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“Namgi?” A voice — Kirin’s, he recognized, — said. The sound of his own name was distant. Foreign, almost.
He responded. Or at least, he thought he did. Perhaps with a small hum of acknowledgement, or a soft, “Yes, love?”. The act was almost reflexive.
“Namgi?” Kirin’s voice was louder now. More urgent.
He willed himself to respond with something, anything really.
“Namgi!” Kirin’s voice was insistent now. He was calling out Namgi’s name with a certain reverence, or perhaps fear, that would normally make Namgi’s knees go weak. But he felt nothing.
Namgi heard a faint clattering from behind him. He automatically turned his head towards the noise, but while attempting the action, a sharp pain seared through his neck.
Namgi had felt pain before. A lot of it, in fact. But this was different. He felt as if someone had taken a match and lit his insides aflame. He was burning. And it really hurt.
He swore under his breath, or at least attempted to. The world felt so hazy — strangely so — and reality itself seemed to be spinning. It felt like fate — or Destiny or something — was testing him. Like some god or goddess with a cruel sense of humor had decided that he was in need of a reality check. Internally he let out a dry laugh. If this really was someone’s idea of entertainment, it was very elaborate.
“Namgi!” Kirin’s voice was louder now. His tone, normally controlled and even, sounded jagged and panicked. Namgi instinctively reached an arm out to comfort his lover, but he quickly realized that whatever had happened to him had managed to render his limbs useless. His arm felt impossibly heavy, pain still pulsing through his veins.
Namgi felt pressure on his left shoulder. He would soon realize that pressure was a hand, calm and grounding. The hand was shaking, in a frightened way, but it was the only thing that was tying Namgi to the world. To reality as a whole.
And then, the thought hit him. Not all at once, but gradually. Slowly, in bits and pieces, Namgi came to a realization. It would be so easy to slip away. It would be so easy to simply give into the darkness tugging hard at the corner of his mind.
Dammit. He was tired. He was so damn tired.
“Stay with me.” Kirin’s voice had shifted in an uncanny way. Namgi had seen Kirin through it all. He’d seen the other man – his lover – at his very best, and at his very worst. He knew Kirin, irate and seething, holding himself together with nothing but grit and stubbornness. He also knew Kirin in his rare moments of calm, when he’d run his fingers lovingly through Namgi’s hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. This was Kirin at… something else. There was something profoundly broken in the Kirin’s tone. He was begging, pleading, crying out to the universe with a heartbreaking authenticity.
“Namgi,” Kirin’s voice was smaller now. “Stay with me.”
And Namgi wanted to. Lord did he want to. But… other thoughts were swirling through his mind. Dangerous ones.
He thought of Shin, his savior, who had shown him a better path. To him, he’d always be grateful.
He thought of Mina, kind and strong-willed, who had brightened the lives of all those around her. He realized, perhaps too late, that he’d never gotten to thank her for that.
He thought of Ryugi, who he would once have wished the worst fate upon. Strangely, he now found himself hoping that the other Imugi would find his peace somewhere.
And finally, he thought of Kirin. The love of his life. The man who’d loved Namgi at his lowest, his highest, and every moment in between.
The man who woke at dawn every morning because, allegedly, ‘Kirin’s rise with the sun’.
The man who’d once gifted Namgi ten different bouquets of flowers because he didn’t know which one he’d like the most.
The man whose grip was still tightly secured on Namgi’s shoulder, despite how hopeless the situation seemed.
The man who’d been his entire world.
Namgi then realized, terrifyingly, that these were the kind of thoughts people had when they were about to die.
It took a moment, maybe longer, but Namgi felt a strange sort of acceptance pass through him. It wriggled its way into his consciousness, nestling itself into his mind slowly but securely, as if ensuring its legitimacy.
And then a thought hit him. Well, it was less of a thought and more of an understanding.
Kirin would be okay without him.
He’d hurt for a while, sure, but his lover was strong. He’d always been the strong one. He’d grieve for a while. He’d sulk and hurt and cry. But afterwards, he’d move on. Somehow, that was enough for Namgi.
“DAMMIT!” Kirin’s words echoed in Namgi’s mind. His lover’s voice was trembling. “You promised…”
God, he’d miss him. He’d miss the low, gritty sound of Kirin’s voice. He’d miss the soft, grounding feel of his touch. He’d miss the comforting sight of his lover’s brilliant silver eyes.
Namgi made one final fruitless attempt to say something, anything, only this time, he knew there was no use. He couldn’t fight anymore. He wasn’t strong enough.
And then, the feeling settled in.
He had felt disoriented at first. The whole world seemed so… distant. Confusing, even. But soon everything – all his emotions, the memories, and the pain, – gradually flattened into a numb sort of calm.
The darkness came in slowly, absorbing what little resolve he had left.
“NAMGI!” Kirin’s voice was further away now. “Don’t you… don’t you dare!”
Everything was slipping away.
“Please don’t go.” Kirin was sobbing now, his voice broken. “You can’t... please. I need you! I-I’ve always needed you.” Kirin’s tone had somehow turned more desperate. “Please, Namgi. I… I love you. I always have a-and… I always will. Don’t leave me here alone.”
Namgi, in one final moment of levity, called out from the depths of his mind, hoping beyond hope that somewhere, somehow, Kirin could hear him.
I’m sorry, my love.
And he let the darkness consume him.