Oneshots/Incorrect Quotes/Headcanons

Unchained Melody

Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, not even death could part them.

They were each other's dawn and dusk.

Rarely does a promise of a second life guarantee happiness or tragedy. Sometimes it could. Sometimes not.

A story of a never ending cycle.

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He doesn’t know how long he has stared through the glass windows of his room. He was loved yet his heart was so barren. He had been embraced by so many but he longed for a touch. He had met faces but only remembered hers. His body had given up on him, he still wishes for the day he could run to her. He hungered for her love.

Yet as he laid so uselessly on his death bed, surrounded by wires and machines, he mulled. In a world without her, all he wanted was to die. For a man who preached of feelings and legacy, for a man who represented a pillar to even the strongest, for a man who was a father to all. He would’ve been none of them if it wasn’t for her.

Her who left a life of luxury and privilege, her who became the mother of his children, her who bore a burden. Him.

He thought he had sacrificed enough and he thought she had given enough. They made a promise to each other. They would die and live together. Existing happily underneath a cherry blossom tree. After all that there was, why was it never granted? Why did he have to live a life without her? Did she not long for him anymore?

Perhaps be expected too much of her. Perhaps he had worn her out when he shouldn’t have. Perhaps she was here, but was never his. She was a free woman after all.

He closed his eyes, breathed his last sigh and the flat line filled the ever so silent hospital walls. The door opened and the nurse frowned. Wishing another patient of hers didn’t have pass on alone.

Himorogi Amane sighed and called on a doctor, she checked the time.

“Ubuyashiki Kagaya, time of death: 12:00.” Midnight.

He met her the next time he woke up. A sweet old lady living across the street. As aching as it was, he finally knew what she would’ve looked like had she grown old. He befriended her, she does not know of him. He took care of her, helped her toil away at her beautiful garden and he loved her.

He got her a cat she could connect with. He kept her company when she started to forget all even herself. She was just as the woman he had married, the one he remembered the most. She brought out a side that he was so sure he had hidden away for so long. He was saddened that she didn’t have anyone until him. Did no one love her? How could anyone not love her?

He held her at every night she cried and lamented that she waited for so long for a man that never came. She sobbed of an old memory, one where she was happy. During those nights, his heart ached for her. She had been as lonely as he was. She longed for him.

On her final breath, he held her hand and whispered, “I’m sorry I took so long...my love...”

The clock stroke midnight and her hand slipped from his. She passed away and his lost his light.

They found each other, kneeling in mud and reeked of gunpowder. Their hands behind their head. When he came to life, she lost hers, shot right before his eyes. In those moments, he realized, they were rebels. Wearing arm bands, wielding stolen rifles and eyes that see nothing but war. But he had tasted enough of it, he had drank enough of that cup that was forced down his throat and never expected him to survive.

And he cried. He cried and cradled her body. He cried for the souls around him, he cried for her, he cried for their children that were never born in this life. He wept for the few precious seconds he had and once the time was up, they pointed their dirty barrels and took him last. Just as she was taken first.

He awoke, he forgot.

He wandered the wastelands, bartering from one settlement to another, never leaving unscathed. He would weep at night, never being able to name the woman who filled his very existence. Trudging through the radioactive mountains and scavenging through the desolate ruins of the apocalypse. He could find almost everything yet he could never find himself.

At the edge of a cliff, a fire's smoke. For all the years he was lost, this smoke was the first to be grey. First to be normal. With all the fumes that had intoxicated his mind, he saw clearly. A cabin out of scraps, a roasting with a boar and a woman cutting wood for coal.

He knew those eyes, he knew the way she moved, he had seen her in his dreams. It was at the tip of his tongue, her name that he braved the mountains for. With each step, a part of him died yet he has never felt so lively. She was so close to his grasp.

She cried out for him, for his name, she knew his but he doesn’t know hers. It was unfair. Even more so when he couldn’t handle another step. He fell, he always did, but it was in her arms that he felt and not the fertile ground. It was her scent that he inhaled, not the radiation that seeped into his lungs to kill him. It was her tears that showered him. He knew at last that he was loved even in this barren land and by a woman he could never know.

“...oh...” Her voice broke. “Y-you’re home...y-you’ve come back home to me...”

When he went limp, her heart broke next.

It was war when he woke up. He was among the trenches when it dawned on him. Guns blazing, shell after shell buried in the ground, soon his fellow soldiers drop to their graves. Many get replaced so easily like the ammunition their leaders give them. He never witnessed their souls touch the mud, yet they were heralded like they were gods.

Soon, his body was decidedly better off guarding checkpoints than being pelted down by enemies. He never knew which side was right or wrong, but he followed orders, what was there left to do in an endless warfare?

He always thought of deserting, fleeing this gunpowder ridden no man’s land behind and just run. But where would a lost man like him go? He couldn’t remember what was before him, he would never find out what’s ahead of him. So he stayed put, in his post barely put together and a foundation out of mud. He never cried, he figured those before him has bawled their eyes till they dried enough, he’ll stay sobered this time.  Try to stay sane and avoid a trenches’ foot.

He never deserted, a desolate checkpoint never talks enough to give him a reason.

Then somebody did.

A woman, in her 20’s he assumed, he found devoid of life by the river banks. Her pulse said otherwise yet her body remained unresponsive. She must’ve swam through the treacherous river, he couldn’t fathom why she would brave it other than she was running away from something. Someone. He wouldn’t leave her lying there, not when snow white hair reminded him of someone from before him.

She was from the enemies, or rather people his leaders branded as evil and traitorous. Her dog tag wrapped around her scarred hand revealed. But his training told him to shoot and report. Though his heart hurt seeing her so passive, so unmoving. He was still human. He carried her and made the trek to his hut. It wasn’t far from his post, but deep enough in the woods that no reminder of war would disturb him.

He cleaned her, wrapped her wounds, kept them clear from any infections. He did his best, he nursed her to full health without a complaint.

She awoke, body too heavy to move, her leg was already too painful to run with but it was what she did for to be able to live. Now she found herself in a stranger’s house after, hearing a soothing voice was what rewarded of her.

“You are in -----, rest assured I will not report you, rest my friend.”

She spoke and knew little of his language, but she understood. She fell into slumber once again, her saviour by her side and fire to keep her warm. Good deeds that she was sure she’s never worthy of.

Few nights passed, she awoken and came to her senses. Realizing how dire the situation was for her. Her body had given up on her, abandoning her and fainting. Only now did she register that it was the foreign land’s river that she swam for. Only now did she recognize that he was an enemy. A monster, her superiors had told her. No monster would ever spare a time of their short life for her, but he did.

He cared.

The door creaked loudly and she witnessed the most angelic face that bore war torn eyes. Then he smiled. “Breakfast? Friend?”

It had been a century since the fall of the Demon King. When he woke up, he could remember only the life full of nothing but death, the feeling of uselessness and an undying legacy that he brought forth. Such legacy was too heavy to carry, but even with the promise of peace, he continued to shoulder it.

His desk papers tell him tales that he was now a leader of students rather than soldiers. He wields a pen and his voice, much like before. But now he no longer writes casualties nor talk of an impossible future he won’t live long enough to dream of. He can now walk through the night, most often he celebrates living through it.

Sometimes he would visit graves, some too old to be recognized, he paid no mind to it. The silence soothe him, like calling for him to show his respect to fallen soldiers. Sometimes he would have a companion who would shade him when the sky cries and it rains. He knew nothing of her, she knew everything about him.

Her footsteps blended with the sound of the rain, her umbrella spared him from the coldness nature had brought. “You ought to take care of yourself more friend.”

“And you ought to let me be soaked. There wasn’t any need for you to bother yourself for little old me.” He wiped his face dry and looked at her, carrying a smile that looked so free of burden.

“Then let you get a fever? I would be barging in to take care of you if that happens,” She moved closer so her umbrella could fit one more person, “I worry for you everyday, don’t you know? Being alone has it's downsides.”

“I never get sick.” He offered his arm for her to hold on, his other hand took her umbrella so she could rest. The sheer coldness of his body does bother her.

She took a cloth from her bag and started wiping the dripping blue rain away. It was the perfect size to dry his hair too. “Thank goodness you never do, the world always tend to ruin life for people like us.”

He looked at her with confusion, with admiration, like she was the shooting star of his life. “Don’t be so down, I never get sick because the world has brought you to me. Will you ever let me pay you back?”

“You living is better than any gift in the world.” Time and time again, he had proven to her that it was always worth living, always worth waking up knowing that he’ll be there to save her from a world missing his love.

“What made you care so much for me?”

“I’ve realized that we are all we got. We should make the most of it.”

For a moment, though it saddened her, she was glad he could not remember what was before. Therefore he would not need to worry what might happen after. They were living for now.

He closed his eyes and he leaned to her touch, the only hands that felt right cradling his heart close to hers for he knew she would never drop it. “If so, then will you finally tell me your name? I may remember it the next time we meet.”

Kagaya opened his eyes once again, he was wearing his father’s haori, in front of him weren’t Hashira nor anyone looking to start a revolution, they weren’t doctors debating whether they should pull the plug on his short life, they weren’t bandits holding him at gun point. They were his children. His sweet little angels whom took after their mother.

Their mother was the strongest woman he had ever known, the most devoted and loving woman he had ever had the honour of having as his wife and the lantern of his life. His only pillar when his own self had gave up on him. Then he looked over his shoulder, their home weren’t hidden no more, they weren’t in the middle of a war, they weren’t in the trenches watching bullets fly.

“Where’s.. .where’s your mother? I-i have something to tell her.”

Amane opened the doors, her smile faltered when she noticed his unwell expression. She ushered the children out, encouraging them to play somewhere else so their father could rest. His eyes followed her with a gaped mouth, she poured him some water.

“What were you going to tell me? That you’re going to finally drink your medicine?” She snorted and placed the glass of water on the coffee table, sitting down next to him. “Talk to me dear.”

His eyes trailed away, to the sun rays illuminating illumination her. Then he let his heart speak. “Are you happy? With me? With us?”

“There has never been a day where I wasn’t.” She thought it was ridiculous, they have been through thick and thin, through sickness and health, for better or for worse. How could she ever bear a frown when his presence would lit the world up?

“That could be a lie.”

“It could be the truth.” She spoke with such determination, there and then, he accepted that all was finally well.

He cupped her cheeks, making sure she was real, she wasn’t bleeding, she wasn’t exhausted, she wasn’t dying. He spoke of her name, in the many languages from the many lives they have lived. He murmured her name, he whispered until only her heart could hear it.

“My love.”

She held his hands, they weren’t scarred, they weren’t burned nor cursed, they were his. They were warm. The hands of her beloved. The hands of whom trusted her, the heart whom believed in her, the smile whom she had protected till the end of time.

They were each other’s dawn and dusk.

“Perhaps we’re lucky, our names were always written next to each other in the book of life.”