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It is more peaceful than he imagined.
Yes, the mystical fires writhe against his back and sear him in merciless, white-hot pain, his black robes feeling as protective as thin sheets of rice paper. Yes, there is the distinct stench of his own burning flesh, his skin flaking off like porcelain from a doll past its prime.
And yes, his heart aches with the dawning realization that his very being would cease to exist in 30 seconds, perhaps even less than that.
But…the voices quiet to barely above a whisper; his head clearer than it has been in over 400 years.
Now, he is weightless. Floating aimlessly amidst a crystal-clear lake, his ears muffled by gently lapping water as he stares into a sky so blue, so bright, and so empty. The ever-present cacophony of voices screeching of shame and regret and self-loathing fading into silence.
He supposes that…this isn’t the worst way to go. After all, he gets to face death with the consciousness of a human— it is finally time to join his mother and sister in the afterlife and seek their forgiveness. He knows that he is long overdue for that atonement.
It takes a second for Rumi to realize what he has done.
But the moment it clicks in her brain that something or someone has taken her place in the line of fire, the tiny moment of reprieve she has to catch her breath evaporates like a drop of water sizzling in a desert.
She jolts up to her full height, a sharp gasp escaping past her lips.
Panic trembles in her eyes, pupils blown wide and darting furiously up and down his body, as if she can somehow salvage this situation if she just looks hard enough.
Her expression practically screams, I can fix this, I can fix this, her hands shaking violently, vacillating closer to him and then jerking back right before she touches his chest.
Ah, not quite enemies, but maybe something more than friends.
If every one of his nerve endings didn’t feel like they were getting stabbed by tiny knives, Jinu may have smiled. A selfish part of him is grateful that his imminent death manages to instill such desperation into Rumi, although he knows that he is undeserving of someone so courageous and righteous and good grieving for him.
“Jinu, no,” Rumi cries, worry and concern painted on her face like an open book.
Even at his deathbed, he can’t help but marvel at how beautiful she is— deep brown eyes awash with a magenta glow from the firelight, petal-pink lips soft and inviting, and skin so smooth and plush, overwhelming him with the urge to caress her cheeks.
The sorrow of what-could-have-been breaks his heart. He didn’t even know he still had one until he met her.
“I’m sorry…for…everything,” Jinu manages to grit out, squinting through the lancing pain and fighting against the black fog creeping onto his remaining consciousness.
Please, just a little bit more time.
Please, allow him the chance to say a proper farewell.
She ignores his apology, shaking her head slightly.
“No…I wanted to set you free,” Rumi insists, her voice strained and cracking on the last word.
Jinu’s eyes soften, hazel irises hopelessly tender as he keeps his gaze trained on Rumi. His voice drops lower, soothing her to accept his decision.
“You did, you gave me…my soul back,” he reassures.
She says nothing, averting her eyes for a brief moment before shifting back to him. Hot tears brim in her eyes, coating her bottom lashes with shimmery dew and threatening to overflow down her cheeks. Her exhales are fast and breathless, warm puffs of air brushing against his face.
Like a bolt of lightning, an unbidden thought flashes with striking clarity through his mind— now may have been a good time to kiss her, perhaps the only time to do so. If he flutters his eyes shut and leans forward, will she close the small gap between them and acknowledge the something that has been simmering between them?
It has all been real for him.
In fact, he thinks that his very soul may have been made for Rumi. For the last 400 years, perhaps he has simply been waiting around for Rumi to quite literally, collide into his life like a whirling storm.
But time has a funny habit of slipping away. The sands in the hourglass seep right through the spaces in between your fingers if you don’t grasp at them with both fists and fight to keep every grain nestled in your palms.
Not quite enemies, something more than friends, and without any time left to become lovers.
In his peripheral vision, he knows that the pink flames are licking up his arms, the incineration of his limbs now a phantom pain as patches of his body begin to disintegrate. His seconds are dwindling fast, the sands of time all but gone— but perhaps he could still do something for her.
“And now…I give it to you,” Jinu proclaims.
His jaw relaxes, his face serene as he closes his eyes one final time. Blue warmth thrums in his chest like an ethereal fire before his soul bursts from his body, encircling Rumi with ribbons of pure light as his final goodbye.
If there’s one thing that he’s done right in this life, it’s been to save Rumi with his own free will.
Dying for her and living for her are essentially the same thing, aren’t they?
But, if a merciful higher deity did exist in this world, if he could only have one wish, then all he would ask for is to grant him with another chance to meet Rumi.