he would immediately catch on to your weary state, he wouldn’t say anything at first but later he would have a meal prepared for you as he knows you enjoyed his cooking.
He would make sure you ate everything, soon after he would embrace you into a long embosom leaving soft kisses along your jaw for comfort as he led you over to the couch to cuddle
holding you in his arms making sure you were comfortable, he turned on a show, turning the volume low so he didn’t disturb you. He fondled with your hair, finally you slowly doze off knowing you are safe in the arms of someone who will never let go.
RebornOC by request, originally supposed to be for Diamond Dust, but since it’s super short...
.
“like quicksand we’re just falling, falling”
.
.
Reborn turns and takes up the gun in his hands again.
10.
.
His mind remains numbed by the dazed chaos of slaughter, in the aftermath of this slaughter, massacre, but he doesn’t feel anything about it.
… He doesn’t feel anything about it.
He doesn’t feel it, not until he is standing there himself in person. Not until he is standing in the exact same spot where her blood stains the ground a deep scarlet, standing still and numbly inhaling the sharp coppery scent saturating the air while an ice-cold fury spreads throughout his veins.
9.
.
“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Reborn’s voice is low, detached, as the worthless scumbag cowers before him miserably, trembling and quivering. “Now. Where is she?”
“I don’t know!” The wretched man sobs in terror, voice high and hysterical with fear. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! Go ask the Boss! I wasn’t the one in charge of this, I don’t know–”
BANG.
8.
.
(The hallways run red with blood.
“It was a trap from the very beginning, wasn’t it?” The young woman asks, in a resigned sort of tone that is more the statement of mere fact than asking any question, and the man standing before her laughs.
“Of course,” the burly man leading the circle of men closing in on the wounded assassin smiles, and it’s a smile filled with bloodlust and glee. “No one crosses us and lives without repercussions, not even the World’s Greatest Hitman.”
“I’m nothing to him. You won’t accomplish anything by killing me.”
“Oh, really?”
He raises the tall cleaver over his head. The young woman is already on the verge of death, there is no escape for her, not in a trapped situation like this –but for all the pain she is suffering, there is a still a glimmer of something defiant, indomitable that shines in her eyes.
“… You’re not going to get away with this,” she says, right before her head comes off and splatters to the ground in messy flecks of gory, crimson red.)
7.
.
She isn’t here. She isn’t here.
That’s when Reborn realizes that there is something horribly, horribly wrong.
6.
.
One day turns into two, two morphs into three.
He waits a single week before starting his search, something unnaturally heavy hammering away with a staccato beat in his chest.
5.
.
“–thank you for letting me love you.”
Those are the last words the blue-eyed woman says to him before she leaves, and it’s not even in person. It’s left as a message on his phone, and it’s a message that comes both too early and too late, as his heart skips a beat for a moment before stuttering, stuttering back into a rhythm that is somewhat-steady-again-but-not-really.
(It’s a message that Reborn never does end up responding to, despite his intentions.)
4.
.
“You just keep me around for the espresso I make, don’t you?” the young woman’s voice drifts over teasingly from the other end of the line, and Reborn smirks.
“What do you think?” he responds smoothly. She doesn’t respond to the question, laughing instead.
“… Hey, Reborn. I just wanted to let you know, to tell you–”
3.
.
“You’re an idiot.”
The blue-eyed woman laughs, lithe muscles uncoiling and loosening under his grip as she flops to the ground and releases the knives in her hands. “Maybe, I guess. Serves me right for accepting a contract like this, right?”
Reborn rolls his eyes.
“You’re a hundred years too early to try and one-up me,” he informs her candidly.
“… Aah. I know.”
(And this is how their story starts.)
2.
.
They are both hitmen, assassins, killers for hire. They are creatures who are born in blood, live in blood, and will die in blood. It’s a fact of life, for things like them but sometimes they can’t help but think of what if’s, what if things were different. Maybe things can change, if things were different.
… But they aren’t, and this is the very essence of what marks their story as a tragedy from the very beginning.
1.
.
“When I die,” he remembers her saying once, “I want to be buried in a field of flowers.”
Her voice was a little wistful, a little self-mocking, a little sad. Because she knew, just as well as he did, that–
0.
.
Hitmen have no graves. There are no testaments to their memories; only the faintest drifting traces calling herald to ghostly whispers of what once was and what could have been.
.
.
.
(Please read from bottom to up, because that’s the actual chronological order of things. :3)
