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Red.
All over her arms, collecting beneath the whites of her fingertips, crimson rivulets cascading along her skin. Shoko hardly notices it. Brows furrowed, her razor sharp focus pinned onto the broken mass of flesh before her.
Leaning forward, Shoko presses her palms harder against a bare, quivering torso. One that oozes life blood with every feeble gasp for air. A guttural grunt escapes her lips, panic teetering awfully close to something like enragement as strands of chestnut encapsulate her vision. She shoves them to the side, ignoring the liquid warmth that smears against her brow.
It’s becoming harder to see, Shoko laments, even as she strains her eyes to focus on the task at hand. The ashen face before her begins to blur, translucent halos ringing around his form. Until her eyes flit — once, twice — and the hazy glow recedes to the edges of her vision.
Never mind the fire that licks at her mind, her muscles, her lungs.
A wet cough sputters out of the body lying before her, followed by a series of convulsions that tremble all the way up her arms. She gasps, the light in her palms flickering in its illumination.
Fuck! Come on! Don’t—!
“Fuck! Fucking idiot! Just,” she hiccups, clearing her throat to rid her voice of that infuriating waver, “just stay with me, please!” It’s blurry again. She blinks three times.
How can she even consider walking side by side with them if one disappears and the other strides further ahead? How can she rightfully call herself a healer if she cannot even mend the flesh wound engraved into the man before her, fighting for his life? All because of her flimsy, fleeting strength? It’s not an option, Shoko thinks. There is a hint of shame when she realizes that would rather drain herself of her own essence before letting Suguru die. Before having to live with her own shortcomings and the loss of someone she cares about the most.
Another choked gasp arises from the table. Shoko reels, her mouth assaulted by a taste so vile and bitter. Is this, she wonders, how it feels for him day after day? The knots twist and turn inside her belly, a punishment for the crime of attachment, and for the on her wounded ego.
Her mind is but a panorama of grief and shame.
There is a hurricane inside of her, and it is raging, winds of pity, anger, fear, and a splitting ache within her chest circulating about. Shoko doesn’t notice when a softened gaze, reminiscent of lilacs, flutters in her direction.
She doesn’t notice when they wince, shifting toward the source of discomfort as a warm energy begins to overflow.
A pinprick of warmth. His face twitches. Something wet is rolling down his cheek.
Dazed, Suguru tries to look forward, in a state of lament when his eyes do not cooperate with him. There are spirals in his stomach as he trains his gaze still, vision assaulted with blurred lines and translucent shapes dancing about. Oscillations of energy radiate before him, and suddenly he feels as if he were in a dream. There is an angel with a golden halo resting upon the crown of her head, and he thinks that there are worse things that a man could see before he goes.
“—With me, please!” The angel sobs. A trembling waver encompassing her words, a sweet, viscous honey.
Who is he to deny her?
“Suguru,” she says. Yes? He wants to answer.
Deep breaths. In. And then out. The resulting sting is almost enough to make Suguru seize, but it dissipates as instantly as it appears, overtaken by a familiar warmth that spreads through his worn flesh.
“...I swear if you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself…” his angel finishes, a soft plea hidden beneath a violent threat. He smiles. It is reminiscent of something, of someone, that he has known and taken for granted. A soft, lilting tune that he’d hear as he meandered through his day, a comfort within the routine that has instilled itself into his life.
Shoko…?
Another splash of moisture flits against his cheek. He’s not sure if it’s from her or himself this time, but it doesn’t matter.
His throat is full of nails, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
“Dammit— I,” A thick cough tears its way out of his throat, “Are you crying over me?” Suguru asks. He watches her watching him, mesmerized by the shock and relief shimmering within those big doe eyes.
Even as the grief and pain and loss resumes its rigid choke hold around the fragile muscles of his heart, Suguru can’t help but smile, watching a kaleidoscope of emotions flitting across her face. It finally settles on a frown.
“I thought I lost you.”
“I’m right here.”
“Your chest looked like a ground up beef patty.”
“...That’s gross, Shoko.”
“But it’s true,” she laughs. Trains her focus onto what is no longer a mess of his torso. Suguru watches silently as she shakes her head, the quiet chimes of her laughter morph into waves of trembling sobs as the light beneath her palms stutter away.
“Hey,” Suguru starts. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t look up, brows furrowing in concentration. “Shoko,” he repeats. Still no answer.
Suguru lifts a trembling hand, pushing through the unrelenting heaviness that no doubt stems from all the bloodloss, just enough to wrap his fingers around her wrist.
“I’m fine,” he assures. Presses his fingers into her skin gently, “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Shoko shakes her head. “No”, she rasps, “you’re not, I have to…— “
Suguru interrupts, “I am.” Gently, he nudges her flickering hands away from his chest. “Rest.”
“...I just need a quick smoke—”
“ Please .”
Her shoulders droop as a long sigh escapes her lips. Suguru gazes at her expectantly, waiting for her to stand up and walk toward the door. Alone again. He doesn’t know how he feels about it. Grits his teeth as the silence starts to morph into echoing claps that ring inside his ears.
But the echoes start to fade into the background when she scoots her chair toward him. It stops short when she crosses her arms atop his chest and rests her cheek in the little crevice it makes.
A beat.
“...Is this okay?” Shoko asks, voice tinged with uncertainty and exhaustion. Suguru almost feels like he could smile, watching fondly as she trains her gaze onto his.
“You’ll get more blood on yourself,” Suguru answers. But what he really wants to say is: Thank you .
Shoko scoffs. “I don’t care.”
He’s not sure if it’s the blood loss or the way her cheek nuzzles into the skin above his heart that causes his world to start to blur. But as the world darkens before him, Suguru gradually rests his right palm — the one that wasn’t crusted in blood — onto the back of her head, running his fingers gently through soft, silken strands.
He’s always loved the color of chestnuts.