#underwatersoldier

"I’m pregnant? When was someone going to tell ME this?"

Kunzite's eyes widened.

"Really? She's pregnant again?"

send me ❅ for my muse to cuddle up next to yours while asleep on the couch

The day could not have gotten any worse.

Kunzite groaned as he looked up at the apartment building they had shared. His flight back to Japan had been delayed by hours, jet lag was taking it's toll, and, worse, he had missed Michiru's performance that night. The plan was to surprise her back-stage, but that had fallen through terribly.

Glancing at his watch, Kunzite winced as the face read two-thirty. She was going to kill him. At least the Fish was asleep. 

When he got to the door, the Persian opened it slowly so as to not alert too much attention or Michiru's inevitable wrath. But there was a flickering blue glow and the sound of canned laughter inside. Kunzite entered the apartment and walked into the living room.

She was asleep. The comforter from their bed was half draped over her, half pooled on the floor. Another bout of fake laughing, and Michiru gave a small groan in her sleep.

He smiled, set his luggage down, and removed his coat. She looked so peaceful. The coat was put on the edge of the couch, and he carefully picked Michiru up to rest her head on his lap. As if reacting to his presence, the violinist nuzzled his leg, placed her hand on his knee.

Despite his age, Kunzite is not often a fan of straight classical music. He prefers musical fusions, symphonic rock being his favorite.

His favorite musical group is E.S. Posthumus.  

Send me "Would you miss me?" For a Drabble about my muses reaction to yours dying.

The funeral had more reporters in attendance than anything else. It was sensational. The international musician taken down by a car accident. Or so it had been deduced. How was anyone to explain that a demon, now destroyed, had taken down one of the women fighting it? But it could have been worse. The funeral for the racer Haruka Tenoh was happening in another cemetery this same day. Suicide.

Kunzite had seen enough of cameras and note pads that day to last him a lifetime. The paparazzi had dispersed quickly as a storm rolled in. Rain drove them away, threatening to harm the equipment. He had brought an umbrella. It let him stay longer. Even the senshi had eventually wandered away. They had lives. He couldn't blame them.

He stood next to the grave, blue eyes dull as he read over her name over and over. Michiru Kaoh. Friend. Mother. The idea that this was all that was left of the woman he loved was too much to process.

"Michiru-san! How does this make you feel?"

underwatersoldier