reincarnation

forever was something funny for hiori. 

what did it mean for someone like him? for a boy who never considered living past his late twenties? 

what did it mean?

did forever mean until the end of time, until the earth explodes and the sun burns out? a supernova of colorful elements clashing together, burning bright and dying out just as fast?

or was it until the end of his pitiful life, when he finally went through with the plan he created for a last resort, for when everything slipped out of his control?

“forever” came to hiori’s tongue as naturally as his vomit. it was a disgusting, awful taste. something that he could feel rising in his throat and inside the saltiness of his spit.

each time you said forever, hiori felt an uneasiness inside him. because how long did forever mean? 

we’ll be together forever, yo-chan.

this marks our forever promise!

he shivers in his sleep. you were optimistic, at least, what you liked to portray you were. maybe thats what hiori liked about you. how you always seemed to shine the brightest, leaving him chasing after a bright light that burned his eyes and left him wincing in the afterimage. 

but just like stars, you burnt out just as fast. 

he had a vague feeling of what you were experiencing—but only a feeling. he never had anything concrete, and he didn't want to assume. he didn’t want to be invasive. what only mattered was the sound of your heartbeat, lulling him to sleep. what he only sought after was his body on yours, grappling for any feel of that unfamiliar warmth that you gave him; that the two of you made.

and what if he did tell you about his suspicions? he was the same as you. he had no place in pushing you if he lived in the exact dark place you resided in as well. 

it wasn’t much, but it was a spark. two cold, lost, hearts. two organisms that finally found meaning in each other after searching for a long, long, time. after searching for forever. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

your door was left ajar. he came in the dead of the night, seeking comfort in your arms. you didnt answer his calls, nor his texts, and he was starting to feel uneasy. 

the first thing he heard was a thud of something heavy on the ground. then the sound of rope straining against skin, the labored asphyxiation of a closed trachea, a light snap of bone, and then silence.

the next thing he saw was the shadow of your hanging body, illuminated by the moon shining mockingly bright through your window. 

his eyes fly open. the blood in his veins stop, and so does his heart.

hiori stands there, unmoving, unblinking, unthinking. was he scared? there were far more violent scenes in the video games he plays every day. what was it that was paralyzing him, rooting him to the floor? what even was happening?

his lungs remember to breathe after his vision starts blurring. he felt nauseous. he felt sick. he felt angry, he felt despair, he felt everything, almost. yet nothing came to stick. 

it seemed like his entire existence was quivering underneath him, the cracks—already formed, already there—rapidly spreading and widening until it was as large as the chasm in his stomach, ready to swallow him up and spread him wide and thin and long and tight until he was nothing, but the black in your shadow.

he pushes the door wider open after a while. its creak—the one that you said you would fix one day—seemed to tear apart his eardrums. 

his legs seemed heavier than usual. his parched throat—trying to correct itself by gulping, only seemed to heave up his stomach acids instead of any saliva. 

his eyes reaches the kicked chair. they reach your bed (and the messiness of your sheets, that stain of blood you tried to hide from him underneath your blanket). they reach your desk (where he sometimes sat watching you sleep, wanting nothing more than to hear the sound of your breathing). they skim past all the trash and all the dust left piling in your room, all the words of forever that clung on your walls and the all the nice clothes you were saving in the closet for any special occasions coming your way (even when you both knew you had given up on that a long time ago).

his eyes try to look anywhere but the bare hanging feet in the air. anywhere but your limp torso, your limp fingers. anywhere but where your head was bent into that terrifying, unhuman angle.

a gust of wind from the open night drifts through your window and hits hiori cold in the face. he shivers, muscles tensing. he feels colder now than he did in  any other moment in his life. 

hiori exhales, his wandering eyes finding the teasing moonlight shining onto your reflection. he doesn’t look at that; for the first time, he’s not looking at you. instead, he shifts his gaze deep into the inky night, wondering if you flew up into the clouds yet. 

he doesn’t know how long he stayed there for, staring into the waning moon and listening to the trees rustling until it turned into blinking away from the rising sun and the shrill of morningbirds piercing his ears.

the morning after seemed hauntingly normal after what just happened the night before. the sun still rose—that wasn’t supposed to happen. his world stopped when you weren’t a part in it anymore. the sky turned blue—a sickening color. you always liked to tell him that his hair matched the sky. now that you’re gone, how was he supposed to go outside and look up without feeling like throwing up? his phone lit up with messages from his friends. karasu, isagi, nanase… their names sounded like static compared to yours. how could anyone go on with their lives without you in it? 

all the things around him, each texture or color, the shape and sizes—they didn’t seem real anymore. nothing did. what only felt painfully real was your corpse, still floating. . .

he took you down. carefully propped that chair back up and painstakingly untied your knots with shaking fingers until you were gently settled back on your bed. it was difficult—rigor mortis and all—and he hated every second of it.

yet still, he touches your hair, finding the curve of your eyes. he doesn’t mind the abnormal coldness of your skin—his hands were always cold. yet you always wrapped your hands around them. he looks closely, and sees slight hues of red and purple and blue and black bloom on your skin like flowers on a comfortable spring day. he misses when you’d promise him that you’d take him there to see them one day. then, all you did was lie with him in silence. now, all he did was lie with you in a choking haze. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆     

hiori never found it in him to leave your room after that. he couldn’t bear the idea of him leaving your skin once more—even if that skin had already rotted beyond recognition. every time he tried to leave, a pestering, gnawing feeling would creep up on his back, as if your eyes had regrown and was watching his every movement. as if he could feel your silent plea, spoken only by your eyes. 

please don’t leave me.

he was quite used to those words. he uttered them more than anyone else. for someone who liked being alone so often, it didn’t make sense (even to himself) why his being craved for you, why his cells begged for your comfort, or why your conscience never left him. 

hiori left that question up to you to answer.

days and days passed in that room. days and days he spent in this weird limbo, unable to separate his dreams and his bleak reality. they both detail the same thing—your death in some other variation. your corpse in another period of decomposition.

he flips in and out through consciousness, watching your body decay through the grip of time. in so long he hasn’t stepped any further than the threshold of your door, in so long he couldn’t remember the label each day carried. hunger and thirst was only a secondary priority compared to your fleeting presence, compared to the uncertainty of how long your corpse will last. he scavenged around your room for anything edible—opting to drink weeks old bottled water, food scraps riddled with mold. he gagged, he choked, but still forced it all down if it meant that he could stay with you for a little longer than a while. 

inevitably, the smell came, and so did the maggots. when hiori wasn’t busy choking on the putrid scent, he was plucking the maggots off your face with thin fingers so he could at least enjoy your face for a little longer. it didn’t work—a tired, rotted, boy couldn’t stop a natural process. however, he lived with it; lived with the fact that your face was now just the outline of your skull and the decaying tissue of your skin. but it was still you. 

and that’s all that mattered.

when his body started rotting from the inside, hiori didn’t mind, because it was matching yours.

when the maggots came crawling into him after having gnawed your bones clean, hiori didn’t mind, because it proved he was there for you long enough.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

hiori wakes up to (or dreams about) forever. your voice, faint, still echoes in his head. about the forever you loved, and the forever he didn’t believe in. 

now, as he turns to the side and stares at your skeleton, he understands what you meant by forever. 

were you waiting for him back at the place where forever existed?

hiori rummages through your desk and finds it—the box cutter you tried to hide from him that one time. he vaguely recalls the memory. 

he comes to your room, silently invited by no one. he seeks only you. 

as you go into the bathroom to wash your face, hiori sits on your bed—and immediately feels something sharp almost poke him. he jumps up and rummages through the blanket to find the culprit—a box cutter, tinged with blood. 

he recoils his hand. he’s shocked, but in reality, he’s transfixed by your blood. the vibrant red of it that spilled onto the bedsheets, the rotted brown of it that stayed on the tip. 

however, you come rushing back in the room, as if sensing hiori touching your private stuff. you snatch it from the bed, tuck it inside your shorts pocket, and whisper to him with a croaked voice;

“you… never saw anything.”

hiori could only nod.

it was never brought up again.

. . . the box cutter was rusted now, forgotten and casted aside. like you knew that you’d never use it again, and never bothered to clean it. 

hiori holds it like a delicate trophy. 

he gets back in the acid-saturated bed, reassuming his position he laid in for countless days. he snuggles in even closer, hugging the rotted skeleton like it was another night when he finished his games and got back in bed with you. it was disgusting, but so is he for having kept you for so long.

he holds out the box cutter, pointing the stretched blade towards him. his weak grip fumbles a little. he squeezes his eyes tight, bracing for the pain, and whispers into the air.

“we’ll meet in forever.”

hiori impales himself in the chest, right where his tired heart beats. 

he never felt anything as cold as the blade, never felt anything as shocking as the cut.

he pulls the blade out of his heart—and blood immediately spews out. he thought it looked cool, how it so rapidly escaped from his body, decorating your corpse with something fresh and the bed with another color than the sickly yellow your fluids gave. 

with tears in his eyes, he thrusts the box cutter in again—into his stomach. once more, that cold feeling penetrates through more than anything else. once more does the blood rush out of the wound, eager to escape the boy who let his life slip away for a single person.

hiori feels his consciousness slowly losing him again, except this time accompanied by a lightheaded dizziness that wasn’t there before. he stares at your decayed corpse, already digested by the greedy maggots—unbelievably greedier than hiori—as he bleeds out. 

when he feels the last of his mind fading away, the last of his breath taking too much effort to take, he closes his eyes, and finally relaxes. 

tonight, you’ll be reunited in forever.

request from @dewyd4rling !! sorry for the long wait life came up :< no a/n i don't know what to say.... i really miss hiori....

dividers: @/cursed-carmine , @/chachachannah , @/chulastar7

“babe—“

a choke of blood. a stamp of spit. his voice beaten out by a thump of skin against bone.

drumming, thrumming, like a rhythmic dance your soul was drawn to. there was no rhythm, though, just fists dropping and rising, and dropping and rising. a crunch could be heard, thrown into this messy rhythm. and sometimes when you miss your mark, a nauseating squelch mumbled out of his body.

you breathe, almost as heavily as his moans. your knuckles stained red, aching against the texture of hiori’s skeleton. your knees groaned as you rose to examine your lover—or what remained of him after your nails ached for his muscle under them, your feet screeched for his skull under them.

“yo-chan…” you whispered, already knowing you’d get no response. the blood on him seemed to shine in the pale, flickering light of the room. it looked appetizing…

you bent back down and laid on the floor with him, slipping in the blood rapidly trickling out from his eye. you giggled. it looks as if you were just laying back in bed with him after a long day, finding comfort in each other’s presence, the shared breath and the teasing touches under the blanket. now all you two had was the damp air filling the room and the warmth of your blushing cheeks, so utterly in love with him in this state.

you brush aside his stained blue hair, revealing his eyes to you. what beautiful blue eyes he has, skin so soft and clearer than the empty sky. a sky that was painted with a beautiful red sunset, revealing streaks in the air that dripped down his nose and collected on the floor. blood that slowly flowed down his skin, the sky, your world.

cupping his face in your hands and tilting his limp head towards you even closer, you lean in and kitty lick the blood on his face. immediately, that familiar taste explodes inside your mouth. you lean in and lick up, all the way from the tip of his nose from the top of his forehead, gathering his warm blood onto your tongue.

gulping down your lover’s blood, you continue, leaving a trail of saliva as you cleanse him, eat him, savour him. it wasn’t as if the taste was addicting. it was the feeling of your tongue sliding over his skin, the texture of his pores that was making you come back for more. it was the warmth of his blood, fleeting the more you drank.

and after he was licked clean, washed by your tongue, you stayed there with him, hoping for the next time you’ll make him bleed and lick his life away..

notes: i apologize for the hiatus... been very busy lately... i do have lots of things planned tho.

dividers by : @/uzmacchiato

every day, hiori looks at your beautiful body, your stunning elegance that just captures his vision and blesses his sinful eyes. this, mixed in with all the reprieve you gave to hiori, all the times you stayed with him as he cried, gently holding his blessed hands (blessed, after being graced with your touch) and kissing his tears away. nothing, nothing could get between you. 

nothing, hiori repeated. nothing would ever get between the two of you, no matter what you did, or what any third party would do. this justifies everything, in hiori’s mind.

so what if he rots in jealousy? so what if he becomes so broken and bugged down by envy that all he can do to make sure what’s his stays his is to break it apart, make it so unappealing that only he could love and nurture and care for?

the first act was breaking something—breaking into your house as you slept quietly, dreaming about irrelevance if it wasn’t about hiori; breaking the window of your room as he carelessly climbed in for a late night rendezvous, deciding that going through the front door was for losers; breaking the glass of his heart when you told him to leave for a minute, to just give you a second to calm down and reset; breaking your finger joints, then your wrists, then your arms, until you were just a broken mess, someone only hiori knew how to care for; then breaking your heart as he realizes no one could force him to leave your house. you had no protest in you, for he took it all. 

and once he did, he would never leave you alone, always touching and prodding and holding onto one body part. sometimes he would tightly pinch the hem of your shirt, hanging on by just those square inches of fabric. sometimes, it would be your hair, grasping and pulling until there you cried, begging him to stop, tucking those few strands inside his pocket for safekeeping. most of the time, it would be mundanely clasping his fingers onto yours, fingers intertwining like the two of you were a normal couple making their way home after a long day. like nothing would fall apart if those hands just let go, that you two were sustainable and healthy. 

the second act was something different, something so off that it made you feel unnatural against his touch. in the dead of the night, he would make you strip bare, eyes glazing over at just the sight of a pure, unfiltered you. his fingers would lightly trace every curvature of your skin, your muscle, leaving you shivering and squirming under his tickling touch. it wasn’t gratifying, it felt more like being scrutinized, being held up in a museum you never asked to be there in the first place. it didn’t matter if all hiori could think about how pretty you were, how delicious you’ll taste, how well the moonlight seemed to capture the color of your eyes, 

well, that was until you tried to leave, that is.

hiori painted it as a futile attempt to escape from him (since when were you escaping? wasn’t this your house, hiori only taking a part time residence?), but you felt it was more like trying to get something old you lost back into your hands. it felt more like twisting into the stars and hoping they’ll be kind enough to grant you freedom. 

but hiori had none of that, none of your words seem to go through him as he breaks down next to you in your bed, clutching and scratching at your arm, holding it so tightly you were sure it’d bruise the morning after. 

hiori doesn’t get mad—he gets anxious. he gets paranoid. he gets everything except mad, something that might’ve been a good thing or a bad thing.

maybe you would have preferred if he hit you, yelled at you, called you names, instead of pathetically grappling onto you like a last thread of strength when all you’ve been doing is trying to lightly detach yourself from him. 

“y...you…you said you’ll be there for me…” hiori sniffs, tears darkening the bedsheets. “always… you said that you’ll never leave.”

you sigh uncomfortably, pulling him just a little closer to comfort. “i…i wouldn’t. i’ll always be there for you hiori, i mean it. i just… i just need some time alone, you know?”

hiori looks up to you, the light hitting his blue eyes, making them glisten with shed tears. “prove it, then. prove that you’re always gonna be there for me.”

“please,” he whispers, one final time.

and when no drastic reassurance, no hasty reaffirmation came out because he knew that you didn’t really mean it, you didn’t mean anything that came out of your distasteful mouth, he laughed bitterly. 

“it’s okay. nevermind. i’m sorry for asking you that.” he mumbles. and finally, he unlatches himself from your arm, loosens his grip just a little bit for you to drift apart. like a leech finally leting go.

you thought that was the end. you thought it was fine now. smiling sweetly, you kissed up on the top of his forehead. 

“goodnight, hiori.”

“goodnight.”

and conversation stills.

oh, how naive you were. how foolish you were to actually fall asleep. to believe you were safe with hiori’s jealous, jealous fingers.

the moment hiori heard your breathing steady, your chest rise and fall with that steady pace, sure that you were sound asleep, he gets up slowly. and in a daze, grabs the pillow right next to him and gently, gently presses it onto your face, covering your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see him commit this act. 

“go to sleep… go to sleep..” hiori whispers, tears pricking his eyes. “don’t go…”

he presses harder, harder, squeezing his eyes shut until the movement under the pillow stops, until you stop fighting him. 

softly, hiori removes the pillow from your face, eyes glossing over the spit that leaked onto the pillow and your chin. he gently touches the calm bruises on your nose, and amazes at the fact that you really were dead. completely drained of the life that hiori cherished so dearly. the little spark of your eyes, the twitch of your fingers and your exhale that so tenderly stuck to his face. it was all gone, and hiori had selfishly taken it for himself. 

he sobs, fat globs of tears landing on your face. why, why did it have to turn out like this? 

if only you listened to him. if only you didn’t try to let go of him… then none of this would’ve happened. 

he needs you, hiori realizes, after staring at your regretful corpse for who knows how long. but you are gone; you can never hold him as dear as you once did. hiori needed you, and he needed you in something deeper than physical. something deeper than emotionally, something that would bond the two of you together in life and death, and the limbo in between. 

where would he start? 

hiori wonders as he traces the knife along your body he carefully stripped. he doesn’t know how to do this. no one ever practiced with him. you were his first in almost everything he ever experienced. 

the night waned high, but it was beginning to draw to an end. hiori could feel the sun, the malicious sun that stole you away into the bright day, where you would go and do normal things, like a normal person would. hiori loved the night, where it kept you here, brought you back to where you truly belonged, which was on your bed, holding onto hiori tight and apologizing for leaving him. 

impatient, hiori decides to start with your heart; if he took your heart first, it would prove that you were truly his, and it would keep you forever his as well.

hovering on his estimation, he drove the knife straight down into your chest. 

hiori was surprised at how hard he had to dig through, and how hard it was to pull it back out.

he huffs, staring at the wound right about your heart as blood began to leak out of it. 

it was tantalizing, it was hypnotizing, hiori notices. how riveting it was, seeing your red blood slowly drip off of your skin. he couldn’t get enough of it.

he softly stabs your heart once again, carving your skin and bones to get it out of you. he traces it out, and once the tiny cavity opens up to a bloody hole of indiscernible nothing, he reaches inside with his shaking hands and pulls your heart out.

hiori gasps at the weight of your heart, of how saturated with blood it was. of how squishy it seemed, of how the blue artery still peeked through the dark blood clots. 

he got what he wanted, right? your heart in his hands, never leaving, never moving. 

hiori closes his eyes, the weight of the day hanging onto him. he’s tired, he laments. he wants to sleep, his body commands.

he drops the heart; but not the knife. with half lidded eyes, he scans your vacant face and just thinks, i could crawl up inside you right now.

with the knife as cold as him, he glides it vertically over your entire torso, splitting the delicate flesh into two parts; left and right. it opens up to a thousand different possibilities, a thousand different times he’ll love you dearly. 

he stills his bloody knife right past your belly button, mutilating it. then, using his hands, he roughly fishes out everything he could find that can be pulled out. intestines that dragged on for too long; spongy pink lungs that slipped out of his fingers; the hard spleen and liver and stomach that bounced back up like a squishy toy. 

until, he had you open bare, had you empty, carved out of what made you human. your organs lay scattered on the blood soaked bed, unused to being exposed to open air. 

but hiori; a long night he suffered through. all he really wanted was to just—

he drops forward, his tall frame crashing into your skeleton-like one, and he buries himself inside you. 

he fits his head in right between your ribcage, taking the place of your heart and lungs. he crawls inside you, legs reveling in your cold blood. and in fetus position, he manages to fit all the way through, peeking out of your red corpse, gazing at the far away bland ceiling of your room. 

he doesn’t completely fit inside you, and he can feel the slight bulges of your skin as it accommodates for his size, but it’s enough. it’s more than enough. 

your body blanket, everything, it’s more than what hiori had ever experienced in his life. this is what he needed, finally. it’s everything—you were everything, even in death. 

he’s never felt anything warmer than this. now, he was truly safe. now, he’d be loved to the very marrow of his bone, because he loved you even deeper than that. 

and just like that, hiori falls asleep soundly inside of you. 

everything he ever did, he wanted more; he chased more of all that you had. like a moth to a flame, he draws into your body closer and closer, all the way until his very death.

but like a moth, how it wondered at the dancing sparks of fire, at the bright expanse of light it offered, hiori also laughed and chased after you, wanting to desperately grasp at the bright offer of love that you harbored for him. and he did, with the same knife he used to cut you open splitting his own heart into two. dying there inside you was better than death itself.

so like a moth to a flame, he’ll die like the moth, putting out his life and the flame it loved so dearly. 

notes: hope you enjoyed xx

dividers by: @.dollywons , @.cursed-carmine

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎♫ the black hole of the window where you sleep, the night breeze carries something sweet . . ♬⋆.˚

it doesn’t happen on purpose. it was almost a pure, naive accident that hiori had gotten so lost in his mind that it ended with a knife stuck in your stomach. 

 happy accidents all around, maybe, you think.

he doesn’t mean any harm by it. he would never dream of killing anybody, especially you. anybody but you. so… so how the hell did he get here?

he looks down at his hands, specks of your warm blood on his fingertips that clutch the cold kitchen knife digging into your stomach. 

“babe…?” he croaks, softly into nothing. his eyes slowly travel up, looking all the way from your bloody stomach, to the skin covering your empty ribcage, to your frozen neck, to your twitching chin, and then to your horrified eyes looking at him.

“i–” he stammers, and with weak limbs, tries to pull the knife out. but his brain doesn’t send the signal to his hands, and he remains standing there, his conscience plunged into your stomach.

“yo-chan?” you whisper. he breathes in sharply, as if surprised, eyes darting around your body.

“oh my gosh. i’m–”

“don’t be sorry,” you cut him off. “it’s okay.”

you didn’t know what got into you, but something was making your rational thoughts scurry away. was it the adrenaline? or the look of despair on his face? 

slowly, you lifted your arms to embrace him, push him a little deeper into yourself. 

“yo-chan… it’s okay…”

as he rests his head on your shoulder, you could vaguely feel the cloth on your shirt dampen. on the top, it was his tears, him silently sobbing into your shoulder. on the end, it was your blood, seeping into your shirt and out onto his feet. his hands, still stuck to the knife as if glued on there, trembled in sync with the knife, vibrating into your body.

it hurt, but, that didn’t matter too much. what mattered now was comforting hiori, rubbing his back as he silently sobbed into your shoulder. 

“i… i don’t want you dead…” he hiccups, yet still pushes the knife a little deeper, killing you with his love a bit more. 

“khh—” you breathe in sharply, the movement proving painful. why would you even be surprised? 

with tired eyes and a crooked, pathetic smile, you slowly let him go, lifting him up off your shoulder so you could selfishly look into his teary, bloodshot eyes and smile so sweetly. a wonderful last memory, if you were to die right here.

so you decide to die right here.

your hands travel to his, clasping over his cold, bony fingers. “yo… look at me, yo.”

his light blue eyes fixate towards you, obeying. you could see his irises sparkle a little more, well illuminated by the moon from the window. your heart sighs contently. his beautiful complexion, wrought by tears and despair, was definitely worth dying for.

warming his cold, almost numb fingers, you trace the knife gripped into his hands and guide his arm, pushing it deeper, deeper, deeper into yourself.

he gasps lightly, “wh-what are you doing–”

you shush him again, a painful expression on your face. i want this, your eyes pleaded without words. please—please let me have this.

he reluctantly obliges, resting his tongue, untightening his jaw as he looks down, numbly watching as you take his hands- still holding the knife- out of your stomach, and proceeding to slowly, excruciatingly, stab yourself over and over again, coughing and twitching with every movement.

it’s cold, the freezing metal of the knife. so much so that it sent you into some sort of shock, grunting each time a new addition of hole was added. and then it burned. the cold burned your insides, layering that sensation on top of your organs getting punctured. 

but you didn’t care, love was supposed to be burning hot, like a fire that’ll never go out. and the coldness—of his skin, of his touch, of his knife— was trying to burn you, you’d let it be.

you don’t know when your knees started trembling, struggling to support your weight. you don’t know how many times his love entered you anymore, as you were too busy kissing away his tears and teasing the salt off his lips. you couldn’t tell since when your breathing had started getting shallow, dizzy from blood loss, yet still dizzy from desire. 

and after one final kiss on his red lips (red from the blood you coughed up when he had pierced your lung), you collapse onto the floor, leaning on top of him and bringing hiori down as well, vision getting too blurry to make out shapes and sounds and colors. 

he collapses with you, like a deadweight, knife still buried somewhere in your chest.

hiori watches, with blurry vision of his own, how your mouth tries to form the weightless words, but does not have the energy to do so. he watches, as your limbs slowly flatten out, as your blood seeps into his own clothes, dying it a beautiful red of your own. 

he brings his hands down, tangling it in your hair, weaving through it. he remembers, pitifully, how much you used to like it when he played with it. 

maybe it was his imagination, but he could feel your lips morph into the weakest smile against his chest. maybe it was his imagination, but he could see the tiny twitch of your fingers as they grasped onto nothing, perhaps an arm to hold? a cheek to tickle?

the two of you stay like this, dying under a moonlit room, tears glistening as they melt and mix into the blood beneath.

notes: "getting stabbed and then slowly taking the knife back into your own hands to push the knife deeper" yeah that's so hiori yo thank you bye! ^^

divider cred: @.uzmacchiato