when a girl vows to save an ever-destined agency from death, even if she's been trying 106 different times and even if she's died 106 different times in the process.
-genre. fic, comfort/angst, eventual romance, minor violence
-tags. fem.reader, not proofread
-note. i have decided to put the first chapter and the prologue together, this series will update continuously! i hope you enjoy!
God of death all too merciful under the weight of the blade, fast and clean. Her blood sputtered like spilling rubies, all too red under the moonlight’s shine, all too dirty with the weight of sins laid upon her soul.
She toppled over, hands gracefully soothing the throbbing part of her skin in a weak attempt to aid her dying soul.
Her hands drifted over the wound, vermillion getting caught under her fingernails.
She then looked up, her eyes widened into clean understanding.
Why? Why? Why? Why can she never save them? No matter how hard she tries and no matter the deaths that come, why can she never save them? It isn't fair, really. It's not, no matter the tears and blood she sheds and no matter the times she goes back she can never save them, are they cursed to forever die?
And in a moment of solidarity, she thanks the god of death for being merciful in this life, she thanks that she didn’t suffer all too much and she thanks the god for being gentle as its hand reaches from the murky depths of death to pull her under the water of night and into the cool embrace of solemn end.
She looks at the person who caused her demise, she would remember their face. She would burn it into her memory and when the time came again she would deliver their surely deserved death, even if they no longer remember hers. Because at every closing act, every moment where she thinks, "I've saved them." they would be there to steal her dream of a peaceful death and peaceful life from right under her feet.
Her gaze goes slack, butterflies of night flying around her eyes, how cruel she thinks a final time before her eyes drift shut, cool darkness kissing her with icy snowflakes as her body goes numb.
Death greets her like a familiar friend, kissing her cheeks and body with fervent winter, but nonetheless, it feels like the summer heat and the buzz of distant bees. She relishes in the feeling.
But sadly it must come to a close as her eyes break open once more, nay to the icy winter of her death scene and nor to the cool clutches of death’s playground, but to the breeze of summer and the scent of sweet flowers.
And with a toss back into the fluffy sheets of her bed, she lets out a quiet sigh.
106th attempt begins anew.
You've always hated winter.
Your parents died in a day in winter, burning fingertips and your pounding heart, they slipped through your fingers, gone all too quickly.
The funeral was in late winter, you stood there, frost licking your pudgy cheeks and glossy eyes. You were young but you would always remember the day, it was burned into your memory like a forever-etched tattoo.
You remembered the stares from your distant relatives, they burned the back of your head, anger or pity, you weren't sure, but you hated their looks all the same.
You remember bunching your tiny hands into tiny fists, the cold penetrating your thin mittens.
You remember crying as they were put into the ground, tears cascading down your cheeks as you realized you would never see them again.
You remember that a man came over to you after the funeral was over. He said he was a friend of your parents' and that your parents' had helped him in the distant past, he gave you his condolences. You bit the inside of your cheek at the mention of their deaths again. You bowed to him as your hands gripped the hem of your dress, you muttered a small thank you to him.
You watched him leave, grey hair softly blowing in the wind, you remember that out of all the people who attended he was the most sincere.
You tried to save them once, over and over. No matter the times that you died and no matter the moments that you wound back, you could never save them, they always left, always.
You gave up on your 5th attempt, your 5th year. By the time the funeral wound around again in late winter, you were 5 years older than how you looked and 5 more years more mature. You cried, hard, you weren't sure if it was from the realization that they were always fated to die or that you were cursed to never die and would never see them again, even after death.
Winter reminds you of the places you long for and places you'll never reach and in that, you curse the season.
With a small exhale you enter a too-familiar building and with it, a rush of memories, shared laughs and bustling movement. You sucked in a breath, the oxygen burned your lungs with fervour, devouring your body till nothing was left but an empty husk of the person you once were. You were all too familiar with the feeling. Every time you went back you were reminded of calmer days and the peace before the storm, you were reminded of their deaths.
You took a step forward and then another, you forced yourself to move, for if you didn't you would see them gone once again. One foot after the other, they're not dead yet, you reminded yourself in constant mantra.
You stopped just outside the office door. You stood still before smoothing out your clothes and with a final look at yourself, you pushed the door open.
A boy not much younger than how you presently looked stood up from a nearby desk, his eyes widened, "Oh, are you the client we were seeing today about the murder case?" you nodded, "Yes."
You were glad Atsushi was the one in the office to greet you, you always melted under his stare and warmth. Greedily you took in his standing form, seeing him again, alive, quelled something deep in your heart, that's right, they're still here, still alive.
He let out a small laugh before standing up and guiding you to a different part of the agency, "Sorry, the agency is a bit in disarray, just over here please."
"Oh, I'm Nakajima Atsushi," He peeked over his shoulder to look at you, you looked down at your feet momentarily, "[L. Name], [Name], it's a pleasure to meet you Atsushi-san." He smiled at you before turning back around.
"The pleasure's all mine, [L. Name]-san. "
You stared at the back of his head as though the moment you looked away he would disappear from your sight, in some ways they were always destined to, weren't they?
"Just over here," He smiled at you before ushering you into a chair, once you sat down he spun around on his feet, "I'll just be a minute, I need to grab someone."
You nodded, "Okay." he smiled again before leaving.
You watched as Atsushi walked off into the distance and then behind a closed door. After he left you looked around, the agency was mostly empty, a few clerks were working on paperwork but none of the agency members were present, you weren't terribly surprised, around this time everyone was busy with some case, you were lucky you managed to book an appointment at all.
But your whole reason for being here and booking an appointment in the first place would fall through soon enough, nobody was really murdered after all.
You looked down at your hands that had been resting in your lap, they were curled into tight fists, your nails pricking your skin until red bloomed in the cuts, you let out a little sigh, your shoulders drooping with the movement.
"I'm back [L. Name]-san!" You perked your head up at your name.
Atsushi came back with a certain blonde-haired detective, you swallowed an already forming lump in your throat at the sight of the man, you resisted the urge to tighten your fists.
"This is Kunikida Doppo, he'll be working with me on your case." You nodded, "[L. Name], [Name], it's a pleasure to meet you Kunikida-san."
He pushed his glasses up, "Likewise."
They both took a seat at the booth, Atsushi pulled out a little notebook and pen, you fidgeted in your seat.
"Thank you for allowing me to take some of your time, I know you must be busy, so thank you." You slightly bowed to the two.
Atsushi waved his hands, "It's no problem! No need to bow, please!" you looked up through your lashes and with a small smile you returned to your original posture.
Kunikida frowned, "This isn't about a murder case is it?"
Atsushi looked at Kunikida, "Huh? What do you mean?"
You looked down at your intertwined hands, "No, it isn't," you looked up at them, Atsushi was frowning, his eyes waving from you to the man beside him, confusion so neatly written in between his face. Kunikida's brows were furrowed, suspicions dancing in his eyes, you hated how he looked at you like a stranger, you hated how they both looked at you like a stranger, but you were, in their eyes.
You sighed, a melancholy smile overtaking your lips, "You were always quick on the uptake, Kunikida-san,"
You could see the blonde go ridged, "What is this about?"
You pondered it for a moment, "We have met 106 different times and in all of those times the agency has died," you looked out of the window and onto the distant passerby, all going on with their day, all oblivious to the harsh truth they have been shielded from, you envy them. "I have died 106 different times trying to save you."
Kunikida pushed his glasses up, the cool glass almost seemingly protecting him from you, you wondered if somewhere in him, he felt a sense of familiarity, a sense of longing.
Atsushi stuttered for a reply, "W-what?"
"You're an ability user?" Kunikida asked.
You glanced at him, "Yes. If you don't believe me ask your president or your certain sweet loving detective, they'll testify for me..." you gently laughed, "Or so I hope."
“How do we know you aren’t with the Port Mafia? Or with someone else?” He narrowed his eyes at you.
You shrugged, “You don’t,”
Kunikida huffed before getting up, "I'll go get the president," he turned towards the shell-shocked tigar, "stay here and watch her." Atsushi stiffly nodded.
You watched as the blonde left behind a door, you sighed, "He was always so uptight, I once told him to loosen up, he huffed back at me and said there was no time for that. But I saw the way he eased up, little by little. I was glad he took my words to heart." you turned to the Atsushi, "I wonder if I tell him sooner this time around I could see him more... relaxed."
Atsushi pursed his lips, a question on his tongue, you smiled, "What is it? I know you want to ask me something, don't be afraid, I don't bite."
You laughed, "I mean exactly what I said."
Atsushi furrowed his eyebrows, you had the urge to suddenly reach over and smooth out the crease between them, "But how is that possible?"
"My ability, I can go back in time every time I die, you should know by now, Atsushi." If he noticed that switch in his name he didn't say anything.
Atsushi sucked in a breath, “So you’ve gone back in time 106 different times..?”
You laughed, a gentle sound, the sound of a windchime in late summer and the sound of a bell in early winter, “I’ve gone back much more than that.”
The two of you fell into silence afterwards. You weren't sure if he was too afraid to ask you any more questions or was waiting for the president and Kunikida, you weren't sure but you didn't mind. Just being back and just being able to their faces again was enough, even if they kicked you out and branded you liar.
Distantly your gaze went out to the window, to the clear blue skies and fluffy clouds, ah, you wish you were a cloud.
3 minutes lapsed before Kunikida and the president came over, the clack of shoes alerted you to their presence, grey hair and flowing robes and with a face far too familiar, you got up.
“Fukuzawa.” You could feel your walls break at the sight of the man, you could feel your prior nerves re-surface with a vengeance.
He sighed, “It seems it’s time, Ranpo will be glad you’re back.”
You smiled, you could feel the sting of tears in your eyes, Kunikida straightened, “You know her, president?”
Fukuzawa nodded, “Yes, she’s an old friend and a member of the agency,”
Kunikida looked at you before pushing up his glasses, “Member of the agency?”
“Yes.” He sighed again, “It seems it’s time to finally introduce you, let’s have tea while we talk, come now.” Fukuzawa spun around, Kunikida shortly looked at you before following after the president.
You smiled at Atsushi, who, throughout the whole ordeal stood nervously standing off to the side, you gently smiled at him, “Let’s go, yes? We have much to talk about.”
You laughed before shortly following after Kunikida and Fukuzawa with Atsushi trailing after you.
Spring is the time of warmth and beginnings of new, of the real beginning in a year, the start and calm, the end and beginning.
Spring was the beginning and end for you too.
You died a day in spring, falling leaves and blooming flowers you died surrounded by the sickly sweet smell of them, your blood coated the delicate petals, hues of pink and blue turned sickly vermillion.
You think out of all your deaths that one was the most peaceful, perhaps it was because you didn’t die alone, alone with nobody but your killer.
He gripped your hand, tight enough that you could feel the sensation even with your numbing body and foggy mind.
He begged, tears coating his lashes and cheeks, cascading down and dripping into the soft array of flowers, you wished you could reach up and wipe them away.
You could feel your own tears form, bubbles of water making your vision blurry.
Truthfully, you didn’t want to die, you wanted to stay in this timeline, this part of the future, you wanted to stay with them. You found it funny you're the one dying this time and not them, they all survived but you didn’t, how ironic.
“Don’t cry.” You spoke gently in every movement of your lips, “Don’t cry.”
Your chest heaved with the weight of moving, every part of your body protesting against moving, speaking, for it only longed for the cold comfort of stillness.
He sucked in a breath, you did your best to smile up at him, “It’ll be fine, we’ll meet again, so don’t cry.”
“No, no, you’re going to be fine.” He tightened his grip on your hand.
“[Name]- You’re going to be fine, Yosano-san going to heal you and you’re going to be fine-” He reached down and wiped away your tears, his hand was rough but warm, a never-ending sunset, you leaned into the warm sensation, your last comfort of this life.
“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, you didn’t want to leave him, the agency, everybody, you didn’t want to leave, why do you have to leave?
“We’ll meet again so please let me go. We’ll meet again and again and even if you don’t remember I will so don’t cry, it’ll be okay.” It’s not okay, you think, you don’t want to go, you want this to be your last life, please, you don’t want to go.
Your eyes drift shut, gentle night consuming your body whole, death’s hands reaching down to pull you under the weight of darkness and death.
“[Name]!” You feel as though he tightened his hand on you, but you aren’t quite sure- Ah, everything is so, so, very distant.
You could feel your lips ghost his name and one last apology, sorry, sorry, sorry, Atsushi, sorry, you have to see me like this, sorry this is the last time you’ll see me, I’m sorry.
The gentle breeze of spring and a peaceful embrace was the last thing you remember feeling, darkness consumed you whole, taking with it everything you built.
When you re-awoke, to the same day, same month and same season, the only being difference was you were a year earlier, you cried hard, your tears never-ending, never-ceasing, you think spring is cruel but so terribly, terribly, beautiful.
“What do you mean she’s a part of the agency?” Kunikida asked.
Silently you sipped your tea, the warm sensation set blooming stars of warmth dancing across your body, you relished in the feeling.
Fukuzawa looked down at his tea, “She joined when the agency was first built.”
Kunikida quirked an eyebrow, “Why was she never brought up?”
You placed your teacup down, the sudden clack of it brought Atsushi and Kunikida’s heads swirling towards you, “Because I asked they didn’t mention me,”
You trailed your hand around the rim of the cup, “I’m not meant to be brought into the spotlight, I left for a reason…”
Fukuzawa stared at you, “What happens, [Name]?”
You looked at your reflection of yourself in the teacup, the slow ripple distorted your face and features, “You all die,”
You could see Kunikida tighten his fists and you could see Atsushi's body go ridged, you guess now that the president knew you, that everything you previously said was true and that they really all died, your words were finally catching up to them.
“How many times?” Fukuzawa asked, patient and ever the gentle.
“This is the 106th attempt,” You momentarily paused, then looked up, “I want it to be the last.”
You placed the teacup down on the table, "Please, I can't do it anymore-"
Fukuzawa abruptly stood up, his form slowly walking over to where you sat, his hand came onto your head, heavy and gentle.
“It will be.” You guessed in his eyes, you only ever be the child that gripped onto his clothes and begged for him to stay, you only ever be the child that followed him around like a lost puppy, and in some ways, you’ll always be one.
