𝑅𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝑒 [ ObaMitsu fanfic/ R-(MA)] Kimetsu No Yaiba

Chapter 104 - Ghost Of You

Chapter Song: My Chemical Romance - "The Ghost Of You"

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January

The silence in the apartment was oppressive, an all-consuming void that seemed to swallow even the sound of his shallow breaths. Obanai stood paralyzed in the entryway, his fingers digging into the doorframe as if it could anchor him to a reality that had already unraveled. His chest rose and fell in jagged gasps, the weight of the emptiness pressing down like a vice. It wasn't just quiet—it was an abyss, a gnawing absence that seeped into his bones.

Her slippers stood near the doorway. The pink mug she always insisted made tea taste better was sitting in its spot on the counter. The knitted blanket she'd drape over her legs while they watched TV remained on the couch. It was as if she never left, but yet, her absence was deafening—louder than any scream, more suffocating than any silence.

His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. The hardwood was cold beneath him, but he barely felt it. His shaking hands clawed at his hair, tugging at the strands as if the physical pain could drown out the hurricane of anguish within. His breath hitched, and then it broke—a low, shuddering sob that shattered the fragile dam of his composure.

His gaze was drawn, unwillingly, to the bedroom—the place they'd shared countless nights, whispering secrets and love under the glow of the moonlight. He staggered toward it like a man walking to his own execution. The bed was untouched since that morning, the indent in her pillow a ghostly reminder of how recently she'd been there. The faint, sweet honey scent of her shampoo still lingered in the air, stabbing at his heart with cruel precision.

And then came the rage.

A guttural roar tore from his throat, raw and animalistic, reverberating through the hollow apartment. He lunged at the bed, ripping the sheets off with feral intensity, as if destroying them could somehow destroy the pain. The lamp was next—a fragile thing she'd chosen for its soft glow. It shattered against the wall in an explosion of glass and ceramic. His chest heaved, and he turned to the mirror, catching a glimpse of his own reflection—wild eyes, disheveled hair, bloodshot gaze. He punched it. Again and again, the sound of splintering glass mixing with the sickening crunch of his knuckles splitting open. Blood smeared across the fractured surface, distorted fragments of himself staring back in silent judgment.

"Why did you listened to me?!" he screamed, his voice breaking. It wasn't a question—it was a plea, a desperate cry into the void.

By the time the adrenaline burned out, he was trembling, his hands slick with blood, his body weighed down by exhaustion and grief. He stumbled into the guest room, the one space that held her stuff—a place she'd filled with books, plants, and little trinkets that once brought her joy. The air was faintly perfumed with her scent, a mix of vanilla and jasmine. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into one of her pillows, clutching it as if it could replace her warmth.

"Mitsuri," he choked out, the name barely audible, a shattered fragment of what once was. "You're gone... she's gone."

Tears streamed unchecked down his face, soaking into the fabric as he clung to the emptiness she'd left behind. It wasn't just the apartment that felt hollow—it was him. A man reduced to a shell, haunted by the ghost of the woman who'd once made him feel whole.

February

The days bled into weeks, and Obanai's existence became a haze of torment and despair. The once-pristine apartment mirrored his descent—a mess of discarded clothes, shattered glass, and untouched meals from Kanae left to rot. The guest room became his tomb, the only place where the echoes of her presence felt close enough to grasp. He lay there for hours, sometimes days, clutching the pillow she'd once used, his body trembling with sobs he could no longer suppress.