your tomb. | arima kishou x reader

your tomb.

This bright, burning day was the worst of the days for Kishou. He sweats under his pale coat. It sticks, it's disgusting, it's so hot. He stood with all the other investigators with such melancholic expressions. Their brows were heavy and eyes were covered with a shiny film of pain. He watched as one female investigator breaks her walls to reveal her bottled up frustrations and agony. She buried her face with sweaty palms and the moans and the gags were all muffled. Everyone looked at her, holding the same expressions. They all can relate to her. They are all familiar with the emptiness and endless wonders when a loved one passes. The pain and longing never ends, but you get used to it. You'll get used to the illusionary tendrils taunting you with great moments of that beloved person as it brings you back to sulking and sobbing. You'll get used to it.

But this, this will be very difficult to get over. Maybe it's impossible to get over with. We don't know.

Arima Kishou hides his despair with such a cold, shivering, steel facade. His monotonous lips and his still figure. The wind kissed his face countless of times and tousled his hair with a gentle shake.

He breathes heavily. Attempting to register what is currently happening and what is before him. A clear- as -day view of countless of tombs with names engraved, ready to listen to their relatives's last farewells. The cemetery looked so glum and grey with wet faces and dewy flowers. His chest was so heavy throughout the morning, and rarely ate his breakfast. Only a few bites and he was off carrying a familiar emptiness that he strangely has difficulty handling with. Each step was painful and heavy for him as he steers closer to the gates. He looked at himself and thought that he was a hideous mess. He absentmindedly waited for a reply until he realized she was no longer here to contradict. Not here to admire him. No longer here to light the slippery, dark path before them.

The night before, he wrote a eulogy to honor her. To leave something for her. She would've loved the words. But he hesitated. He crumpled the precious paper that was decorated with a shaky but dear handwriting. It was heart-wrenching. He could feel the knocks of his heart needing help. His eyes were wet and heavy and were all over the place. He can't suppress the amount of pain. His eyes were gleaming with a burning wistfulness.

The priest began to mention all the names of the fallen ones whose death have pushed humankind closer to a ghoul-free world. His old, raspy voice bounced from all objects with such a powerful hit on the heart. Some have cried as their person was mentioned, some have decided to hold the pain longer. It wasn't foreign for him to see all these glassy eyes and frowning lips. This orchestra of hics, sniffs, and sobs always played such a tune. And now, he is listening to them with a new feeling buried beneath his coat. Clenching his fists, he wished and wished for the priest to not mention her name. That her name wasn't on the list and that she is here with him with the same sad expression everyone holds. He hid his crossed fingers in his pocket, red and strained.

"[L/N], [F,/N]."

It felt like a wrecking ball has made a collision with his beating heart. It hurt, it ached, it ached so much he had to breath with his mouth. He can't believe it. He wasn't gonna take it.

What happened to those bright lovely [h/c] tresses of hers? Those lovely lashes and soft cheeks. He loved to caress them and watch it get all fluffy and red. He wanted to watch it again. Watch his thumb glide and wipe away those tears. Watch as she smiles and leans onto his hand for warmth and affection. Her hands always wrapped his bony, calloused ones. Massaging them and giving the knuckles light kisses. He already missed the warmth of her lips. The warmth of her embrace. The warmth of her smile. The smile that always returns despite the cold, oh so cold world.

These grey tombs before him were all shiny and sparkly with vibrant petals embellishing the lids. The sun was so blinding everyone had to cover their eyes. But not Kishou, no, his hands never reached his eyes for shade for he lovingly yet ruefully eyed his lover's tomb. He imagined her peacefully sleeping beneath the cold stone encasing her. Her cold, thin hands folded neatly.

Even if he was the strongest investigator, he can't save everyone. Not even his beloved. He can't do anything. It already happened. Her heart already stopped functioning and her eyes already went monochrome. He watched the cycle of misery drifting away from a vessel. He watched as hope vanishes.

"Why, why her? Why not me instead? Take me instead!"

He chants these in his frenzied brain. Gathering her lifeless limbs to carry her to the medical squad. But they only looked at him with eyes that held pity. He refused to believe the plain truth their trying to state. He denied the truth and that hurt him
more. There's no way. No resurruction ready to revive her still husk. He gently placed his forehead onto hers, and tenderly, and endearingly kissed her nose. His mind could hear her flustered gasp, could envision her blushing state as he patiently waits for a kiss in return but sadly didn't happen.

He wanted to kiss her again, and again, and again. Showering her with the affection that he failed to provide.

"I failed as her lover."

He mutters as he watches the grass sway gracefully, and ladybugs roaming the green blades.

He felt a warm tear sliding down his cheek, and abruptly wiped it away. He wiped all of them away. Every single tear that has escaped within its prison were all eradicated. He decided it was time to go home. Back to his now silent and empty home.

[a/n: hi i'm back and have found motivation to write oneshots again. honestly, i think my writing has degraded from bad to super duper bad im so sorry.]