digs his hands into his pockets and floats forward, and the skin of his forearm grazes lightly against the side of Yuki’s hand.
The bespectacled one halts at the feeling of taut fingers clutching tightly at his wrist.
Warily, he cocks his head, eyes meandering up the stoic arm stopping his movement, and meeting the bright red head of hair that stood by its end.
Yuki’s looking down, cascading bangs preventing Natsuki from seeing his expression. “I-Is everything all right?”
Well that’s new. The question sounds like it should’ve been made by Natsuki instead of Yuki (that is, if he felt sympathetic enough). After a short pause, Natsuki realized what he meant by ‘everything’ and, after looking up to check, he realizes why.
He looks back down at the boy gripping his wrist. “… More or less.”
In an instant, the grip that would’ve cut off the blood (if he had any) from his hand loosened, and Yuki’s head slowly lifts up to face the sight of his old home.
At first glance, the room looks normal, but smaller details begin to sink in as seconds pass – transparent tape sprawled in branch-like segments to cover up cracks in the windows, upturned vases cupping water in their broken curves, small leaves scattered within the gaps between the floorboards – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The entire place reminded Natsuki of a stuffed animal being ripped apart and abandoned halfway through repair.
Somewhere within Yuki’s apparent trance, Natsuki pulled his arm out of the red-haired teen’s loosened hold – the demon was now floating down the hallway, searching for any living occupants.
“W-Wait!” Yuki catches up to him, doubling over once or twice on the way. “Where are yo─”
Without a fraction of hesitation, Natsuki turns around – eyes boring straight through Yuki’s head. “Who do you want to see?” he asks bluntly, and soon adds on to when Yuki looks too perturbed to reply. “Which family member are you here for?”
Natsuki’s voice is cold and impatient, and a churn in Yuki’s gut makes him understand why.
“… My grandmother,” he replies.
Natsuki nods in reply, rounding a corner to an empty laundry room and doubling back almost immediately. Yuki stays close, unknowing of what might happen if the demon ever left his line of sight in this situation (and he’s not anywhere nearcomfortable enough to try it out).
“T-There was a hurricane here a few days ago …” Yuki mumbles out of the blue, head hung like a sinner to a nonexistent god. “People said it was pretty strong – I wasn’t there, though. I was at the hospital with her.”
“I see.”
“And, when she got better,” he pauses, recalling something he probably shouldn’t have, “we came back and here and I promised to help her clean up when I got back from school, but …” He leaves it there, letting the sentence sound draw out and fade into a silence where only the sound of his footsteps could be heard.
A moment later, Natsuki hears a breath hitch behind him.
“S-Sorry,” he stutters, eyes wide and hesitant, “t-that was too much.”
Natsuki doesn’t know how to reply with anything other than a quiet: “… It’s fine.”
It wasn’t the type of small talk Natsuki expected, but he supposed it’s a drastic improvement from his last patron. Most people tend to blurt out stories akin to this, whether their final hours or whatever regrets they have lingering in them. However, Yuki’s surprisingly … calm for someone in a situation as orthodox as this. Perhaps it’s stupidity, Natsuki thinks, but, then again, that’s his explanation for a lot of things.
“What’s your name?”
It’s a wary reply, but it comes out nonetheless. “Natsuki.”
“Are you from here, Natsuki?”
No reply.
“Sorry w-was that t─”
Yuki almost crashes straight into the Natsuki’s backside – a bit disturbed by the sudden halt at first, but shock morphs into concern not a moment later. Even then, Natsuki doesn’t utter a single word – or makes any effort to surface a gesture that could’ve taken its place.
The demon turns his head a little ways to the side, and his thick ebony hair prevents Yuki from seeing anything past the bottom rim of his glasses.
“Yes.”
As Natsuki begins to move forward again, the red-haired boy doesn’t make a sound in return – he doesn’t need to, nor does he want to at this point.
They spend the next several minutes looking through various rooms and halls in the house – double-checking a few in case they’ve missed anything. It’s a tedious job, but neither of them is unsettled by it – if anything, Yuki’s actually quite grateful to be able to see his house again.
After scanning the broken living room for the umpteenth time, Natsuki stops and turns around to Yuki – an action that has the boy’s gaze averting and fingers clutching tightly at the hem of his light-blue blazer. Natsuki wonders if the sudden burst of nervousness is a result of their previous conversation.
“Is there a place in this house we haven’t checked yet?” he asks, the impatience in his voice tuned down with the little sliver of sympathy Natsuki has left for people in Yuki’s situation.
Yuki goes into a trance of thought, eyes looking anywhere but Natsuki. He’s certain that they’ve covered every room in the house – and his grandmother has no reason to have gone outside at this time of day. The teenager goes through a checklist of rooms and halls in the house – mind trying best to keep up with nervousness serpentine around his throat.
“… The garden.”
For a short while, Natsuki wonders how they missed such a large addition to the plot. Not wanting to waste another minute finding his own way to the aforementioned area, he tells Yuki to “Lead the way.” and follows him at a leisurely pace.
And the journey is silent until Yuki comes across a detail that he can’t help but ask about. “How long has it been since I died?”
The other ponders this for a moment – it’s been a while since anyone cared enough to ask of such details (even if they did seem very important). “A few hours.”
It’s then Yuki’s struck with the sudden downpour of realization that makes his pharynx twist and bend into knots so unbearably uncomfortable that it seizes his breath. But the idea that his grandmother might not even know he’s dead isn’t enough to stop his footsteps from taking him closer to where she could be.
He half-stumbles through the closed sliding door, taking in everything about the small area within a single breath. It’s exactly the way he remembered it to be – but, despite how it sounds, that’s actually a horrible, horrible thing.
Segments of flowering vines have been severed and torn by the whipping gales from days ago – most of them drooping down from their respecting places on the pergola or lying on the grassy floor in the form of rusting petals and decaying stems. Most of the flowers his grandmother had recently purchased were thrown askew by the aforementioned winds – small, muddy puddles forming as a ramification for the rainfall they couldn’t take in.
He found it strange that a scene so ugly still smelled so beautiful.
A breeze sifts through the garden, throwing locks of dark hair into Natsuki’s vision. As he brushes them away, he finds that Yuki no longer by his side – but running off in the direction of a small pergola that stands on the far left.
Natsuki leisurely ambles to his side a moment later – acknowledging the fact that this is the first time Yuki’s been brave enough to attempt to leave his side. Or perhaps it’s the carelessness of the moment, Natsuki thinks before shrugging internally – same thing.
And when he does reach Yuki’s side, he notices an unfamiliar presence resting on the bench in front of them.
“Hey,” Yuki mutters, turning to the black-haired demon, “are you sure there isn’t a way for me to hold something?”
-
Yuki’s grandmother is a lot … healthier than what Natsuki expected – even for a woman recently saved from a fatal disease by a demonic contract. He didn’t exactly know what he expected – and it isn’t as if she’s the complete denotation of the word ‘healthy’ either. Her skin still folded and creased, fitting like a loosened glove over a set of stubborn bones. Her hair is still shriveled and grayed, trimmed at a length just right for her – how Natsuki knew that is uncertain, but it just seemed right to assume so.
She’s sitting up, neck hunched in a supple bend that doesn’t look remotely comfortable (it’s not like they can do anything about it) and eyes shut in a way that looked very much so. Of all things, she looks most like a simple, dainty old woman who fell asleep on a park bench.
It’s a plain sight, but it still had Yuki’s fingers griping at the edge of his shirt – breaths coming out in stifled chokes that made it sound as if he were going to sob, but the actual sound never came. It isn’t anything new, but it still has Natsuki standing a good distance back in an attempt to give the boy a moment alone without letting him leave his sight. A precaution, of sorts.
It’s a while before any distinguishable sound is made, but, when it is, it rings in Natsuki’s ears with an edge of care he hasn’t heard in a long time (hasn’t heard often enough). “Did you ever have to go through this too when you … you know …”
It takes a moment for the demon to realize that the words were actually addressed to him – and it takes another to recuperate from the idea that he was actually beingasked something in a time like this.
He nods, mentally kicking himself for not giving a verbal reply – but it doesn’t matter as Yuki seems to notice it anyway.
“I see …” he mutters, letting the rest of his sentence linger into the breezy rustle that so reverberated through the garden. But there’s still one thing he has left to ask. “Did you want to see your family?”
He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”
“Did you ever get to see them?”
“… I didn’t.” Natsuki looks away now. “I refused to,” he added, as if it needed some sort of clarification.
The red-haired teen contemplated asking why, but – after a short rumination in the silence – his mind came to the ultimatum of “… Where’s your house?”
The demon’s eyes widen upon processing the question, inhibitions working to extinguish the relishing spark of anticipation that came afterward. “There.” His finger points out a small collection of roadside shop-houses along the coast. “Why do you ask?”
Instead of hearing a reply like he expected to, Natsuki is suddenly being tugged in the direction he previously pointed out – and it’s his turn to struggle to keep his balance. But, before he could choke out another question of his own, Yuki answers it.
“We’re going to see your family.”
Yuki looks back at his grandmother one last time, smiling sadly as if to apologize for not being able to stay longer. He turns his head forward, wondering whether or not she’ll feel cold with his sea-blue blazer still draped over her.
And when Sanada Kate wakes up an hour later to the sound of birds chirping, she knows exactly who put it there.
-
The streets are lit in the approaching night, concave shadows splitting streets into distinct shades of black and grey as the two amble silently through them. It’s only expected that Natsuki is the one ahead – with Yuki tagging close behind – for reasons his ego would rather not discuss – and taking occasional, hesitant glances at a corner of Enoshima he’s never stumbled upon. Not that he ever tried, that is.
To say the demon looked rushed would be an overstatement, in fact, Yuki was almost perturbed by the lack of significant emotion on Natsuki’s face. But, then again, some people are quite placid (as some are quite good at hiding things).
After several minutes of silence, a question bubbles up.
“… What are you, exactly?”
After a short period of processing, Natsuki’s irises sink, trying his best to articulate a concept he didn’t quite understand himself. “An escort.” He decides to continue when the puzzlement in Yuki’s expression only seems to grow thicker. “I take people back and let them see whoever they choose to – and the glasses help me find out whom.”
“Does this mean you won’t be an ‘escort’ anymore?” Yuki wonders aloud, somewhat grateful that he managed to say it rather than to simply let it simmer in his head.
The demon considers his words. “I don’t … know.”
It’s then Yuki’s initial curiosity is put out, and he’s left wondering what to say next.
But a moment later – when Natsuki turns a familiar corner and comes across a familiar whitebait sign – he doesn’t have to. And maybe if Natsuki’s widened eyes turned to meet Yuki’s, he would’ve been able to see his smile in the dim light.
The curtain-like entryway signs are hung low – but that doesn’t stop Natsuki from ducking under them, remembering the way they’d brush along his hair despite knowing full well that he had simply phased through them. Yuki trails behind soon after, walking straight through the signs as he’s supposed to.
At first, the restaurant seems completely empty, and Natsuki wonders if they’ve come in during a holiday of sorts – but, when he notices the steaming set of food on the table, the thought is ruled out. Yuki seems quite confused as well, eyes scanning the setting for any signs of life.
“Sakura, come down it’s time to eat!”
A familiar voice – well, not to Yuki – rings from atop the staircase, tumbling down and echoing in his ears with a gush of nostalgia.
Usami Tamotsu looks different from the last time Natsuki saw him – a year or two’s worth of sun burnt into his skin since their last encounter, but still brimming with the liveliness Natsuki swore he’d hate even in death.
(funny how that turned out)
The demon doesn’t even register the cherry-topped reply from his sibling rolling in from the second floor amidst the action of simply digesting the change in the man before him. Within his father, Natsuki notices something he’s only seen once before – or rather, chose to ignore ever since the first time he acknowledged its presence (because things change when you have to pull another chair away from the dining table).
There’s a disturbance in the air beside him as an intangible blur of black and light purple speeds her way down the stairs, fingers skimming the banister in a way Natsuki would’ve found all too familiar.
His sister, in ways, remained the same – her demeanor still effervescing out of her in puffs of bubbling innocence, hair still rolling behind her shoulders with a natural sheen. But she’s taller now, the top of her head swiping at Natsuki’s chin and a hint of light gone from her eyes.
Natsuki wonders why that is, but he’s already well aware of the answer.
And when the demon notices a lack of color in the corner of his eye, it takes a moment for him to realize what was wrong – but when he does, it has his head snapping in a whirl of vertigo that he couldn’t really care less about at the moment.
Yuki isn’t here.
But the panic barely has time to sink in when Natsuki catches a dull flash of red outside the small window far across the room – it’s a relief he didn’t know he needed as he managed to catch Yuki right before he ducked out of sight.
Natsuki heaves out a sigh, fingers reaching to scratch lightly at the back of his neck when a sudden burst of laughter has his muscles going rigid inches before contact. He turns to his sister, watching her face lift into a smile that seemed almost painful to uphold as she listened whole-heartedly to her father’s story. His father on the other hand sported an exaggeration worthy of the boldest of storytellers, arms extended as far as they could go at certain points, and lips never failing to crack a grin whenever Sakura did just the same.
It’s a sight he’s become well-acquainted with, from an angle he hasn’t.
The fact is unnerving, but the demon lets it be.
His father’s stories were never anything new – at least that’s how he saw it, his mind too stubborn (said his father in a joking tone one day) and joints too large to accommodate whatever standards came with believing in his burlesque tales. And the fact that he never bothered to crack a single sympathetic smile during any of them was testament to it.
The demon exhales through his nostrils, a light smile tugging at his lips.
Better late than never, he supposes.
(for a lot of things)
…
The languid sound of muffled laughter emits from the house behind him, and he does his best to completely ignore its existence.
He’s sitting on the sidewalk’s dusty ledge, staring down at the crumbs of asphalt that jut out of the street beneath his feet. The lamp-lit darkness of an urban night surrounds him, making him feel extremely uncomfortable (but not afraid, definitelynot afraid).
Yuki jolts when the sound of a tumbling garbage bin echoes behind him in a way that’s all but mellifluous to his ears.
(all right, maybe a bit afraid)
He sighs exasperatingly, watching a cat emerge from around the corner with an unidentifiable wrapper of sorts caught between its teeth. There’s a piece of his mind that regrets leaving without a word like some unwanted guest – he just wanted to give them some privacy – but he abandons the thought. He’s left a lifetime’s worth of them behind; he doesn’t need any new ones.
So he simply sits there, wondering what to think about when the past’s full of regret and the future of dread.
A pair of black leather shoes peeks into the tips of Yuki’s vision, plain and shadowless in a way that makes him immediately recognize them. The redhead looks up at the figure, eyes softening in mild curiosity. “Why’d you come out here?”
“Least I can do.” Natsuki shrugs, expecting the other to put two and two together and save him the almost embarrassing trouble of having to explain his choice (avoidance) of certain words.
Understanding what he meant, Yuki’s hand finds its way to the back of his neck. “Sorry, I should’ve told you I was heading out,” he says – to which Natsuki replies with a shrug and a soft ‘it’s fine’.
Yuki looks back down, deciding that it’s best to not say anything. This isn’t his time to waste – not anymore, at least.
However, if he decided to check, he would’ve noticed that Natsuki’s attention wasn’t entirely on the family he was once a part of – in fact, it was far from it.
“How did you know?” Natsuki asks – voice barely above a whisper. “That I lived here, that is.”
Yuki blinks a few times; surprised by the lack of the silence he expected to follow. “It was when you asked me about ‘who I wanted to see’ in my house.” That doesn’t answer his question completely, but by now he knows better than to interject. “… You had the face of someone who didn’t want to be here, someone who wanted to do everything in his power to escape but at the same time … was afraid of what would happen after leaving it all behind.”
Natsuki wants to ask why Yuki’s so familiar with the expression – but he chooses not to. He turns back to the window, watching his father and sister eat dinner while deciding to not say anything at all.
-
The shore is exactly the way Natsuki remembered it being. And, legs hanging over the side of a sturdy wooden pier jutting out meters into sea, he feels exactly where he wants to be.
They came to the beach in favor of allowing Natsuki relive a few moments in the place he spent almost half his life at – and, unlike Yuki, Natsuki doesn’t find any appeal in watching over family members as they sleep.
Holes of trembling light have begun to situate themselves in place above their heads, blowing across the grandiose expanse of the night sky in order to speckle them a twinkling white. It’s a scene Natsuki’s more than acquainted himself with over the countless hours spent hunting for nocturnal sea life – and, maybe, over a few (or rather, more than he’d like to admit) hours simply sitting down and admiring the view itself.
Breath coming out in smoky clouds invisible to mortal eyes, Natsuki breaches the comfortable silence. “You could’ve spent this time staying with your family.”
Yuki’s eyes are still focused on the stars, dark grey irises reflecting the sky itself. “I could’ve,” he mutters, voice standing a little ways away but at the same time not quite there, “but then … you wouldn’t have gotten to see yours.”
Natsuki takes sudden interest at the water meters below his hanging feet, a glimpse of his widened eyes barely noticeable in the darkness before blinking back to their normal size. “I see.”
It really was uncomforting to be in the presence of someone so genuinely … good.
They slip back into the balmy hush of moments ago, staring off into the melted edge that draws the seas and skies apart. Within the moment, a small collection of details leads to Natsuki realizing that it’s autumn, and he takes the time to revisit the past, as Yuki does the opposite.
“What happens after this? You know …” He pauses, skipping over words to stave off a reality he’s long accepted. ” … once I have to go back.”
“You’ll be employed;” he says plainly, “everyone in hell is forced into doing the worst possible job the higher-ups have to offer for them.”
Yuki considers this for a moment. “You don’t seem to be that perturbed by yours.”
“Routine anticipation.” Natsuki shrugs. “… Don’t tell him I said that.”
Yuki chuckles with a dapple of genuineness alien to Natsuki’s ears – causing the demon to turn his attention to him. “You know, you’re actually pretty nice, Natsuki,” he muses in a ‘just thought you should know’ voice that makes the other’s stomach fizzle.
And Natsuki doesn’t know what else to say other than a soft “… Thank you.”
A single smile lifts at the corners of Yuki’s lips – setting the stars alight in a ripple of hidden motion that strikes Natsuki breathless.
In that instant, there was no more Sanada Yuki, the deceased teenager who sold his soul to the devil for his grandmother’s sake – there was just the teenager before him, a stoic, bedraggled, mess of a boy who could’ve been the death of Usami Natsuki.
“Ah.”
Natsuki is fished back into the moment, the tone of Yuki’s voice drawing a sense of alarm from within him. He follows the boy’s gaze from his eyelashes to the back of his hand, and he realizes what’s happening.
Yuki’s stare is fixated on it, flexing his fingers and flipping his wrist as he does so. It takes a moment to process what exactly is going on, but he soon understands when the unknown force devours everything up until his wrist with translucency.
“I guess this is it.” Yuki’s words ride on a single breath, suppressed and fragile in a way that makes Natsuki’s own catch in his throat. The bespectacled demon’s eyes ghost away from Yuki’s fading lower body – only to meet the sight of pale grey irises that somehow held the night sky itself.
“Thanks, for everything, Natsuki.”
Before he could reply, Yuki was gone, and Natsuki found himself grasping for cold air.
The breezy emptiness leaves him hanging, an unsettling sensation clenching at the base of his chest. The entire day, Yuki felt broken – loose seams cracking at everything he could never say, begging and reaching and clawing to find a way to ensure that, even in death, they’d be given life.
And maybe, just maybe, Natsuki’s no different.
Yet even now, he’s sure that the nervous boy known as Sanada Yuki most certainly didn’t deserve to be in a place like Hell – or anything akin to it.
But there’s still nothing he can do about it.