all good things

x x x

They have both considered it, but Arashi is the one who says it first, and that fact alone is a sign of her desperation. "Let's leave," she says, twisting her fingers. Sorata is on the bed, sitting crosslegged and investigating a bandage wound tight around his stomach; he barely looks up. "Let's leave," she says again, pacing, "Tokyo."

She makes no sense. Sorata is the calm one now, silent and preoccupied and driving her insane. She knows she isn't thinking right, thinking at all, but he isn't thinking either, clearly--he never has. All she can do anymore is repeat herself. "We could leave Tokyo."

"Like Subaru-san?" He winces as he pokes at his injury, his tolerance for pain clashing with his sense of curiosity. Unless his words caused it, an uneasy topic Sorata is still unwilling to breach. Last night he laid out parallels between them in the context of a joke, comparing Arashi to Subaru line by line, scared and worried and jealous. He hadn't grimaced then, as she had lain careful hands on the bandages and kissed his neck, but things are always different in daylight.

"No," she says. Because Subaru came back, and Arashi has no intention of doing so. To be a Dragon of Heaven is to have someone to protect. At first she had thought that loyalty to Kamui was important over all else, but she knows better now. The most important thing was the preservation of that person, a fool though he may be. "We leave Tokyo together, before it's too late. You can return after the Battle, if you'd like."

"No," he says, echoing her. He looks her in the eye for the first time, briefly, and she expects a glint of amusement and finds none. Sorata flops backwards on the bed, sprawling out. He is wearing jeans and pulls something clumsily from one pocket with his left hand--sharp sticks that could be hairpins or knives but aren't. He is making a point.

"You won't cast any more protections on me," Arashi warns him. She has checked constantly since that night. Not even he could hide a second gohoudouji well enough that she couldn't detect it if she tried. He grins at that and flips one between his fingers, and she is overtaken by doubt. "You won't."

"It doesn't matter if I do or don't," he says. "It won't make a difference."

"Let's leave," she replies, desperate. She goes to the bed and snatches the knives from his hand, leaning over him and pricking the palm of her hand with the points. "Now." Every time she sees him like this, still, lying down, she wonders if it'll be like this on that Day: her leaning over him, her leaning over his body, still and unmoving and bloodied. The room is bathed in morning sunlight. He reaches up to touch her face.

She tightens her grip on his knives and blood trickles from her hand onto his chest. He wipes it away with his bad hand and smiles. "We aren't leaving Kamui," he tells her.

"Kamui wouldn't want you dead," she hisses. He takes the knives from her hand and puts them aside, wipes the blood from her palm before kissing it.

"What if you die?" Arashi asks, preferring to think of it as hypothetical.

He sits up to kiss her. "All good things come to an end," he says solemnly, then smiles.

x x x