Prompt: Being your murderer.
Word Count: 796.
Warnings(!!): Mentions of murder, blood, firearm and sharp weapon, death.
Notes: Angst. Gender-neutral reader. Not gore. Denial.
This piece of writing contains elements mentioned above. You have been warned, proceed at your own risk.
Being ruthless, Madara had never been someone that would let any doubt get in his way of pulling a gun trigger. As a professional, Madara is capable of dispatching his targets with precision and efficiency. His recent victim is no exception, and he pitied them for the painful death he put them into.
Madara took a few steps forward, then crouched in front of the dead body. Ensuring that the target is certainly dead is part of the procedure, and he went ahead for a quick inspection as always. Before he retracted himself, he noticed a pendant that came out from under the layer of clothes that covered the upper chest, where it was previously tucked in. A glint and the familiar shape caught his attention.
He recoiled. It can't be.
Even after he took a closer, detailed look at the pendant, he still refused to believe what he saw. It was a handmade pendant that you crafted personally: a glass bottle that contained dried baby's breath and a tiny scroll. He knew, because you made one specifically for him, too, with a variant of spices in place of dried flowers.
How did he not know? How did he not realise the familiarity in your voice, in your steps? How could he be fooled by the foreign appearance and identity? Why didn't he look for you, at that time? Maybe he could've found you. Maybe he could've saved you. Maybe he could've kept you close by his side, as his beloved, not as someone who he had to get rid of.
For once, he felt a crippling pain, mingled with guilt and remorse. The sundry of intense emotions broke through the numbness that always accompanied him as he carried on his duty. A long time he remained motionless, contemplating. Mourning. Denying the truth that, all this time, it was you.
No, the person whom he killed is not [y/n]. The [y/n] he knew was already dead years ago, when you disappeared without a trace and left an unspeakable void in his heart. The lifeless body in front of him belonged to whoever you changed your name into. It was not yours, and he was not the one who killed you.
He had no memories of you liking to don red, and he would never force you to clad yourself in it.
Kohaku despised your persistence with all his might. If only, if only you had listened to his warnings. If only you had stopped whatever activities that caused you to be on the list of people he needed to hunt down. If only you knew how much it took him to bring himself to kill you. If only you loved him more than you love the world, maybe it wouldn't resort to this.
As you showed no signs of struggle, Kohaku suspected that you were aware of the real intention behind the faux embrace. The moment he sheathed a knife in between your ribcages with precision, there was no turning back any more. Even with the stinging pain in his chest, he wished that he could bear all of your pain instead.
He didn't mean to rob you of your life. Even then, he knew that all of it was a lie, an excuse for all his deeds. The tears streaming down his cheeks were solid proof of his guilt. With the last remaining life you had, you brought up your hand to caress his back.
"There, there," He felt mortified beyond imagination. How can you be the one to comfort him instead, when he's clearly the one hurting you?
Your body went limp as he withdrew his knife in a one swift motion, falling into his arms even more as he grew weak at the knees. That would be the last time he got to close the gap within you two, and yet he couldn't bring himself to utter a farewell in the slightest. Never again he will be able to see your beautiful pair of eyes, and yet he couldn't bring himself to look at you in the eyes for one last time.
But, no. It wasn't his fault. No, he didn't kill you. It was for the best of you: he was merely sending you to a realm unreachable by the living, a realm so serene without the wickedness of mortals. A realm where you can lie down in tranquillity, under the clear blue sky, in the midst of a sea of spider lilies.
He didn't kill you, he saved you. And the lies would continuously play in his mind as his attempt to cope with the unbearable guilt.
Even if the rain could wash away every single trail of blood, nothing can ever bleach out the guilt in his heart.
