Cold hearted (KyojuroxReader)

Chapter 29:Mikan Slices

~*Kyojuro's POV*~
     I need to get to her, reassure her that this isn't her fault... but I can't get any closer, can't move my mouth, I can't do anything...

    I opened my weary eyes to the choas scattered with voices my ears refuse to recognize, my vision steadily trailing to the person I wish was speaking too. (y,n). I went to the sight of her the moment I got a glimpse of her haori at the edge of the picture.

     She looks at me from afar... afflicted with pain that bears no physical disclosure. She hasn't had her wounds treated, simply letting her blood mix in with the stains of red I spilled on her earlier. 

     If I could...

     Working my hand up past the Kakushis' pleas to stay still, I reached out to the Ice Hashira, gesturing for her to come by my side. She stared at my hand, shaken to see me awake. I didn't let her stubbornness beat me while my world began to close in on itself, darkening while she looked to almost be trembling.

     I could tell her things are actually going to be fine, convince her to go get some medical help. I'm just so worried...

     ... I was struck by a second, smaller blade on this night by the same ally; not wielded by her hand, but the tear that slipped down her cheek. It ran through me, stabbing far into my abdomen, striking a root, somewhere deep, deep inside of me. I watched that little drop mix into her blood while I broke like glass, others following in its wake.

     The distance from my comrade stretched further into the nothingness of black as she turned away, my hand was pushed back down to the cot, Tengen moved in front of my view to help carry me off from the battlefield- everything is falling apart. I couldn't move my head to find her, too tired. I had enough energy to move, though, the bleeding wouldn't bother me. Let me crawl to her, I'd beg to god if I could, just to dry those tears and make sure that she'll be alright.

     Please, I'd repeat... all to see her stop crying...

.

.

.

.

     A breath... upon my lungs seemed to tie the strings back of my joints back up to the mount from my puppeteer. The dust is blown away from my wooden body to clear the age that's settled; layers and layers.

     Has it been days since feeling consciousness brewing from my core? Could it have been a week before my strings have now gone taught with movement again? Those hands that once set down my crossbar have finally stepped back up to my theatre, allowing my show to continue at last.

     My eyes feel watery in the warmth I've stolen up in, tears I softly refuse as I stir. Every inhale to exhale feels labored, bringing a minute discomfort to my chest and shoulders. I'm sure it'd be worse if not for my trained breathing.

     Glimpses of that night, I can't deny it. If I had to bear through any more of it, I don't know how long I would've lasted. I wish I could blow it off as a bad dream.

     I let myself adjust to the lethargic state before opening my lids to the sight of a patient's room, the smell of fresh sheets and fruit in the air. I must be at Shinobu's estate, by the looks of it. Glancing to the bottom of the sheets sit my brother at my bedside, a plate of bright orange mikan slices in front of him on the covers.

    After noticing the movement of me shifting around under the covers, he smiled at me, biting away the inner-section of one of the citrus pieces. He motioned the plate towards me, "Here, take a slice. Your mouth might be dry." He said casually. He's seen me injured so many times that it doesn't phase him anymore, so long as my condition's stable. It's a relief when he visits The Butterfly Mansion, getting the chance to breathe out of the heavy weight that's living with our father.