Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Rurouni Kenshin OAV; all character/story line references in the following piece of fictional work are used for completely non-profit purposes.

This is a re-posted story. I’m really sorry about the inconvenience, especially for those with alerts. (Sorry again!) I just kinda sucked at life for a while, but I’m working at it to make it a little bit better. Anyway, here’s the story again, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Time

By Rome OMD

Yukishiro Tomoe had always been beautiful. It was not uncommon for strangers passing by to gently tap her on the shoulder and compliment her on her beauty. The first time it happened, her heart had fluttered and she had blushed throughout her entire trip to the market, where even the vendor had remarked on how lovely she looked with flushed cheeks. “Like sakura petals,” he had said. When she had blushed even further, the vendor laughed and offered her a generous discount for her purchases.

With time, Tomoe grew accustomed to such compliments on her beauty, whether on the street or elsewhere, though she never grew condescending or haughty because of them either. They became a commonplace custom in her weekly outings, like how “hello” or “good morning” was to others. One day, however, they stopped. She no longer felt taps on her shoulders, no longer heard compliments from passing strangers. In an abrupt and disorienting realization, she had become another anonymous face on the street. Tomoe suddenly felt lost.

She felt different, felt like she was missing something in the way a person missed someone and the world became too quiet. Whereas they had once been a common occurrence in her previous life, as the eldest daughter of a humble samurai family and fiancée to Kiyosato Akira, they were nearly absent in her current life, as the wife of one assassin named Himura Kenshin.

“I will wait for you outside,” he said as he stepped out of their house, the first breeze of morning ghosting through the open door and across her bare neck.

“Yes, I will be out shortly,” Tomoe replied. She sat in front of her vanity desk, listening for the curt tap of the door against the frame.

It was all because of that night. The night she had witnessed her first murder, committed by none other than the man with whom she currently lived. With his hands, he had driven his sword into the flesh of another man, no different than himself except in political allegiance, and who possibly had family, maybe children or a wife or parents or siblings, who would mourn him upon hearing of his fate. As she continued to watch his blade sink into its countless and nameless victims, the reality of her fiancé’s death became increasingly clearer, until it was as blinding as the glare of the sun. And she saw red and only red.

Red of blood.

Red of revenge.

Red of hair.

--

When she had finally become aware of the conflict within her between her desire for revenge on Kiyosato’s behalf and her growing affection for Kenshin, his murderer, she had discovered her first wrinkle on her once flawless skin. She thought she would have reacted a little more worriedly, but she didn’t; it was only one.

However, as that internal conflict continued to draw out longer and longer as she remained in Otsu, she had found two lines, then three, then four, and then too many to count and not only wrinkles but also dark circles under her eyes and other unfamiliar, unwelcome blemishes. Only then did she begin to react worriedly, routinely tracing those new, unwanted features.

Tomoe thought she was acting too superficial. But, for one who grew up with pulchritude as part of her identity, where even strangers stopped to compliment her for it, how else should she have reacted?

But she knew that as long as she remained with Kenshin, they would never disappear, and that for as long as she slept and woke the next morning, there would be more.

With the tips of her fingers, she traced the soft contours of her face, from one cheek to the other, feeling the new dips under her eyes and the unfamiliar lines around her face. She traced across her brow and paused, before dropping her hand on her lap. When a sob threatened to erupt from her throat, she forcefully held it back.

“Tomoe!” Kenshin called from outside.

“Hai!” Tomoe quickly applied her make-up and perfume, eager to hide the premature blemishes on her young face.

When Tomoe stepped outside, she was greeted again by another morning breeze which played with the cloth of her kimono. She met his eyes and the two of them began their walk to the village. Only when Kenshin mentioned that she had left her dagger behind did she look away.

“Y-yes, I have.”

--

It was a day for themselves, a day of leisure in the nearby town. As they visited the shrines and traveled to the market, Tomoe kept reminding herself that the trip was also to keep up their appearance as husband and wife. It was essential that no one unveiled their identities or that he her own secret.

But as he walked up to her, while she waited by a lake, with a beautifully crafted mirror, fabric wrapped around it for protection, she could not help noticing the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

“This is for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling, as she clutched it to her chest.

Appearances. It was all about appearances. She held onto the mirror tightly against her chest because that was how a wife should treat any present given to her by her husband. It was not because of the light in Kenshin’s gentle, violet eyes or because of the tenderness of his touch as he secretly reached for her hand within the crowd. She needed to keep an appearance, so she smiled back and grasped his hand in return. It was most definitely not due to either her rapidly beating heart or the warmth that grew within her whenever he looked at her.

And because of appearances, she never once glanced into the mirror, ashamed of what she would see.

--

When they returned home, they ate dinner and then readied themselves for sleep for by then, the moon had already fully settled in the sky, a lonely circle of light in an ocean of darkness. That night, Tomoe had hastily scribbled through her diary entry, feeling more tired than usual. When she finished, she placed it back in the drawer but felt the unfamiliar texture of fabric as she pulled her hand out.

She almost furrowed her eyebrows before bringing out her new mirror and unwrapping the fabric. It was truly beautiful, a wonderfully carved wooden frame bounding the glass. When she peered into it, however, she did indeed furrow her eyebrows and averted her gaze.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

Tomoe was surprised to hear Kenshin’s voice. He was usually asleep by this hour.

“No, I love it.”

Kenshin paused. “You should get some sleep. You look very exhausted.”

“I will. I must first clean my face.”

She reached for her slightly dampened towel, and with an extra pair of eyes now on her, hesitated before dabbing away her make-up. She could almost feel the intensity of his gaze on her. When Kenshin walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder, Tomoe abruptly dropped her towel, his hand too heavy and hot on her skin.

“You are acting strangely. What is it?”

“Nothing, anata. I’m sorry for making you concerned. I—”

“Look at me.”

Affected by the firmness and confidence in his tone, Tomoe turned around and reluctantly met his eyes. Kenshin knelt down in front of her, his hand now at her cheek. With his other hand, he reached for the damp towel and began to dab away at her face, patiently, purposefully. When she finally realized what he was doing, she looked away, superficial and embarrassed of what he would see as her true appearance was gradually exposed.

“So beautiful.”

Tomoe stilled. She looked back at him, realizing then that they were only a few inches apart from one another. The light from the candle on her table danced on his skin and on his face, painting gold in the violet of his eyes. And looking into them, she saw a rare rawness and vulnerability and knew then that he had spoken the truth.

And at this moment, it was the most important thing in the world to her.

Tomoe reached up to cup his face, which momentarily stiffened before relaxing again, and then kissed him. It took only a second before Kenshin responded, his eyes fluttering closed and his body pressing closer. When they broke apart, Tomoe could not help the blush that burned her cheeks and ears. Kenshin smiled a rare smile, lacing his fingers with hers before standing up, pulling her up as well. With slow, languid steps, they made their way to their modest bed, the taste of kiss lingering on their lips.

As she lay on her back, Tomoe slowly pulled Kenshin upon her by tugging at the hem of his collar. They shook off their clothing, now exposed to one another. As Kenshin kissed the expanse of Tomoe’s skin, from her neck to her chest to her abdomen, she reached for the tie that held Kenshin’s hair in a ponytail and pulled it free, watching reverently as his crimson locks fell upon his shoulder and back. How rare his hair color was—a beautiful, deep red; she had never seen anything like it but loved it nonetheless. As they continued to kiss, embrace, touch, and move, Tomoe wound her arms around him and pulled him as close to her as she could, the feeling of bare skin against bare skin like drunken pleasure to the two of them.

Kenshin leaned over and buried his head in the crook of Tomoe’s shoulder. She could feel his chest against hers, his sweat mingling with hers, their scent infused as one, as he sank further and further inside of her. His hair spilled into hers, like two rivers, red and black, merging together into one. Their breathing grew heavy, desperate. Kenshin turned to her, his lips brushing against her ear as he said, “Age with me, Tomoe.” At those words, she choked back a sob and reached over to cradle his head.

For the rest of the night, his words would repeat like a mantra inside her head—

Age with me, Tomoe.

Age with me, Tomoe.

Age with me, Tomoe.

—even when he fully buried himself within her, the two of them connecting and becoming one. Tomoe threw her head back against the floor when she felt Kenshin reach a climax within her, emotions surging through her veins like fire, burning every inch of her skin. She released her grip on his shoulders, as he slowly moved to lie beside her, one arm protectively wrapped around her waist.

Tomoe leaned into his embrace, glancing up to look at his face, which looked so tranquil with his steadying breathing and closed eyes. When he opened them, she saw that they were as beautifully raw and warm as before and her heart was filled with even more love, blossoming inside her like spring flowers, for the man who lay in front of her. But along with the rawness and warmth, she saw a brief teasing, renascent energy within them, and understanding the hint, she responded with a playful slap against his arm, unable to stifle an oncoming blush. Then he tightened his embrace before shutting his eyes.

And then, Tomoe felt complete. Kenshin loved her, she knew that now, and it felt wonderful. To him, it did not matter how she looked, it did not matter what her past was—he respected her privacy and thus, respected her—what mattered was that she was here and loved him back. He had said that he would protect her and would stay with her for all eternity, and that, to Tomoe, was more than enough. There was nothing to worry about anymore, and as he would protect her, she would also protect him in any way she could, like a sheath to a sword.

Once Kenshin had fallen asleep, Tomoe leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek before whispering into his ear, “Let the day come when I will find the courage to speak this to you when you are not asleep. Anata, I love you.”

And how they would love, so boundlessly, so timelessly, past death and all of eternity.

End