My Soul Belongs to AkaRen/Renkaza

to me, you'll always be you

Renkaza Week - Day 2

Prompt: Childhood Friends

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Kyoujurou holds his sword firmly in front of him, staring in disbelief at the person in front of him, blood poured out from one of his eye sockets, jarring pain stabbed repeatedly in his head, dark spots floated in front of him, contrasting the demon with white, pale skin standing threateningly in front of him.

The whiff of air caused by his movements was familiar, so painfully familiar, even if the swing of that arm felt so deadly to Kyoujurou, it somehow brought relief, brought happiness.

"It's been quite some time, Kyoujurou," he calls out, Kyoujurou stumbles one step forward, on the edge of slicing someone he once knew's head off, or the roaring in the back of his head, the trembling in his throat.

He swallows thickly, tightening the grip on his sword, he ignores the sweating in his palms, ignores his blood that's soaking his uniform, ignores the fluttering in his chest that he used to feel, a long, long time ago, a feeling that he'd be suddenly be reminded of, each and every time when the figure of someone that was very dear to him appeared in his mind.

"You're stronger than ever, I've missed fighting with you in the past years," his voice was determined, carefree and prideful, just the way Kyoujurou remembers it. His eyes glowed with the desire to tear Kyoujurou into pieces.

"The events in the past do not matter," Kyoujurou finally spoke, if anyone listens closely, they could hear the slight quiver under his voice, "I will fulfill my duty as a demon slayer."

Anticipation pools in his stomach, warmly and heavily, he ignores the tightness in his chest, no, it was not of any injuries, but rather, the past that he voiced as unimportant moments ago.

His gaze was fixed on the demon in front of him, his confident smirk reflected in Kyoujurou's golden irises, he positions himself, one foot drawing out a curve gracefully, a snowflake-shaped compass forms under him, like a ray of sunlight reflecting off snow, its light pierces at Kyoujurou's eyes.

"Kyoujurou!"

A young boy calls out to him, he turns his body away from the well, his hand clutching onto the handle attached to the bucket that's still dripping with water.

They sat on the engawa, hearing the cicadas cry under the summer sky.

Short, dark wavy hair bounced under his fingers, the boy faces Kyoujurou with a grin that seemed so innocent at times.

"Kyoujurou, you almost forgot your scarf."

In a deeper, quieter voice, he gently wraps the fabric around his neck, his skin burning with each brief contact with his fingers.

"Thanks."

He'd never forget how warm his face felt as he pulled up his scarf to cover his red cheeks, he'd never forget that was the hardest his heart had ever leaped.

"Kyoujurou, lend me your hand."

His hand freezes by his side, hesitating to take the boy's hand that was stretched out to him, the boy simply avoided his gaze, staring down at the snow scattering at their feet.

His hand slipped into his, and he felt the other jolt the moment his fingers brushed his hand, but then, he closed his fingers around Kyoujurou's tightly, warmly, as they made their way down the snowy path, leaving footprints that Kyoujurou still recalls to his day.

He doesn't say anything as he slides into the empty space next to Kyoujurou under the tree with cherry blossoms.

Naturally, he leans against him to read from Kyoujurou's book, while plucking leaves and blossoms that were stuck in Kyoujurou's blond hair.

They sat there for a long time, until the evening, until the sun lowers below the horizon with his head in Kyoujurou's lap as he dozed.

Kyoujurou stands alone as he observes the fireworks from afar.

He stares, silently on a small hill, an empty space next to him.

Why?

Out of all days.

Why did he had to disappear on the day that Kyoujurou wanted to admit his feelings for him?

With an arm through his guts, Kyoujurou was lifted in the air, the slushing of his organs in his body was sickening.

He seemed prideful, wearing the smirk that seemed so foreign to Kyoujurou.

"Become a demon with me, Kyoujurou," his voice oozed with excitement, and Kyoujurou still had the strength to feel his own heart clench as he inspected his face.

"Then we can keep on fighting on like this," with a grin, he revealed his sharp fangs that once weren't there.

"Like old times."

Kyoujurou doesn't respond, the expression of the demon instantly fades to fear, to regret at the moment their gazed meet.

Kyoujurou clasped his hands around the arm that was punched through him, unlike the one he remembers, he wasn't warm anymore, rather, it felt like snow puncturing his lungs.

"Hakuji."

Like a flame that flickers out too soon, Kyoujurou breathes his name with a smile on his blood-stained lips.

The sky brightens, Kyoujurou kneeled before the sunrise, in his bloodied hand, specks of dust mixed with blood, and he seemed to have been holding onto someone's hand desperately.